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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Fenlia

M arina keeps Cat in seclusion for nearly two weeks.

Two weeks, during which Fen dedicates herself to reviving the garden Cat destroyed and avoiding the House of the Unwanting. She runs her hands over the withered grass and along the trees. She hunts down flowers and animals that had been caught up in Cat’s path. His powers extended fifty paces in all directions, with not even worms escaping his reach. Other Givers help her too. One, a tall woman named Gerai, is certain that a group of Reapers played a prank on the garden. ‘They hate anything nice and beautiful,’ she says sadly, stroking the leaves of a drooping lily.

‘How could that many people be involved and not get caught?’ Fen mutters.

‘Do you have a better explanation, little princess?’ Gerai snaps back. She does not. Not one that she is willing to share, anyway. But from how Marina and Zinnitzia had acted in the immediate aftermath, neither wanted Cat’s involvement to be known. And until she knows more, Fen has no intention of telling anyone her suspicions except Elician. One day. Eventually. When everything is right again. She will only tell her brother. He needs to know.

‘Maybe they acted out of grief for Fransen?’ another Giver suggests. She is the second-youngest Giver of the lot, at fifty-seven years old. She nervously strokes a lizard she has just brought back from the dead, and Gerai puts an arm around her shoulders.

‘If it is grief, then they need to learn to respect Life more. To kill all of this because of that? Awful.’

Fen bites her tongue and turns her back. She does what she does best: bring the dead back to life. The other Givers set a slow and steady pace, but Fen is more used to the familiar give and take of Life and Death now. She heals whole sections of the garden while they fuss over one flower or another.

When she is finished, and Kreuzfurt has returned to its former glory, Fen closes herself up in her room. Elena leaves books for her to read, and Fen ignores them. Zinnitzia orders her to behave, and she ignores that too. She practises lighting her candles from afar, focusing on the flame and the flame alone so she does not need to think about Cat, his terror, her actions, or what he did to the garden.

But eventually, Marina requests her presence at the House of the Unwanting. The request comes in the form of a formal missive, following the standard protocols employed when a subject requests service from their liege. ‘Petty hag,’ Fen growls as she reads over the perfectly embossed calligraphy. She hates that Marina has decided to play at being formal. Hates it enough that, when she answers the summons, she wears the circlet and finery of a Soleben princess.

She meets Marina and Cat in the ceremonial hall they’d used on Cat’s first night in Kreuzfurt. Cat steps towards Fen, sliding to one knee in a practised move: something that Marina must have taught him. One hand covers his heart as the other curls into a fist that kisses the ground – as tradition dictates. He utters an oath, perfectly crafted and precise: ‘I swear on my life, and the life of my people, I will not betray Prince Elician of Soleb nor any member of his family who work in support of his crown.’ His voice does not crack or falter and his accent is relatively muted, as though he has practised enough times in Soleben for the words to flow.

Fen bites her lip, then quickly suppresses the motion. She nods imperiously, raising one hand, and says, ‘I thank you for your pledge,’ just as Adalei always did when Fen watched her at court. She drops her hand to her side and Cat rises, nodding a little to himself. As if to say, There, job done. ‘And’ – he freezes mid-motion as she continues – ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Cat.’ Regardless of what else happened that day, her behaviour to him was the part she regrets most.

‘You never have to apologize to me,’ he tells her, not quite meeting her eyes.

Marina clears her throat. She steps forward to stand in line with Cat, shoulder to shoulder. ‘Your Highness, it is with my deepest condolences that I must inform you of news we received from the capital last night.’ Marina, it seems, will need a formal apology in order to return to their normal state of affairs. ‘After much correspondence with Lord Anslian’ – Fen knew they had heard back from him. She knew it! – ‘King Aliamon has declared Elician and Wilion deceased following the Battle of Altas.’

No. No. Fen reels backwards. She shakes her head, mouth falling open. ‘He’s not dead .’

‘No,’ Marina agrees. ‘He’s most likely very much still alive. But he is missing. And, for political reasons, it’s more palatable to say that Elician died valiantly in battle than that he is a coward who fled from the fight.’

‘Alelune has him. They have to have him . . .’

‘There is no proof.’

‘There has to be proof.’

‘His Majesty has done what he could to confirm Elician’s position. No one has seen or heard anything to suggest Elician is in Alelune. But—’ Marina pauses, taking a deep breath. ‘But you may confront the King with your arguments and theories yourself. There will be a state funeral held. And we have been summoned back to Himmelsheim.’

‘We – who, exactly?’

‘You, Zinnitzia, Cat and myself.’

Fen does not quite manage to hide the horror on her face. She points a finger in Cat’s direction. ‘He can kill anything just by thinking about it.’

‘Yes,’ Marina agrees. ‘And the King is trusting that Cat will not do that. Do you have any doubts about Cat’s intentions?’

Plenty. She has plenty. She opens her mouth to list them all, but the words die on her lips. The decision has already been made. She can argue with Marina, but it will do nothing. They will still be leaving. ‘Does he know?’ she asks. ‘Does he know what Cat can really do?’

‘Yes,’ Marina replies. ‘For reasons he declined to share, the King has deemed it worth the risk. It’s . . . another test.’ Not a very good one, Fen thinks. ‘If it pleases Your Highness, I recommend you get ready to leave. It’s a long ride to Himmelsheim. We should leave as soon as we are able.’ It is said in a tone so saccharine sweet that the words curdle in Fen’s ear.

‘If it is what my king demands,’ she says, scowling ungraciously. Then she turns, just barely managing to keep from stomping out the door.

Fen packs. Slowly, lethargically. She gets her things together and she considers what will come next. She does not have much that she needs to take with her; most of her things are in Himmelsheim, to be sent to her here on her request. So only the essentials are needed. Clothing, brushes, the special underclothes she keeps for her monthly flow. She finishes relatively quickly and changes her footwear.

Elena meets her at her door. But she is not dressed for the road. ‘My place is here until the end of the summer,’ Elena tells her when she asks. ‘Zinnitzia and Marina will be going with you and Cat to Himmelsheim. I just wanted to give you something before you go.’ It is a bag of seeds.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know you like feeding the birds, but I’m going to ask you not to do that with these,’ Elena says, smiling lightly. ‘You’ve been studying biology, anatomy, life and death and everything in between. I want you to try to make these grow, on your own, with nothing except your own power.’

‘What? Nothing?’

‘Don’t plant them. Just hold them and make them grow.’

‘Do you really think I can do that?’ It still is not healing. But Elena smiles at her and bows.

‘I think you can do anything, Your Highness. Good luck, and for what it is worth . . . I am very sorry for your loss.’ Tears press against Fen’s eyes. She throws her arms around Elena and her teacher holds her close, patting her hair and whispering sweet words in her ear. The moment passes too quickly, but then Fen has to leave.

She drags her luggage to the stable where the others are waiting. She sees Zinnitzia first. Zinnitzia’s black hair has been braided and tied into a bun at the back of her head. Her white dress has been exchanged for white trousers and a long tunic that reaches midway down her thighs. She glances over her shoulder as Fen draws near, then jerks her chin to where a pair of draft horses have been hitched to a wagon. ‘Did Elician teach you how to drive?’

‘Uh . . .’

‘Be truthful now,’ Zinnitzia insists.

When Elician and Lio were eighteen, they had been a bit too inspired by some of the history lessons they’d been given. They both got it in their heads that they wanted to learn how to race chariots like the kings of old and set about learning how. Lio convinced a group of history fanatics to help recreate all the equipment required. After several months of sneaking around, they had their carts built and the streets cleared. Elician batted his eyes at the guards at each interlocking gate that segmented the capital city not long after, and at three in the morning, they took off racing through the night – driving their chariots as fast as lightning through the city streets. Lio won the race, slapping his reins against his faithful horse’s back and pulling ahead just as he crossed the last of Himmelsheim’s gates.

The historians judged the final contest and took possession of the illicit chariots when the race was complete, leaving Lio and Elician to slink back up to the palace undetected. They’d almost got away with it too. No one had been in the streets, and the taverns had long since closed. Their bad luck had come almost six months after the fact, when Lord Anslian had gone for a walk along the academics’ boulevard and seen Elician’s chariot on display. One passing comment that it looked fit for a king had earned him the entire story – and the revocation of Elician’s personal freedoms for nearly a year. Neither he nor Lio was permitted to try their hand at driving horses ever again.

But before their lessons had been cancelled, Elician had hoisted Fen up onto the bench seat of his practice wagon and shown her what to do.

‘Yes, I can drive it,’ she admits quietly.

‘Well,’ Zinnitzia sighs, ‘you won’t be racing this wagon, but you might as well be of use. Put your things in the back, I’ll be over in a few minutes. Cat will be riding with you.’

‘You’re really going to let me drive it?’ Fen asks, palms sweaty at the possibility.

‘It will be good experience. You might need it one day, and who knows when you’ll get another chance to practise?’

Fen opens her mouth. Closes it. Then tries very hard not to look too excited at the possibility as she drags her luggage to the sad little wagon attached to two beautiful draft horses. She wrestles her valise into the back with the rest of their travelling supplies, then hurries to the front to climb up.

The step up is too high for comfort. She must pull herself most of the way using the back of the seat. When Cat finally makes an appearance, Fen holds a hand out to help hoist him up in turn. Even shorter than her, he clambers clumsily up the wheel spokes, almost crawling into position. Zinnitzia, of course, climbs up with annoyingly perfect grace – the picture of elegance as she slips onto the bench seat. ‘Show me your hand position,’ she commands as Fen gathers the reins from where they are tethered in the footwell.

‘Why are you coming too?’ Fen asks as she slips her fingers into position.

‘I’m a cleric of the Kingsclave, it’s my responsibility to serve as an ambassador at state functions. And besides, do you really believe that I would miss your brother’s funeral?’

‘He isn’t actually dead.’

‘Lio might be.’ Fen’s fingers spasm. The draft horses in front of her snort and huff, heads flicking in annoyance.

And Fransen died after only being a Reaper for a few years, a traitorous voice reminds her. Why not Elician too?

‘Lighten your grip,’ Zinnitzia cautions. ‘Show me how you would turn.’ She quizzes Fen for a few more moments before eventually nodding and transferring onto her own horse. They leave Kreuzfurt not long after, passing through the gates entirely unmolested.

Fen glances at the top of the city’s walls, eyeing the guards and their bows just as they eye her and her companions in turn. She turns her back to them, keeping her attention on the horizon, and only relaxing once they are far out of range. Marina and Zinnitzia ride steadily up in front, talking to each other too quietly for Fen to overhear. Neither seems particularly concerned.

‘What does that mean?’ Cat asks suddenly, voice cracking along the edges.

‘What?’ She twists, turns. He is pointing at a sign bearing Kreuzfurt’s mark and slogan.

‘Can’t you read it?’ she asks in turn. It is probably one of the most well-known epitaphs in all Soleb. Kreuzfurt: Hope for the Hopeless.

‘Yes,’ Cat says. ‘But what does it mean?’

‘It . . . it’s so everyone knows that, inside Kreuzfurt, you’ll get what you need. That whatever it is you’re lacking, it will be provided. If you have nowhere else to go, Kreuzfurt will be there.’ He is still frowning, and she wonders what’s troubling him so much. ‘Think about it,’ Fen presses. ‘Nobody wants Givers and Reapers just wandering around. But there’s not a lot of options. At Kreuzfurt we’re supposed to have the chance at some kind of life. We can walk and work and read . . . study and . . .’ She trails off. For years she had fought against every part of this place. Now, trying to defend it, it feels almost hollow. ‘It’s hopeful,’ she presses on. ‘That’s what the sign is saying. That there’s hope for a better life.’

‘I don’t think it’s meant for us,’ Cat replies.

‘What?’

‘That sign, I don’t think it’s meant for the exalted.’

‘It’s meant for anyone inside Kreuzfurt,’ she insists.

‘Then why can it only be read by those outside the gates? And only by the ones who can leave? A prison with home comforts is still a prison.’

‘It’s not a prison.’ Prisons are where people go when they do something bad. She hadn’t done anything wrong. None of the Givers or Reapers had. They were chosen by the gods, and that was out of their hands. Even if there were guards up top. Even if it was scary to think of their bows aimed right at her. ‘It’s safer. For everyone. If we’re there.’ He doesn’t agree. She doesn’t care. ‘So, it’s not a prison. But the sign . . . it is for the guests too, of course. They only come to Kreuzfurt if they’re truly in need. So, they arrive and . . . and Kreuzfurt gives them hope.’

‘Yes,’ he agrees finally. ‘It gives them hope. But not us.’

‘Well, how is it any better than Alelune? You actually were imprisoned. You were in cells. Underground. And they hurt you there.’

‘The guards did, yes,’ he confirms warily ‘My . . . brother too.’

‘You have a brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I thought you went to the cells when you were a child? How did your brother hurt you?’

‘He visited.’ Cat’s bell jingles a little as he fidgets, and he flicks it twice before saying, ‘He is a cruel boy, my brother. I didn’t know brothers could be kind. That you could . . . love them as you do.’

Elician. It seems her brother lives in the shadow of every word they speak, sitting between them, haunting each of their choices and interactions. She thinks, I’d give anything if he were truly here, but says, ‘My brother’s the best person in the world. No one’s better than him.’

‘I know,’ Cat replies. He seems sincere. And he is gentle as he allows a subtle change in topic. ‘Elician told me stories on the way here. About constellations, and nightcats. They were different from the ones I knew, but I liked them all the same.’ He pauses. ‘I can’t give you an oath stronger than the one I already gave. My loyalty is to my people—’

‘Those people tortured you.’

‘The Reapers are my people. My Reapers. I’m sworn to them . And . . . there are good people in Alelune too. People worth protecting.’

‘Then why did you make an oath not to harm Elician?’ Fen asks.

‘Can I not want both? Your brother safe and unharmed, and my people free?’

He can. But it’s a nuance that she’s never seen replicated elsewhere. Their countries have been at war for so long that the idea of wanting something good to happen on both sides of the border at once feels almost absurd. ‘What about the King?’

‘What about him?’

‘You could hurt him. You could hurt . . . a lot of people. There’s a reason it’s better if your – if Reapers are kept away.’

‘Yes,’ Cat agrees. ‘But I swore not to harm any member of Elician’s family. Trust me,’ begs the enemy soldier her brother had wanted her to befriend. ‘Please?’

She wants so badly to say yes. That she had truly meant it when she had offered her friendship. They have spent months learning so many things at each other’s side. Despite herself, despite her prejudice, she wants to trust what he said as true. He scares me, she thinks. He destroyed that garden with a thought. He could do so much worse.

‘I’m trying,’ she whispers. It feels like a defeat.

‘I won’t let you down,’ he replies, his conviction as cast iron as his vow.

She nods, hoping it will be enough. Then, lowering her voice and glancing furtively at Marina and Zinnitzia, she asks, ‘Do you want to learn how to drive?’

It’s a long way to Himmelsheim, and they can at least do this together. When he smiles, small and subtle as it is, it still shines like the bright of day.

She hopes she hasn’t made another mistake.