Hanne almost found herself asking what work that was, but then she remembered that she was on her way to Caberwill after this, to get married and become queen of everything. What Mae liked doing in her free time was of no consequence.
“We have a lot of newspapers in Athelney,” Mae went on. “Some have evening editions, as well as morning. On the way to the dormitory, I saw a new headline saying that the princess who was trapped in a malsite is no longer there. Supposedly, she’s dead.”
A chill marched up Hanne’s spine. “Supposedly?”
Mae shrugged. “If she isn’t, then certainly she’s on her way to Caberwill now. Queen Abagail, of course, is surely relieved that we can finish ahead of schedule. I’d wager we have seven or eight days before a working prototype is ready.”
Hanne could hardly breathe. Did Mae know? Could she have guessed?
“Well.” Mae dug through her pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. “I hope to see you again sometime. I’ve written down my address, in case you ever want to visit me. Or write, at the very least.”
Then, before Hanne even realized what was happening, Mae kissed her. Just a soft press of the lips, and then the other girl was gone—back into the rainy night, vanished from Hanne’s view.
It had been rather nice.
Slowly, Hanne looked at the paper. Sure enough, there was an address written in hurried letters. On the other side of the paper: blueprints for the mal-device.
Hanne stared at it for a moment, unsure whether the malicist was trying to help her, warn her, or threaten her. Perhaps all three.
At any rate, she’d done what she’d come here to do—deliver the solution to the mal-device into her enemy’s hands—and she’d accomplished a few extra things as well: widespread knowledge of said device, a resistance, and even a riot.
And now she had the plans for the device itself.
Hanne tucked the paper deep into her bag, where it wouldn’t get wet, and then she mounted her horse and ran—not from Ivasland and her would-be murderers, but toward something:
Toward power.
Toward freedom.
Toward conquest.
21.
NIGHTRENDER
The prince had lied, Nightrender decided. He must have lied, because she would never kill people. She protected them.
Do you?
She wasn’t capable of mass slaughter.
Aren’t you?
Her very existence was dedicated to serving humanity. She was their weapon against the darkness.
Oh really.
Nightrender clutched her head, wishing she could rip out this dark, ugly voice, but there was no way to free herself from it.
She flew.
For days, she swept low over the countryside, scanning for yellow ribbons and listening for the soft tinkle of warning bells. Wherever she found them, she went in. Shredded the pellicle. Plunged her obsidian blade into the ground and called on the cleansing fire of the Numina. Time slips, gravitational anomalies, vacuum bubbles: all sent searing pain through her, making her gasp and choke back tears, but none were as difficult as the first, as that had been the only malsite defended by a rancor.
At least she finally understood the reason it hurt: she was a monster. The holy fire she called down was poison to her now, because she had turned against humanity.
Why, though? She must have had a reason.
Humans were messy creatures, constantly working to bring about their own demise. Perhaps she’d simply decided to help them along?
No. She wouldn’t. Not ever.
Except you did.
Yes. She had. And now she was paying for it. This agony every time she cleansed a malsite could only be because of her actions four hundred years ago—it was proof enough that Prince Rune had told the truth.
She suffered now because she deserved it.
Today, a fresh ringing of bells pulled her attention down, away from the spiraling thoughts and relentless voice. She dived toward the ground, relieved to have something to do. Something to hurt.
You do like hurting things. It is your nature.
Nightrender landed on a hill with a heavy thunk, then stood and tucked her wings behind her. Beloved came free of its sheath as she looked upon an ever-burning forest.
The trees were dark and skeletal, while spirals of black smoke marred a perfect sapphire sky. It was a forbidding place, and if there weren’t legends about ghosts haunting the innermost depths, there should be.
Still, people could pass through ever-burning forests, as long as they took the proper precautions. This one, with its relatively small fires, wouldn’t normally have been a priority for her—there were so many other malsites that were larger and more dangerous—but she’d been careful to clear an equal number of malsites in every kingdom, and it was Ivasland’s turn again. Besides, having a forest available for hunting and logging was probably a priority for the people of Boone, the nearby town.
With a long, fortifying breath, Nightrender started down the hill, past the bells and yellow ribbons fluttering in the wind. Exhaustion made her feet drag, but she pushed through it. Rest meant more brooding, more unwelcome thoughts, and she wanted to skip that.
Better to do something good, even if it felt horrible.
Banners of smoke twined around her as she entered the forest gloom, and the sun vanished behind the heavy haze above.
No life survived here. Ash fell thick on the ground; scorch marks scarred every blackened tree. Charred leaves and twigs crackled under her boots, one of the three sounds that permeated the quiet: her passage, the wind, and the fires.
The fires were unnatural. Inextinguishable. They burned on individual trees, on bushes, on the carcass of an unlucky deer, and the light they cast was twisted—toxic—and hurt her eyes. Humans were in even more danger: the firelight would blind them if they looked directly at it, and without proper treatment (a drop of Nightrender’s blood in each eye) they’d find themselves dying of a mysterious fever only a few years later.
Malice fires never went out.
Not unless she put them out.
This forest didn’t have many fires, but in the past, she’d cleared infernos that threatened the safety of people for leagues around. The people of the three kingdoms should count themselves lucky she hadn’t abandoned them with one of those massive malsites.
You just left them with a thousand smaller ones. Much kinder of you.
“No, you have the measurements wrong—”
“I don’t. You need to trust me—”
The sound of voices—human voices—drew Nightrender to a small, smoky clearing where a trio of masked and goggled people stood over a small table. They had some sort of burner set up, and a handful of other devices she couldn’t fathom. A wagon and a small troop of soldiers stood nearby, wearing eye and face protection as well.