“That was not so long ago, as I recall,” Ravod replies. “You were cleared to return to duty. I suggest you do so.”
Kennan is poised to retort, but her eyes flick to me and she steps back, unwilling to air her grievances in my presence. With a final glare, she disappears into the dining hall.
Ravod sighs, turning back to me. “I must report to Cathal or risk further suspicion.” He lowers his voice. “I’ll find you tomorrow.”
Confused, I nod, and he places a hand on my shoulder. He’s about to say something else when he sees my breath catch at his touch. Ravod hastily removes his hand and exits the Bards’ Wing swiftly and soundlessly, leaving my shoulder tingling with warmth where he touched me.
I have to shake my head to clear it. My thoughts turn immediately to what Kennan said. What was her misfortune that caused her to be passed up for Ravod’s position? I narrow my eyes at the door to the dining hall, as if it will somehow allow me to see into Kennan’s mind.
You’re cleared for discharge … A voice echoes in my not-so-distant memory.
You were cleared to return to duty … Ravod’s voice replaces it.
Was Kennan taken to the sanitarium?
* * *
“What do you want?”
I didn’t expect Kennan to give me a warm welcome when I plopped myself down across from her, but I had hoped the surprise might delay some of her hatred.
“I only want to talk,” I say, forcing my fear down. I can’t let her get the better of me.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Then listen.” I’m impressed by how level my voice sounds, considering how terrifying I find Kennan. “If you give me a chance, you’ll find we have a lot more in common than you think.”
Kennan makes a noise of disgust. “I have more in common with the scum beneath my boots.”
“I know what you did, Kennan,” I say, point-blank.
She turns and stares at me. Fear flickers across her eyes and is gone, replaced by hardness.
“The Counter-Tellings,” I say. “Cathal told me everything. You tried to sabotage me. Why?”
Kennan scoffs and turns away. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Cathal’s attention? So what does it matter?”
“Why do you hate me?” The question blurts out of me. I can’t understand the depth of her anger toward me.
“Do you know what I hate?” Kennan slams her hands on the table, causing her teacup to rattle its saucer. “I hate seeing real potential languish.”
Does she mean hers or mine? “This is all about power for you?”
“Of course.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Real power is subtle. Something you know nothing about.”
Bitterness flares behind my eyes, swiftly warping my fear into anger. “Subtle? Don’t make me laugh. You’ve been anything but subtle with me. We could have been friends, you know.”
“I know enough,” Kennan replies readily. “You think Cathal didn’t do the same with me when I was the new girl? You think he won’t toss you aside as soon as the next one shows up?”
“If Cathal favors me so much,” I say, keeping my tone slow and deliberate, “why did he send me to the sanitarium?”
A few nearby Bards shift uncomfortably in their seats upon hearing the word. Kennan goes silent, her eyes widening for a split second.
“You know what I’m talking about, Kennan.” I keep my eyes leveled on hers across the table. “That was the misfortune that caused you to lose Ravod’s position. If I had to guess, I’d say the others thought you were too unstable to handle it.”
Kennan opens her mouth to reply before snapping it shut. Her eyes narrow dangerously, her palms pressing so tightly against the surface of the table that her fingers are trembling.
“Whatever you tried, it backfired.” I watch her carefully, as if she is a snake about to strike.
“Yes. There are limits to our gift,” Kennan says quietly. “For now. But beyond those limits exists possibility. Knowledge. Solutions … Power. For those reasons alone, the limits are worth testing. There’s no risk that isn’t worth taking.”
“You’re talking about something specific.”
Kennan nods. Her whole body is afire with energy I’ve never seen from her before. “The Telling alone is not enough. Not when there’s so much more out there,” she says. “Enough not only to wash these lands clean of the plague, but make it so it never existed. I reached for that, and perhaps I failed once, but I won’t again.”
Without elaborating, Kennan rises from her seat, abandoning her tea and half-eaten meal. As a servant hurriedly clears it away, I stare at the space she vacated, lost in thought.
It’s not only about the accumulation of power for her, she wants to apply that power. She wants to erase the Blot. Cathal spoke of a conspiracy against him by one of the Bards. And if Cathal took Kennan under his wing like he did with me, perhaps he similarly shared with her a secret to finding such power.
It starts to sink in—the truth. It all comes back to the Book of Days.
23
I wait until High House is silent before venturing into the caverns. As I traverse the winding, labyrinthine corridors, the conversation with Kennan turns in my head.
Does she know of the Book of Days?
Has she tried to find it?
The natural next thought follows: Was it she who caused the collapse of the tower? Could she have been looking for the Book when it happened?
A feeling consumes me, like the heat of a distant flame—I’m getting closer. I can feel the truth flickering against my skin, but I cannot see it yet.
I pass the outlet that leads to the waterfall, the farthest I’ve ever gone, and find myself in uncharted territory.
I fumble in my pocket, pulling out a tiny spool of dark thread that mimics the color of the ground. I quickly tie one end to a low rock ledge and unwind a good bit before walking forward. If I keep the thread slack, no one will ever see it.
Hopefully, I won’t lose my way.
Multiple pairs of heavy footsteps pierce the silence.
My body goes rigid in fear. I strain to listen.
Footsteps and … singing?
Singing very, very badly. I cringe when the distant voice cracks on a high note. Something tells me I’ve found Sergeant Kimble.
I make sure the thread is still slack and slide into the shadows, peering around the corner at the source of the noise.
Two guards stand in front of a black, wrought-iron gate, protecting the large cavern opening. A portly guard, whom I assume is Sergeant Kimble, is belting out his song, agonizingly off-key. His companion stands nearby, rubbing his temples under his helmet and grimacing.
I count the seconds under my breath. If the guards outside were correct, their shift should change in a matter of minutes.
Finally, Sergeant Kimble reaches the end of his song and appraises his comrade. A look of expectation fills his face. His partner slowly removes his hands from his temples, as if surprised by the silence.
“Is that how you appreciate the musical talent of your ranking officer, Abernathy?” Sergeant Kimble nudges his companion.
“It’s … very good, sir,” the other guard offers meekly. The praise seems to placate Kimble. “But I believe we are done for tonight.”