Ash.
The burning village in the wasteland flashes before me. It’s not real. I squint through the dark and really look at the room. Gritting my teeth, I focus on the floor, forcing the memory back. The flickers of truth push through the illusion.
I run to grab a torch from the top of the staircase. The flame breathes new life into the illuminated space, bringing clarity.
Every corner of the room is charred and blackened. Remains of wooden furnishings are scattered. Ugly scorch marks—both old and new—mar the makeshift metal furniture. As I move closer, the light catches and reflects off the strange items I saw before.
There must have been some sort of fire; perhaps these were rescued from it.
I step closer to the nearest shelf, where a number of stone tablets sit in a line, etched with letters and stylized creatures. There’s also an odd machine, its clockwork insides ripped out, and a globe encircled by rings set with delicate crystals.
There is a commonality to all the items: the engravings bear resemblance to one another, and something about them triggers a warning bell inside me. My pulse flutters, and my sleeve brushes against a small stack of papers, which do not seem to be coated in ash like everything else in the room. I pick them up uneasily. They must have been placed here recently.
The ink markings on the pages look hurried, as if someone was short on time. Cathal told me not to practice reading without him. His warning cuts through the fear of the writing that causes my hands to shake. Like the book he gave me, the paper feels impossibly heavy.
If there’s a clue here, though, I have to find it. Determination, and several deep breaths, eventually smothers my fear.
My skill at reading is still clumsy, and the unfamiliar scrawl on the pages is difficult to decipher. I squint, sounding out the words with my mouth as I go.
Test … one: The … something unreadable … is prac … tic … ally … in … des … truc … tible …
Who wrote this? I focus on the pointy, hurried handwriting itself for a long moment, trying to find something familiar and failing. I’ve seen Niall’s handwriting from my misadventures in the men’s barracks, and this is not it. Even Ravod’s letters on the window in the sanitarium were rounder and loopier.
That just leaves every other Bard or courtier or servant in High House … Or even Cathal. I rifle through the papers, looking for … something.
Test five … six … seven … all the way through twelve. Whoever this was, they went to great lengths to destroy the contents of this room. Some of their methods were astonishingly creative. I keep skimming the contents, hoping to find something useful.
Cathal can’t know what I’ve done here …
So it’s not him.
I think Ravod suspects …
Not him either.
If only Nahra were still here …
I don’t know who that is.
I wipe sweat from my brow as I lower the papers.
Something tiny—a sharp reflection of light within a box—catches my gaze. I cross toward it.
On the table, there’s a wooden box with bronze hinges and a glimmering clasp. I pop it open. Hidden inside, I find a menagerie of tiny stone animals—a raven, a wolf. They’re lovely, and lovingly carved, no bigger than a child’s toys.
I freeze. The material and craftsmanship are painfully familiar. I recognize the shimmering veins on the surface of the material.
My breath catches when, as if from a dream, I see a little stone ox. Like Kieran’s.
No. This isn’t just like Kieran’s little ox statue, it is the very same. I’m sure of it. The stone feels warm in my hand, as if it recognizes me too.
Suddenly, I understand.
This entire room is filled with Gondalese idols. Someone was trying to burn these forbidden items.
Ma tried to burn Kieran’s ox once too. It didn’t work then either.
My mind is racing. Ma’s murderer took this from my home, which means they knew we had something to hide. But they have also been in this room. My breath grows ragged. I’m getting ever closer to the truth, and suddenly I fear what it will bring.
The light flickers, pulling my attention away from the swirling questions in my mind. I clench the ox in my fist and turn quickly to the door.
A cloaked figure moves, like a shadow rising in the darkness. A hood obscures their face. In one hand, they are holding an unlit torch, and in the other, a canister of oil.
Could it be Ma’s murderer? I shrink back, clenching my fingers tightly over Kieran’s ox until the inside of my palm screams in pain.
“Who are you?” My voice cracks as I stumble backward, knocking over items and papers. They clatter to the ground.
The figure ignores me and mutters under their breath. Their torch bursts to life. Before I understand what’s happening, they have poured oil onto the floor, and a sickly toxic smell invades the room.
I try to run, but a blast of wind throws me into a shelf, toppling its contents across the floor.
Whoever this Bard is, they are powerful. Too powerful.
I groan and crumple to the floor. Clutching my stomach in pain, I see the Bard standing over me. With one swift movement, they snatch the ox from my hand and level a kick to my gut.
A shock wave of pain courses through me, and I double over. The Bard drops the torch. It feeds into the oil and blazes with fury. The bright orange flames lick the edges of the metal shelves and desks. It won’t be long before the small space is engulfed.
I choke on the fumes, reliving the burning inn and the smirking bandits who set it aflame. The smoke is thick in my lungs, dense and dark, coiling like a snake around my throat.
The Bard turns. My hands grab for the nearest item in my reach—the wooden box the animal figurines had been kept in. It’s burning.
I throw it as hard as I can at the retreating figure. It hits them hard on their left hand, slashing through their glove. The Bard yelps in pain, vanishing into the stairway.
My head is swimming as the fire creeps closer to where I lie on the floor. I’m trapped. The flames lick the sole of my boot as the smoke constricts my throat further, choking me into unconsciousness.
* * *
“Shae! Wake up. Can you hear me? Shae!”
A deep voice breaks through the darkness of my mind. My eyes flutter open. A blaze of cold air burns them and they squeeze shut again. A wave of fire follows it through my throat. I cough violently and scramble away from the voice.
“Get away from me!” I shriek. “Don’t touch me!”
All I can see and feel is the room burning. The Bard coming back to finish me off. The heat. Kieran’s ox … Gone.
“Easy, easy.” A gentle hand on my shoulder lowers me back down. “You’re safe. You inhaled some smoke.”
Ravod’s blurry face is hovering over me, his brows tightly knit. We’re outside on one of the rooftops of High House.
“You saved my life?” My voice grinds out uncomfortably, like sand has lodged in my chest. “How did I get here?”
Ravod hands me a metal canteen. “Slow down. Drink this first.”
“What is it?”
“It’s water,” he says. “And I don’t want to hear from you again until it’s gone.”
I obey without further encouragement, and we lapse into a comfortable silence. I alternate between sipping the water and coughing under Ravod’s watchful gaze.