“Shae,” he says my name slowly. “It takes a lot of courage to speak up for what you want. I’m…” He trails off, taking a deep breath. “I’m not that person yet.”
“Maybe I’ll wind up being a good influence on you.” I smile brightly.
“A bad one, more likely.”
I shove his arm, the laughter in my chest stirring up my cough. He sobers somewhat, gesturing toward my half-drunk canteen of water, which I resume drinking from thankfully.
“Ravod?” I ask after I finish.
“Yes?”
“You said High House leads people where they need to go.” I try to gather my thoughts as they come. “Maybe it led us both to the tower for a reason.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Ravod’s expression is a wild mix of emotion I can’t read. “This place, I’ve come to realize, is not what it seems.” He pauses. “It’s far more dangerous.”
25
Back in my quarters, my thoughts are like shards of broken glass scattered on the floor.
I shiver involuntarily as I sit in bed. Even with my blankets wrapped over me, and my legs drawn up to my chin, I can’t seem to get warm. Ravod told me to rest and lay low until he can figure out which Bard was with me in the tower.
But I can’t rest. I did enough of that in the sanitarium.
My hand wanders to my bedside table, to the silver comb Fiona gave me. Picking it up, I imagine she’s holding my hand. I picture her and Mads in my mind’s eye, smiling reassuringly at me, giving me strength as only my dearest friends can.
I carefully fix the comb in my hair. It feels good to have a piece of home with me in a place like this.
My bravery falters when my thoughts drift to the Bard who attacked me. They killed Ma; they tried to kill me. If I sit here idle, it will only be a matter of time before they realize I survived and they try again. Next time, I might not be so lucky. Ravod might not be there, just beyond the door, to save me.
The Book of Days is somewhere in this castle, and more than ever, if I want to stand a chance against any of this, I need to find it.
But how? The thought keeps circling back to me.
Chewing my lip, I think back to Ravod’s words.
There’s an old rumor, a legend really, that the castle will lead certain people where they need to go …
Maybe there’s a way for it to lead me to where I want to go.
I toss my blankets aside. A simple Telling is not enough to overcome the intricacy of the ancient powers at work here. If I want to exert my will over the castle’s, I need to lend my Telling permanency.
My eyes fall on my needles and thread, discarded in the corner.
* * *
I embroidered Tellings in Aster, without even meaning to. I can embroider them here with intention. I bring my supplies to my bed, threading the needle and pulling my sheet free. If I can’t find the door, maybe I can bring the door to me.
I take a deep breath, centering myself before plunging the needle into the sheet, focusing all my thoughts and energy on the Telling.
My fingers grow warm, then hot, as I weave a door into the fabric. The air crackles with energy. The silhouette of a door begins to form in the wall across from me; it is trapped in the hazy place between thought and reality.
There’s a tug, a resistance to my sewing as the castle counters me. I felt something similar the first times I tried using my gift, when Kennan used her Counter-Tellings. I didn’t know what was happening then. This time I know to block it out, however difficult, and persevere.
My needle grows red hot under the strain of my Telling and the struggle of being countered. My fingers burn, and it takes everything in me not to give up. I grit my teeth against the pain. I will not stop.
A high-pitched ringing reaches a sudden, piercing apex in my ears. With a final searing sensation in my fingers, the needle snaps into tiny pieces. Blood drips from my fingers. When I look up, the door I tried to summon is gone.
“No!” I cry out.
I cradle my hands as the room sways. I breathe in and out, trying to catch my breath. I hadn’t realized how much energy I exerted with failed Tellings. With no needle and no door, I’m another step behind.
I have to try something else. There must be something lying around that I can use to bring the door back, and there’s no time to waste.
Pulling on my boots, I venture into the hall.
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost don’t see the light issuing from my neighbor’s door. I halt in my tracks.
Maybe I can ask one of the other female Bards to loan me a needle? If someone is awake at this hour, it’s worth a try.
I compose myself as best I can and knock.
There’s a pause, long and quiet, before I hear footsteps. The doorknob turns and a familiar face appears. There’s a hint of surprise that she masks immediately with a scowl.
“What do you want?”
Of course this is Kennan’s room. My usual good luck wouldn’t have it otherwise.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you this late, but I—” Alarms shoot through me. Her left hand. A burn mark is visible beneath the poultice she applied to treat it.
My blood runs cold. She rushes to shut the door, but I wedge my foot in between the door and the frame in time to see beyond her, to the familiar stone ox lying on her bed.
“You.” I can barely breathe. I force the door open with strength I didn’t even know I possessed, fueled by raw shock and overwhelming fury. Kennan’s eyes widen. She steps back.
“So.” Kennan sneers, her face cracking into a malicious smile. “You finally figured it out?”
I say nothing, advancing on her and curling my fist. When I draw close enough, I punch her in the face as hard as I can. My fist comes away bloodied, and I wince.
Kennan falls into the wall, clutching her nose.
“Why did you kill my mother?” My voice is low and deadly. It sounds like someone else talking. It’s taking all my willpower not to keep hitting her until she never gets up.
Blood trails down Kennan’s nose and drips into her mouth, coating her teeth as she bares a snarl at me.
“She said it was real,” she growls.
Kennan is fast to her feet, leveling a kick to the middle of my chest. There’s a sickening crunch. I see spots as I fall. Not even my anger can keep me from crumpling to the floor.
Kennan bolts.
Between the smoke inhalation and being winded by her kick, it takes all my power simply to keep breathing.
I watch helplessly from the floor as my mother’s murderer disappears down the hall and out of my reach.
26
It was Kennan.
For several minutes I lie dazed on the floor. The spot next to me is spattered with Kennan’s blood, and the sight churns the anger already writhing within me. It’s not enough. She deserves to bleed as much as Ma did, and even that might be too good for her.
Clutching my ribs, I struggle to my feet and steady myself on the edge of the bed. I clench my jaw, breathing through the pain, and search her room. Recent revelations notwithstanding, I have to find a needle before I’m discovered. Kennan may have already summoned guards to double back on my location. Who knows what lies she is willing to give to save herself.