Chapter
31

Britta

WHEN I SAID I’D FIGURE OUT WHERE AODREN IS, I thought I’d have more time. A night perhaps.

The man turns to leave the dungeon and shouts an order at the guards to bring me along. Evidently, there are no moments of reprieve where Lord Jamis is concerned.

The guards manacle me, open the cell, and shove me toward the stairs. They push aside Gillian, paying her no more heed than they would a dishrag, as they drag me away. Seeing her puffy, purpled face, I want to gut these men along with every last person aiding Lord Jamis.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying anything that would spur the guards into harming her more. I thought I understood what it was to hate someone. But anything I felt in the past is nothing compared to the wrath I now harbor inside.

The guard to my right yanks my arm so hard that pain zips through my shoulder. I yelp, and the man chuckles darkly, telling me to move faster. In that fleeting moment, I remember I’m not entirely powerless. The skin-to-skin contact reminds me of the energy flowing under the man’s rough, leathery paws.

I could force him to his knees.

It would be in defense. Would Enat have considered that dark magic? At this point, do I care? My thoughts flicker, seeing the slaughtered nobility, the field of slain guards, the battered Finn, and the bruised Gillian. The idea of inflicting the same brutality on any of Lord Jamis’s men brings more pleasure than it should.

“Y-y-you’re not really gonna do it, are you?” Finn’s teeth chatter, snapping me out of the daydream.

I blink, taking in Finn’s shadowed cell, glad I cannot make out his expression. He knows I’m on my way to find the king. There isn’t anything I can say to appease his worry. Instead, I look from the blot of black behind the cell bars that is Finn and then to Gillian. “Watch out for her.”

He doesn’t respond.

As we ascend the stairs, I know I’ve let him down.

The guards take me to where Phelia waits alone under the arcading.

Once my eyes get used to the early evening light in the corridor, I study her, this woman who is supposed to be my mother—the similar shape of eyes and the straight sloped nose. Her hair is a few shades darker than mine, but it’s not hard to imagine that in twenty years I’ll look a lot like her.

Honestly, the similarities bother me the most. They whisper that we’re more alike than I’d ever want to admit. Since meeting Phelia in the woods, I’ve wondered if I have the same capacity for darkness and evil. I’ve pushed aside thoughts of her over and over again.

Now, as the guards remove the manacles, Phelia’s gaze bears down on me, like she’s puzzling out a problem. My fingers itch to tug at the tight seams of this dress. Her scrutiny holds me in place. I try to swallow, though my throat feels coated in dust. I glance at the guards out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to use my Spiriter ability to end them mere moments ago. Can she see that in my face?

When the men leave, Phelia’s eyes drop to my wrists, where the manacles have left my skin red.

“If I need to subdue you, I can do it with a twitch of my finger,” she says.

Can she really?

Her lip curls. “You wear your thoughts too easily.” She gestures for me to go ahead of her. “Lord Jamis does not make idle threats. Remember that.”

Her words tie knots inside me. But I do what she says, moving toward the king’s link. To an observer, I might appear more like her guide than her prisoner. We walk through long halls, some narrow and others wide.

I take note of where my connection to Aodren is telling me to go and I ignore it, like when it pulls me toward the stairwell to the servants’ quarters.

We pass the Great Hall, though we don’t enter. I steal a glance through the open doors. I stumble when I find the room empty. Only smears of crimson remain from the recent deaths. In the hours that have passed since the feast massacre, the remaining servants must’ve worked hard to move the bodies. The slushy frozen feeling returns to my veins. When I look at the Great Hall, I want to believe that it was a nightmare. But the evidence is immortalized in stains. Even if the servants scrub the blood away, the devastation and loss will always be imprinted on this castle.

I shudder, despite the numbness spreading into my limbs. I turn and continue down the hall in search of the king.

“You think me a monster.” Phelia’s voice scratches at the back of my neck.

“Should I think anything else?”

“I wasn’t always one. I told you I saved you.”

At the cost of another man’s life. Yes, he was trying to kill us, so in comparison her act seems justified.

“You left my father and me behind,” I say, and then point toward the north tower.

She stops under one of the castle’s arches. “The border guard wanted to kill us. He mortally wounded us both.”

Truth. She’s already said as much, though.

I turn to fully face her and wait for her to continue. My eyes are drawn to the onyx markings that spiral down her arm, wrap around her wrist, and spread over the flat of her palm.

“You want to know why I left, don’t you?” she asks. She’s different today than the other times we met. Her jagged edges are softer.

I find myself nodding.

“When he walked close enough for me to touch him, his intent was to end our lives. That strong of a singular focus colors a person’s energy. And in turn, stains the taker.”

“What are you saying?”

Her fingers twitch toward me, though she stops shy of touching my skin. “I stole his energy to heal you. But it came at a great cost. After I did, I wanted to kill you.”

The heat in her truth hits me, her words like hooks, luring me in to ask more. Not that I want to. I don’t want to learn anything more about Phelia.

“It was madness,” she continues unprompted. “His intent warred with my own motherly instincts. Instead of killing you, I stopped drawing his energy. I should’ve died. Except I passed out and woke days later, healed by Enat. Your father and you were gone, convinced by Enat that I was dead. But she saved me.” Phelia’s bitter scoff rings off the arched ceiling. “Saved me by lying to my husband and sending my child away.”

“Why didn’t you return till now?” My words have barely any voice, slipping out.

“It’s taken this long to muddy the intent.”

I press my palm against my belly. “And h-how do you do that?”

She steps away from the arch, a small sad twist on her mouth. A mouth that’s so similar to my own. Her hand dangles by her hip like a spider dancing up a sooty web. “How do you muddy water, Britta?”

I shake my head.

Her tone shifts, morphing back into something hard: “By adding more and more dirt.”

Heat invades my veins. I rub and rub my arms, needing to rid myself of the effect her words have on me.

Stepping closer, she lifts her sleeves, her not-quite smile gleaming in the lamplight. “Each swirl represents a life.”

Oh gods. I might vomit.

Her eyes shine. “They were weak, useless wastes of people. Not like us. We’re strong, you and I. Though I can sense the newness in your feelings for Aodren. Your energy sparks around him. But you’ll have to keep that under control. Feelings only get in the way for people like us. We’re survivors. Together we could be unstoppable.”

The woman’s moods shift in a blink.

I step back, recoiling from her madness. “I’m nothing like you.”

Her pale brows twitch up. “If you don’t want me to know when you’re lying, you’ll have to put the wall back up between us.”

Only, she knows I cannot do what she’s saying. Is she trying to entice me or taunt me?

“I will teach you. You want to learn. I can see the hunger in your eyes.” Her left hand lifts, reaching toward my cheek.

I jerk back.

“Your hope of escape is written across your defiant face.” She taps her chin. “Stay, Britta. Stay here at the castle, agree to work with me, and I’ll look the other way while Finn takes Gillian away.”

Her offer should feel more repulsive than it actually does. “And the king?” I ask.

“You’ll deliver him to me.”

I repress a shudder. “Why let Finn and Gillian go and not King Aodren?”

Her palm drops to rest on her hip. “My dear, you must cut off the head of the snake to kill it.”

“The king isn’t the beast that needs to be slain,” I argue.

She blinks, and the edges of her mouth soften, transforming her face. I stare at her, seeing for the first time a resemblance to Enat.

“Eighteen years ago, the Purge was set into action,” Phelia says. “As a boulder set loose to roll down a mountain, it will destroy all of Malam. It’s already caused so much destruction. So much pain. The high lord only wants to stop the damage. Do you understand? Lord Jamis is our champion. Aodren has allowed the Purge. Lord Jamis wants to end it. He wants to welcome Channelers back with open arms.”

My fingernails imprint on my palms, the pain stopping me from lunging at her and shaking her out of her madness. “What about the Channelers you’ve taken? You’re using them to make you stronger.”

Her lips shift into a sad smile. “We are at war, Britta. On one side, a king who has supported genocide. On the other, a mother who is only trying to win the right for women like us to live. To be free and unafraid. My gift is the greatest weapon we have. No matter how it grieves me, I’ll do what I must. If I have to sacrifice a few to save all Channelers—to save my own precious daughter—then it is a burden I willingly bear.”

I stare, blinking stupidly. She confessed to killing a guard in order to save me. Now she wants to take on all of Malam, in order to save the Channelers. Her actions are extreme. They’re vile. But in an unsettling way, they make sense. After all, in the dungeon, I considered draining the energy from the guards to save Gillian, Finn, and myself. I killed a man to avenge Enat’s death. It’s alarming, the similarity of our motives when loved ones are involved.

The idea of Channelers being free to practice their abilities in Malam is an enticing picture. Since learning of my ability, all I’ve wanted to do is submerse myself in understanding more about Spiriter magic.

“Britta? Will you choose to save your friends?”

There are no good options. Papa used to say, Make your own path when it seems there isn’t one before you.

Without answering, I turn and start once more up the stairs.

I’m loath to admit her manipulations have almost ensnared me. Perhaps that’s what keeps me from opening my mouth and saying anything more to her.

Precious daughter. She’s absurd. Not once in my eighteen years has she reached out to me to seek a relationship. I cannot bargain for Finn’s and Gillian’s freedom. Not with her.

Somehow, I’ll figure out another way for us all to escape. I’ll cut a new path.