Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

TRESSYA

Is this how it felt as your life was fleeing? I had no command over my lungs, my legs or my heart, which felt held in the strongest vise.

The Mother's blood slowly spread across the path like a vine, its tendrils reaching for my boots. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the sky as an eerie silence enveloped us like a thick cloud. I tore my gaze from the Mother's body and glanced at each of the apostles. Instead of focusing on her, their eyes were fixed on Bryra, their mouths agape, eyes flared wide with a likely combination of fear and shock.

My attention also turned to Bryra, who'd already reverted to her half-beast form. A mix of gratitude and admiration surfaced from my shock at the unexpected turn of events. My body still tingled from the Mother's grasp, and my heart raced with the residual fear of knowing the Mother could have triumphed in our mental confrontation. In those seconds before Bryra had killed her, I was sure she had won.

It was foolish to think I could challenge the Mother's superior mastery of soul voice, even after my victory over the Salmun in their hidden cavern beneath Emberforge. However, mind manipulation is a distinct talent, and the Sistern are experts, with the Mother being a consummate artist in this skill.

"That's twice you've saved my life. Quite the feat for someone who came to end it."

I ignored the apostles' gasps.

She subtly dipped her head in acknowledgment of my thanks, showing no signs of the anxiousness one would normally feel at being discovered.

"We haven't seen you since this morning." It was a strange comment for me to make, given the Mother's body lay at our feet because of Bryra's ruthless speed and efficiency in killing her.

In truth, my mind was struggling to keep apace. And a dark seed inside my soul rejoiced for my freedom. Would I have taken the Mother's life? I stared down at her lifeless body, her mouth slightly parted as though she was about to utter another of her cruel retorts or issue another wicked command.

Yes, I would have done it, and undoubtedly felt the same as I do now if she had died by my hand. After a lifetime of hoping otherwise, I was grateful she had never shown a single spark of compassion toward me. Nor would I blame myself for enduring her cruelty all these years, considering I was brought into the Sistern as an infant and raised under the Mother's stern guidance, knowing no other life but that dictated by the Sistern.

"I had much to think about." Her gaze was solemn as she leveled it at me. "I prefer the serenity of the wilderness when I need to think."

"I understand."

"I failed my purpose, but now I've fulfilled another, I must return home. This is not my life."

"Not without seeing Tamas."

I watched the human side of her face as she held my gaze. I'd rarely a chance to scrutinize her half-beast form. Despite the wild and savage appearance of her beast side, her human side was beautiful. Though marred by a lengthy scar, I believed her skin would feel silken to touch.

She nodded, about to reply, but I beat her to it, turning my attention to the apostles. "Can you give us a moment?"

The four huddled together, with Wellard gripping Selisimus's hand for reassurance. Their continual shock kept them quiet; it was easy to forget their presence.

"'Er," Wellard uttered, dropping Selisimus' hand.

"Your Majesty, do you think that's wise?" Tortilus said. "I meant it when I said we were your guardians. It seems we have attracted many dangers." His gaze slid from Bryra to the Mother's body.

"We're in no danger now, especially with Bryra here." I glanced at Bryra, to see she'd yet to shift her gaze from me.

The four exchanged significant looks.

"We'll just be over here," Plesy said, eyeing Bryra suspiciously, as he dragged Tortilus, who seemed reluctant to leave, and Selisimus along. Wellard followed behind, casting worried glances at me from over his shoulder.

"No. I don't think—" Tortilus began.

"It's the queen's wishes," Plesy reminded him in a hushed tone.

"Yes, but I believe she doesn't understand the extent of the danger. And we, as masters of our craft?—"

"Shut it, Tortilus. You and Plesy succeeded in one thing," Wellard intervened. "I'd hardly say we're masters of anything except getting ourselves into trouble."

"Besides, the old crone is dead. Anyone could see she was the real foe," Selisimus said.

Their voices faded as they continued down the path. I fought back a smile, watching them bicker among themselves. It wasn't wise to bring them along. I didn't have the heart to tell them their magical skills didn't save Tamas. Rather, the enigmatic Eone's possession saved him—and I had yet to ask Tamas to explain everything he knew about them. The Mother was just the beginning of the perilous fates ahead, and I doubted any of the four were equipped to handle what was to come. However, we needed all the help we could find, and traveling with magic wielders, regardless of how formative their craft would be helpful.

Once they'd moved out of hearing, Bryra spoke. "Tamas won't wish to see me after he hears my confession."

"I'm not so sure about that." I could only think of his attack on me last night. Perhaps he would welcome the idea of another's help in his quest to end my life.

I gave a small shake of my head. My sarcasm was ill placed. Tamas was gutted over what he'd attempted last night, and I feared his morose attitude would hang over him until he could free himself from the possession of these Eone. That was not the Tamas I needed right now.

And standing over the Mother's dead body was not the best place for a conversation, but it would be cowardly of me not to face the Mother's spirit.

"I don't understand you."

"Never mind." I glanced down at the Mother, knowing I had little time remaining until her spirit rose. "If I can forgive you, then he can too."

"But… I really don't understand you."

"Then you have a lot in common with almost everyone else who knows me."

The apostles shared fleeting glances in our direction.

"We still have plenty of enemies, and we need friends. If you can't believe my benevolence toward your actions, then believe I forgive you because I need you."

"How can you trust me?" She held up her right hand, the one that remained in beast form, to show me her claw. "Romelda spelled this claw before I left. It will remain lethal until my return to the north. Does that not concern you?"

"Far from it. I think that's very handy. I definitely think you should stay and help us."

Interestingly, the beast and human sides of her face moved independently. Surprise and confusion on her human side didn't easily transfer to her beast side. I was not adept at reading her beastly features, so I couldn't determine if she was contemplating finishing me or was merely deep in thought. But I would say the human side of her face was deeply confused .

"There were many chances for you to kill me, and yet I'm still alive. You also saved Gusselan and I when you could've turned you back and left us to our fate. It's Romelda who wants me dead. Not you."

"But I agreed to be a part of her plan."

"She was a coward to send you in her place. But that's not what I'm interested in right now. Romelda spelled your form too, didn't she? Can you become Ryia once more? While we're in Tarragona, it will be helpful for you to blend in by looking the same as everyone else."

"No. That was temporary."

"Then we'll make do."

"Your Majesty."

"What is it, Tortilus?" I tried to keep the frustration from my voice at his persistent use of the formal title. The apostles had edged their way closer while we talked, no doubt hoping to move themselves within hearing distance.

"We couldn't help hearing… It's only a suggestion, but if you need assistance, magically speaking, we aren't without talent. As we have showed."

I heaved a breath. "I have noticed your skill. Thank you, but for now I think it's best—" The Mother's rising spirit distracted me.

Her spirit form had taken longer to separate itself from its bodily tomb, but now she was free, I loathed to face her. Those eagle-sharp eyes fixed on me. But what truly wrenched dread from my throat, stealing my breath and ability to speak, was the maniacal glee in her expression. Anyone sane did not rise from death, looking immensely pleased .

"We know a few handy spells suitable for such an occasion." Tortilus turned to Plesy. "You've memorized a few, haven't you, friend?"

The Mother's spirit wielded command over my senses, intensified by a looming sense that a terrible fate would come to pass.

"What do you say, Your Majesty? It would take but a morning's work, I'm sure," Tortilus continued, his persistent pestering a faint hum easily ignored.

‘Did you really think you would defeat me? Foolish child,' the Mother intoned.

My gaze flitted to Bryra, who was watching me intently, then to the apostles, seemingly oblivious to what was welling inside me. It felt as though my growing fear was saturating the surrounding air, leaving not enough for all of us to breathe.

‘Discipline, the most formidable of all pillars, has enabled me to triumph. Generations of meticulous planning and perseverance, enduring hardship regardless of the cost, and here I stand, surpassing all the women who have preceded me, poised to fulfill what the Sistern has long strived to achieve.' Even in death, she maintained her formidable presence, her condescending glare, as if it was us, not her, who'd suffered an untimely demise.

"Tressya." The note of concern in Bryra's voice broke the Mother's hold on my attention.

"Leave," I said. "All of you. Go back to the manor."

"Your Majesty, we have yet to tell you?—"

"Just go." My soul word rose within me, turning my shout into a command, which was useless against the living. It was soul voice that commanded the living, soul word that commanded the dead.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," Tortilus persisted.

Selisimus tugged Tortilus by the arm. "Come on, you oaf."

This time Tortilus went readily with the rest of them, sensing the anger in my voice.

I ignored Bryra, who seemed determined to remain, and concentrated on the Mother's spirit while the apostles retraced our morning's path. Tamas would arrive as soon as they returned, relaying all the recent events. I preferred he wasn't present as I confronted the schemes the Sistern had devised over these last centuries. And since Bryra had fought in the Ashenlands war and was aware of my prowess as a spiritweaver, I saw no need to conceal the Mother's spirit from her.

"You're at my command now."

The Mother's sneer made my words rattle hollow in the air.

"Tressya?" Bryra said, following my gaze, though she would see nothing.

"The Mother's spirit has risen," I informed her.

‘Very well,' the Mother intoned. ‘She will be my first victim.'

"There is little you can do beyond the veil." Somehow, the words felt like a feeble lie. The Mother found them amusing, as evidenced by her persistent malevolent smile.

"She's stuck there, isn't she?" Bryra flicked her eyes from me to the space around the Mother' s dead body.

‘Yes.' I whispered when I should shout, because when it came to the Mother, I wasn't sure about anything.

The Mother ensured my knowledge of the death arts remained limited, as with the true power of soul voice. She was even more restrictive regarding Tarragona, and now I understood why. Had I not been so na?ve about the destiny awaiting me, I would have known how to fight against her schemes, for I was sure, given her smug expression and contemptuous glare, everything had unfolded as she'd planned.

‘You are my perfect instrument: meek when you should have fought, ignorant when you should have sought knowledge. Compliant to my cruelty, which I have enjoyed the most. I was not lying when I said your mother hated you even before you were born. But not even she could have imagined how perfectly you would play your part, the despised illegitimate child accomplishing more than I ever dreamed you would.'

"What poison is she saying?"

"Nothing," I mumbled.

‘The Salmun posed my greatest challenge. That's why I opted for a less direct approach and placed you on the throne beside your husband, for the time being, moving you one step closer to the Bone Throne. However, I did not anticipate that you would dismantle the House of Tannard in just over a month. I never believed you would advance so swiftly to sit upon the throne as queen before I had achieved my goal. That you killed Radnisa is of little consequence to me. If not you, I would have been forced to perform the deed. I sent her across to keep you humble and never a part of my plan. '

I lost my composure and backed away—when facing the Mother it was an acceptable weakness, but few in the Sistern would not do the same.

I spent my life in reverence and fear of her, clinging to the foolish hope that she might one day regard me with a hint of warmth in her heart. Those were the guileless dreams of an orphan child, despised by all around her.

I should not feel so hopeless or fearful of her reach. Yet her confidence overshadowed mine. She had not spent her life planning this moment only to make a mistake. Not the Mother of the Sistern, who surpassed anyone in her meticulous scheming. Was dying a part of her schemes? Not by Bryra's hand, but given her triumphant expression, I would say yes. But how could she think she had won when she'd turned me into a spiritweaver, one capable of commanding the dead, meaning she was now under my command?

I inhaled deep, finding my calming breaths to still my savage heartbeat. Fear was my weapon, a mantra the Mother impressed upon me. I would use it now against her. She thought to control me with soul voice from across the veil, but I was the master.

Aetherius. My soul word surged swiftly, as if it had been lying in wait just beneath the surface, poised for this precise moment. I exhaled, feeling the power of my calming breath, feeling my soul word fashion my fear into armor.

"This is your resting place now, old woman."

Old woman. Those were sacrilegious words, words that no one within the Sistern would dare utter, but the Mother was no longer worthy of my reverence. Her death finally liberated me from that terrible, strangling noose. She no longer held my loyalty.

"What can I do, Tressya? How can I help?"

"This is not your fight, Bryra." I shouldn't let Bryra distract me like that. Not when I faced the Mother.

‘You poor child. Innocent until the very end. That's what made you so perfect.'

She'd told me that day in the king's garden that she'd ensured our lives were linked. I couldn't fathom how her death would link our lives, but her perpetual sneer sent prickles of unease across my skin.

"You'll never know freedom, only the pain of your failure," I uttered, but I heard the wavering of my voice.

"This is my fault," Bryra continued. "It was I who sent her into the spirit realm, forcing you to face her alone."

"It was always going to be her and me." I whispered, knowing Bryra would still hear me.

This was exactly what the Mother desired: her formidable power pitted against her humble student, but I struggled to understand how she hoped to win. Her lineage was not connected to the House of Whelin, so she possessed no skill in the death arts.

She's simply a spirit. I reminded myself, as I felt my control over Aetherius wane.

Fear is my weapon. As discipline gave me the courage and strength to wield it.

"I was stupid to wish anything more from you than what you gave. I have you to thank for ensuring your cruelty was all I knew. It is a blessing I finally understand what I was lucky enough to escape."

She huffed a laugh.

"You could never comprehend the power of the spiritweaver," I continued, disturbed by her apparent indifference to my words, as if everything I said was insignificant to her overarching plan.

‘Can you honestly tell me you know it better yourself?' she sneered.

"It's within my veins."

‘But there are many aspects of the craft you don't yet understand.'

She was right. Radnisa had taunted me, saying I was na?ve about my skill as a spiritweaver.

‘I know your crimes.' She shook her head. ‘Bringing the dead across the veil. What consequences have you unleashed?' She reveled in her malicious delight as she recounted my most terrible deed: forcing the dead into a war that wasn't theirs. Liberating Andriet from his deadly home was another accusation, one that, if Gusselan were to be believed, was equally heinous, though I struggled to view it as such a truly atrocious crime.

"Don't worry, you'll not share a similar fate. You're destined to remain on this wilderness path, troubling the peasant folk." No matter what I said, her smirked remained in place.

"I'm here for you, Tressya. Just tell me what you need. I may not possess magical abilities or the sight to see the dead, but I have my own talents, which are at your disposal if you need them," Bryra said.

‘Tell the beast to stop prattling.'

"It's best if you left, Bryra. "

She shook her head. "No. I won't leave you."

‘I would call her brave if she wasn't so stupid.'

"Please, just go, Bryra. I think it's for the best. There's nothing you can do against a spirit. She's within my control now."

The Mother could only smirk, which ran anxiousness like fingers under my shirt, pebbling my skin.

Bryra frowned, hesitant to do as I asked. I nodded, encouraging her to listen. An uneasy feeling warned me she wasn't safe, but mostly, I didn't want a witness to my plans. The Mother wouldn't linger in limbo on this desolate trail; I believed she'd prefer solitude over spending eternity with ordinary folk, people she could no longer control with her soul voice. Therefore, I would banish her to the Ashenlands, the most morbid place to spend one's death.

"I'll return to the manor, let Tamas know what has happened here. No doubt he'll come quick."

I assumed her last comment was for the Mother's ears.

‘Yes, run along like a good dog.' And the Mother launched toward Bryra.

"No," I shouted, my heart already blocking my throat as Aetherius surged forth with little encouragement from me.

I saw the surprise on the human side of Bryra's face as she half turned toward me again. But she was soon forgotten as the Mother, halted mid-flight from reaching Bryra, spun on me in fury. ‘Soul word is it now?' Her voice was like nails. ‘So that's the secret to commanding the dead. Let's see if you can stop me,' she cackled, diving straight for me.

The Mother uttered an unfamiliar word that bore no resemblance to soul voice .

"Stop," I shouted, my voiced laced with soul word, but the Mother was already upon me, and then she vanished, leaving behind a coldness so pervasive that my bones instantly turned to ice, my body wracked by violent shakes I couldn't control. I bent double, cradling my arms to my stomach, feeling as though I would snap in half if I went any further. This was the power the dead held over me, but it had never been this bad. I would never get warm again.

"Tressya." Bryra seized hold of my hands. "Stars, you feel like ice."

My jaw ached as I tried to prevent my teeth from chattering.

"Your skin is deathly pale, and your lips are blue, in so short a time."

I couldn't stop my teeth from clacking together to reply.

"Where's the Mother?"

I tried to shrug.

"Gone?"

I nodded, and she swept me close, pressing me into her warm body. "I don't know what happened. But this is strange. I've never seen the cold seize hold of someone so fast. If I change, I'll keep you warmer."

I nodded against her chest.

"Tamas will probably be here soon. The apostles would have alerted him to our encounter."

I nodded again, not wanting Tamas here at all, for I understood what had just transpired. Radnisa had teased me the night I killed her, taunting me with the notion that spiritweavers new to their skill were susceptible to possession. I had barely listened to her that night, preoccupied as we were with war, but now I finally understood why the Mother had kept me ignorant of the death arts and why she had turned me into a spiritweaver. It wasn't because she wanted me on the Tarragonan throne, wielding the Etherweave. She wanted to place herself there instead, forcing me to her command. The Mother knew I could learn to overcome soul voice. But as a spirit in possession of my body—was that something I could ever defeat?