Chapter 23

UNA

We walked the garden path beyond the grove, the maragord trees no longer bearing fruit, the manicured evergreens that bordered the stone path the only color beyond the slate gray of the sky. Winter would be here soon. Hava chatted amiably beside me.

It had been a fortnight since the Rite of Servium and a fortnight since I'd seen Goll. My melancholy had turned to anger, but now, it simmered defiantly in the back of my mind. His rejection had stung—more than stung—yet I had decided to focus on my purpose. Goll had told me countless times that the gods decreed I was to be his mizrah, but I believed the gods wanted more of me than that. I was certain.

And today, I was going to act on it.

I glanced back at Ferryn and Meck, both trailing us at a respectful distance as I marched away from the manicured garden.

"Where are you going?" asked Hava.

"I've never explored this way." Actually, I'd been this way before—many, many years ago. I wanted to see the path with my own eyes.

"There is nothing but a statue of Gozriel over there."

"Really?" That piqued my interest. "Show me, Hava."

"It is quite pretty, I suppose," she informed me, walking a little ahead and following the narrow stone path to the right, which then curved wide around the back of the castle.

"Gozriel the Watcher. So the wraith fae revere him?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. He is Vix's helper. Well, to some." She laughed as we rounded to an open courtyard, not too dissimilar from the one that had held the statue of Mizrah. "To others, he's a mischief-maker."

Upon an iron pedestal stood a bronze statue of Gozriel, the long exposure to the elements having added a layer of patina green. He stood on one leg, his leg muscles bunched, his other bent as if he were running to take flight. His wings were that of the raven that he transformed into when he roamed the world, doing Vix's bidding and guarding his realm. He had two horns and wore a fierce expression. He was eternally frozen in some intense and urgent errand for his master.

My gaze lingered on his wings, envy piercing me as it always did when I thought of my own that were of no use. Across his bare chest, he bore a string of engraved demon runes I didn't know.

"Tell me what those mean, Hava." I pointed to the statue's chest, the last rune jolting my heart into a gallop. It was similar to mine but not exactly the same. Mine had a curling tail at the end.

"Let's see now." She stepped closer. "Guardian of the dark fae. Watcher for the enemy. And the sign that looks like a raven's wing means bringer of bones."

When she came to the last rune, she glanced back at me, a look of recognition shining in her red eyes. I shook my head gently, not wanting her to mention in front of Meck and Ferryn the mark I now wore on both wrists. I tugged on my long sleeves nervously, making sure they were hidden. She seemed to understand, turning her gaze back to the statue.

" I believe the last one means keeper of or maybe possessor of the gods' world. Hmm. That doesn't make sense. I'm not sure what that last part means. My knowledge of this older demon sign is not the best." She gave me a sad shrug. We'd already discussed the sign on my wrists, which she couldn't decipher.

Meck and Ferryn had rounded behind us, standing between us and the forest of esher trees whose blue leaves were turning gray and beginning to fall. A soft wind gusted through the trees, slender gray leaves pinwheeling down and sweeping across the stone surrounding the statue of Gozriel.

Meck stepped closer first. Having apparently heard Hava, he answered, "It means protector of the gods' heart and home. That last sign means both heart and home ."

"What does bringer of bones mean? He brings death? That's not a great protector," I said lightly.

Meck laughed, his yellow eyes darker under the gray sky. "No, not death. Kind of the opposite actually. Gozriel was the first who Vix bestowed his gift of neklia upon."

I glanced at Min, who had already sidled closer to comfort me.

"Neklia," added Ferryn, stepping forward next to his brother, "is the gift of raising the dead. Vix's home in the earth gave him a distinct connection with the dead."

"I know what neklia is and what it can create." I shivered, remembering the clawing, snarling creatures. "You're talking about the wights."

Min took my hand in both of hers and squeezed for she knew my petrifying fear of them. I held onto her.

"Yes," Ferryn confirmed. "Legend says Vix heard their souls cross over into the land of the dead, but sometimes their flesh wasn't ready to leave. So he gave the flesh and bones purpose."

"To kill innocent people?" I asked accusingly, for that was what King Xakiel had used his army for.

I trembled at the mere memory of them in that pit in the dungeon long ago.

"That was King Xakiel's way," Meck said, his expression grave. "And I'm sorry for your encounter with his wights, Mizrah."

I pressed my lips together and turned my gaze back to Gozriel's statue, embarrassed that my ordeal had spread around enough for them to know of it. "It was more than an encounter."

"Goll's father was a cruel king," added Ferryn. "Wights weren't originally made for those purposes."

"What good could an army of the dead have?" I asked, frustration and distress evident. "It is an evil gift, this neklia."

Meck flinched. "It is meant as a helper to the wraith king who wields it. To a good wraith king."

A stabbing panic gutted me still. My voice was barely above a whisper when I asked, "And Goll holds this power?" I could not, and would not, call it a gift, no matter that it was one given by their greatest god.

"No," answered Ferryn, his expression grave. "Goll was not given neklia."

"But he is a very powerful zyfer," added Meck. "The most powerful Northgall has known actually. As well as a dragon rider, which in itself is a rare gift."

Intense relief washed through my body, so overwhelming that my knees buckled. I caught myself against Hava but didn't miss the way both Meck and Ferryn stiffened, ready to leap forward to my aid.

They'd been kind and attentive guardians, even while I insulted their kind. I couldn't see any positive use for neklia. The thought of it only ignited a deep-seated fear and agonizing fury that any wraith king would wield it against their enemies. Not even their enemies, but innocents like me caught within their borders.

A memory flashed to mind of me freezing and shivering beside a small fire near Dragul Falls where a water sprite had pushed me into the icy water. Then the stomping of heavy boots coming for me through the trees and me trying to fly away, but being snatched from the air as I lifted off the ground.

Pushing that nightmare away, I straightened my wings and looked at the statue, needing a change of conversation. "Why does he have two horns? Why do some of your kind have two and some have four?" I asked.

Hava, who had two tiny, delicate horns spoke up first. "Four horns designate the highest born of the dark fae. I've heard there are even some with six."

"That's not true," snorted Ferryn. "Those are rumors the shadow fae spread to try and aggravate us. They're no better or more powerful than us."

"Some of our kind have none at all," offered Meck, his concerned gaze flicking to Hava. "And though that does designate them as having no highborn blood, they are no less than any of us."

I realized then that Meck's expression was concern for Hava, that perhaps he'd hurt her feelings since she had only two horns.

"Well, I have none," I offered with levity, "and I'm fairly certain that I'm pretty wonderful."

Hava giggled. Meck and Ferryn smiled.

"That is for certain, mistress," agreed Ferryn, his gaze flicking to my wings. "And you are one of our kind now."

I refrained from touching the new markings on my wrists beneath my sleeve and made no comment, my feelings somewhat conflicted. Yes, I was a mizrah to King Goll, but I did not yet feel like one of their kind, even with the marks of Vix upon my skin. My hidden ambition was still more aligned with my people of Lumeria and my sick father. I needed to find out if it was only Lumerians suffering from the plague.

I also needed to get to that path behind Meck and Ferryn and find out if I was right those many years ago, or if I'd lost my white wings and my healing magick in vain. The stirring desire for vindication and for the truth nearly had me marching right past them.

But I knew they wouldn't allow me to leave the palace grounds without Goll's permission. And Goddess could strike me down before I went begging him for anything. He didn't even want to see me. Fresh ire coursed through my blood.

"You know," I said, injecting fatigue in my voice, "I'm feeling a little tired. I'd like to return to my bedchamber to rest."

Since the only control I did have was over this little army of my own—all of them servants and friends and protectors at once—we immediately set out for my bedchamber.

The halls were alive with activity today, servants moving from one place to the next and many of the Culled milling about the castle corridors. I smiled to myself, knowing it wouldn't matter if all of them were guarding my door. I had a plan. I'd been thinking about it for some time, but I was finally brave enough to want to do it. I still needed Hava to agree.

As soon as my bedchamber door was closed, I whirled toward my bed and knelt on the floor.

"What do you need, Mizrah?" asked Hava, scurrying after me. "I can help you. What is that?"

I'd already pulled my thick book of oracles from beneath the bed. "Come. Sit with me. I want to show you something," I whispered.

Meck and Ferryn stood watch on the other side of the closed door. Though they likely couldn't hear through the thick door of my bedchamber, I was wary.

I settled easily on the silvery woven rug before the hearth. I loved these dark trousers with the sapphire blue overskirt that Hava had made for me. The bodice was modest but becoming with silver lacings to the top and long sleeves to my wrists.

One reason I was glad the weather was turning colder was that I could easily hide my new markings upon my wrists. Hava had urged me to show Goll at least a hundred times, but I wasn't going to him for anything. If he didn't deem it important enough to even check on my well-being after the Rite of Servium, then I needed nothing at all from him.

Sitting cross-legged, I pulled the book into my lap. Hava sat across from me, crossing her legs the same way.

"What is that?" Hava asked again, her eyes widening. "It looks important."

"It is," I assured her, then pulled one of her hands into mine and added with gravity, "What I'm going to show you are sacred visions of the oracles of Issos. Specifically, oracles devoted to the Moon Temple at Valla Lokkyr. All of the visions are from world-seers."

"But how did they let you take such an important book? Our priestesses would never let a book of visions leave the temple."

"Neither would ours," I admitted, grinning. "I scribed these myself after many visits to the temples of Issos, of Mevia, and even one our royal scribe brought back from Morodon."

Hava blinked her red eyes and grinned with wicked glee, her fanged teeth making her look even prettier. Odd, since that once would've frightened me.

"Are you going to share your secrets with me?" she asked excitedly.

"Yes. Because I need your help."

Her smile dimmed. "Will it get us in trouble?"

I couldn't lie to her. "Maybe. But look, let me show you something exciting. Proof, I believe, that the gods have placed a gift right here in Northgall." I flipped open the book to the very first vision I scribed when I was fifteen. The one that had led me here the first time. "I found this one in my father's personal library."

She gasped then whispered, "You were being sneaky?"

"Yes," I answered. "I was. And I'm still glad that I did it, because I firmly believe there is something to this."

Hava had twisted to sit beside me on my right.

"I'm sorry. I can speak high fae," Hava admitted shyly, frowning down at the page, "but I cannot read or write it."

"I'll read it to you. This one I found in my father's desk drawer. The parchment had been folded and creased and obviously handled over a long time. He must have read it over and over. See this name here." I pointed to the page on the right. "That is the oracle who spoke the vision. Her name was Vaylamorganalyn."

"That's quite a name," giggled Hava.

I smiled. "She was once very revered, my brother told me. A very important priestess of the Moon Temple. I don't remember her, but he said she was once High Oracle of Valla Lokkyr."

"What happened to her?" asked Hava.

"She was excommunicated by my father."

"Why?"

"For speaking this prophecy." I pointed to the book.

Hava's red eyes widened. "Gods above," she whispered. "What does it say?" She scooted closer to look over my shoulder at the words even though she couldn't understand them.

"This says, ‘The Moon is round, lovely, and bright, blessing her kind, far and wide. One day soon, a new night will come and the moon will be done. Shadow, fire, and beast will reign. Moon children will fall to a plague. Only the god-touched will find the way. Only the anointed will save the day.'"

I paused, remembering the moment I discovered this vision in my father's desk. He'd not been in his office for a month, having taken ill from the beginnings of the Parviana plague.

"When I read this and asked my brother about Vaylamorganalyn, he'd told me he was just a small boy when she was excommunicated. He'd said she refused to admit that her vision was a lie. I mean, how can a vision be a lie if it's from the gods?"

"This is true," said Hava. "Why did your father want her to say it was a lie?"

"Because the whole court had heard the prophecy. And it speaks of a time when the moon fae would fall. When the Lumerian people would suffer."

Hava's brow crinkled. "And now your people have suffered."

"My father was upset that the vision predicted that the dark fae would one day become the supreme power of the realms. But I was more concerned about the plague."

"What did you do then?"

"I visited the priestess at the Moon Temple and found out that Vaylamorganalyn had left many visions in the scribe's library. So I crept in when they weren't looking and took them."

Hava's eyes rounded with excitement, and I couldn't help but smile. Back then, it had been thrilling, sneaking around on my own quest to find answers. But it eventually led me to Dragul Falls and the ending of my moon fae magick and wings.

"I pored through all of them and found this one that was very important." I pointed to the next page. "It says that there are three god-touched texts that can cure the land. Though she only spoke of the first text in all of her visions, it was enough to guide me here. This vision"—I tapped the page I'd read too many times to count—"it speaks of icy waters in a northern realm where streams collide and a river falls. I looked at all the maps, and it seemed the description kept pointing to Dragul Falls."

"And so you came here," Hava interrupted.

"I did. And I was caught before I could truly look for the god-touched text." I held her gaze intently. "But now I have the chance to look again. To find it this time."

Hava's expression tightened with concern. "Meck and Ferryn will never let us go there without Goll's permission."

I nodded. "I know. We'll go without them."

"Without their protection?"

"I have you for protection. You are a good zyfer, are you not?"

As if insulted, she huffed and held out a hand, whispering, " Etheline ." A bright orange flame shot up as tall as a sword in her palm.

Grinning, I assured her, "All we need is you for protection. Besides, it isn't far at all. I know that well enough from last time."

"You are right." She blinked thoughtfully. "It is fairly close."

"Do you think we could be there and back before dinner?" I asked.

"Yes, but how will we get around Ferryn and Meck?"

Smiling, I stood, then walked back to my bed and tucked the book into its hiding place. She was right behind me.

"Come see." I urged her to follow me behind the wardrobe screen.

Since the Rite of Servium, I'd been spending an enormous amount of time in my bedchamber, too embarrassed to leave very often in case I'd bump into a courtier and see them smirking at me. Or worse, run into Goll and have to endure his cutting disinterest face to face.

One night after my bath, when Hava had gone to bed, I remembered that time that Goll had taken me through his bedchamber to the secret stairwell that led into the gardens. His bedchamber was right next to mine. That made me wonder about something else, and I was right. I had found it two nights ago.

"What is it?" asked Hava. "Do you need to change?"

"No." I laughed and passed by the wardrobe cabinet that held my clothes and stepped toward the wall that my bedchamber shared with Goll's. "Look at this."

I felt along the seams of the wood until I felt the tiny groove and pressed. The wall swung inward without a sound.

Hava gasped as I stepped through, peeking around to be sure he wasn't there, and then beckoned her silently to follow. She did, looking around to see that we were now in Goll's bedchamber. I pressed the paneled door closed behind us.

"There's another secret passage this way," I told her, ushering her to the door Goll had taken me through that night.

A pang of longing curled tight in my belly at the memory. He'd been so kind and attentive that night. All a ruse apparently to ease my nerves before the Rite of Servium.

I rushed across the room, glancing at the behemoth of a bed with a silken black coverlet. My heart plummeted at the thought that he slept right there every night and not once had even checked in to see me. Shaking that thought away, I pushed on the secret panel door that opened to the darkened stairwell.

"It's steep and winding, Hava. We'll need you to make some feyfire to guide us down. Then we'll be in the back of the garden."

Hava whispered and a flame ignited in her palm, illuminating her wicked grin. "Follow me," she whispered.

Then we both stepped silently along the secret staircase, making our escape out of the castle. My heart leaped with anticipation at finally returning to Dragul Falls to find what I'd sacrificed so much for on my first journey to Northgall.