The flames curled strangely as they edged round the corner ahead. Envy slowed her painful steps. Those are not mine. But not real either. This is another kind of sorcery. I feel it, like a well-fount – reeking of my essence, but far worse. She stared as the fire twisted upon itself, formed a face in ceaseless motion, as if every expression was nothing more than a mask beneath which raged some undeniable heat. Truths. What the skin hides.
A woman’s face, now smiling, now speaking. ‘Oh, look at you. Naughty girls – you gave me Malice, but not the living child, whom I would have protected. No, the undecided child. Held between life and death by your father’s protective spells. Of course, he sought only to keep you free of the risk of death, knowing well the wildness of your spirits.’ Her smile broadened. ‘As ever, he meant well. What parent does not dread outliving their children? But then you broke her neck.’
‘Not me! It was Spite!’
‘There are two chambers to the heart, child, and so you were named in answer to your twin sister. Meaning, you two are in truth one, bitterly divided in the hopes of weakening your power. But poor Malice, who came after, what was left to her? Denied a place, denied a home … what other name could attend such a child?’
‘It was an accident, Mother! An accident!’
The flames spun closer, the face swelling to crowd the corridor. ‘I have your sister, Envy. Caladan broke her badly. He might well have killed her, had I not sent him away. He might well have killed you both, and by that laid waste to your father’s lands. How many would have died? Too many, child. You two are not worth their lives.’
Envy sank down on to her knees. ‘Help me, Mother. I’ve been bad.’
‘You are of my blood,’ Olar Ethil said. ‘And for that reason alone, I will spare you the wrath of the Finnest. But my, how you and Spite have poisoned it! She will see Draconus. How unfortunate, because the thing inside that husk bears little resemblance to your father. Still, what comes of this fated meeting will shatter the world.’
‘Save us! We’ll be good – you’ll see!’
The massive face tilted slightly. ‘Good? Well, let’s say you’ll have plenty of time to ponder such promises. For now, daughter, let’s make for you and your sister a most displeasing tomb.’
Envy shrieked as the floor gave way beneath her, and then from above descended a mass of shattered rubble and splintered wood, as the house began its tortured collapse.
She’s burying us! Mother, you bitch!
* * *
Sandalath was thrown against a wall as the tower rocked around her. Steam swirled hot through pockets of bitter cold, and water streamed down the stone steps. Wreneck was waiting for her – just a little further. He sat huddled, curled up. She could see him in her mind. Moaning under her breath, she righted herself and continued upward.
I remember this tower. I remember a door. I didn’t like it, that door.
We went up to the top, to watch the battle. Such a terrible day. So many lives lost, their souls torn loose, spilling out, riding cries of pain into the air – how it swirled around us!
Orfantal – no, Wreneck – no – I don’t know. I can’t think!
She hesitated, and then stumbled upward, as if a fist was pushing her, driving into her back. She heard the echo of cackling laughter.
I was never strong. Mother told me so. She had to take care of everything. All the mistakes I made. Galdan, our games. The child that came of that – I didn’t know it worked that way. If they’d told me, I wouldn’t have done any of that. But then it was too late, and Mother had to fix things, again, to make it right.
All the lies, the stories. She told me I couldn’t be a mother, not to Orfantal. You can’t be allowed to love a mistake. You can’t be the one to nurture it, watch it grow into something you can’t control. Every child is a hostage. Every child is to be sent away, until the face fades from the mind. This, Mother said, is the only freedom left to me.
She reached the landing, where the water was gushing out from the rents in the massive blackwood door. The stones were glowing as if trapped in a furnace, revealing that the water was black as ink. Dorssan Ryl. It was the lord’s gift to Mother Dark, the way it changed. Draconus turned it into liquid night, into the blackness between the stars.
See how it pours!
Orfantal. I am coming. Nothing to fear, not any more.
I didn’t mean to burn the stables down, but I was angry. At Mother. I was so angry! But oh, how those horses screamed.
She could hear them again, as if the flames carried their voices in triumph, lifting them into the night amidst all the sparks and smoke. She saw poor Wreneck, so young, all covered in soot and scorch marks, his hair crisp and crumbling, his eyes filling with tears as he fought against Jinia’s grip, as he tried to run back into the stables to save the horses.
And how Orfantal stood off to one side, still in his nightclothes, staring at Wreneck with one small fist pressed up against his mouth.
Shush, Wreneck. It’s too late for them. Too late for everyone.
And Mother spinning round to glare at the stable boy. ‘This was your fault, wretch! Listen to those screams, child! You killed them all!’ And then she marched forward, raising her cane. And the blows rained down, upon Wreneck’s head, and Jinia’s forearms and shoulders, and all Sandalath could do was stand, frozen, helpless, hearing the cane striking flesh and bone, staring at Orfantal who watched it all but understood nothing.
Hush, my son. The screams are only in your head. It’s done with, now. Just the flames and their eager roar.
She reached the door. The latch was loose and almost fell away from the wood panel, and the door swung easily.