The Cage of Dark Hours, page 45
It reminded Thalo Child of the chair they strapped Sacrifices into in order to drain them of all their time.
Gerome picked it up swiftly, snatching it from the table like it might disappear—was only an illusion. He turned it over and over in his grasp. Thalo Infant reached for it, curious, and he yanked it out of zhur reach. “No,” he snapped, making tears well in the toddler’s eyes.
Seemingly satisfied, he set it down again, letting the back of it lay against the stone, the “legs” of it upturned and curled, just like a dead spider. At the end of each tip was a small set of pincers, clearly made to dig in and hold strong.
Thalo Child looked at Gerome’s face more closely than he’d allowed himself in near a decade. He took in the scars above his lips, on his cheeks and temples, and was easily able to match them to legs on the contraption.
The Cage surrounded and burrowed into the wearer.
Gerome caressed the joints of one leg, his eyes rolling back and fluttering closed in an uncomfortable display of ecstasy.
“Would you like me to help you put it on?” Hintosep asked, voice warm, tone innocent.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he sneered. “Me, under your complete control once again.”
“You can’t both wear it and command it,” she said gently. “It needs a Possessor to wield it.”
“This is the greatest teaching tool ever devised, by gods or otherwise. I don’t intend to wear it; I intend to use it.”
Hintosep didn’t seem shaken, but Thalo Child feared she’d miscalculated. Her face fell, just slightly. It might have been imperceptible on anyone else, but on Hintosep, who remained stoic in the face of so much, it worried Thalo Child to his bones.
“This is why you agreed, isn’t it?” Gerome asked, clearly reveling in his turnabout. “You thought you’d lock me away in a prison of my own choosing, and then what?” He searched her eyes, genuinely looking for an explanation, wanting to know why he’d been cut off from her—her guidance, her plans. Why she’d clearly intended to put him in the Cage and leave him there.
When she didn’t answer, his face contorted. Pure rage, the likes of which Thalo Child had never seen on him, blasted forth as Gerome yelled, “And then what?”
Hintosep did not back down. Thalo Child thought anyone should have rightfully recoiled—he had—as spittle and ire both erupted from Gerome, spewing the potential for violence into the air, making the tension in the room thick with yet-to-be-unleashed blows.
Poor little Thalo Infant was leaning away from him, pushing at his shoulder, terrified.
“You have what you wanted,” she said, voice even. “Now give me the children.”
Gerome hiked Thalo Infant higher on his hip, turning away from her. “I don’t see why the infant should go with you. Zhe belongs here. You’re already robbing one Thalo Child of his rightful path and name; why should I let you rip that from another?”
“We had a deal: the Cage, for your silence, the varg, the boy, and the infant.”
“Getting quite a lot, aren’t you? Hardly a fair deal.”
“You thought it was fair enough when we made it.”
“Take the boy and the varg. The infant stays with me.”
“Then I’m taking the Cage,” she said defiantly, rushing to grab it.
His hand descended like a claw on top of hers. “Then I’ll go to the Savior. Which do you need more, the baby or my discretion?”
There was no frustration evident in the lines of her body, but Thalo Child was sure her feelings had to mirror his own. He clenched his jaw and thinned his lips and rolled his neck. Every minute look that passed between the two full Thalo put a cold pit in his stomach.
Hintosep considered her options for only a moment.
“Fine,” she conceded, ripping her hand out from under his.
No.
That cold pit became a void. A whirlpool, draining away all of Thalo Child’s hope.
He wanted her to fight for them. She’d gone through all this trouble to bring Gerome the Cage; he should have to pay properly. She was Hintosep—she could make him. She was Hintosep; she could do anything.
Anything.
Couldn’t she?
He’d thought of her as all-powerful, but if she couldn’t even save a toddler from inevitable cruelty, what good was she?
“Thalo Child,” she said, “come to me.”
She held out her hand, and he backed away. “No.”
“No?”
“I wish to stay.”
Gerome hadn’t ordered him to do it. He hadn’t so much as suggested it, let alone asked for it. But Thalo Child had understood since the moment he saw the katar in that cottage what was expected of him. To go with Hintosep was to betray Gerome—his Possessor had made that clear. If Thalo Child went with her, Gerome would be sure to exact his revenge on Thalo Infant, as promised.
He’d thought Hintosep would still rescue them in the end. That her sheer power would overcome whatever designs Gerome put on their lives.
But no. She’d barely protested.
Thalo Child knew that if he himself had any honor, any potential as a named Thalo, he would put himself between Gerome and the baby. This was the right thing to do.
Gerome’s smile of approval was wicked. “You wouldn’t force the boy, would you?” he asked, only barely reeling in his gloating tone.
Thalo Child tried to pretend he’d made this decision without coercion—knowing Hintosep was about to look in his mind—but a simple glance from her old eyes revealed the truth.
“You threatened him.”
“So what if I did?” Gerome’s complete candor and lack of remorse should not have surprised Thalo Child, but it did. “I showed him exactly what he and the infant have been spared by being chosen for our order.”
“He’s coming with me,” she said definitively.
“No,” Gerome said. “He made a choice. Take him and I will alert the Savior, so help me.”
“We had a deal.”
“You had a plan. I’m sorry it’s gone so awry,” he said sarcastically. “Take your varg, my silence, and let us put this behind us.”
For a moment, Thalo Child felt Hintosep in his mind, a brief flash of certainty while Gerome’s attention was drawn—covetously—back to the Cage.
She had planned for Gerome’s duplicity, had suspected he wouldn’t give her all that she wanted. We will be back for zhim, she assured him. The varg is only the first step. We will return.
Then she must return for him as well. He couldn’t risk Gerome’s wrath. Thalo Infant was fragile, trusting. Zhe needed a protector.
“I’m staying with my Possessor,” Thalo Child asserted, though every syllable felt like rough glass in his mouth. “I wish to be everything an unnamed should be.”
“Humble?” Gerome asked, his H harsh. “Obedient?” he demanded, T sharp.
“Everything,” he confirmed.
“You heard the boy,” Gerome gloated. “He belongs to the Eye. I expect you not to trouble him ever again.”
In reward, Gerome passed the toddler to Thalo Child, who took his charge in both arms, holding zhim tight against his chest.
“You are wise beyond your years,” Gerome praised.
“Yes,” Hintosep agreed. “He is.”
46
KRONA
Krona lay on their narrow bed, submerged in De-Lia’s memories, searching for details that would explain what the dark ritual was for and why De-Lia had been able to replicate it to any effect. Thibaut’s hand in hers was her only tether—the way she kept firmly ahold of the outside world. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the scratching of lead on paper as Thibaut jotted down notes with his free hand.
Krona screamed when De-Lia screamed and could feel her body thrash. So deep in the echo’s memories, she couldn’t tell if their screams simply rattled in her skull or had managed to escape from her lips.
Either way, Thibaut clutched her hand all the tighter.
I must have passed out, the echo said. I came to licking the blood from my fingers, cringing at the sharp taste of salt. Tray’s mother found me lapping at my hands like a small woodland creature. She should have been horrified. If she was, she didn’t show it. She simply brought me a clean rag and told me never to go near the barn again.
A year later, the structure fell over. Do you remember, Krona? So rotted out, they burned the lot of it, erasing my transgressions along with the decay.
The question was rhetorical, asked of a presence the echo didn’t know was there. De-Lia’s echo was a ghost to Krona and she was a ghost to it and the veil between their worlds was both opaque and gauzy thin.
Suddenly, there was a tug on Krona’s arm—in the real world, the here and now of the safe house. Thibaut’s hands squeezed hers like a vise, and in the distance, he called out for her to come up, come up, mistress.
In the finite world of the echo’s memories, it was difficult to tell how much time had passed. Sometimes, it seemed like she’d been under for days, sometimes only minutes. This session had felt lightning quick.
She sat up with a gasp, as though she’d been holding her breath underwater. Her temples throbbed with the effort of being in the mask—of keeping just enough of a barrier up to prevent the echo from taking hold of her body.
Immediately, she realized Thibaut’s voice hadn’t been the only one calling out.
“They’re back!” came a shout from outside on the landing, echoed by a farther-off “They’re back!” perhaps from the great room.
Krona tried to stand, but Thibaut—still holding her hand—eased her back down and handed her a waiting glass of water. “Drink first. You’ll never forgive me if you get a migraine.”
She gave him a tired smile and downed the whole glass in one go.
Tying De-Lia’s mask to her belt where it belonged, Krona followed Thibaut out of the room and to the landing’s railing. Juliet’s blond head appeared below for a brief moment, followed by Mandip’s black mop, and the smile Thibaut turned on Krona was beaming.
But the joy was short-lived.
They joined a group of the others—anyone who wasn’t out training—in the great room, where Hintosep was unburdening herself from the long journey with a distracted flair, tossing her gloves and her cape about as though deep in her own mind, clearly calculating, reorienting.
Juliet—still fully laden herself—gathered up the errant pieces and set them where they belonged, on hooks and mats near the door. Her expression was lax, her face missing its usual glow. She looked tired, disappointed.
Melanie and Sebastian were two of the last people to file in. They both looked around eagerly, as though expecting someone else. After a moment, Melanie’s eyes began to water. “Where is zhe?”
Coming back to herself, Hintosep put both hands on Melanie’s shoulder, looking her square in the eye. “We knew Gerome might renege. We anticipated this.”
Sebastian’s lip trembled, and his eyes grew hard. “But you said—”
“I said we would rescue your baby, and we will,” she said, voice strong and commanding. “It is better to cede some ground to the enemy than alert them to your larger plans. He gave up the very tool we need to remount our efforts for the children. That is a win that I could not jeopardize in the moment. Do you understand?”
Sebastian nodded.
Hintosep looked up, found Krona in the crowd. “I’d hoped we’d have more time to get you settled, but you are my plan B. If I can’t get the children out via bargain, then it’ll have to be by force.”
Quietly, with the dour, humble expression of some coterie novice, Juliet finished hanging up both her and Hintosep’s things, and made her way through the crowd with her head hung low.
Thibaut tried to stop her with a gentle touch of the shoulder as she went by, but Mandip stopped him, shook his head.
Juliet’s face pinched and she hurried on, clearly looking to escape to a place of privacy before her tears fell.
“She truly thought this was it,” Mandip explained. “She was ready to have him back.”
Melanie and Sebastian were surrounded by friends and loved ones offering condolences and vows of support. Krona understood their pain—she missed De-Lia terribly, would gladly do anything to get her back. Only, their suffering had to be worse; they knew their child was alive and where zhe was, and yet zhe was out of reach.
The others all seemed too intimidated to approach Hintosep. She wasn’t a comrade to them; she was a leader. Or something more. What with her powers, she probably held an aura of divinity for many of the people here, but Krona was undaunted. She went to Hintosep’s side, followed closely by Thibaut.
“The sooner we can get you ready,” Hintosep said quietly, “get you your powers, the better.” She straightened her spine and asked firmly, “Have you learned anything?”
Krona appreciated her directness. “I think so, yes.”
“And?”
“And I’m still waiting on evidence that offering me hope for De-Lia wasn’t just a twisted ploy.”
“Fair enough.” She turned to the hooks by the door, pulled a cloak from one and tossed it at Krona. “Put this on and follow me.”
Krona threw it around her shoulders, and Thibaut—not waiting for an invitation—wrangled a jacket from a nearby coat stand, heedless of who it belonged to, and quickly tugged on a pair of boots. Together, they followed Hintosep, not out the front door but toward the kitchen and to the pantry, of all things.
It was enormous, of course, as far as pantries went. Plenty large enough to hold enough food for all the people that could theoretically occupy the mansion. As it was, the shelves were well stocked with preserves of all kind, rice aplenty, and dried meats.
“Step inside,” Hintosep bade.
“Don’t tell me this is that special entrance Melanie told us about,” Thibaut said.
“Indeed it is,” she confirmed.
The entire inside of the pantry was on a pulley system. It was a giant dumbwaiter, which sank into the cliffside and let them out in a room at the bottom, which opened up onto a thin supply road that skirted the river’s edge. The door to the road was locked via enchantment, and only Hintosep could wield the key.
“Luckily, we didn’t return from the keep completely empty-handed,” Hintosep said, locking the door behind her.
Out here, the river roared, the sound a constant white noise they all had to shout over to hear one another.
“I didn’t want to bring it into the house,” Hintosep shouted. “Just to be safe.”
They walked the supply road a short way until they came upon a shallow cave—deep enough to shelter a cache of supply crates but not deep enough for any sort of animal to attempt to make it a permanent home.
There, nestled inside—a jaguar. A huge, glimmering glass cat, with teeth and claws and eyes within.
Krona froze in her tracks—her stop so jarring, Thibaut ran into her. She was instantly transported back—not to the horrible, bloody day she’d met Monkeyflower but to the day she’d picked up and read De-Lia’s accursed diary. Where she’d learned of the strange relationship De-Lia had shared with a varg. The way her sister had described the beast—the metallic glint of the needles in its hide, the way it had stalked out of the shadows—echoed how Krona saw this creature now.
She turned and tried to barrel over Thibaut to get away.
He caught her, held her.
Krona knew this wasn’t her varg. Hintosep said she had a way of tracking down that creature, but Krona had never suspected—“That’s Monkeyflower, isn’t it?”
“That’s what we need to confirm. If it is, then theoretically, I can use it to figure out where in the Valley yours is.
“A Thalo Orchestrator watched De-Lia play with the monster in the fields. They observed the strange bond between girl and beast, and once the trauma of your childhood had played itself out, they took Monkeyflower away for study.”
Krona forced herself to glance over her shoulder. Save the shape of its prison, this bottle-barker looked like any other, and Krona was loath to get near. She may have confronted the guilt that had haunted her since childhood, but she had failed to conquer her phobia. Utkin, her healer, had tried everything in recent years, and still …
Still her heart beat unnaturally fast, even with yards upon yards of clear space between her and the creature—with it secure, with everyone safe.
“Give me the mask,” Hintosep said. “We need to see if the creature responds to it.”
Krona’s hand flew to the wood at her hip, clutching the mask tight. Even now, the idea of handing it over to anyone else, even briefly, made her hackles raise.
“Give it here. You have no idea what I traded to get this varg,” Hintosep said with a huff. “How I managed to get it here without the Savior knowing.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Krona said defiantly.
“Can you?” Hintosep challenged.
Taking a deep, shaky breath—suppressing her anxiety and letting her vision tunnel so that she was far, far removed from the moment—she pushed away from Thibaut, standing unsteadily under her own willpower.
With everything inside her screaming for her to run away, she stepped toward the cave, putting one foot in front of the other.
It watched her come, vibrating in its strange cage, reminding Krona of the bottle-barker that had seeped into her throat and attempted to eat her from the inside.
She stared at the varg, and it stared back. But there was no recognition in its eyes, no indication it had any thoughts—not even thoughts of hunger or attack, let alone anything complex and human. There was nothing innate to confirm to Krona that, somehow, this beast was really a broken-off bit of her sister.
“I think you killed my papa,” she whispered.
She held up De-Lia’s mask, and the creature went still. Lightly, she touched the wood to the glass.
And the varg began to glow.
Faint enough that it would have been unnoticeable in the full light of day, but there in the dimness of the shallow cave, it made the glass glimmer and the rock shine.
