Keeper of Sorrows, page 25
“That’s a nasty scar you have there.” She nodded at the ring around his neck. “Gift from a loving father?” She inched forward, and the pack brushed her boot. “I suppose it takes a bastard to raise one.”
His face contorted into the monster she’d already deemed him to be and, as he whirled around to grab her, she crouched down, snagged the dagger from her pack, and shot back up, slicing his forearm. Blood sprayed over the rock, sheening black in the faltering light.
“Witch,” he growled, holding his wounded arm, and lurched forward.
Brielle stood frozen beside her, wide eyes pinging between them, giving Naokah an opening. She grabbed Brielle by the hair, and her blade dropped. Naokah kicked it into the sea and held her own, still dripping with Kjell’s blood, to Brielle’s neck. “Another step and she gets a necklace to match yours,” Naokah spat.
“You wouldn’t dare. You love her.” But doubt crossed his face.
“She used me. So, no. I do not love her. If anything, I loathe her and killing her would give me the utmost satisfaction.” She pulled the dagger up closer, demonstrating she wasn’t bluffing. Brielle trembled in her grip, and Naokah suppressed a wince. Despite what Brielle had done, she had no intention of killing her. Kjell had something on Brielle. The way she flinched in his presence? She felt beholden to him. Maybe Naokah could use that as leverage. She backed up to the rock shelf where the sea murmured from a slash of light. The bees seethed over her rioting pulse. “So, what was your plan, to kill everyone off, and then…who was going to take the Keepership?”
Kjell glared at his sliced arm. Blood poured liberally now, forming a puddle around his once pristine boots.
“Talk,” Naokah said. “Or I’ll kill her right now.”
“Brielle doesn’t want to be Keeper. I’ll rule, with her by my side. Her only job will be producing heirs. Because once I take over, the Keepership and Praxis will cease to exist. My flesh and blood will rule as kings from here on out.”
Brielle tensed in Naokah’s arms. “I don’t think your baby baker shares your dream,” Naokah said.
“We all have to make sacrifices. That’s what family does. She’ll get used to it.”
“Stop speaking for me,” Brielle hissed, unmoving. The blade was a whisper from her pale skin. “The plan was for you to rule the north, lord of birds, and I would rule the south.”
“Did your mother tell you that?” He started to move.
“Stop, not another step,” Naokah said, “or she’s done, I swear my life on it.”
“This wasn’t the plan.” Brielle trembled against Naokah, but from the betrayal or sadness? She couldn’t be sure. Either way, her plan was working.
Nose twitching, Kjell looked as though he wanted to shout, but he stopped. A lethal calm dropped over him, smoothing his features. “Dearest, can we not discuss this later?”
“We can discuss this now,” Brielle said firmly.
An elbow jabbed Naokah in the gut, and she doubled over, gasping for air. The blade clattered to the ground. Brielle sprang forward, grabbing the knife, but instead of wheeling around for Naokah, launched at her future husband. Tears fogged Naokah’s view as she gasped for air. She’d done it.
“You miserable liar.” Brielle swung the blade at Kjell and missed.
“I didn’t lie.” He ducked, holding his arm. “Can’t we talk about this after she’s gone?”
“No. We’ll talk about it now. I’m supposed to rule the bees, not you.”
“Honey,” he said. “There will be no ruler of the bees.”
“Why?” Brielle’s voice echoed off the cave walls. The bees stirred, amplifying.
“Because wing-power is the future. But we’ve been running out of land to build our aviaries. Too much of the north is covered in ice. There’s a reason why the birds of times past used to fly south for the winter. It’s warmer. We can build here. Think how many aviaries we could have. With the netting above, our work has already been partially completed.”
“But, what about the bees? We need them.”
Though he was clearly trying to soothe her, he couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, birds love humblebees. Full of protein. The birds will grow faster. We’ll be able to ship off more for pollination, for ship sails. We’ll control the north and the south.”
“At the expense of the bees? Have you not learned anything from before? The birds cannot possibly pollinate everything. What about the small farms?”
“Raze the small farms. We don’t need them. Besides, once we raise enough birds, bees will be a pollinator of the past.”
“Naokah was right,” Brielle said. “You are pathetic.” She jabbed the knife forward but slipped on Kjell’s puddle of blood and crashed to the ground.
“Thanks, dearest.” He pulled the knife from her grip and spun for Naokah.
Clutching her throbbing belly, she stood with effort and backed into the damp wall. The sea’s waves purled below her feet, the brine searing her nose. She was trapped.
“Kjell, please,” she said, hands up in surrender.
“Funny. You look so very much like your sister when she pleaded for her life.”
Air whooshed from Naokah, and the cavern spun. “What? Wait. But how?”
“Tell her Enzo sends his best regards.” He sneered, then stabbed.
Something heavy slammed into her and threw her to the side. She hit the stone hard, knees cracking.
“No!” Kjell screamed. “Razing take me!”
She stumbled up. Brielle lay crumpled before him, blood oozing from her chest. A sob broke loose from Naokah, and she knelt beside her friend, her lover, her betrayer. Lenita was gone. And now Brielle too? Warmth pooled her knees. She didn’t have to look down to know it was Brielle’s lifeblood. She grabbed her hand, ignoring Kjell’s weeping. He did this. “Why?” she asked, hot tears gushing down her cheeks. “Why’d you save me?”
“Had…to make amends,” Brielle said, blood foaming her lips. The same tender lips Naokah had kissed, melted into, only nights before. “Was wrong. Save…” her voice faded, the green dimming in her once, brilliant eyes, “…the bees.” She gasped, eyelids shuttering. Her grip slackened, along with the dam holding Naokah’s fury.
“You.” Kjell was a blur leaning over Brielle’s still form as Naokah wobbled up. “You did this. All of this. Killed everyone, even your betrothed, for power?”
“Well,” Kjell gathered himself, wiping any evidence of humanity away, gaze steeling, “I suppose her death would be in vain if I don’t finish the job.”
He leapt forward, bloody dagger poised at her. She pitied him. He looked like a little boy, covered in blood, trying his best to make his patri proud, and failing. Her sympathy faded, though. No one’s life was easy; everyone had monsters they battled, darkness they possessed. He’d taken away the women she’d cared for most, and now she’d claim his life without a second thought.
Samara had said bees picked up on emotions, reflected them. That was Naokah’s motivation as she ran straight for the colony, Kjell only a few steps behind. She spun around just as he stabbed at her and missed. His blade plunged into a large gathering, a big writhing knot. He yanked and tugged, trying to remove the blade, spurting curses left and right that echoed off the leaking walls. She’d only guessed the queen’s proximity. Kjell’s knife, thank the Divine Daughter, didn’t pierce her but came close. Close enough for the bees to take up arms and fight back. One after another, they landed on Kjell, stinging him until not a speck of his flesh showed. He was a shrieking, sputtering swarm.
Panic burned in Naokah’s chest and, without taking her eyes off the stinging mess of what was left of Kjell, she inhaled calm, exhaled peace, perfuming the air with the same tenderness she’d felt for Lenita, Brielle, Tati, her family. The awe she’d experienced spotting the two humblebees holding each other in the foxglove, realizing they weren’t much different from her and her sister. Perhaps the bees sensed her good will. But whatever the reason, once Kjell crumpled to the ground, covered in raised welts, the bees returned to their queen. The atonal hum softened to that of a well-tuned choir. Naokah could’ve sworn the bees weren’t just buzzing but belting out a battle cry, celebrating their victory and glorifying their queen.
Chapter Forty-Three
Penance
“Will you stop that?” I hissed at Avice as she paced about the library. The Keeper had forgiven her, far too quickly, in my humble opinion. But with impending disaster, all hands on deck, I suppose. I already had a brigade of warriors clobbering my mind without her adding to the din. The chandelier above the reading nook trembled, the strings of crystal foxgloves tinging with each thud. Just as bad as the Keeper. What was with humans walking aimlessly?
Through the scaling, fog-laced windows, coral smudged the peaks in the west, and mist veiled the valley. Night was approaching, as was our deadline. We had about two hours to get our affairs in order, to strengthen the wards before the scrim struck and all razing broke loose.
The captain slowed, frowning. “Walking helps me think.” She couldn’t see me for some reason, and I was glad.
“Well, it makes me nauseous,” I said, right as she passed. She jumped, and I sneered.
“Will you both just shut up and sit down?” The Keeper glared at us both before returning to her tome. With each page she flipped, musty paper and dried glue perfumed the space.
“Can someone at least tell me why the world’s largest bee sanctuary is actually a key to the Scorned Son’s afterscape?” I asked.
The Keeper nodded at the sentry before returning to her pages.
“You mean the world’s only bee sanctuary.” Avice plopped beside her charge, and dust motes swirled the air. I sniffled, taking my seat across from them. “Unable to recover the wind her brother stole, the Divine Daughter created bees to perpetuate our future. She honored Abelha with the esteemed position of guarding these life-bringers, but it came at a price. Power is never free.”
“And is always tested, apparently,” I added, pointing at the Keeper’s book. “Does that thing tell us what the scrim are?”
“The Scorned Son’s last spiteful attempt at humor before his sister exiled him,” Avice huffed. “The scrim, as you call them, are actually the twisted shadows of the very populace we’re charged with safeguarding here.”
“Like bee wraiths?” I’d used that comparison before. Had I always inadvertently known?
“Unlike their friendly counterparts, who thrive in spectrums of color, they can only travel when it’s full dark, and instead of nectar, they garner dread.”
I shivered. “Not to make honey, either, I reckon?”
The sentry let out a scornful laugh, and a large vein pulsed across her pasty forehead.
“So, when one wins the Praxis, they inherit both a blessing and a curse?”
“Essentially.”
How hard would it have been for the eldest to explain all this to me? I never would’ve made such an error. Unless, they hadn’t known. I didn’t until infiltrating these walls. “Is that why you’re leaving twenty years early? Too much for you?”
The Keeper’s eyes flicked up from her book and hardened. “That’s none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She flipped to the next page, where a woman caressed a globe of Vindstöld bulging from her belly – the Divine Daughter’s birth of the world. “I’m trying to find the chapter where a gargoyle charged with protecting the citadel actually destroys it.”
Avice chortled, despite twitching like a squirrel who’d just lost its nut. Her discomfort remedied mine. I rolled my claws over the table’s thick veneer, debating. Now, with the current crisis, it wasn’t exactly the perfect time to ask about what I’d done to deserve an early grave, but the Keeper had that handled, for now, and my executioner was here. When would I get another chance to ask if tonight ended badly?
“Stop that,” the Keeper snapped.
“Sorry,” I said, chastened. I’d mindlessly been clacking my claws on the table.
But she didn’t look up from her book. We sat in silence after that. The only sounds, the rustling of pages, the exaggerated sigh of the Keeper as she shuffled through them, not finding what she needed. Perhaps it was the tension vising the air, but I couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Don’t you recognize me?” I asked Avice. The Keeper’s lips squinched, but she kept reading.
“Hard to recognize what I can’t see.”
“Let me refresh your memory. I remember that ring on your right hand, clear as the emerald in it, better than my former life. Was the last thing I saw before getting pushed off a cliff.”
She blanched, turning to the Keeper as if to ask how to proceed.
“Don’t look at her. You’re the one who accused me without evidence, then continued to pelt me with vague questions before killing me. Whatever happened to a fair trial?”
“The bees reign supreme in Abelha. We don’t need a trial to protect their well-being.”
“Well-being? How did I threaten the bees? I have no memory of Abelha until I woke as a gargoyle. Pray tell, what did I do that was so horrific, I deserved to die in cold blood?”
The Keeper stopped reading, then. She settled to the back of her chair, eyes on the sentry. “Avice? Answer, please.”
The captain laced her fingers together; her emerald ring caught the light and flared in my eyes. I shielded my face before I realized she’d done it on purpose. We were discussing my murder, and she wanted to play games? I growled, deep, guttural, and she flinched. Though she couldn’t see me, I grinned. The Keeper did, however, and gave me a stern look.
The captain rose, strolled over to the fruit salad tree, and snagged a plump pomegranate. She rolled it around in her hand, savoring wasting my time.
“Well?” I asked.
The lines around her lips crinkled. “Jordana Hansen, the infamous pirate comandante of The Unsinkable Clara.”
“I’m sorry? Pirate? I seriously doubt—”
“Not just a pirate.” A shadow played over Avice’s severe features. “But a witch.”
“That’s absurd! I think I’d remem—”
“You said you have no memories of your past? A blessing, truly. Let me fill you in. We had an eye on you for some time. Every port you stopped at, you and your crew would pay for your goods with counterfeit coins, always changing the form and grade of each nation’s currency so they couldn’t track you down. I think the reports say that during your stretch as a privateer, you ripped off more than half a million merchants.”
Coins engraved with birds, fish, grapes began jingling in the back of my mind. A pirate? Never. I was not Jordana Hansen, nor was my ship The Unsinkable Clara. Neither name struck a chord. They would, wouldn’t they? Like the lyrics of a cherished song.
“You’re wrong. I’d never hurt anyone.” But from someone who couldn’t remember much, my claim was as reliable as the counterfeit coins.
“Not humans. But you made an error in crossing the Weeping Sea a decade back. You see, someone had been ripping off our bee barges. We suspected a northern sympathizer. They were diverting our routes to agrarian continents, sending the bees to Raptoria. Since you ran your operations when the fog in that region was the thickest, clever girl—” she waggled a ginger brow that I would’ve loved to rip off, “—we hadn’t been able to nail down who was involved.”
“What would be the purpose of sending a bee barge to the aviary nation? They’re the only continent that doesn’t require— oh. They were feeding the bees to the birds?”
Avice’s eyes were daggers as she nodded. The Keeper’s face pinched.
“Impossible,” I said. “Raptoria employed a Midworld witch to enchant the birds, so they wouldn’t feed on bees long ago.”
“Exactly. It would take a witch to break another’s spell.”
“And you think I was conducting this foul business?”
“We don’t think, we know. We set up a trap. Sent a barge out during a full moon so we could catch you making port in Raptoria.”
I shook my head. “Why don’t I have any memory of sending bees to slaughter?”
“Perhaps because it’s so vile—” She slammed the pomegranate on the table, missing my hand by only a hair. Juicy red seeds erupted from the cracked skin. “—like your other, many ghastly crimes, your brain repressed them so you could sleep at night.”
“I’ve never harmed anyone. And I didn’t pillage ports. I must’ve…just…. I don’t know, tricked them. My gut tells me you killed the wrong woman.”
“Well, your gut can’t prove otherwise.” The sentry shrugged. I wanted to claw that smug grin right off her face. She was wronger than wrong.
“So, fine. You caught the supposed thief who killed your precious bees, but why is my spirit still here?”
“It’s your sentence, don’t you see? For what you’ve done.”
“But how?” I glanced at the Keeper. She was no longer reading. She stared over my shoulder, brows meshed, confused. I spun around, but nothing was there, save the fruit salad tree, its long, spindly branches casting shadows across the floor.
“That cliff I pushed you off is no ordinary cliff. It’s a gift from the Divine Daughter and named Penance for good reason. It lies in the far west of Abelha, and whosoever is pushed off falls through a timewell that strips you of your vessel. By the time your corpse hits the stream below, your soul has already been released and sentenced according to your crime. As a pirate, the timewell deemed you worthy to inhabit a gargoyle, our guardians and protectors of the citadel. Since you spent your life killing our bees, you’ll spend your eternity making amends and protecting them.”
The room was spinning now, crashing into me like spiteful waves. Tears burned my eyes, but I had to ask, “Every morning, you dress like a Midworlder and jump into a paddleboat that takes you off the isle. Have you been—” my voice cracked, “—torturing my crew?”
