The source of the rot isn’t a current, or a distant trench, but a girl laid out on a bed of stone and kelp. Her breathing is labored, chest struggling to rise and fall with each shallow breath. She is covered in a thin layer of what looks almost like rust. It clings to her, irritating her skin, and if her raised purple veins are any indication, it is also poisoning her blood. At her side is a woman who, until the moment we entered, had been clutching the girl’s hand despite the physical manifestations of her ailment, holding it to her forehead as she sang in prayer.
“Sheel?” The woman looks between us.
“Sanva, His Grace has brought Her Holiness—Victoria—to come and aid Yenni.” Sheel crosses to the woman, giving her a brief kiss and then wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “As the offering, she has been learning the words of the old ones. She might be able to help.”
The woman clasps both her hands before her, holding them out slightly. “Your Holiness, we are not worthy.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I say, wishing I were more confident. I’ve no idea what I’m doing and the two of them are looking at me as if I am the only hope for their daughter.
With a pump of my arms, I drift to the other side of Yenni. She’s the spitting image of Sheel, save for the pustules that cover her entire body. Some of the boils have ruptured and they don’t ooze blood, but clumps of the red algae—no, rot. No wonder Sheel was so aggressive when he thought I was disrupting the anointing. He sees me as the cure to the rot itself.
Ilryth had said that the rot seeps from the Lifetree. If so, then it is no longer a tree of life, but rather one of death, and it is poisoning the people of this land. I’ve been working to comprehend the scale of what I am facing and thought I was doing well…up until this moment. This isn’t an illness I know. It is one that stems from a force beyond my comprehension.
But I don’t have to understand it to see when someone needs help. And if I can assist, I will. I’ll do this so we can go to the trench. So Ilryth will lend his aide to me and my family and because…
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help when I thought I could.
Charles might have taught me how to emotionally manipulate someone through the necessity of my own survival. But he also taught me how it felt to be manipulated. The wiry tethers that wrap so tightly around one’s soul that they cut into your very being. That knowledge is what keeps me from being able to be the mercenary I wish I was.
I’m not doing this for me—to get something from Ilryth. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. Now, the question remains…can I do it at all?
“I would like some space,” I announce, hoping I give an air of authority. Sheel and Sanva leave. Only Ilryth remains, lit ominously by the low light and red haze. I look to him, panic rising. But I keep it from taking over my head, remaining level. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Command the words of the old ones to banish the rot,” he says calmly. So matter-of-fact.
“I’ve no idea how to do that.” I shake my head. “Ilryth, this is serious. I—I don’t know how to help her…”
He glides behind me. The moment his body presses against mine, all worries melt into the heat of his form. One hand settles on my abdomen. The other slips up my side, resting on my collarbones. The feeling of him behind me is more reassuring than I would’ve wanted. I hate how I want his stability. How I’ve come to associate his touch with this strange power.
“Victoria, you are incredible. You can do this.” His nose brushes against my neck as his face settles by my shoulder. I try to suppress a shiver and fail. He feels it. He must. Because his fingers press into the stiff fabric of the corset that covers my stomach, as if he’s trying to grip the need he’s placed in me. “All you have to do is sing.”
“What do I sing? What words?”
“You know them in here.” His hand slides down my chest, resting just above the swell of my breasts. “You are more magical than you think. As a human, you are a distant descendant of the old gods—of a people who were handcrafted with the help of Lady Lellia. You have been marked with their power. Your soul is music for their songs. Search the voids in your mind where their words have taken residence and find the right ones.”
I take a deep and unnecessary breath, my chest swelling against his hand. Ilryth clutches me even tighter. Our skin seems to merge. His nose brushes my neck as he tilts his head.
“Now, just like in the amphitheater,” he whispers. “Sing for me, my Victoria.”
My will…I intend to heal her. I will it so.
But my mind is silent. I’m keenly aware of how still everything is. I can imagine Sheel and Sanva in their main room, waiting anxiously for me to save their daughter. I’ve been singing for weeks now. But in the moment I need it most, the words don’t come. I’m back at the beginning.
Ilryth was right to pull me from the breakfast with the ladies. I would’ve made a fool of myself. I can’t do this.
What can you do, Elizabeth?Charles’s voice sneers at me through the barriers I try to put up in my mind for him.
“Great things,” Ilryth whispers in reply.
My eyes snap open and, like that, my mind is filled with music. The last of the hesitation leaves me. Just like in the amphitheater, I part my lips and begin with a note—not a word. I hold it, sustaining. I know what will come next. I heard it going to sleep countless times and it instantly has the muscles in my shoulders unknotting.
Ilryth begins to hum in harmony. As if that was what he was waiting for. His voice moves effortlessly around mine. The melody supports me while protecting his mind.
I find the first word. It’s one on my forearm. “Kulta’ra…” Then the second. “Sohov…”
Images flash before my mind, just like during all our practice in the amphitheater. My life, the good, the bad, the ugly. It’s all pulled to the forefront like strikes of lightning on a stormy sea.
I pick a memory to thrust into the void. I must make room for the magic. There’s too much of me otherwise…I have to make space for the power to command it.
