Mum’s gaze darts to Father and Lucan before she quickly pockets it. “Isola…”
“I know it’s why you ran to the dragon. Well, one of the reasons.” I smile weakly. “Look, it might be too late for me, but please, complete your research, Mum. Try to figure out what the cursereallyisand how to end it.”
“Too late for you?” she repeats faintly, brow furrowing. Her hand finds my cheek. “What do you mean, dear girl?”
“Mum, I… I’m not a child anymore.” My throat is thick, and not from any magic in the air. Not from the scourge. “Most people don’t need the tinctures to make their bodies feel right.”
Her hand rests on her pocket where the jar is. But I know what’s in both our minds is a different glass vessel—a small vial filled with the mysterious liquid only she can make for me. Aremedy for the aches and shakes and sweats. Something that makes my mind and my heart a bit calmer. That allows me to be around sigils without wanting to peel off my skin.
“And I’m aware that the way I feel is not because I’m Valor Reborn. If I was, I’d be able to draw Etherlight without sigils by now.” I stare at my toes and will my tears not to fall. I’ve cried enough nights over this, and it never made it better. I lift my chin and force a smile even though happiness is the last thing I feel. “Which means I’m cursed. Aren’t I?”
Her entire face crumples. Lines fold at the corners of her mouth, between her brows, around her eyes. “Isola…”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, the urge to comfort her winning out over my own terror. Even though we both know that if I am cursed, it’ll mean my death. And soon. “I figured it out a while ago. You’re making tinctures to help the side effects of it. Maybe I was so susceptible to the curse—whatever it is—that it came early. My eyes changed gold but just never went to slits? Maybe your tinctures really have kept the rest of the transformation at bay.
“But once I’m locked away in the monastery for the Tribunal, I won’t get any more. So I’ll probably change, then. But I still wanted to get you what I could today. Maybe it’s too late for me for whatever cure you might find. But there are generations of children who need you, so please don’t give up on your research. I… I wish I could’ve helped more, done more for you and all of Vinguard.”
Without warning, she pulls me in close, clutching me like it’s the last time she ever will. Like this is goodbye. I stare up at the talon moon as it blurs with tears I’m fighting so hard not to let fall.
“I will get you another tincture. I will not let them kill you,” she whispers, words as strong and sharp as a Mercy dagger.
“But—”The monastery is locked for three weeks during theTribunal, and no aid can be given to those inside, I don’t have a chance to say.
“Have faith, Isola.”
“You’re not one to quote the Creed,” I choke out with a weak laugh.
“Not in them. In yourself. You are so much stronger than you know. But they will do things to you in there…horrible things that should never be forgiven, and they’ll tell you it’s normal. Don’t let them win.”
“Isola.” The vicar’s stern tone is like an axe that cleaves us apart.
I hate that I pull away on instinct at the sound of his voice. Mum smiles sadly. I wasn’t the only one fighting tears, and that makes it worse.
“Isola,” Father echoes, far gentler. “You should rest before tomorrow.”
I still look at Mum. She gives a slight nod. I don’t want to speak. It feels like if I don’t, then time won’t continue. Tomorrow will never come. I’d be stuck here forever, but I’d be alive.
“I love you more than Etherlight.” I finally whisper the first half of our goodbye.
“I love you more thanallthe Ether in the world,” Mum finishes before stepping away into the dark streets of Vinguard.
It isn’t until I’m walking back across the square that I realize she never actually answered my question—she never confirmed I was cursed. It’d probably be too cruel to expect her to. What mother could readily admit to their child that they’re going to transform into a monster—that they’re going to die?
“…and will it be ready tomorrow?” I barely hear the vicar ask Father as I approach. Lucan stands at a distance. Told to, I assume.
“It will,” Father replies.
They silence as I approach. It’s obvious they’re talking aboutthe Tribunal, so I don’t ask. They won’t tell me anyway. All I know is whatever my father made isn’t going to be good for any of us who are about to be locked away for three weeks.
Father is as expressionless as ever as we walk home. Fortunately, the vicar and Lucan go their own way. At least if the Tribunal is good for just one thing, it’s helping me avoid a scolding.
I murmur a soft, “Good night,” to Father as we cross the threshold of our home. Everyone else is already asleep. But I know that even though I should rest, sleep will evade me.
As soon as the sun rises, the Convening will finally be upon me, and the Tribunal will begin.
7
The Tribunal has a uniform. It’s a simple pair of dark-gray woolen trousers—sturdy and suitable for just about anything. A loose white shirt of a soft nettle fabric with long sleeves that I roll up to my elbows. The collar swoops, but not very low. And a leather jerkin over it with a wonderfully high collar. I won’t have to put the upper part of my scar on display.
