I stay still, unsure what to do or say.
‘Everything fades eventually. Then it becomes dirt for seeds and the next harvest. That is the cycle of things, is it not?’
I nod, holding the stone bird in my pocket. She will tell me whether I want to hear or no. I would be stupid to do anything but lie there and listen.
‘It’s a delicate balance, and I take great pride in my duty as steward to Paranish.’ She pushes back a strand of hair and looks out the window again. ‘Not everyone understands that balance. The sacrifices it takes to maintain order.’
Beneath the potions and powders, even beneath the layer of my energy on her skin, she looks tired. She is beautiful, no doubt, in the austere and elegant way only someone born into privilege can be. She is soft of hand, and hard of look. For the first time I wonder ifshe loved the king. If she mourned his passing as more than a dutiful widow with a dominion to rule in his stead. But from what I knew about such arrangements, theirs was likely a political match rather than a union of affection.
My power can only sustain her and the princess for so long. She will always need more. This is what it has always been about. Paranishians are the soil underfoot in her garden. Our blood will make the mangoes taste divine.
‘I hope you understand that balance, Hanan. I’ve had such... disappointments.’ She smiles at me, and her look is one of genuine sadness, a hint of regret about the eyes. Then they are hard as stone again. ‘I would hate for you to dash my hopes.’
I sneak into the library as soon as she leaves. My body protests, but I don’t know how long I have until she begins to post guards at my door. I’m conscious the queen knows more than I assumed, but either way I’m cursed. I can only arm myself with knowledge.
I summon the Priestess Sinaya’s spirit as I did before. She smiles when she sees me. Can a ghost form new memories? Does she recognise me?
‘Priestess, I have need of your history.’
‘It is impossible to separate mine from the rest. We swim in the same water, all of us.’
‘What happened to you after you left the Bastion?’
‘I sought knowledge from the ones who practise the forbidden gift.’
I hold my breath, half expecting her to crumble into dust again. But she remains. ‘The forbidden gift – do you mean – necromancy?’
She says nothing.
‘Who were these people? How did you find them?’
‘That knowledge is lost to me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am a specimen trapped in glass. It is all a cycle: birth, death, rebirth.’
I try to hide my frustration and try a different tack. ‘I must know more about this squandered gift. What was it?’
‘Energy trapped in a gilded cage. It sustained them all. It was their plaything. They disrespected it.’
‘Energy, an object?’
She shakes her head.
‘A living vessel, then.’
She says nothing.
‘What happened to you?’
‘I don’t know if my plan succeeded. The rest of my story is lost to me. I can only hope I hid it well.’
‘Where did you plan to hide it?’
‘Take root where the sea meets the sky.’
She says nothing else of consequence. I still don’t understand how we’re communicating, how far her consciousness stretches. I feel a flicker of energy when I summon her, but it’s inconstant, unstable. The energy of the dead has always felt this way to me, but this temporary resurrection of the dead is bitter, burning.
