Finlyr grimaces and calls up. ‘You wanted to know how that ballista works right, Isagani?’
chapter forty-three
hanan
‘Dress warmly,’ I amtold when I open the door to my chambers.
It’s the first time I’ve spoken with Salvacion since that disgusting display in the throne room, but any honest words die in my throat when I see she’s accompanied by other Seaguardians. They wait for me to get ready and then escort me down to the docks.
I try to feel the smooth wood of the bird talisman in my pocket, but it’s no good through the thick gloves. Much of the Bastion remains a mystery to me, with only the queen holding the keys and the knowledge to wander the halls freely. It is strangely soothing to be back here, remembering the innocent who arrived at the dock bewildered and hopeful.
A Seaguardian helps me into a boat, and Salvacion assists the queen into another. The queen has the princess in a sling wrapped around her as we are rowed through the aqueduct. I try to still my hands, which itch to hold the baby. Raina’s cries echo around the tunnel; we are all ill at ease. Unlike the last time, I take in everything, surveying the tunnel and wondering at its strange workings. Set into one section of the stone wall is a metal door with intricate grooves and a lever for a handle. I survey it discreetly as we row by.
‘Mothers Joca and Lin, Your Grace,’ the Seaguardian announces, tying the boat to the dock.
I turn to confirm the sight with my own eyes. Mother Lin smiles thinly at me, and Mother Joca nods stiffly. They both look in fine fettle with a giddy energy about them. The royals never visited Aistra in my years at the temple. What are we doing here?
The Seaguardian lands and offers a hand to the queen, who continues to clutch Raina close to her.
‘You have done fine work in bringing Hanan to my attention,’ the queen says, leading the procession. The Seaguardians stay close and Mothers Lin and Joca trail her. ‘She is exactly what I was looking for.’
‘Your Majesty is too kind.’
I scramble up to the dock on shaking legs and follow the party to the light at the end of the tunnel, blinking in the winter sun.
‘We are so honoured you have chosen to grace us with your presence,’ Mother Lin fawns, breathlessly. After a moment she adds, ‘To what do we owe such a privilege? Your last missive did not say.’
There is a pregnant pause so long and awful that I watch Mother Lin’s cheeks spot pink, as though she had been slapped by the queen. Instead, the queen lets her gaze glance off her like a blade on ice. ‘It has been too long since the Bastion set foot on this soil.’
‘You look well, Hanan,’ Mother Joca says bluntly, staring openly at my fine gown, the fullness of my cheeks. I have been eating better than I ever have here, my outward appearance of health betraying the fatigue in my bones.
‘Priestess Hanan,’ Salvacion corrects.
Mother Joca looks at Salvacion as though she were a weed that had sprouted a mouth.
‘I wish to see the Tree of Life,’ the queen says, already proceeding towards the temple.
‘But Your Grace, the Sisters are in prayer,’ Mother Joca protests, keeping pace. ‘We can clear your way if you give us—’
‘No need. We shall be efficient.’
Salvacion and the other Seaguardians flank her, opening doors and securing routes as she walks, never breaking stride. I follow in her wake, and we’re all swept along and at the great Tree before I can let the sick feeling in my stomach rise.
The queen stands before the Tree, its long branches dancing. There is an outer layer of branches, thick hair-like vines, beyond which I glimpse the inner tree and the vivid colours of the bark. It has grown layers to protect itself, and now the Tree is opening up to us, revealing its heart and core. It pulses and breathes, streaks of colour radiating as if lit from within. A mist emanates from its roots, a hazy blue cloud that forms into figures. Eyes and mouths emerge from the fog, open and hungry. The queen sighs, and the sound echoes around us. The princess wakes then, as if rising from her slumber at her final destination. She stretches in her sling, making those small noises to let us know she is ready to be in the world.
‘Look where we are, my love,’ the queen whispers to her daughter.
I turn my gaze back to the Tree, unable to witness this tenderness. There is a withered stump where part of the limb has been cleaved, weeping sap. I lean on my cane and it burns beneath my grip.
Mother Lin notices my gaze and then stares at my walking aid. ‘I’m glad to see it go to good use.’
The bile rises then. Good use? Our sacred Tree has been butchered, not truly in service of my body, but in service of the queen’s greed. Up in the library, faces peer down at us, half concealed behind tomes and stacks. The Tree has never moved so much; it threatens to brush the brickwork of the courtyard built around it. Some of the Temple Sisters have taken note of our interrupter, their faces eager and eyes wide. To look upon royalty is to look upon the sun. This is what I had always believed.
I move forward to the queen’s side. ‘Your Grace, what are we doing here?’
‘Hanan,’ she says, her voice strange and distant. ‘Now comes the harvest.’
She places my palm onto the Tree, her own hand atop mine. The bark bites and oh, Aistra, it hits me hard like the rush of falling. I can’t breathe. The energy vibrates and hums into my bones, ricocheting through my body. I try to absorb it, to filter it, to maintain it. I can’t control the power. I’ve never felt so raw, as though the Tree’s entire being flows through me. Blood pools in my mouth and chokes me as I try to scream. My skin feels like it’s on fire, flesh melting from my bones.
