What are they waiting for?
There’s one thing I know for sure: I need to get the hell out of this castle.
Finn didn’t seem disgusted by my Talent. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. I am the being he was bred to hate and kill, the monster his kingdom has sworn to hunt.
Only two considerations stop me from walking straight out the palace gates this very moment. The first is Cygnus. After all we endured together while trying to get through the gates, it doesn’t feel right to abandon him and our mission without saying goodbye. Surely he’ll understand why I can’t stay.
The second consideration is the omnidraught. As much as I’d like to run to the Ironwoods without a backward glance, duty demands that I at least pass off the work I’ve done. Am I in mortal danger every moment I stay in this castle? Yes. Almost certainly. But how many innocents would die if I just vanished to save my own skin?
Eventually, I get up and dress. I find Anna in the hospital, which is pandemonium in the wake of the attack.
“Hi. Glad you’re up,” she says. “We’ve got laundry coming out our asses if you feel up to it.”
I nod dizzily, looking out over the wreckage.
“Do you know exactly what happened?” I ask, my throat raw.
“We’re still trying to figure that out.” She sounds very tired. “The attackers were a mix of Ursandorn soldiers and Elves. No one knows how they got in the city. At this point, our best guess is that they flew over the mountains somehow.”
My gut twists. I picture dragons, Verdin’s weapon of choice. The legends say they died after the fyres. I wonder, with risingdread, if the Elves found out some way to resurrect the dragons. Are we resorting to all the empire’s most terrible weapons? Is nothing off-limits?
But I don’t have time to think about the Elves’ war tactics. “Where is Cygnus?”
“He’s with the queen. She moved him into the North Tower to attend to Sebastian.”
Anna hurries back to her work, and I stay rooted in place. Frowning.
I can’t risk meeting Cygnus in front of Queen Davina. But I don’t think anyone else in this hospital would have a prayer of finishing what Ragglestaff and I started. I probably should have just trusted him from the beginning. I curse all the stupid, egotistical reasons I didn’t.
I head to the storehouse alone, intending to write Cygnus a letter with instructions. But when I close the door behind me and look out at my work, the finely ground ingredients, the alchemized liquids dripping through the gleaming instruments—a rush of willfulness overcomes me. I’ll try one more time.One.If it works, it’s meant to be. If it’s not…I’ll walk away with my conscience clean.
I pull out my mortar and pestle to grind the last of the cliffcrow feathers I gathered. Then I snatch up a notebook of Ragglestaff’s and lay it open before me. The main problem is the catalyst. I’ve already tried Ironwood sap, hydra venom, dead nettle nectar, selkie tears: all the activators I’ve trained with. I’m out of ideas.
I can almost hear Mother’s voice.Being a Healer means that you give until you have nothing left. Then you give more.
Please, I pray to Elowyn—to any Gods who might be listening.I’ve done all I can. Give me something.
I flip through the pages, skimming nonsense I’ve already reviewed countless times. I turn past endless passages aboutpain, illegible charts mapping bloodlines, whole pages of the same phrases scrawled over and over:GIVEN NOT BORN GIVEN NOT BORN GIVEN NOT BORN…
IT IS NOW IT IS NOW IT IS NOW IT IS NOW…
THE FOUR WILL COME THE FOUR WILL COME THE FOUR WILL COME…
I turn the pages faster and faster, growing more desperate and furious. Finally, I just snatch up the whole notebook and hurl it at the wall. A page slices my finger open, and I yank my hand back, sucking the blood off my finger with a scowl.
Stupid, Gods-damnuselessbook.
Stupid, Gods-damnuselessTalent.
I pound the cliffcrow feathers ferociously, slamming the pestle as if doing so with enough force will turn back the clock. For every person I have tried to help, I’ve hurt even more. Maybe I saved Sebastian’s life, but how many will die because I just can’t stay here and finish the job I was tasked with? I give up on praying and start cursing everything instead. Curse the Gods. Curse the Verdish. Curse Finn and his cowardice. Curse the infernal bloodborne magic that never brings me anything except pain.Somuch pain.
I stop grinding.
I’m frozen. Transfixed. And then all at once, inspiration blasts through me like lightning—just the way it did when I was knee-deep in the lake, trying to save Cygnus. Fractured pieces fly together, clicking into place: the chalice, the catalyst, my pain, my Talent coursing through my blood….
Blood. Is blood the catalyst?
I dump the powdered cliffcrow feathers into the cauldron with my latest attempt at the onmidraught.
