Yet another part of her—a small part—leaned forward, yearning for the light and rightness and goodness. It was the small flame of hope that her aunt had lit in her chest all those years back, with a single sentence.
It had been in a temple just like this, the moon weeping above snow-covered grounds and casting a cold light over Mama’s new tomb. She’d been eight years old. Ana knelt beneath the statues of the four Deities, their expressions stern and ungiving. She traced her fingers over the marble, carved in the exact features of her mother’s face, long eyelashes that cast half-moon shadows over high cheekbones, and vibrant curls that had always seemed so full of life. The only thing the marble did not capture, Ana thought as she stroked the small crook between Mama’s nose and cheeks, was the rich fawn of her mother’s skin when she had been alive; the healthy glow to her smile that seemed to light the world.
Ana’s fingers drew the same patterns over and over on the marble’s cold white face, mingling with her tears.
It had only been one moon, yet with Mama’s absence, the winter that swept over Salskoff that year was cold and stark, the snows harsh and unforgiving.
“Why?” Ana’s whisper had lingered in the air between her and the marble Deities, small and forlorn. “Why did you take her?”
Stubbornly, they remained quiet. Perhaps it was true that the Deities did not listen to an Affinite’s prayers.
A warm hand slid over her shoulders, and Ana jumped. Instinctively, she swept a hand over her face to clear it of tears before turning around.
The Grand Countess’s quiet eyes, the color of pale tea, met hers. It was a few moments before Morganya spoke. “Your mother meant the world to me,” she whispered, and Ana had no doubt that was true. It was Mama who had found Morganya all those years ago in a village, her body battered from the torturers who had kidnapped her from her orphanage and beaten her. Mama had brought Morganya to the Palace, and they’d grown closer than sisters.
“Have your prayers worked?” Even after all those years, Morganya’s voice had not lost the quiet, cautious timbre of the downtrodden.
Ana hesitated. “I’m not…They don’t…I don’t think…”
“You don’t think they listen to Affinites’ prayers.” The words were uttered softly, but they cut deeper than any blade. Ana bowed her head, shame filling the silence.
Morganya tucked Ana’s hair behind her ear in a way that reminded her so much of Mama that she wanted to cry. “I’ll tell you a secret,” the Countess continued. “They’ve never answered mine, either.”
“But you’re—”You’re not an Affinite.
Morganya gripped Ana’s chin and lifted Ana’s face to meet her eyes. “There is no difference between you and me, Anastacya,” she said softly. “The Deities have long sent me a message through their silence.” A steely glow sharpened Morganya’s gaze. “It is nottheirduty to grant us goodness in this world, Kolst Pryntsessa. No, Little Tigress—it is up tousto fight our battles.”
Her aunt’s use of Mama’s nickname for her brought fresh tears to her eyes. But she spoke past the aching knot in her throat. “It’s up to us to fight our battles,” she repeated, her voice tiny but a little firmer.
Morganya nodded. “Remember that. Anything you want, you have to take it for yourself. And you, Kolst Pryntsessa, were chosen by the Deities to fight the battles that they cannot in this world.”
It had been difficult to understand her mamika’s words back then. Confined to the two windows of her chambers and the four walls of her Palace, she had found it hard to fathom that she had the choice to fight any battles at all, let alone imagine that the Deities had marked her.
But perhaps her aunt had been right, Ana now realized as she sat beneath the cool, moonlit gaze of the same silent Deities. The Deities had never answered her prayers—but perhaps all those years of silence were a message.It is up to us to fight our battles in this world.
Her eyes landed on the carving of a young child sitting in a field. Petals whirled around her in a phantom wind, and her eyes were crinkled with laughter. The first time Ana had woken up in that empty barn, May had crouched in the snow outside, nursing a small flower back to life. Ana thought of when she had followed May back to her employer’s house; of the woman’s spiteful words and sharp hands.
She thought of the broker back at Kyrov, of his cold eyes and pale hair. Of the Imperial Patrols, cloaks billowing the bright whites and blues of Cyrilia, tiger insignia roaring proudly on their chests.
Of the yaeger crouched before her in defeat, hunter turned victim.
Of May staggering, eyes wide with surprise, as the arrow hit her. Of the blackstone wagon doors swinging shut.
How had the Empire fallen to this? The Cyrilian Empire Ana had always held so fiercely and faithfully in her heart was as proud and as strong as its white tiger sigil, its laws unimpeachable and its rulers benevolent. Yet what she had witnessed the past few days told her otherwise. Sinister shadows had sprung up in the spaces between laws, preying on those without the protection of status or wealth.
Or had it always been like this? Ice crawled up her veins, and Ana thought of how quickly mamika Morganya had been dismissed the time she had brought up Affinite indenturement. Of the way the Palace courtiers had whispered about Mama’s Southern Cyrilian origins. Of how Ana had been deemed a monster solely because of her Affinity.
Perhaps, Ana thought, the world had never been fair. She had only noticed too late.
But her mamika was right.
If there was to be fairness in this world, it wasn’t to be granted by the Deities. And it started one step at a time.
By the time Ramson’s footsteps sounded down the hallway, Ana had made up her mind. “We’re going after May,” she said quietly as he strolled into view, clutching two rolls of bread wrapped in a handkerchief.
Ramson sat down across from her and set the rolls on his lap. “You sound convinced.” He tilted his head back and waved at the wall carvings around them. “Let me guess: being the devout dama that you are, you probably prayed to the Deities—and of course, they advised you to do therightthing, and not the expedient, selfish thing.”
“The Deities don’t answer my prayers,” she replied.
