How much have those stalking eyes seen? How much does she know?
I return the mooncrystal to my pocket, cradle the map to my chest, and sprint to the palace, to the safety of our chambers, the protection of the Quaternity. Serafine takes wing, following close overhead.
I’ll have to tell them. I’ll have to tell them everything.
Phantom footsteps chase me as I run; high, cruel laughter rings in my ears. Spiced smoke thickens the air. Real or imagined? I no longer know.
There’s only one thing I’m sure of.
The Faceless Woman is faceless no longer.
*
ICLAMBERTHEpalace stairs two at a time, Serafine streaking ahead. The rest of the Quaternity are gathered in the receiving chamber, already on their feet, when I cross the threshold. Their expressions slacken in relief as I step into the room. I was worried resentment might have festered during my absence, but any lingering tension seems to have dissipated.
‘Leilani, I’m sorry.’ Astrophel takes my arm and steers me into one of the wingchairs to catch my breath. ‘We’ve behaved like fools. You never asked for this. We should be easing your burdens, not adding to them.’
The others nod, staring down at the dusty floors in contrition.
All save Blayze, who thrusts out his chest, ruffling Serafine’s crest as she settles back on his shoulder. ‘So?’ he asks. ‘How did it go?’
Everyone’s looking at me. Their eyes brightening. Hopeful.
To think I was excited to share my news about the map with them, to finally have something to celebrate, a victory to cling to. Now my discovery in the Starshrine feels trivial – any triumph, hollow.
I swallow. I can’t face telling them about Arden. Not yet. Watching the light drain from their eyes, horror replacing it. It’ll break me. I need time to digest this myself first. Cheeks tingling, I mumble something about needing rest, then stagger through the adjoining rooms, seeking the sanctuary of my bed.
Blayze comes in as I’m shrugging off my snow-laced furs.
‘Find what you were looking for, Sparkles?’
‘Yes.’ I collapse onto the bed, its weathered frame groaning under my weight.
‘Planning to tell us about it?’ Blayze shifts awkwardly in the doorway, worrying the torc about his neck. Behind him, Maris watches, arms tightly folded.
‘Looks like someone’s waiting for you.’ I roll over so my back is to him, a silent order for him to leave.
After a minute, his footsteps cross back to the other rooms. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the rising stench of decay.
*
THATNIGHT,Idream of the Faceless Woman again, and others like her.
They surround me. Some with their heads lopped off, defaced and effaced in one neat stroke. Others mutilated, unrecognisable, but not annihilated. Most piteous of all – those with their faces scrubbed out and painted over – whitewashed from history.
The faceless women begin to clamour. They lift their arms in supplication.
But what can I do?
One by one, they reclaim their features, till completed puzzles stand before me encircled by a swarm of swelling flames.
Tendrils of red hair flow down their backs like rivers of magma. A sea of eyes, the colour of molten bronze, flash in my direction. Lips collectively drawn in tight snarls of fury. It’s a single face staring back at me.
‘Arden,’ they whisper.
‘She’s coming for you,’ they hiss.
I startle awake. The procession of re-faced women melts away. Blayze is staring down at me, lantern in hand.
