"Nearlytwo weeks?" She exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief. It all felt impossible. It felt horrific. She'd been under the impression that she had only been gone for a few days. Nymiria whirled around, prepared to spill the truth, but that noose tightened on her throat again, rendering her voice useless. She shook her head and moved forward again. “Where is Dieve? Can you get me to Dieve or Phyona? It’s an emergency, Hilla. I need them.”
With a quick glance around the foyer, Hilla gripped Nymiria’s arm and tugged her back into the night. The women ran towards the forest, past the God Stone and the Anam altar where Aziel had offered his blood to her, past the cracked and broken Mortem altar mere yards away. They hurdled over fallen trees, stumbled over roots and branches, until the image of a cabin came into view.
Chapter 24
Smoke billowed from the chimney, the windows glowing with a buttery light that warmed Nymiria’s aching bones. When they reached the door, Hilla knocked. Dieve swung open the door, her old face scrunched and angry, her eyes tired. “What on earth are you girls doing running around this time of night?” She snapped. “Get in this house immediately.” She stepped aside and allowed them entrance, tapping her cane against their ankles as they went. When the door sealed shut behind them, Dieve finally turned and scowled. “Well?” She demanded.
Nymiria came forward, still dragging in sharp and quick breaths. “I need your help. He did this.” She turned around, pulling her hair away from her ear until she was sure the rune would be revealed. “I think he made it invisible.”
Dieve stepped closer to her, her wrinkled and knotted finger brushing over the small ridges of the witchlock. Months ago, before Phyona first removed the witchlocks her mother had placed on her back, Nymiria had lived with them for the greaterpart of a decade. They were used to nullify powers, either as a whole or towards certain individuals. She wasn't entirely certain what limitations Everand had given her with these locks, but she could feel the power inside of her fighting against it, rising and falling like a violent wave against the power that confined them. Dieve’s concern, her anger, was palpable. “Who did this?”
She opened her mouth, but only a strangled sound came out. “I… I can’t—”
“Fine.” Dieve huffed and turned towards the stairs. “Phyona! Get down here!”
A few moments passed and the young girl was gliding down the staircase, her hand curled around the tíortha Nymiria had given her so many months ago. “Nymiria?”
“Witchlock.” Dieve hobbled towards the cabinets on the other side of the parlor, already grabbing herbs and cloths that would be needed for the procedure. “She can’t say who did it, so I’m going to need to look for other binding spells, as well.” She turned to Nymiria. “You know the drill, little flower. Down you go.” A gnarled finger extended towards the work table at the center of the room.
Nymiria wasted no time in climbing on top of it, keeping her hair pulled to one side as Phyona approached. They set to work immediately. And though the process was rushed, Phyona was as thorough as ever. Nymiria was prepared for the fire that accompanied the removal of those runes. Her skull felt as if it would split open, every muscle in her body screaming in pain as she gripped at the edges of the table and screamed. Hilla kept firm hands pressed against her shoulders to limit movement.
Soon, but not soon enough, that sickly smell of rot filled the air. “He knew my mother.” Was all Nymiria could say. Over and over again, she repeated those words. The three women before her rattled off names of suspects, but none of them were correct. “Mimics!” She blurted. “The Mimics!”
She hoped that they would understand. And by the slight gleam in Dieve’s eyes, she knew the old crone had finally understood. “The God of Deceit is in Eadyn?”
Nymiria screamed, but only because she couldn’t say yes.
“This is not good.” The older woman huffed, wiping her hands clean upon the apron tied at her waist. She was covered in that horrendous black-tinged blood from the witchlock, her wrinkles like valleys on her face, deepened with concern. “Flower, has he forced you to conceal the truth?”
Nymiria nodded, her tongue swelling with the words she could not say. “Is there anything we can do to fix it?” She rasped.
The silence penetrated the small cabin, Dieve’s worried eyes glowing orange in the firelight. She drew in a breath and held it for a moment before speaking. “Let me look at you again,” she said, finally, crooking a knobby finger at her.
Nymiria moved forward, slowly, her legs feeling weighted and that place behind her ear throbbing. Dieve placed her hands on Nymiria’s shoulders and forced her more into the light, bending down and twisting her head as she tilted Nymiria’s body in different angles, working with the shadows and the light.
And then, with a quick inhale, Dieve was moving away from her, that already-present frown growing deeper. Nymiria’s stomach twisted, fear flooding her. “What is it?” She asked quietly.
“You made a binding pact with him, didn’t you? You made a bargain?” Dieve’s point of concentration drew Nymiria’s eyes to the center of her chest, a social of some sort glowing like embers of a fire against her skin. The hair on her arms prickled, eyes rounding helplessly.
Shehadmade a bargain. She’d sworn herself to secrecy, to be complicit, in order to keep her loved ones safe. Nymiria nodded stiffly. “What does this mean?”
“Nymiria,” Dieve sighed. “You made a deal with a god. I’m not sure there is a way to undo what you’ve done… but we can try.”
There was no room for her to feel hopeful. It felt as if the most vital part of her plan would fail. Sheneededto tell Aziel the truth. And even if Dieve’s attempts at helping her remove whatever magic that held her tongue and her truth captive resulted in failure, Nymiria already determined that she would still do her best.
It wouldn’t be tonight, she knew. Everand would be awake within hours and her disappearance might incite him to do something horrible to those she loved.
Suddenly it came to her that the most she could do to prove her devotion and intentions was to mark her body with it. If words could not reveal the truth, the sacred practices of their culturecould.
She would mark herself as a mated woman.
Hours later, after the pain in her head started to subside, Dieve handed Nymiria a glass of whiskey. Nymiria drank it as if it were water, her entire heart on the verge of shattering completely. Because it tasted like him.
Aziel.
They’d had no luck in removing whatever magic that kept her from speaking. Everand’s powers were strong, that much Dieve could tell. And while she hadn’t allowed herself to be hopeful, she still felt that bone-deep ache of disappointment and sorrow.
So she sat there, thinking of everything—thinking of Everand, of her family, of her friends. Thinking of Aziel, who had probably been so sick with worry that he’d raged against anything that stood in his path. There was only one plan left that Nymiria had. And if it didn’t work, Aziel would have to watch her marry someone else. She thought that death would be better than having to face that.
