At last, Ilys guided her through the final binding.
“Through fate and beyond…”
“Through… fate and beyond…”
“We walk as one.”
“We walk as… one.”
When the last words faded, the priestess pressed the heavy book between their joined hands, her tone low and reverent.
“And the Veil bears witness,” declared Mother Inrith. “Now, take her hand. Read from the pages and press upon her a new name, one of the Veil.”
Ilys’s heart pounded. Her thoughts betrayed her, circling the question she had long ago buried:What had my name been?It prickled at the back of her mind, unreachable.I am not Ilys,she thought,not truly.The child’s hand tightened in hers.
Ilys turned the pages with her free hand. Names spilled before her eyes. None belonged to this child. None fit.Why me?she thought.Should it not be the King’s right to name her?
But when she looked again at the girl, she saw only Hanna. A name as rooted as the child herself. A name that could not be erased.
“Hanna,” Ilys announced, voice firming.
Mother Inrith’s head tilted, her mouth a thin line. “That name does not belong to the Veil, Ilys.” She lingered on Ilys’s name like a lash, her voice a harsh whisper.
“Hanna,” Ilys repeated, louder, surer. “The Fates whispered it to me themselves.”
The girl squealed with delight. “I am Hanna!” She pressed close to the veiled figure without fear.
Mother Inrith snapped the book shut. “Hanna, then.” She turned to the priestesses. “Tend to the girl.” As she swept past Ilys, her skirts brushed the floor, her voice low and warning near the veil. “Careful, little Veilwalker.”
Chapter 25
Twenty-fourth year in the life of Ilys of the Veil
Death did not return.
Two winters had passed, and still, he remained absent.
But the work continued. Hanna’s small hand trembled around the hilt of the knife, her wide eyes stayed fixed on the rabbit’s blood seeping into the greedy earth. Morrigan paced nearby, hackles raised, tail stiff with agitation. He had been like this ever since Hanna came into their keeping, territorial to the point of menace. The great black dog circled them now, a low whine in his throat.
Ilys knelt beside her, stabilizing Hanna’s hand until the trembling stilled. “You did well,” she affirmed.
It struck her then how quickly the years had passed since the naming, how fully Hanna had lodged herself into her heart. Two years, and the girl had become a constant at her side, her laughter bright as bells, her trust immediate and unguarded.Ilys loved her, fiercely and tenderly. She clung to the feeling and fought it all the same. Love had never been durable in her experience.
Hanna swallowed, still staring at the rabbit. “What now?” she whispered.
“Now,” Ilys directed, “we give it to the Veil.”
Hanna’s fingers tightened around the knife. “Will you say it with me?”
Ilys shifted so they knelt side by side. “Thy thread is cut.”
Hanna’s breath caught before she whispered, “Thy thread is cut.”
“Thy name is lost.”
“Thy name… is lost.”
“The Veil shall hold.”
