We share the same darkness.
My chest aches at the thought that the parents who raised me weren’t my birth parents. I know family is more than just blood, but it feels like my life has been a lie. Between not even knowing I had magic, and only now finding out that the woman who gave birth to me was thequeenof Erleya. My gods …
There isn’t much time to dwell on any of this. I’m in desperate need of answers from the Purist and don’t want to delay any more than I already have. As I slip out of bed, Tiernan sits up, his hand immediately reaching for the sword that is,again,not on his back. He’s becoming jumpier by the day.
“It’s just me,” I say, hoping to keep my voice quiet.
His body noticeably relaxes. He blinks sleep out of his eyes and then groggily looks at me. “You’re awake early,” he signs.
I walk backward to the wardrobe with measured steps. “I had a strange dream,” I admit. “It felt like a dreamscape, but it wasn’t Carys. At least not by herself.”
Tiernan frowns.
“Yes, it confused me too.” I turn and reach into the wardrobe, choosing a cream-colored tunic and a muted blue skirt. Facing Tiernan again, I drape the clothes over my forearm to sign, “I couldn’t interact with Carys, but I could interact with the other woman. Winnie.”
“That’s interesting,” says Tiernan, his forehead creased in thought. Agreeing, I nod.
He begins getting dressed as well, and I leave the room to wake up Chiyo so we can all head to the Hatchling’s Nest early to drop Taig off.
Before the ninth morning bell, we make our way toward the training fields where Chiyo is sure that we’ll run into Ava. The grass is so trampled, there’s more dirt than greenery. On one side there are sparring busts and bullseyes, and on the other, there’s wide-open space. Already, it’s been overtaken by fighters training with magic and with weapons.
My heart thuds in time with my rapid steps as hundreds of clouds scatter across the sky, glowing pink and gold from the hidden rays of the sun. Ava is shouting at someone when we first spot her, but she halts the session as soon as we approach. Even knowing what I do now, her purposeful strides toward us, shoulders thrown back, arms swinging, makes me tense up. But today, despite her perpetually unimpressed face, there’s a hint of compassion in her eyes that I haven’t noticed before.
“What is it?” she asks impatiently. Her gaze falters on Chiyo momentarily, but she turns steely eyes back to me while Chiyo seems to struggle to contain a smile.
“I want to talk to the Purist,” I say.
Ava flicks a few of her braids over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” A muscle in her left cheek twitches, the corner of her lips momentarily quirking up. “You fit right in with the O’Hara clan.”
I’m not ready to consider myself an O’Hara, so I keep my mouth shut.
“The Purist is being kept at the Hold. I can walk you over there; just let me dismiss this session.”
I nod, and she turns to walk away. I keep my eyes on the trodden blades of grass as I try to think of what I’d even say to the Purist. There was so much she shouted at me that I couldn’t make out.
As soon as Ava returns, we head to the Hold in silence. The building stands on the other side of the infirmary, closest to the battlements at the invisible barricade formed by the wards. Stepping into the building, I expect to feel like I’m back in the brig again, but it feels nothing like that. There’s a small desk staffed by a portly man with wispy blond hair. A couple of guards, ununiformed save for a copper pin on their chests, stand on either side of a door.
Ava faces the man, who looks up from a small stack of paperwork. “This is Durvla Garrick … and friends,” she says. “We’ve come to see the Purist.”
The man looks uncertain, but he nods. Ava thanks him before approaching the guards. They salute, then the taller of the two opens the door and steps aside.
I expect to see iron bars and multiple cells, but a small room with a solitary chair and a commode in the corner greets us instead. My eyes follow iron chains bolted into the ground, ending in a cuff around the Purist’s ankle. Slumped in the chair, she lifts her head, wild silvery eyes peering out from her curtain of unkempt platinum hair. The whites of her eyes nearly swallow her irises as her gaze lands on me.
My pulse spikes. I glance at Tiernan and rapidly sign, “Can you translate for me if needed?”
“Of course,” he motions back.
The woman’s eyes go impossibly wide. “You’re deaf,” she says, seemingly befuddled.
“I am.” I step closer, and she noticeably flinches. “And you’re afraid of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I be afraid of a Basduun?”
My heart constricts. Why not, indeed? Taking a breath, I try not to let her words get to me. “How do you know I’m a Basduun?”
“I’ve been blessed by the same goddess who cursed your bloodline,” she spits. “The gods have blessed us with various gifts. The power to imbue talismans to track down evildoers. The power of discernment—to sense the magic that lies within the tainted many.”
Tiernan quickly translates for me, and I run the words through my mind. “Who are the tainted many?” I ask.
