“Complacency does not create strength,” she said again. “Not in you. Not in Glaea, either. You have fire, Sylina. Think of a version of yourself who was not forged in those flames. Think of how soft you would be.” She shook her head. “That is not what’s Right for this country.”
Right. As if this is what Acaeja wanted for us.
I put my hands under the table, folded over my lap, terrified they would betray me. I could control my presence, but damn if I could control those shaking hands.
“It’s… a shock,” I said. “The truth of the king.”
“I know. It will take time to come to terms with it.”
“How long…？”
The rest of the question faded into too many others: How long has the Pythora King been dead? How long have you been ruling over a never-ending war? How many deaths are on your hands?
My sister’s? My mother’s?
“Does it matter?” she asked.
Yes, I wanted to say. It matters more than anything. But instead I lowered my chin, as if to concede. “No. I suppose it doesn’t.”
“A long time,” she said. She took another sip of her wine. The smell of it was too pungent—it was a ceremonial drink, I was sure, likely loosening her lips and her inhibitions in preparation for the ceremony she’d soon have to perform.
“Who else knows?”
I dreaded the answer to this question. Because despite everything, they were my Sisters.
“The Sightmother who came before me,” she said. “Two of my highest advisors. And now, you. It’s… a truth most aren’t ready to understand. I’ve gone through great lengths to protect it.”
I thought of the various Sisters who had been shunned from the Arachessen, punished with death and dismemberment for crimes never disclosed to us. I wondered whether any of them had simply been removed for knowing too much.
“Yet you’re letting me live,” I said.
“I told you, child, that we would need your fire for what’s ahead.” The smile she gave me was so warm, so loving—so sickeningly genuine. I could even feel her pride and affection in her presence. “Do you know what your name means, Sylina? It means bringer of rebirth, in the tongue of the gods. I saw your greatness when I meditated on you, that day I brought you here and found that name for you. Fate is ever-changing. I wasn’t sure if you would come to fulfill those expectations. But now, I believe that you can. The offering you’ve brought us has convinced me of that. That’s why I want you here to meet Acaeja with me. Because you are the future of the Arachessen. The flame in which we forge the next version of ourselves. I saw that fifteen years ago, and I see it even more clearly today.”
My eyes stung. The lump in my throat had grown unbearable. If I opened my mouth, I’d sob.
The Sightmother held out her hand, and I laid mine in hers. Her thumb rubbed comforting circles over my skin.
“You have won, Sylina,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “Now come with me, and help me forge this new world.”
She swallowed the last of her wine in a single gulp, then rose.
When she held out her hand for me again, I took it.
45
It’s a tricky business to get the attention of a god—a matter of luck and fate. Some gods were busybodies, often meddling in the affairs of their human followers, likely to notice even minor slights. Others were aloof, disinterested in the land of mortals altogether. Most varied between the two, depending on your favor and their moods. Some humans were gifted summoners, able to draw upon the gods at will, but that was a rare, rare power. For most of us, summoning a god demanded complicated rituals and powerful magic, and even then, you might not manage it.
If you did, you’d better have something interesting enough to show them. Gods did not like having their time wasted.
The Sightmother did not plan on wasting Acaeja’s time.
She led me to the roof of the Salt Keep, over the west wing, an area that I had never been allowed. I had only seen this platform once before, and only from a distance. It was carved directly into the obsidian stone of the Keep—a large, circular base, two steps around it.
It was a calm night, the sky clear, revealing the full moon. The sound of the distant waves crashing against the rocks, far below us, was a constant, steady heartbeat.
I could recognize all those things. And yet, the old image of the scraps of color floating in the winds came to me now, and I so desperately wished I could see it all from up here. A sight that my ten-year-old self no doubt would have found incredible.