“Do you understand, Sylina?” she said, when I did not answer.
It was the first time she’d called me by that new name. It felt good to hear it, like I’d just been let into an open door.
I nodded, my mouth dry. “Yes. I understand.”
I knew, even then, that this was another test. I’d been tested before they allowed me into the Salt Keep. The ability to withstand pain was a non-negotiable skill. I was good at withstanding pain. I showed the Sisters so, and I had the broken fingers to prove it. Decades later, I would still feel a bit of pride when I touched my left hand.
The Sightmother had smiled at me, and then nodded to the Sister at my side.
When it was done, tears streamed down my face, and blood pooled in the back of my throat—from my tongue, which I had bitten so hard I couldn’t eat solids for a week.
It was worth it, though. They told me later I was the only recruit that didn’t make a sound.
I no longer noticed the Sightmother’s blindfold, because I, like all my Sisters, had my own. Tonight, I wore my red one, the same shade that the Sightmother had donned when she leaned over me that day, fifteen years ago. An accidental coincidence, and I only thought of it now, as I sat at the gathering table with my Sisters, my fingertips in the gritty pile of salt that had been spread along the large, circular table. Forty of us gathered here, each pressing our hands to the salt—our grounding connection to each other, and to the Weaver, the Lady of Fate, the goddess Acaeja, to whom we had all sworn our unending loyalty.
But I was acutely aware of the empty chairs. More empty still since our last meeting, when Asha and I returned from the south the day the invasion began.
It was impossible not to feel their absence. The breaks in the chain, the expanses of salt left untouched.
Raeth was lost in their initial landfall. And then, later, Vima was lost in Breles. Another city conquered by our invaders, another lost Sister.
The vampires moved quickly. They didn’t waste time. It was clear that their goal was to take over all of Glaea—why else would they start at the southernmost shores and then move slowly north?
So, it was not a surprise to me when the Sightmother cleared her throat and said, “The vampires have taken Vaprus.”
Utter silence. But we all felt the ripple of fear, of grief, through the threads.
I tilted my head to the third empty chair. I didn’t need to ask to know the truth. But a young Sister, Yylene, said weakly, “Amara?”
The Sightmother let out a long exhale. We all sensed her sadness before her words came. “She has been lost.”
Yylene bit her lip, sagging a little over the table. She was only seventeen. Loss still hit her deep. But then, I supposed it hit us all deep. We just learned how to cover the wounds with other things. Stitch it up with the threads of our next task.
My jaw tightened, and I tried to exhale my frustration before anyone else could sense it. My whole life, I had never felt more seen, more accepted, than I was here at this table—connected to all my Sisters, to my Sightmother, to the goddess Acaeja herself.
But these last few weeks, what had once felt like connection had started to feel stifling, as it grew harder and harder for me to strangle the shameful thoughts I was not supposed to feel.
“Do we have any further insight into what they want, Sightmother?” Asha asked. I found it slightly satisfying that I could hear, could feel, the tinge of anger in her words, too.
“I assume,” the Sightmother said mildly, “they want to conquer.”
“The Obitraens have never conquered a human nation before.”
Obitraens—those of the continent of Obitraes, the home of vampires and the domain of Nyaxia, the heretic goddess. Obitraes consisted of three kingdoms: the House of Shadow, the House of Night, and the House of Blood. They squabbled among themselves, but had never been known to venture forth into human nations—at least, certainly not as a coordinated act. And this? This was nothing if not coordinated. This was an army.
“We know that the House of Blood is the most unpredictable of the vampire nations,” the Sightmother said. “It’s impossible now to say why they have moved.”
“Has there not been a formal declaration?” Asha asked.
“No. The king of the House of Blood has offered no declaration of war.”
“Then this man… this commander… could he be acting independently?”
“We can’t say.”
There was a certain weakness in the Sightmother’s voice at that—a helplessness from a woman who was never helpless. I hated hearing it.