If her death wakes something in the deep, then she will bring more shame down on her House with that one act than she could have accomplished in a lifetime of disobedience. They will hate her for it. I wonder if Lady Malker has already struck her daughter’s name from the family tree.
Cat HellisenLike all high-Lammers, I am a lucky accident of birth, gifted with a talent that can be expanded by something as simple as a mineral. A mineral unfortunately rare and extremely addictive. This—this dust—rules our lives. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better had there been no magic at all.
Cat HellisenI think I want to sleep,” I say. And I do, really, I do. The last thing I want is to be awake and to think about how Ilven escaped from the life she didn’t want. And why she never spoke to me, told me, warned me. Perhaps I could have changed her mind. It occurs to me that she never meant to meet me under the trees—that she knew me well enough to predict that I would wait only so long before I left—because then she could take the Leap without any chance of me witnessing her from my tower. My heart goes small, and every limb feels too heavy to lift.
Cat HellisenWitch-sign, they said. Little eddies, like miniature storms breaking the surface of the ocean. Witch-signs rise up in great numbers, last a few minutes, and then disappear. When the whirlpools are gone, all that’s left is floating petals. Black sea roses.
Anomalies.
I’m not afraid. A queer chill settles into my bones, and I huddle, pulling my knees closer to my chest. What if Ilven’s death really did raise something up out of the waters? But those stories Nala is talking about—they’re just … fancies. There’s no real truth to them, they’re Hob tales. That’s what our House crake taught me. Of course, Ilven always did find the old stories fascinating and told me how she secretly wished that they were still real, that there was more to magic than just the scriv-forced power of the Houses.
Oh Ilven. Bound now below the sea, caught in the kelp forests, nibbled at, her hair full of crabs and little ghost shrimp, a ghost herself. I choke on a sadness so sharp that it has sliced me in two.
I grit my teeth and wonder if it would matter if I strangled Dash in his sleep. Or poisoned his tea. I wonder what his neck would feel like under my fingers.
Cat HellisenSomeone here died, I realize. Someone these people loved and cared for. I’m not the only person in the world tangled up in grief.
Cat HellisenWe’re going to watch the sun set,” he says. “I’m not sitting here any longer. Too much misery in this room. I need out.”
Lils sneers. “And you want us to all traipse off to the garden and watch the sun set because you hate dealing with reality?”
“I can deal with reality perfectly well,” he says back, grinning. “I just don’t see why I should.
He sits down on the edge of the bed. “I wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t food or family.” There’s no humor in his thin smile. “I wanted to talk to someone who had enough courage to take what she wanted.
Cat HellisenI pull my mostly dry shawl tighter around my shoulders and dip my head so that I don’t have to look into their eyes and see the thoughts there.
Lammer-whore.
I am not this thing. I raise my head sharply, and with my chin jutted out I walk alongside Jannik, willing these Gris-damned bats to say something, anything. The anger waits inside me, cold and ready. Even I know it’s just a façade. I’m so scared now that I have nowhere left to go. My armor is frost thin and just as useful.
Just sleep here.” At my sharp look he laughs. “I’ll take the floor, and I’ll get you to your job on time. I promise.”
“You’re full of promises.” But the thought of sleeping in a soft bed with warm blankets is appealing. And I understand Jannik now. I’m his symbol of hope, his reason to believe that one day he too can throw off the shackles of his family.
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