Icy coldness. Disorientation overwhelmed her; her perception of the outside world vanished, and she was lost in a frigid white vortex. Turning, turning, turning; the storm whipped around her and she had no control, no power, nothing to ground her. Through the suffocating cold, she sensed a foreign presence, something hungry and formless and intelligent. It could see her.
Without quite knowing what she was doing, Karys tried to flee deeper into the storm.
Stop! I’m not going to hurt you.
It was Ferain’s voice, but different: the tones richer and much, much closer. It seemed to come from every direction at once. Karys slowed, shrinking like cornered prey.
You have to stop panicking already.
Easy for you to say, she snapped. Nuliere alive, why did I agree to this?
Because you trust me.
The words were accompanied by a heady rush of feeling—something like pride or exhilaration, but more determined. The emotion swept through Karys and out into the swallowing white, startling in its intensity, its foreignness, its nearness. For a brief moment, the storm retreated.
Ferain, was that … you?
Exactly who else would it be? A touch of exasperation, faint amusement. Are you keeping anyone else prisoner in your shadow?
Then the realisation hit her like a blow. They weren’t speaking. They weren’t making any noise at all. He can hear my thoughts. Oh shit, he can hear that as well. And that. And—
Yes, correct, but try to—
He can hear me thinking.
And you can hear me too, so let’s call it even.
Embrace, he’s inside my head. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be—
I’m afraid it is, in fact, happening.
She wanted to curl into herself. There was nowhere to hide; Ferain’s mind pressed up against her own, so near that they almost melded into one. Every feeling and secret shame lay upon an altar before him, every unspeakable desire, every terrible part of her—all of it only a thought away. It was the most terrible intimacy, and there was no way out; no defence, no shelter, no respite. He was everywhere, and so was she.
I’m not looking, Karys.
But he would see anyway.
There’s a difference.
Her shadow stretched out of shape across the bathroom floor. His promise that she never needed to talk about her father, his stillness in Sabaster’s domain. Always, in his way, excruciatingly careful. She knew. Even now, she could sense him straining to hold himself back, trying not to touch her despite their proximity.
I’m afraid, she thought. It’s so cold here. Ferain, I’m afraid.
I know. I am too.
He was. His fear had a different taste to her own, less … acidic. It was shame and concern, laced with something else, something leashed so tight it might have strangled him. Through the white, Karys caught sight of moving shapes, misted figures. She tried to gather her mind, distance herself from her awareness of him.
Haeki and Winola, we have to warn them, she thought. I brought them here. If they—if Vuhas—
I won’t let that happen.
It will be my fault. Haeki. Please, not her. If anything—
Karys.
Embrace, I was so stupid and careless.
No, none of that. Anger, not directed toward her. The storm grew wilder, and then subsided again. None of this was your fault.
Am I dead?
A rush of guilt. Fear. No.
Dying, then?
Not if I have anything to do with it.
He said two people couldn’t exist in one body. That I would disappear.
You won’t.
He said you were in unspeakable pain.
What Vuhas said doesn’t matter. We’re not bound like he is to his victims. It’s different. We’re … partners.
He was avoiding the question. While he couldn’t lie, Ferain could still dodge. Think around the truth, refocus his attention to conceal his thoughts. That was worse, somehow, than just having him admit it.
Karys, no. It’s not like that.
She felt very tired. I wanted to help you.
You have. Deep pain, a twisting ache not unlike grief. Burning resolve. We are not like him, and you aren’t to blame for any of this.
The storm turned, growing louder, denser. I’m sorry.
Acute wordless denial from Ferain. The cold was closing in around them; it was getting harder for Karys to concentrate. Far away, she could make out Vuhas’ voice, although the words were garbled. He was speaking, offering congratulations.
I’m going to take care of this. Ferain’s thoughts reached her through the tumult. Hold on, okay?
“… there much resistance?” Vuhas was saying. “I wasn’t sure you could hear me.”
Ferain spoke through her mouth. It was the strangest feeling, but Karys lost what he said as the white swallowed her up completely. She drifted into some deeper, windswept nothingness. It was not so cold anymore, or maybe she had grown numb to the chill. She could not form thoughts; she was only aware of sensation. A sound like rushing water.
Then the world tilted back into focus. They were now inside a bright corridor. Ferain walked beside Vuhas, and they were talking.
“… source of New Favour’s aggression?”
“Not exactly,” said Vuhas. “They are looking for something called the ‘last harbour.’ A potential threat to the Ephirite’s interests, from what I could gather.”
A nauseous feeling in Ferain. “But what does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. They were fixated on that ambassadorial mission to Toraigus, but they don’t seem aware that you escaped, specifically. That’s my impression anyway—I myself was only able to identify you as the survivor after I caught wind of your dispatch to the Foreign Ministry. Connecting the dots, you know? The Ministry is keeping the affair as quiet as they can, but I’ve got a man on the inside.”
Ferain?
“Whatever the case, we can mitigate the threat,” continued Vuhas. “New Favour is looking for Eska—once we find a new vessel, that link will be severed and they won’t have any means of tracing you.”
Haeki and Winola are both safe for now, Ferain thought to her. Are you all right?
I think so.
“I still don’t understand how she worked that binding in the first place,” said Vuhas. “Or why. You say she was completely estranged from New Favour?”
Ferain’s tone was pleasant, at odds with his feelings. “It seemed that way. I think she meant to extort me. She appeared to believe that the binding would be reversible.”
“Oh, so she would release you in exchange for a fee? How very Mercian.” Vuhas shook his head. “Short-sighted on her part, although I have no idea how she managed to repress you so effectively.”
Karys did not feel entirely lucid; her senses were alien, her limbs moved without her intention. When Ferain spoke, she heard her own voice, but with his accent and inflections; when he walked, his stride was longer and his gait more relaxed. She had no recollection of this section of the house, no sense of how much time might have passed. The dislocation filled her with an inarticulate fear.
If you can, go back to sleep. Ferain continued to smile at Vuhas with her face. It will make this easier for me.
She could not make sense of the emotions that accompanied that instruction, but her mind was slipping and she obeyed, sinking back down through the cold and into a dream.
It was late afternoon, and rose-coloured light diffused through the bay windows. Furniture covered in white sheets surrounded her, and there was a potent, breathless stillness to the air. A bedroom. It held a flowery smell, a lingering fragrance like magnolia. Blood streaked the drapes, dark and dried against the cream velour. Beyond the glass, the trees stood in their silent dignity—leaves like plum skins peeled off ripe fruit.
Karys’ feet moved; she walked toward the window. In the intervening distance, the sheets folded back from the furniture, revealing a woman seated on a chair below the falling dusk light. She wore a pale gown, no shoes; she might always have been there. Her hair formed a pure white bun at the nape of her neck, not a strand misplaced, and her skin was light brown. Her pallor had a wintery, indoor quality; that of a person long deprived of the sun. She might have been sixty, perhaps older, and she sat still as a stone.
Karys stopped at the woman’s side. When she looked down, she discovered flowers in her right hand. Peonies and carnations, bundled together with a beaded lace cord.
“I bought you flowers,” she said.
The woman stared at the trees, expression vacant. Her wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with thick leather restraints. Karys set the bouquet in her lap. When she turned to leave, she found the whole room full of flowers; bunches stacked to the ceiling, blooms in every shade of red.
The dream receded; she rose from the winter haze and back to her body.
Elsewhere again. The guest quarters. Winola stood in front of her, dressed only in her shirt and underwear, her raven-hair sticking in all directions. She looked horrified, her face colourless in the dimness.
“What have you done?” she whispered.
“I had no choice,” said Ferain.
Winola lifted her hand to her mouth. Her fingers trembled. “Have you … is she…?”
“Karys agreed to it.” The tension bled into his voice. “There isn’t much time. I need your help, Winola. Please.”
Where did Vuhas go? Karys wondered sleepily.
The world dissolved once more.
Another bedroom, much smaller, drenched in morning sunshine. Karys was on her back on a four-poster. A slender woman with honey-yellow hair was on top of her, naked and laughing, making love to her.
Even immersed in the soft logics of the dream, Karys was startled—a jolt of recognition, at the back of her mind, that this was not her, that this moment had not been meant for her to witness. She—the part of her that was herself—had not been touched like this. And yet her hands were at the woman’s waist; she felt desire thrilling through her, and deep affection for the stranger. Tresses of the woman’s hair brushed her chest, light as feathers.
“Ilesha,” Karys gasped.
The woman grinned, wickedness glittering in her dark eyes. She adjusted her position, moved much slower. “Say please?”
Quick and sure, Karys reached out and caught the woman by the back of the neck, then drew her down into a kiss. Ilesha’s body was warm and familiar; her hair had the heady, earthy smell of the oils she used.
She laughed into Karys’ mouth, trying to squirm away. “Cheating!”
“Forgive me.” Karys tangled her fingers up in Ilesha’s amber curls, her other hand reaching down the slope of her hip. “How should I make it up to you?”
Ilesha made a low sound in the back of her throat, a little breathless now as Karys’ hand continued to tease downwards. “That’s a start.”
I should not be here, Karys thought through the heat and the sweetness. The yearning, the lust, it could have been her own, but that was not her lying on the bed. She tried to move away, and the world shifted in response.
Ilesha sat on the cushioned window seat, wrapped in her sheet and smoking osk through a thin reed pipe.
“Why not stay?” she asked. “You could get a better post in a year. Less, probably.”
Karys stood by the wardrobe, dressing. “Are you saying you’ll miss me?”
Ilesha huffed. “No. But Toraigus?”
“My Toraigian is very good.”
“It’s a dead end. You know that. The offer is practically an insult; no one actually expects you to take the first job the Ministry puts on the table.” She frowned, struck by a thought. “Wait, is that why you’re doing it?”
Karys pulled on her trousers. “I’ve heard they have great food. Very nice weather.”
“If you were closer by, Rain, I’d smack you.” She blew a stream of smoke through her lips. “Come on, what are you doing? Toraigus, of all places. Stuck out on a raft in the ocean—you won’t even be allowed to make land. Someone must have pulled strings to get an appointment that low assigned to you.”
Karys snorted. “I’m not headed into a war, you know. There’s nothing wrong with Toraigus.”
“Exactly—the role asks nothing of you. You’re being wasted.”
“The preliminary mission will only take a few months. It might even fail.”
“And if it doesn’t? If you get stationed there permanently, then what? I just want to know who you’re trying to impress.”
Karys had her back to Ilesha, which was a mercy. A hollow loneliness had wrapped around her chest, and she felt in that moment untouchable and alien—because how could she explain? She did not understand it herself, not entirely, but she was not trying to impress anyone. She was running away. She pulled her shirt on, closed the wardrobe door, fixed her smile, and turned around.
“Would it be gauche to say ‘you’?” she asked.
Ilesha returned her gaze evenly, eyes gentle and soft and sad. Not fooled.
“I think we both know that this isn’t going to work,” she said.
The clear daylight of the bedroom dissolved into white.
Karys slid back to awareness like ice melting, only without any warmth. Less lucid, less awake; she seemed stretched thinner each time she surfaced. Within her body, she felt small and eroded.
They were back in the study. One of the ceramic mugs had smashed on the ground, and chocolate stained the carpet. Vuhas was tied to his desk chair. His white fringe of hair flopped over his forehead, and a bloody bruise dominated the side of his face. One eye had swollen shut, the other was wide open and furious.
“You bastard!” His lip was thick, his usual drawl distorted. “You ungrateful, treasonous bastard. I’ll flay you alive.”
Ferain flexed and relaxed the fingers of Karys’ right hand, shaking them out. “Terrified.”
Winola was by the fireplace, clutching a book to her chest. She looked like she might start crying. A circle of red on her bottom lip marked where she had applied blood for a working. “Ferain, I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this.”
“And you.” Vuhas turned his attention to the scholar, and she flinched back a step. “With your pretty little guises and cosmetics. Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think you can make a fool of me?”
“She already has,” said Ferain.
Vuhas replied with filthy invective. Despite his predicament, he did not seem afraid or even pained, only seethingly angry—he glared at Ferain, producing a wet wheeze with each breath.
“I wanted to save you,” he growled. “I was trying to help.”
Ferain made a contemptuous sound. “You were trying to salvage your own social standing.”
Vuhas strained against the bindings on the chair. His face was red and shining. “So, what, you choose to throw your lot in with a gutter-raised Mercian instead? The Ephirite whore isn’t coming back now. You’ve destroyed her.”
“Stop talking.”
Although it was not loud, Ferain’s voice caused Vuhas to fall silent immediately. In the quiet that followed, his laboured breathing sounded much louder than before. The embers in the grate shifted and settled.
Ferain gave a low sigh. He briefly pressed one hand to his forehead, as though in pain. When he spoke again, the words sounded different—he had switched to Toraigian.
“We both know this isn’t a question of ability, but ethics,” he said, lowering his hand. He looked at Winola. “I’ll understand if you won’t do it.”
Winola’s eyes were large behind her spectacles. She hesitated, then replied in Toraigian. “If I make a mistake—Ferain, these workings are no better than human binding. I could make a chimera of him, or worse.”
“I know what I’m asking.”
She laughed: a cracked, hoarse sound. “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Even if I get it right, it would be a transgression of the highest order.”
“I can guess what you’re talking about,” said Vuhas loudly.
“I’m asking for her sake,” said Ferain, still in Toraigian. “I take all responsibility; the transgression would be mine. If anything goes wrong—”
“You’ll only obliterate yourself, you know.” Vuhas shook his head in disgust. “Keep to your juvenile workings, girl. This is out of your reach.”
A muscle in Ferain’s jaw twitched. He returned his gaze to Vuhas. Something in his eyes caused the older man to shrink; when he spoke, his voice was dangerously smooth.
“I don’t think you’ve grasped the situation,” he said. “You had better hope she agrees to this—because if she doesn’t, I’m going to kill you myself.”
Winola flinched. The edges of the room were turning pale and translucent in Karys’ vision; the dreams reached to claim her again. Before she was swallowed up, she saw the scholar give a shaky nod. Then Karys’ mind crumbled like sand into water; she washed away once more.
A party: a shining room flickering with candlelight, heavy tapestries glimmering with hundreds of bright colours, whisper-thin screens woven from silver silk. A crowd of men raised their glasses in toast; they seemed in high spirits. Karys stood at the wall, wine glass dangling from her fingers. A white-skinned, elderly woman wearing a magnificent orange and blue shawl sat in a wheelchair at her side.
“Did you receive the blessing on arrival?” the woman asked.
“The full retinue did.” Karys enjoyed the way the words slid off her tongue, the foreign syllables worn smooth and easy with practice. She had worked hard for this; she could show off. “Which was generous—we believed Ambassador Corbain would be the only one to merit the honour.”
“You were pleased?” The woman’s eyes twinkled. “The ceremony can be very long, I know. We like our traditions here.”
“I enjoyed it. The Amity Bead was unexpectedly crunchy.”
“Wicked man!” The woman laughed. “Where is your respect?”
“Lost at sea, possibly.”
“You are terrible. If I were younger, I might have smuggled you through the Wall and kept you.”
“I wouldn’t have been opposed to that.”
“Terrible, terrible man.” She fanned herself with one hand, still smiling. “You’ll cause a diplomatic incident; your ambassador should be keeping a closer eye on you. Where is she?”
“I’m not sure.” Karys allowed her gaze to travel the hall; there was some commotion outside the door. Two people were trying to cross the threshold, but had been barred by the gilded pikes of the ceremonial bastireu guards. The newcomers looked old, frail, and furious, but as well-dressed as any of the other dignitaries at the party. They were arguing, pointing at the Vareslian delegation. Curious, Karys took a step toward the door …
… and found herself soaking wet and surrounded by screaming.
Waves crashed against stone in the darkness; she could hear the terrified cries of her colleagues, sailors shouting. Something had gone horribly wrong. Corbain was trying to rally everyone; her voice boomed even over the raging tumult. Then, abruptly, she fell silent. Blue lights burst to life, dashed like electric fire over the rolling water, and Karys caught glimpses of something else amidst the chaos, mercurial in speed, yellow glimmers of trapped lightning, and then screams cut off. She drew her sword …
… complete darkness. Her arm buzzed with a sick, vibrating heat. She leaned against the side of a sarcophagus—although the hallowfire had faded after she had established the Lapse, she had seen the room, and knew she was surrounded by the dead. How long had it been now? In an earlier desperate moment, she had used up the last of her worked metal to conjure a tiny ether—just enough to see her timepiece before the light flared out. Two days at least; that was all she could say with certainty. Within the Lapse, she felt neither hunger nor thirst, and she could not sleep—time dropped like grains of sand in an hourglass.
It would not be so terrible, if only it wasn’t so dark. In the absence of light, her mind remained trapped between the water and rocks, hearing them all scream and then stop, scream and then stop. In a panic, her body had fallen into automatic movement, the sword drills of her youth taking over her limbs. She thrust and slashed at the Construct with pure, unthinking, cornered aggression, and drove it back just far enough that she could slip past.
Then it lashed out with a yellow whip of an arm, and grazed her left bicep. A molten stripe of agony blistered her flesh, but momentum carried her. She lost her sword and ran.
Now, however, she knew it would have been better to die down there with the others. Better than this lingering, hopeless state; better than being alone. She could go no further, and she wanted to howl, to curse, to break down and beat at the walls. If she turned off the Lapse, it would end. But she could not bring herself to do it.
If only it wasn’t so dark.
A sound. At first, she thought it was a trick of her mind. Karys lifted her head from her chest. It seemed like … beating. A drum, or footsteps. No, definitely running footsteps, and they were getting louder, getting closer. Through the arch of the doorway, she saw the gleam of hallowfire, a faint blue cast to the stones. She staggered to her feet too quickly—fuck, it hurt—and struggled over to the entrance. The light was growing brighter. It was real. She heard someone gasp, and almost called out to them—here, I’m here! They sounded afraid, breathing loud and harsh, and Embrace, there was light, there was so much light, and she saw the woman running down the stairs, and she stepped out and caught the stranger in an explosion of agony and relief. Hard contact, a lurch, and whiteness swallowed her up for the final time.
Karys inhaled. Warm air filled her lungs, and she made a sound like a sob. She was alone in her body. Ferain spoke from her shadow, sounding wretched.
“It’s done,” he said, and then nothing more.