Haeki glared at the page, her pen awkwardly pinched between her fingers. Lines of large, wobbling black letters ran from left to right, covering a student’s essay on the proper care and maintenance of Class C medium-scale Bhatuma relics.
“There must be an easier way,” she grumbled. “I’m never going to remember this.”
They were up in the garden-facing bedroom. The sun streamed in through the wide bay windows; a tray bearing an untouched carafe of water and a little bowl of sweets stood in the corner. Outside, Lindlee was hosting a small party. Irregular bursts of drunken teenage laughter wafted up from the tree-shaded yard.
Karys reclined on Haeki’s bed, a dusty book about workings coalescence and interdependence propped open against her knees. Despite her best efforts to concentrate, she had now read the same paragraph four times over. Two days had passed since she had delivered Rasko’s parcel—two days, and nothing to show for it. Haeki sat cross-legged on the wooden floorboards, surrounded by a ring of loose pages covered in more stumbling letters. Ferain hovered at her side, correcting her penmanship.
“Do you want to take a break?” he asked.
Haeki’s scowl deepened. Although she had been working all morning, she set her pen to the paper again.
“No,” she said.
When Karys first tried to teach her letters, Haeki had frozen up any time Ferain moved or spoke. Admitting her illiteracy to Karys had been difficult enough; having it paraded in front of a stranger was near intolerable. There was no helping the situation—as much as Karys might have wanted to, she couldn’t conceal their lessons from her shadow. And, after a while, it had gotten easier. The initial sting of shame wore away, and Haeki’s self-consciousness diminished as she grew accustomed to Ferain’s company.
It also rapidly became apparent that he was a much better teacher. He even seemed to enjoy it.
“That line curves the other way,” he said.
Haeki swore at him.
At least she seems to have forgiven him for Vuhas, Karys thought, then realised her eyes had wandered from the paragraph for the fifth time. She sighed, irritated. All day, she had been restless and distracted; too aware of the hours sliding by while she accomplished nothing. Rhevin scarcely returned home from the university, Winola spent every spare hour at the library, and still—nothing. It didn’t help that Karys’ only contribution was combing through the mouldering old books Winola brought back home, an activity which had grown to feel increasingly pointless. The authors had never heard of Constructs, and possessed no specialised knowledge on the Split Lapse. Karys had the sneaking suspicion Winola had only given her the task to keep her occupied.
Ferain slid up the side of the bed, out of Haeki’s hearing.
“What’s bothering you?” he asked.
Then, of course, there was the matter of Ferain himself.
“What do you think?” she mumbled.
“The waiting?”
“Yes, the waiting.”
“Go for a walk, clear your head. Haeki needs a break anyway.” He nudged the book’s cover. “You haven’t turned a page in the last twenty minutes.”
She made an annoyed noise, waved him away, and started on the paragraph for the sixth time. The conditions under which interdependent workings arise organically are varied; such melds may be affected by phases of the lunar cycle, the ambient temperature of the surrounding environment at the point of either working’s instigation, the volume at which key spoken formulations of the derivation are produced by the—
“Karys?” Winola called up the stairs.
At the sound of the scholar’s voice, Haeki went rigid. Then she scrambled to collect the pages spread out across the floor. Karys dropped her book and jumped up from the bed to help, but Ferain got there first. Her shadow swept out in front of her, snatched the papers and the pen out of Haeki’s hands, shoved them and the remaining essays under Lindlee’s cot, and pulled down the blanket to conceal everything from sight. Karys’ body protested the unexpected drawing, and she sat back down sharply.
“Thanks, reeker,” whispered Haeki.
“Anytime.”
Winola appeared in the doorway a second later, holding yet another stack of books. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and sweat dampened her forehead. It looked like she might have run from the library.
“I know how to remove the Construct’s effect,” she said without preamble.
Karys sucked in breath, and sat up straight. “You’ve worked it out?”
“In theory. Putting it into practice … not entirely. And there’s another problem.” Winola looked around the room distractedly, taking in Haeki, Karys’ dropped book, the rumpled bedclothes. She shifted the weight of the books to her other arm. “Or there might be a problem, I don’t know. The movement of your scar could be evidence of accelerated workings degradation. Possibly.”
Karys’ stomach knotted. “What does that mean?”
“It means the binding could fuse permanently, so we need to separate the two of you now, if we want to have any hope of separating you at all.” Winola wiped her forehead. “Assuming that it isn’t already too late. I need to talk to Rhevin. By now, he must know which authorisation—”
“But the Construct’s effect,” said Karys, “you can fix it?”
“Maybe. I understand the principles, but I haven’t entirely worked out how to…” The scholar grasped for a word. “Displace the effect? Basically, it’s like a boulder rolling down a mountain—now that it’s in motion, I can’t stop it, but I might be able to alter its course. I think the effect could be fully redirected into non-harmful expression, it’s just that forcing that displacement requires a huge amount of power applied extremely precisely.”
“And if it goes wrong?”
“I’m sure you can guess. The effect runs its course; we lose Ferain. With more time, I could probably find safeguards, but if the scar’s movement really is an indicator of workings degradation, then that’s time we don’t have. I should have considered all of this sooner.”
Karys’ shadow spread, reaching over the floor to cross Winola’s.
“Maybe that means we need to reconsider our priorities,” he said.
Winola frowned. “Those being?”
Ferain spoke in Toraigian—and although Karys did not understand him; she could guess the drift of his answer by the scholar’s shocked expression. She rose from the bed.
“No,” she snapped. “I know what you’re saying, Ferain, and no.”
With a sigh, her shadow returned to her, drifting out of the others’ hearing.
“Be practical,” he said. “You need the time.”
She balled her fists. “I also need the money. Your father’s not going to pay me for a corpse.”
“He will if I force the issue.” Ferain remained infuriatingly calm. “My point is that we can’t afford to wait for guarantees or safeguards—never mind workings degradation; the longer this goes on, the greater the risk to you. Too long, and payment becomes irrelevant.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Karys, you know exactly what it means. Money can’t save you if Sabaster—”
“Go fuck yourself,” she snarled.
Haeki and Winola both flinched.
“You’ve thought about it,” said Ferain, undeterred. “I know you have.”
“We did not come all this way just so you could pull off a noble suicide.” She spat out the word. “Your life for fifteen thousand cret, Ferain. I gave you my promise. If you wanted to die, you could have done it in the fucking Sanctum.”
“This is not suicide. It’s calculated risk.”
“Your calculations are shit.”
“Sabaster could call your compact tomorrow.”
He said it without feeling, simple and direct. Karys felt like he had punched her in the gut. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Twelve years, right? Since you formed your compact?” He continued in the same blank, cool tone. “Sabaster said he would summon you when the receptacle blooms. Maybe that’s tomorrow, maybe next month, maybe years from now—but every day the odds increase. We both know what you gamble by waiting. We both know what he intends. When the time comes, you need to be beyond your master’s reach, and that means Toraigus.”
He knew exactly where her weaknesses lay. She had shown him just where to slide the knife.
“I wish I’d never told you,” whispered Karys.
Her shadow rippled, her silhouette splintering and then re-forming. When he spoke again, Ferain’s voice was quieter, but steady.
“Once Winola has worked out the mechanics, let me take the risk,” he said. “Before it’s too late. Please, Karys.”
No, she thought. You won’t frighten me into this. You think you’re so clever, but I know what you are trying to do. The tension in the room ran high and tight; Haeki looked frozen, Winola alarmed. They could only hear her side of the conversation, and it must have sounded ridiculous, but neither of them was laughing.
Before Karys could continue the argument, however, the water carafe in the corner of the room spoke.
“Let me be of service, Son of Night,” said Nuliere.
Winola dropped her books with an exclamation. The heavy volumes thumped loudly to the ground, covers splaying open, spines cracking.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, hastily stooping to collect them. “Sorry about that.”
Without a word, Haeki crouched down to help the scholar. She carefully smoothed the pages where they had folded, her head bowed. Even when she rose, handing the books back to Winola, she did not look up. There was no need to guess who had salted the water.
“What do you want, slug?” asked Karys harshly.
A sustained hissing emanated from the carafe, as though the water inside were under immense pressure. Karys considered overturning the vessel, or throwing it out the window. She wanted to do something vicious and senseless. She wanted to storm out of the room. She wanted everyone else to go away.
Nuliere, however, seemed better able to get a handle on her temper.
“In spite of your boundless ingratitude,” she said, her whistling voice taut with effort, “I have diverted the enemy’s attention.”
“How? Did you kill them all?”
The herald did not take the bait.
“Their trail now leads further east, toward the capital,” she said. “While their resources are stretched thinner across Varesli, this ruse will not last forever. Time is short, apostate.”
“So everyone tells me. What do you want, Nuliere?”
“What I have always wanted.” The water subsided, the hissing faded. “To help the Son of Night. It might be within the scope of my power to heal his affliction.”
Karys jerked. “What?”
“He is touched by the enemy’s power. I believe I can draw out their poison.”
Could she…? Karys’ head spun. “Why—why didn’t you say anything before now?”
Nuliere hummed, producing a high clear sound like a finger traced around the rim of a glass.
“The faithless woman spoke of turning aside falling boulders,” she said. “Under the right circumstances, water may move mountains. It is possible.”
Winola’s eyes had gone round and large behind her glasses. “Are you saying you could provide the power to displace the effect?”
The same pealing ring. It set Karys’ teeth on edge.
“Under the right circumstances,” repeated the herald. “I would need to be made manifest. The binding to the apostate must be cracked open but not sundered, not until the Son of Night is restored.”
Karys felt overwhelmed and confused, and yet, even in the midst of her disorientation, there was something in Nuliere’s voice that gave her pause. A kind of practised smoothness. From the faint tightening of her shadow, Ferain had detected it too.
“You heard everything Winola said?” he asked.
“Of course, kindred—I have heard all, and I understand what is required.”
“And it would be safe?”
“So long as the binding is maintained until your affliction is healed.”
What isn’t she saying? Despite everything, Karys wanted to believe the herald, but Nuliere was making this sound too easy. And if she failed to displace the Construct’s effect, if something went wrong or her power wasn’t sufficient …
The doorbell rang downstairs, jarring Karys out of her thoughts. Winola and Haeki’s heads turned toward the hallway in unison.
“Seems someone’s looking for my father,” muttered Ferain. He addressed Nuliere again. “Herald, thank you. This has given me a lot to think about—although my father doesn’t know how to open the Lapse yet.”
“I strive to help you,” said Nuliere. She paused before adding: “Remember that, Ferain. I am your ally.”
The bell rang a second time. Karys shook her head, and brushed past Winola out into the corridor.
She did not know how to feel. It was true that Nuliere held a measure of the Embrace’s authority—impotent by the standards of other Bhatuma, but not entirely powerless. She might truly be able to heal Ferain. The curtains in the passage rippled in the breeze; outside, one of Lindlee’s friends cracked a joke, and the others jeered and laughed. And yet … Surely she would have known it was possible before now? In all the time they had travelled, not one word about her power to mend him—but after an abbreviated explanation from Winola, suddenly Nuliere held the answers? Karys descended the stairs two at a time. Waiting, lurking, listening in. Embrace only knew what else she had overheard, or how many innocuous glasses and vases around the house were rimmed with salt.
“I think,” said Ferain in an undertone, “that we need to be more careful around Haeki.”
Karys did not bother replying. What was there to say? She reached the base of the stairs as the bell rang out yet again.
“Didn’t hear you the first time,” she said. She crossed the entranceway, unlatched the door, and pulled it open.
Standing at the top of the front steps was a woman with amber-coloured hair and sharp dark eyes. She stood very straight, a few inches taller than Karys, and wore a draping blue vest and narrow trousers cinched at the waist. One hand was planted on her hip, the other held the bell cord.
“I’m looking for Karys Eska,” said Ilesha.