When Karys returned to the house, Winola was sitting downstairs at the kitchen table eating a wilted salad, her expression unfocussed, her books stacked up on the counter. Her foot tapped arrhythmically against the leg of her chair.
Although Haeki’s absence was conspicuous, Karys did not ask. So what if Nuliere’s sea-blessed was upset? Was she now obliged to pretend that nothing had happened, to sit around and devise further writing exercises? No, Haeki had made her loyalties abundantly clear. What did it matter, the rush of pride Karys had felt whenever she caught Haeki mouthing the letters in street signs, on storefronts, on the spines of books? Why should she care if Nuliere’s Favoured had begun to smile more often, warmed to Ferain, occasionally sang quietly to herself while she was alone? It had only ever been an illusion and an indulgence, and now it was over. Better this way—one less distraction, one less regret in the end. Karys scanned the kitchen for possible sources of salted water. She collected two teacups from the counter and emptied their dregs in the sink. Winola looked up from her meal.
“‘A friend of Ferain’s?’” she queried.
Karys made a noncommittal sound. The scholar returned to her salad.
“Don’t take it out on Haeki,” she said. “She is in a difficult position, and you know it.”
Karys washed out the cups, and set them upside down on the rack. Through the kitchen window, she could see Lindlee and her friends, a group of youths in garishly dyed clothing. They lounged around on the grass, some propped up against one another; heads resting on legs or stomachs. Chewing osk, drinking from dark bottles. One of them, a boy with wavy brown hair and an unappealingly slack mouth, stood and gestured like a performer. They all looked significantly inebriated.
At least Lindlee got what she wanted. Karys leaned over the counter. A line of decorative clay gourds sat on the window sill; until now, she had not paid them any attention. She picked one up, and it sloshed with water. With a scowl, she tipped it over into the sink.
“Do you know when Rhevin might be back?” she asked, reaching for the next gourd.
“No.”
Karys ran the water inside over the back of her hand, and tasted it. She grimaced. Sure enough: salt. There it was, undeniable and clear. She would have to check every room in the house, and no doubt Haeki would secrete away more vessels as fast as she could find them. Like a stupid game of catch-up.
The brown-haired boy sauntered over to where Lindlee was seated on the grass, still waving his arms around, proclaiming something. Rather comically, he tapped her on the top of her head. The others giggled, and the boy smirked. Lindlee gazed up at him wide-eyed, and blinked.
I never behaved that strangely when I was a child, thought Karys sourly. Although she supposed there had been fewer opportunities, and less intoxication. Her life at that age seemed small and confined, her idea of a thrill stealing Ané’s bottle of reef-wine from the temple. In retrospect, a petty little act of rebellion—she had decanted it, replaced the contents with vinegar, and then split the liquor with Haeki and Oboro down on the beach. Back then, the gesture had seemed so important, so potent; she remembered that the silvery sweetness of the wine had been unlike anything she had ever experienced; the taste of a world beyond her reach. And they had all gone quiet, drinking it, listening to the waves on the sand, the wind through the cleft. Oboro reclined next to her, Haeki walking barefoot in the shallows. No one else had ever discovered her crime.
Well, except for Nuliere. The herald would have known. No wonder she disliked me.
Outside, Lindlee’s friends had stopped laughing. For some reason, they were all staring, as if mesmerised, at the empty air above Lindlee’s head. Karys set down the last gourd, her skin prickling. Their new stillness felt unnatural, eerie; they had gone entirely silent. At the edge of Karys’ hearing was a high whining sound.
She moved without thought; she was across the room and through the back door to the garden in seconds. Winola called her name in alarm, but Karys barely heard.
Lindlee sat frozen on the lawn. Even from a distance, Karys saw her clothing darken—the girl gleamed with a rusty bronze liquid; it welled and dripped from her skin, pooling underneath her. Her posture had gone unnaturally rigid, as though her flesh was calcifying. The whining increased. Karys ripped open the Veneer.
The mangled Ephirite-derived working hovered in the air over Lindlee’s head, shining like a corona, a tangle of rank light unspooling and sinking thirsty tendrils into her skull. It jittered and screeched horribly, trembling as it grew. The wavy-haired boy shouted something—a slur of syllables—and the working ballooned outward.
Karys reached her senses into the sickly shining mass and yanked it apart.
The working unravelled, lights spinning out into nothing. Lindlee keeled over, quivering, just as Karys reached her. She dropped to the ground beside the girl, hunting any further traces of the diseased light, but they winked out like falling sparks, harmless. Around her, the Veneer’s chaos abated. Its colours stopped seething; it grew still and the sawing shriek fell silent.
“It’s gone,” whispered one of the other boys.
Lindlee moaned, and brought her hands up to clutch her head. Karys breathed heavily, her heart racing. If she had been a few seconds slower … She swallowed, her mind catching up with her instincts. That working could have obliterated everyone in the garden. She lifted her gaze, and found the wavy-haired boy.
“Are you,” she said, in a hoarse whisper, “out of your mind?”
At the sight of her face, the boy took a step backwards. His slack, insipid lips parted like he had forgotten to close his mouth. Then his expression turned defensive.
“It was an honest mistake,” he said.
“You nearly liquefied her!” Karys rose in a single motion, and advanced toward him. “What the fuck were you doing trying to work Ephirite derivations onto another person?”
Despite the flash of alarm on his face, the boy held his ground. He was lanky, easily a head taller than Karys, perhaps seventeen. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax. Everything was under control.”
She shoved him in the chest. “You had nothing under control, you ignorant little shit. You thought you could show off to your friends? You thought it was all a joke? You don’t know the first thing about what you were doing.”
“Easy, now.” He pushed away her hands, and tried to sneer at her. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Don’t worry, Karys,” said Lindlee anxiously. She had managed to sit upright, although she still cradled her head. “Quinn is actually a poet; he’s really good. He got accepted into—”
“I don’t need defending, thanks,” said the boy.
“A poet?” snarled Karys.
“Yes, that’s why he’s so good at Ephirite workings.” Lindlee sounded tearful. “Because it’s all just weird poetry.”
Karys sensed that she was on the verge of losing her head completely. She breathed in.
“Was that,” she asked, “improvisation?”
In spite of the situation, Quinn looked quite pleased.
“Yes,” he said. “All my own work.”
Karys made an inarticulate noise. Behind her, Winola hurried over the lawn to Lindlee, and dropped to a crouch next to the girl.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” she asked. “You’re soaked. What happened?”
“Everything is fine,” said Lindlee unsteadily. “Everything is perfectly fine. We’re just having fun, please don’t make a fuss.”
Some of her friends had risen from the grass; they eyed Karys and Winola nervously. The atmosphere was tense. Quinn tucked his hands into his pockets, affecting disdain.
“Sorry, Linds, but I was bored in any case,” he drawled.
Lindlee made a tiny pained sound, and the last of Karys’ patience evaporated.
“Get out,” she said.
Quinn smirked, as though he found her ridiculous. “Oh, scary. What are you going to do, huh?”
One of the girls tittered. Karys kept her gaze on the boy, saying nothing. At the edge of her vision, her shadow had gone dark. Still grinning, Quinn leaned right up close to her. He pulled a face, making his eyes bulge, taunting. Karys remained still, and kept staring. She could feel his breath. She marked as flickers of doubt, then frustration crossed his features, and gave no reaction. In the moment when he realised that his intimidation would not work, she thought he might strike her. Then he gave a forced laugh, the sound ringing loud and crass, and turned away.
“Nothing,” he said. “I thought so. Like I said, I wanted to leave anyway, bitch.”
He spat on the grass, and marched toward the side gate, stooping to pick up a half-empty bottle as he went. The gate creaked on its hinges, and clanged after him. For a few seconds, no one else moved.
“A real poet,” remarked Karys.
The remaining teenagers hung back, uncomfortable. A few had the grace to look guilty; most just appeared awkward. None of them spoke. One of the boys collected his bag off the lawn, and moved after Quinn. The others followed him, not making eye contact. A brunette girl muttered a half-hearted apology to Lindlee as she passed.
“Oh, it’s fine. Not to worry.” Lindlee attempted a smile, but the girl moved more quickly, as if scared that she might be left behind. No one said goodbye. Lindlee raised her voice, calling after them. “Sorry, everyone! See you all tomorrow?”
The gate swung shut. Not a single person answered her. Lindlee’s smile faltered, and her lower lip trembled. Winola rubbed her back gently.
“Are you in any pain?” she asked.
“No, no.” Lindlee swallowed. She took a shallow breath, and then promptly burst into tears. “I’m fine.”
“Shh.”
“It was supposed to be fun. They always spend their holidays together, they’ve got so many stories, and I wanted … I just wanted…”
Winola put an arm around Lindlee’s shoulder, giving her a hug. “You’re shaken up, that’s all. It’ll be all right. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
The scholar coaxed Lindlee to the kitchen, murmuring soothingly. She sat the girl down and then heated a large bowl of water, while Karys followed Ferain’s directions to the linen closet and brought out some old washcloths. Lindlee seemed drained and heartsore, but physically unharmed. She gave a sad little hiccup when Karys handed her a towel.
“Thanks,” she said. “And sorry. Quinn’s just sensitive.”
Karys would have privately ascribed many qualities to the boy, but sensitivity was not amongst them. It seemed the wrong time to make that point to Lindlee, however. Winola placed the steaming bowl down on the counter, and patted Lindlee on the back again.
“Something warm to drink?” she offered. “If you give me a few minutes, I can also prepare you a proper bath. You should probably change out of those clothes.”
“Chocolate?” Lindlee asked tentatively.
“I can do that.” Winola moved to the stove. “Do you want any, Karys?”
After Vuhas, Karys was not sure she could ever drink chocolate again. She declined, and sat down opposite Lindlee. The teenager wiped the cloth over her face and neck; when she dropped it into the water, the fabric was stained dark rust-orange.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Karys.
Lindlee nodded, and hiccupped again. She swirled the cloth around the bowl.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
Lindlee wrung the water from the towel. “Take apart Quinn’s poetry. The way you untangled it? How did you do that so quickly?”
At the stove, Winola breathed in sharply. Things clicked into place inside Karys’ mind all at once—the teenagers staring at the space above Lindlee’s head, the boy saying it’s gone, Quinn’s obvious alarm as the working expanded and shrieked. During the crisis, she had been too focussed to spare it any attention, but now …
“You can open the Veneer?” asked Karys, baffled.
The girl’s expression transitioned from confusion to wariness.
“Open what?” she asked, a little shifty.
Winola had gone stock still. Karys felt at a loss. “The Veneer. If you saw me take apart that derivation—”
“I don’t understand. Are you talking about the Glowing?”
The Glowing? “No, I’m—you saw the working, the one that Quinn applied to you? You and your friends could all see that?”
Lindlee’s shoulders bunched up as though she suspected a trap. “Well, yes. And other stuff. But if you can see the Glowing, then you’re taking it too, right?”
“Taking what?” It felt like they were talking past one another. “I’m a deathspeaker. I can access the Veneer whenever I want to.”
Lindlee’s lips parted in a soft “oh.” Her eyes turned wide and dismayed, and she twined the washcloth between her hands.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “Karys, I’m so sorry; that’s terrible. I had no—”
“Lindlee, what are you taking?”
The girl jumped, nearly upsetting the bowl. Her gaze automatically darted toward Winola for aid, but the scholar seemed too stricken to speak.
“Go easier,” murmured Ferain. “You’re scaring her.”
He had not needed to say anything; Karys could see that for herself. The apprehension on Lindlee’s face made her feel monstrous. She gentled her voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m worried, that’s all.”
Lindlee hesitated, then nodded. She dropped the cloth in the bowl, reached into the pocket of her trousers, and drew out a small metal tin. The exterior was clumsily painted with elephants. She popped the lid open, and slid it across the counter to Karys.
“Quinn has a friend who sources it,” she said.
Inside the tin were about fifty pea-sized yellow spheres. Slightly translucent, the jelly-like balls were the colour of sunshine; they could have passed for a sugar sweet or candy. Karys picked up the tin and held it closer to the light. It was heavier than it appeared, as if the spheres inside had the density of lead.
Little yellow beads, a bit like caviar. It’s hallucinogenic, apparently.
“What are those?” Winola asked, hushed. She adjusted her glasses, and leaned over the table to see. “They look like the sacraments we used during ceremonies in Toraigus.”
The beads gave off an unusual smell: an unfamiliar plant or spice, sharp but earthy. Karys narrowed her eyes. There was something faintly familiar about their appearance, as if she might have seen them elsewhere, just … different. She couldn’t put her finger on the memory, but the sight of the spheres immediately made her feel queasy.
“Necrat?” she asked.
Lindlee nodded again, a tiny movement.
Karys set down the tin, and scraped back her hair. She could hear Marishka in her Psikamit kitchen, the Second Mayor saying: that’s part of the thrill, the inherent profanity of it all. “You’re taking the corpse drug, aren’t you? You and your friends.”
The girl studied her hands, profoundly miserable.
“It doesn’t do any harm,” she mumbled. “It’s just … it’s just fun. All of the others take it; they say it—”
“Corpse drug?” said Winola.
“I think you deserve better friends,” said Karys.
Lindlee’s eyes welled up once again. She angrily brushed away the tears.
“They’re not always like that,” she said. “What would you know?”
“That one of them nearly killed you today.” Karys closed the lid of the tin, and sat back in her chair. “And he didn’t seem all that sorry about it.”
Lindlee gripped the fabric of her trousers tightly. “That’s a hateful thing to say. Quinn told you it was an accident.”
“I’m sure it was. I’m not trying to be unkind, Lindlee.”
Winola put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Enough of that. Karys, would you get rid of the water in that bowl? Take it outside; the effluent might interact with workings in the water system.”
Karys doubted there was any real risk to Eludia’s sewage works, but she rose, picking up the tin of necrat and sliding it into her pocket. Lindlee did not protest the confiscation. She refused to even look at Karys.
Outside in the midday sun, the water shone oily and slick: the colour of rotting peaches. Karys walked to the end of the garden, and emptied the liquid on the soil in the shade of a pair of old cypress trees.
“She’ll have more of that stuff hidden away, you know,” said Ferain.
Karys straightened up, and looked back toward the house. How would taking necrat allow someone to penetrate the Veneer? That was an Ephirite power, a deathspeaker power. Consuming the remains of a dead Bhatuma shouldn’t grant the same ability to a bunch of reckless teenagers. “Are you familiar with it?”
“Heard of it, haven’t encountered it before now. You really think it lets them see through the Veneer?”
“I don’t know what to think.” A crowd of drug-addled would-be deathspeakers, all living without the burden of a compact. Karys could not dwell on the idea too long, the possibility of Vareslian children idly buying access to the power that had cost her soul. “They saw something.”
The kitchen smelled of chocolate when she returned. The pan simmered unsupervised on the stove, and water moved through the pipes overhead. Presumably Winola was drawing the bath she had promised Lindlee. Karys moved the chocolate off the heat to prevent it from burning.
The necrat felt heavy in her pocket. She thumbed the dented lid of the tin. She had taken it from Lindlee without a plan; it had seemed like the right choice in the moment. Now, however, she wasn’t sure what to do with the yellow beads. Sell them, throw them away? Both options struck her as wrong; the first felt like she was simply robbing Lindlee, and the second seemed disrespectful. Karys sighed and left the kitchen, climbing the stairs to the second floor. Which was illogical. For starters, it would never make the slightest difference to whichever herald the necrat had come from; they remained dead. And she was an apostate, so she shouldn’t care anyway. It wasn’t like she planned to host a funeral for the beads.
Sabaster would take them, though; she knew that. Her master would be ecstatic to add necrat to his Bhatuma collection. More favour, more honour for her. Just what she needed: for the Ephirit to believe that she was presenting him with a wedding gift. One last token before their vows, before he consummated …
Sweat broke out on Karys’ skin. It won’t come to that. Toraigus. Keep your mind on Toraigus. Down the hallway, Winola was talking to Lindlee. Karys entered the street-facing bedroom, and quietly shut the door after her.
The room was cool and tidy, unchanged since she had left it that morning. Except, propped up against her pillow, was a little elephant statue. It was carved from yellowwood and burnished to shining; it gleamed like amber against the white linen. Karys approached the bed slowly and picked it up. The statue fit snugly in her palm, comfortingly smooth and heavy. She had seen the same elephant in Hetan’s curio shop in Tuschait.
She sank down onto the bed, the gift cupped in her hand. Her chest hurt. She could see Haeki slipping into the room, carefully setting the elephant down on her pillow. For some reason, the vision made her unbearably sad. Tiny black stones marked the elephant’s eyes; its trunk curled gracefully. Karys traced her finger over its face.
She had been refused the Auric’s grace; the mercy of the Embrace was not for her kind. And yet there was Haeki, her hand extended. Always reaching. Haeki, sea-blessed and unstained, unaware that the elephants had turned her away. Haeki, laying out her gift for Karys to find, never knowing what it meant.