28

Somewhere in Kirlan

AS KNOT TRIED TO sleep on the cold stone floor of his cell, his feet and hands both chained to the wall, he shifted and felt something hard between his hip and the stone floor.

With some maneuvering, he managed to reach a few fingers into the hidden pocket in his trousers, and withdrew a small object, roughly the size of his thumb, polished black with a bold blood-red rune carved on its face.

Astrid’s voidstone.

Knot stared at it for a long time, wondering if the thing was even real. He’d been unconscious since the moment they captured him in Kirlan until this, his first night in the cell. They’d taken everything from him: his weapons, his belongings, all of his clothing— except his now filthy trousers. Could they truly have overlooked this?

The thought crossed his mind that this was some trick of the Black Matron’s making. But it was Astrid’s same voidstone, the rune shaped exactly as Knot recalled. He remembered enough about psimancy to know that only two voidstones ever had the same rune, and when they did, they alternated colors—there would be a voidstone with a matching rune to Astrid’s, but it would be blood-red with a black rune. No other voidstone with the same rune would function.

Knot rubbed the stone with his thumb and forefinger. It could be a trick, but to what end? What purpose could the Black Matron have in directing Knot through Astrid’s memories? How could she possibly have known Knot would have it?

Whether here by the Black Matron’s design or by chance, there was only one way for Knot to find out. He twisted around, looking at his cell door. A small crack of light leaked from the hallway beyond, but there was no movement or sign of anyone visiting him anytime soon.

He took a breath and extended a miniscule tendron into the stone, and immediately was transported into the Void-like space—he wasn’t sure whether it was truly the Void or not, but he might as well call it that—and then further inward into Astrid’s voidstone, her memories spread all around him like little star-lights.

With one tendron still connected to the voidstone itself, he extended another towards a cluster of memories he had not yet explored.

* * *

Rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking the ground, the trees, and everything Knot could see.

He was on the outskirts of a town, standing outside a small clifftop manor. Knot could see a fjord far below, twisting out toward the ocean. Gray clouds blanketed the sky, casting a shadow over the house, the town, the fjord, and everything in sight.

Knot reached out, wishing he could feel the rain splash heavy on his hand, feel it soak through his clothes and hair, but he felt nothing. He was not a part of this world; he was only an observer.

A girl walked along the muddy dirt road, head hung low and shoulders sagging. Astrid. But she looked different, somehow. This was not the girl Knot was used to seeing, neither in life nor in these memories. Something about her seemed more tangible here, more real. As Astrid neared the house, she slipped in the mud and fell with a wet smack into the road.

Wearily, Astrid pushed herself up, covered in dark mud. Goddess, she looked so weak. But she finally got back to her feet again, now trudging from the road across the grassy field to the manor by which Knot stood. She pounded on the door, once, twice, and the third time it slid open and she collapsed inside.

Knot was immediately transported inside the house. A sharply dressed man in well-fitting dark trousers and overcoat stood in the entryway, frowning at Astrid.

“What in Oblivion is this?” the man demanded. “Who are…”

The man’s voice trailed off as his eyes swept over Astrid, and then he let out a sob.

“Lucia?”

The man rushed to Astrid, heedless of the mud, and embraced her.

Lucia? Knot wondered. Astrid had used that name once or twice in his presence, always as an alias. But, as he watched the man hug her, he began to suspect it was not an alias at all.

“Papa?”

Knot’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of that word from Astrid’s lips.

“I’m here, Lucia. Goddess, are you all right? What happened to you?” The man turned his head. “Bannabus!” he called. “I need you!”

Astrid looked up at her father. “I… I don’t remember…”

Another man rushed into the room. “Lord Tarlen, what is—?” When he saw Astrid in her father’s arms, he gasped. “Miss… Miss Tarlen…”

“Don’t just stand there, Bannabus,” Lord Tarlen snapped, “help me with her!” His tone was not one of cruelty, but necessity. This was a man worried about his daughter, and nothing else.

Bannabus rushed to Astrid’s side, and together the two men lifted her from the anteroom into a sitting area, where they laid Astrid on a large cushioned couch. As they did, another figure blustered into the room, a woman wearing a servant’s apron.

“What is the meaning of all this ruckus?” she asked. “I hardly think—”

She stopped short when she saw Astrid on the couch, her face going pale.

“Goddess rising,” she whispered. “Miss Tarlen has returned?”

“Papa, is that you?” Astrid asked, her voice still painfully weak. Knot’s heart swelled again in his chest at the sound of the word.

“Yes, Lucia, yes, it’s me. It’s me! I’m here. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Astrid looked down at herself, covered in mud. “I do not believe so. But… but I feel a bit sick.”

A smile was slowly spreading across Tarlen’s face. “I’m not surprised. You’re filthy and you’ve been out in that terrible storm.” He turned to the serving woman.

“Agerta, fetch warm water and clean clothes. And water to drink. And something to eat.” Tarlen laughed then, tears streaming down his face. “My little girl is home! Bring everything, bring it all, anything she needs!”

Agerta laughed, too, the sound bubbling up from her. “Should I wake the little lord? And the baby? Both are sound asleep, my Lord, but they will be so happy to see their elder sister returned home…”

Tarlen smiled through his tears. “No,” he said, his voice husky, “no, give me a moment with her. Her younger brother and sister will have all the time in the world with her, just… let me have this moment.” He leaned down, embracing Astrid, but the girl groaned.

“Papa, not so tight,” she whispered. “I feel… quite awful.”

“Of course, dear, I am sorry. I am sorry, and I am so happy you have returned home.”

“Returned?” Astrid asked, looking around her. “Did I leave?”

Tarlen and Bannabus exchanged a glance. A crease of worry dented Tarlen’s forehead.

“Yes,” Tarlen said slowly, “my dear, you have been gone for more than a month. Goddess, we thought you were dead. You don’t remember being gone?”

Astrid shook her head slowly, her eyes roving the room in which she lay. For the first time, Knot noticed how strange her eyes looked. Not glowing, or their typical daytime green, but rather a sickly yellow color.

Agerta arrived back in the room, somehow managing to carry blankets, a tray of food, and two different pitchers of water all at once. Bannabus rushed to help, and they laid out the supplies on a low table near the couch. Tarlen stood, making room for Agerta to tend to his daughter.

“Papa,” Astrid whispered, reaching up to him. “I… I feel so sick…”

Tarlen’s crease of worry compounded, but he kept his voice jovial. “You’ll be feeling right as sunshine soon, my dear, just let Agerta—”

With a deep retching sound, Astrid sat up sharply and vomited dark red liquid all over herself and Agerta.

Agerta looked down at herself, turning slowly to face Tarlen. If her face had been pale before, it was as white as snow now, contrasting sharply with the dark blood that splattered her once pristine apron.

“My Lord…” Agerta said, still looking down at herself.

“Goddess,” Bannabus whispered. “Is it… is it the blood blight?”

Tarlen frowned sharply at Bannabus. “My daughter does not have the blood blight,” he said firmly. He continued speaking, but Knot did not hear the words. He was staring at Astrid, now slowly standing behind Agerta. Her own vomited blood covered her mouth and chin, dripping down to mix with the mud all over her body. The weakness that had weighed her body down only moments ago was gone, as was the sickly yellow color from her eyes. While they did not yet glow, they were the bright green Knot was used to seeing.

“No,” Knot whispered, already knowing what would happen, knowing it had already happened, and that he could not stop it. Bannabus and Tarlen continued to talk, heedless of Astrid as she reached her hands around Agerta’s head, and twisted sharply.

The two men stopped talking when Agerta’s body hit the floor. Both looked up at Astrid, eyes wide.

“Lucia,” Tarlen said, taking one step slowly forward, hands raised before him, “you are sick. You need help.”

Astrid looked down.

“So… thirsty…” she rasped.

Then, she leapt onto Agerta, and tore a chunk from the woman’s neck with her teeth.

Bannabus turned and spilled his own sick on the floor. All Tarlen could do, however, was stare.

When Bannabus had emptied his stomach, his face was pale. “This is not Miss Tarlen,” he said quietly. “This is a daemon.”

Tarlen could only shake his head, his mouth moving without sound.

After a few moments, Astrid looked up, her entire face now dripping with blood.

“Thirsty,” Astrid whispered.

“Lucia, please,” Tarlen said, finally finding his voice. “I know you’re in there, you—”

Astrid sprang forward with a screech, colliding with Bannabus. The two fell to the ground as Bannabus screamed and Astrid buried her face in his neck.

“Lucia, no!” Tarlen wrapped his arms around his daughter in an attempt to pull her off Bannabus. But she snapped her head back, smashing the back of her skull into Tarlen’s face. She elbowed her father, sending him stumbling backwards, and then resumed feeding on Bannabus.

“Lucia!” Tarlen fell to his knees with a sob. “My daughter,” he said, more quietly.

Astrid stood, turning to face her father, her entire body a muddy, bloody mess.

“I’m so thirsty…” she said, taking a step forward, “Papa.”

This time, when Astrid said the word, Knot only felt sick.

The worried crease finally left Tarlen’s face, however, and he looked at his daughter with nothing but love in his eyes.

“I love you, Lucia,” Tarlen said. “I don’t know what has happened to you. I don’t know why. But I want you to know I love you. It doesn’t matter what you are. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been. All that matters is what we do—”

And then Astrid was upon him.

Just as she finished feeding, Knot heard another sound echo within the manor. The cry of an infant.

Should I wake the little lord? And the baby? Knot remembered Agerta saying. Both are sound asleep, my Lord, but they will be so happy to see their elder sister returned home.

“Thirsty…” Astrid rasped, and began making her way up the stairs toward the sound.

* * *

Knot never thought he would be happy to escape through the Void and back into his cell, but he could not move quickly enough. The people in the memory genuinely seemed to have known and cared for Astrid—Lucia—when she was human. And yet she had killed them? She’d seemed disoriented when she’d arrived at the manor, and if Knot had to guess he’d say she’d recently undergone the transition process. But her lethargy and sickness at the beginning could have all been feigned to lure those she once knew into her grasp.

Knot could not think about it any longer. He never wanted to return to that scene again.

As he made his way through the Void, something flickered in the corner of his eye. Knot turned sharply, his spine tingling, but he saw nothing but Astrid’s memories.

“Who’s there?” he called out, feeling foolish the moment he said it. This was Astrid’s voidstone, not the actual Void. No one else could possibly be here.

Knot left the voidstone and the memory behind, returning to the relative comfort of his bare stone cell.