Sensation was slow to return. I awoke from dreamlessness, rising up through the dark. The first thing I knew was the coolness of a damp cloth on my forehead, and the smell of spiced tea.
Pain was next. I groaned.
“Are you back with us?”
I cracked open my eyelids and light flooded my brain. That hurt. I immediately shut them again.
“Do I have to be?” I asked.
Rhyanon chuckled.
“Well, not right this second, I suppose.” She carefully wiped my forehead. The cloth smelled of lavender. Felt nice. Somewhere close by, I could hear birdsong and the wind rustling through trees.
“Osan?” I murmured. “He was badly hurt.”
“Saskia took care of him. She’s very deft with that kind of lacework. And with needles, but the lacework helps.”
“Is he—”
“I spoke with him earlier this morning, and he’ll be fine. The problem was mostly blood loss; the bolt didn’t hit anything vital.”
“I see.” I breathed out slowly. “That’s good.”
Her clothing rustled as she moved closer, and I let myself relax, let her smooth my hair and rest the cloth, so wonderfully cool, on my forehead. It stirred old feelings, old vulnerabilities. Rhyanon was acting like my mother. This sort of entanglement could not end well, and yet I clung to the illusion all the same—that she cared, that I was safe, that everything would be okay. That maybe, just for a little while, I might be allowed to lean into her kindness.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
I raised and lowered my shoulders fractionally.
“That bad?”
“No,” I muttered. “No, I’m fine. But I was worried about you.”
“I heard. Apparently, you went barging into the Sanatorium and demanded to see me.”
“I wouldn’t say barging.”
“Still. Rather endearing of you, if a bit stupid.” She took away the cloth. “Nightmares aside, I really am fine now. Look.”
I grimaced. “It’s too bright.”
“Come on.”
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes again.
Green linens covered the bed. I lay in a yellow-walled room overlooking a leafy garden. The view through the window was screened by delicate beech saplings, and a breeze wafted the gauze curtains like the breath of a sleeping animal. On the pine sideboard rested a pot of tea and a plate of buttered bread.
Rhyanon sat on a cushioned chair beside the bed, a bucket of water on the ground next to her. Bandages covered her arm and shoulder, but her cheeks held a healthy colour and her eyes were bright. She smiled at me, pleased. It was a different smile, more straightforward, more honest. As if matters between us had settled into a new configuration.
“Not so bad, huh?” She gestured to her bandaged arm. “Wouldn’t you say I’m in better shape than you?”
“Possibly.” I studied her with a critical eye. “But you had an obvious advantage there.”
“Oh?”
“Given that you’re the expert on Commander Asan’s ministrations, I’m sure you received extra care.”
To my delight, she blushed.
“All that bed rest,” I continued, a grin spreading across my face, “seems to have done you a lot of good.”
“Were you never taught to respect your elders?” Her skin had turned a truly vibrant shade of pink now. “Eater, Elfreda, mind your own business.”
“Quite a catch though.”
She spluttered. “Enough!”
I laughed, although it made my head hurt. With effort, I sat up a little straighter and grunted when the movement triggered a whole host of smaller aches and pains. Not just my head either—my stomach cramped sharply. I pulled a face, and Rhyanon offered me a begrudging smile.
“Well, all right,” she said. “Have your fun. But this stays between us, okay? It’s safer for the Commander if our relationship remains private.”
“I understand. And I approve, for whatever that’s worth.” I toyed with the edge of the bedspread. “Good for you.”
“You’re unexpectedly sweet sometimes,” said Rhyanon, and it was my turn to blush. I covered my embarrassment by pretending to take an interest in the rest of the room.
“So where is Commander Asan?” I asked. “And where am I?”
Rhyanon leaned back in her chair. “Saskia’s working. And we’re at the city manor of a provincial Reverend. From the outside, the property looks unused; it’s just the groundskeeper coming and going, keeping things in order.”
“But?”
“A couple of years ago, a group of Sisters constructed a hidden tunnel from the neighbouring building into the manor’s cellar. Awfully convenient if you need somewhere to hide.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Who lives next door?”
“No one. It’s one of the city’s new greenhouses, which made the mysterious quantities of excavated earth a little easier to explain away.”
“Huh. Clever.”
“Do you want tea?” She levered herself to her feet. “I figured you might be thirsty.”
While she poured, I tried to sort my thoughts. Judging by the shadows cast by the trees, it was still early morning, so I had probably only been unconscious for a few hours. The cut on my forehead had been taped up with soft gauze, and I wore clean clothes, a loose blue tunic dress.
Memories of last night’s attack hovered like a dark cloud at the edge of my thoughts. I did not want to consider too closely what had happened, but my present fears could not be ignored either.
“There was a—a friend of mine,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Do you know—”
“Finn, yes?”
I nodded quickly.
Rhyanon handed me a cup. “He helped Saskia bring you here, but left before the sun came up. Something about needing to tell his sister what had happened.”
I nodded again and looked down at my tea. “Right, of course.”
“I’m sure he’ll return.”
But why was he even in Ceyrun?
“Maybe. Doesn’t matter.” I wrapped my fingers around the cup, absorbing the warmth into my hands. I glanced at her. “I have a lot of questions.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I’m sure you do.”
Her weariness amused me. I drank from the cup and smiled slightly. “Wishing I was still asleep?”
She did not return the smile; if anything, she seemed to grow more solemn still.
“Elfreda, before we have this conversation, I need you to understand that neither Commander Asan nor I intend to harm you,” she said.
I frowned and set down the cup. “Okay.”
“It’s … Well. Just try to keep that in mind.” She adjusted the edge of the bedspread. “Please?”
My unease grew; I didn’t like Rhyanon’s tone. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“I know this is going to be difficult, that’s all.” She breathed out heavily. “You suffer from hallucinations, don’t you?”
I froze. All the feelings of security and warmth evaporated; my heart boomed in my ears like waves crashing down on my head. I suddenly wanted to get up, to get out of the room and away from her.
“Elfreda—”
“Why do people keep asking me that?” I demanded harshly. “What makes you think I have hallucinations?”
She kept her voice low and calm. “Because they are a defining symptom of a condition that you are likely to suffer from.”
“So you think I’m sick? What condition?”
“We think—” She broke off, corrected herself. “We are almost certain that you are what’s known as a Renewer.”
“Which means?” I was still too clipped, too aggressive. I had let myself grow complacent around Rhyanon, and now my anxieties emerged as anger. I wanted so much to trust her, but I was afraid.
“Well, that’s … complicated.” She seemed unusually unsure of herself too; she rubbed the back of her neck and continued slowly. “As I understand it, Renewers are Sisters who hold unusual concentrations of lace in their bodies. They appear every third generation or so, about seventy years apart each time.” She grimaced. “Please stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like you’re trying to work out whether you could still outrun me in a foot race.”
I swallowed a retort and instead leaned back on the pillows. My head had begun to pound.
“It’s okay,” said Rhyanon. “I knew this would scare you, but you can trust me, Elfreda. You can.”
I shut my eyes.
“So,” I said, “a Renewer?”
The chair squeaked as Rhyanon shifted in her seat.
“At Celane’s garden party?” she said. “You were playing Tryst. And thirty women saw you catch a ball that should have been out of reach.”
“That’s it?”
“No. But it was strange enough to draw notice. To you, of course, but also to Jesane Olberos for throwing that pass.”
“Why?”
“Because a Renewer is apparently capable of warping reality in subtle ways. Not consciously, and yet the world seems to…” She sought the right words. “Shift to their benefit. That’s according to what I’ve been told, anyway.”
I snorted. “To my benefit, you say?”
“Hm. Perhaps to your instincts, then.”
“All right, so let’s say this is true.” I let out a slow breath and opened my eyes again. “Which means I’m apparently unusually good at ball games. Why should anyone care?”
Rhyanon gave me a sad look.
“Because the Renewer is a queenmaker,” she said. “I said you held an unusual concentration of lace in your body? That power, historically, has been enough to completely reshape Aytrium. Each time the Order’s lace begins to wane, the Renewer appears. She restores the Sisterhood. She ushers in a new golden age.”
“But I’m not powerful,” I said in exasperation. “My lacework skills are average at best, so I can’t be this—this mythical lace wielder.”
“It’s not about your abilities.” Rhyanon studied her hands, avoiding my gaze. “It’s your body that matters.”
Like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place, I understood her.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly cold. “So it’s about who martyrs me.”
Who eats me.
“Yes,” said Rhyanon.
I drew the covers of the bed up over my shoulders, pulling my knees in.
“Elfreda, this wasn’t—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “You knew! All this time, you knew—”
“I didn’t!” Rhyanon got up and sat on the bed, but I shrank backwards from her. “I had no idea, not until Saskia mentioned that game of Tryst, and even then, it seemed like such a remote possibility. Why should it be you, out of everyone in the Order? We only realised the truth at Geise’s Crown.”
I pressed my lips together. Rhyanon hesitated, then laid her hand on my shoulder. I flinched, but she did not draw away.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “And I’m sorry that I haven’t been more open with you before now. That was a mistake.”
“I thought I was going mad.” My voice came out hoarse. “For a year. And now you tell me that the visions are just some symptom, some indication that I’m … I’m meant to…”
“No one is going to hurt you again,” she said. “You’ll see—we’ll get you out of Ceyrun and away from the Order. Everything is under control.”
“They’re going to martyr me,” I whispered. “Every Reverend in the Order must be searching the city. And when they find me—”
Rhyanon shook her head. All of a sudden, she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Saskia faked your death,” she said.
I stared at her. “She … what?”
“This is going to take some explaining.” She reached over and picked up the plate of bread. “Here. Eat, it might help.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Eat,” she said firmly.
I stared at Rhyanon a moment longer, then slowly lowered my knees and straightened up. I took the plate. The bread was toasted, and the butter glistened, yellow and melting. I broke off a corner.
“It might be a bit dense,” she said, watching me. “I was distracted while baking.”
I had not eaten since breakfast yesterday. I crumbled the bread between my fingers and put the pieces in my mouth.
“No,” I muttered. “It’s delicious.”
“There’s more if you want it.” She got up and walked over to the window while I ate in silence. She was right, food helped; the immediate swell of panic faded, and I could think more clearly again. Absentminded, Rhyanon ran her fingers across the gauze netting.
“Celane’s faction wants to maintain the Order as it currently exists and for that they need the Renewer’s power.” She let her hand fall back to her side. Her shoulders were tight. “The Sisterhood is in crisis, possibly on the brink of falling apart entirely. And in the service of salvaging the Order, these women are willing to go to desperate lengths.” She turned back to me. “We knew that, of course. But we underestimated their ruthlessness.”
“Ilva?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes. And Zenza Lenard.”
I had known already, or at least suspected. I looked down at the scattered crumbs on my plate. “Then the murders were Celane’s doing? I realise Ilva might have been a liability, but Zenza…” I swallowed and lifted my head. “Why?”
Rhyanon’s forehead creased. She looked aside.
“You were probably the intended target,” she said. “I think they uncovered that you were working for our side.”
“So because I got away, Zenza was just—they just killed her instead? I don’t understand.”
“The easiest way to consolidate the power and loyalty of the Sisterhood is to make us afraid of an external threat.” Bitterness bled into her voice. “That’s part of it. But they also wanted—needed—a great deal of lace in case their plans went awry.”
I felt lightheaded. “Ilva and Zenza were killed for their lace?”
“Yes.”
“But their bodies were—” I struggled, almost too sickened to say it. “Their organs were still there. Cut up, but nothing missing. If this was about lace, why leave so much behind?”
“For cover.” Rhyanon returned to her chair. She looked tired. “When Zenza Lenard died, who did you immediately assume was responsible?”
“Another Sister, I guess.”
“Until you heard that the bodies had been left on the street.”
I nodded.
Rhyanon drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. Her skin had paled; she seemed to find it difficult to keep talking.
“Bodies,” she said, and stopped. Tried again. “Bodies with organs removed and arranged around the victim. It seems heretical, doesn’t it? Like a message directed at the Order: look at all your power now, wasted.” She breathed out. “But whose organs?”
It took a second for her words to reach me. My stomach turned.
“Saskia worked it out, of course.” Rhyanon spoke more quickly. “A pig’s heart looks similar to a human’s. Less round, fewer major veins, but if you put it next to a woman’s butchered body, those details are easy to miss.”
I turned my face away. Zenza. It could have so easily been me, cut apart and left in pieces that night.
“Then Celane and Morwin and Verje gorged? They just…” I gestured helplessly.
“We think so. I’m sorry, Elfreda.” Rhyanon folded her hands in her lap. “And it’s also why Saskia’s gorge sickness came on so quickly—consuming Morwin’s heart, when Morwin herself had already gorged? Practically toxic.”
It was hideous, but it made sense. Celane was responsible after all. And a tiny part of me felt relieved—at least it wasn’t the Resistance, at least Finn and Millie weren’t tied up in the atrocities, even indirectly. I rubbed my head. The left side was swollen where Lucian had struck me.
“What does this have to do with my … death?” I asked.
Rhyanon picked up her cup of tea, and offered me a wry smile.
“Played their own trick against them,” she said. “Saskia arranged it. Between Osan’s blood and the dead mercenary, there was already plenty of evidence of a struggle on that street. She simply ornamented things. Animal organs, a set of stained Acolyte robes, a few messages in blood. Down with the Order, Death to the Corpse Eaters, that kind of thing. You get the idea. Then she took a statement from your friend, saying you were supposed to meet him but never showed.”
My chest tightened. “Finn testified?”
“I would rather Osan had done it, but he wasn’t in a state to talk much.”
“But—but the people who attacked me will just tell Celane that I survived,” I said. “Not to mention the fact that Enforcement chased them off.”
“Of course they will, but think, Elfreda. What can Celane do with that information? Yes, she knows that you survived and can probably guess that we have you, but where does that leave her? She can’t exactly reveal how she came upon this information; that would be as good as confessing to the previous murders. ‘I know that Elfreda Raughn is still alive, because the people I sent to kidnap her told me so.’” Rhyanon shook her head. “Currently the only thing that’s stopping us from exposing her is the absence of hard proof. But she’s on the back foot; the stakes are too high, and she can’t call Saskia’s bluff without drawing attention to herself. A single mistake, and all her plans go up in smoke. That doesn’t mean that she’ll give up, not by any means, but her priority will be trying to find you. Which means that all we have to do is keep—”
The door burst open.
Rhyanon moved faster than I would have expected. She leapt to her feet, spun to face the entrance, and raised her uninjured arm to shield me.
“—absolutely have no right!” snarled Asan.
“El!” cried Millie.
She had a sickly, haggard look, and her clothing was rumpled. Her eyes swept the room and found me, and she took three strides toward the bed before colliding with Rhyanon’s lace. She froze and her eyes flew wide with alarm.
Rhyanon swayed slightly and gripped the back of her chair. I saw Millie’s gaze dart around the rest of the room, taking in the tea and empty plate, the bucket of water and cloth, and for the briefest of moments, I felt embarrassed—as if she had barged in on something deeply private, something intimate that no one else was supposed to see, something small and important that I wanted to keep between Rhyanon and myself.
“Don’t hurt her,” I said, struggling to get up. Blood rushed to my head, and I almost toppled over onto the floor.
But Rhyanon had already released the lacework binding. She sat down heavily on the bed beside me.
“Sorry,” she said. “She startled me.”
Millie stayed in the middle of the room like she had been rooted to the spot. Her breathing was shallow.
“This was all my fault,” she said.
Then she burst into tears.