Chapter Forty-Nine

Persuasion

A moon cycle later

“You positively sure this is where you want to meet them?” Samara frowned at the murals of grotesques with unseemly fingernails cascading the floor. Tati’s rendition of the Sea of Sorrows. Terrifying when Naokah and the late Mila had gotten lost here a month ago. But now—

“There’s no place more perfect, in truth.” Naokah’s grin likely bordered on feral.

Samara cocked their head, folding their arms over their uniform. “You and your tati have…interesting taste.”

“Suppose the citadel’s rubbing off on me,” she teased. “Go ahead and send them in.”

The savvy shook their head, braid thunking – there’d be no use in arguing – and left, returning a moment later with two older, grimmer versions of Kjell and Brielle. The late envoys’ parents had written and ‘demanded’ Naokah’s audience before the ceremony this evening. Typical Poler audacity.

“Madame, Monsieur.” Naokah bowed, black skirts whispering over her slippers. “Welcome to the citadel.”

Brielle’s mother had foregone mourning her daughter, standing tall and proud in her loud pink and gold appliqué gown. Her pagoda sleeves trimmed in lace ruffles swept in front of her as she covered her mouth; her green eyes doubled in size.

“Enchanting murals, don’t you think?” Naokah asked with tempered patience, then turned to Kjell’s father, whose stare rippled like a raven’s. His hair, dark as his countenance, rolled in long waves over his green-black suit. Peacock feathers, very apt for the tycoon, spiked from his collar and sleeves.

The Madame twisted her painted lips. “They are…certainly something.”

“But we aren’t here to discuss art, are we?” Naokah pressed. “I’ve a busy day ahead, as you very well know, so please speak.”

“Fine.” The Monsieur looked down his sharp nose. “We demand reparations for the loss of our son and daughter.”

“Reparations?” Naokah laughed. But neither parent stirred. They were serious. “For what?”

“Kjell was to take over my wing-power enterprise and Brielle was to be his wife. Our nations are at a loss—”

“Oh yes,” Naokah snapped, shooting them a look that could slaughter an army. “You both seem terribly broken up over it.”

“But—”

Naokah silenced Brielle’s mother with a wave. “Reparations,” she repeated, still in shock. Where did she even begin? “You, Monsieur, have a lot of nerve coming to Abelha demanding we pay you for your son’s undoing. I have irrefutable proof that during the last Praxis he tried to drown my sister in a melgo vat and would’ve succeeded had someone—” the Keeper/gargoyle, “—not intervened. And even after getting kicked off the isle, he concealed himself and returned as a runner-up, with the intent to kill off his competition. And he did. Kjell or Enzo or whatever you call your spawn and Brielle murdered envoys from Okse, Bizou, Zerşil, and Svinja. And they almost killed me.”

The Monsieur scowled, and the Madame tilted her chin in the air, aloof. But Naokah wasn’t finished.

“Kjell may’ve tried to hide behind all his rouge and powder and waxy skin grafts, but I saw behind his mask. Pain and desperation and darkness lay beneath, and it’s all thanks to you, Monsieur. Your greed, your exorbitant prices on wing-power that starved thousands of Midworld farmers, that drove them into poverty, forcing them from their homes into nations that wanted nothing to do with them? And even after that, all the wealth in the world, and you still weren’t happy. You neglected your son, so much so, that he murdered for your approval, and would’ve continued to do so, had he not been stopped. You turned him into a monster, and for that, you only have yourself to blame. So yes, I agree with you. Reparations will be paid, Monsieur. But by you and the Madame. Not Abelha.”

“And just how do you plan on making us?” Kjell’s father stepped closer, towering over Naokah and dousing her in acrid cologne, but she didn’t falter. She’d trekked the isle in a cloak of bees and fought a fallen god. He, a mere mortal, was nothing.

“Only Abelha knows of your treacherous plot. I’ve kept the other nations in the dark, for now. But should you displease me, I won’t hesitate to let them know who’s responsible for killing their envoys. Vintera and Raptoria may be powerful, but to withstand a war against the rest of the world? Your fortunes only exist because of the rich merchants who buy your services and goods at a premium. What would happen if they pulled their support?”

The Madame clenched her jaw, cracking her icy composure. Lucky for her, Naokah had controlled herself. Smacking the nonchalance right off her pretentious face would’ve been an epic way to kick off her Keepership.

“I believe we’re through here.” The Monsieur grabbed for Brielle’s mother.

“We are,” Naokah agreed as they turned to leave. “But please take heed—” she waved at the hideous murals to her left and right, “—I keep more than just bees here. Don’t cross me.” Then nodded at her translucent accomplice, her informant and cousin, whose big doe-eyes glittered with mischief as she ran her spectral hands down the Polers’ spines.

They shrieked and stormed from the corridor, feet thundering over glass. Naokah and Aurea waited for them to disappear around the corner before guffawing. When the laughter finally ceased, she gave the ghost a wistful smile. Aurea, daughter of the former Keeper and Tati, had been used as a pawn by Captain Avice to force Tati’s first mate to betray her, leading The Clara into a trap. But Aurea was killed anyway. The sentry, more than anyone, deserved to drown in the Sea of Sorrows.

“What?” asked Aurea, tossing a wispy lock behind her shoulder.

“I won’t rest, you know? Not until I find a way to reunite you with your mothers.”

Her cousin’s hand, soft as a starling’s wing, squeezed hers. “I haven’t passed over to my eternal afterscape because you still need me. My mothers would agree. Besides,” she winked, no doubt recalling their latest prank, “I’m having too much fun to leave.”

* * *

On that very first night Naokah stepped foot in Abelha, Samara had said every Keeper contributed something to the citadel during their tenure. When the sentries retrieved Brielle’s body, they also found Laerte and Mila nearby – stabbed to death by the same blade that killed Brielle. Both had defensive wounds, Kjell’s sunset locks in their fists. In true Mid fashion, they hadn’t left the world without a fight. Since Naokah had failed to protect them in this life, she intended to safeguard their next. With all the lives lost for and over the isle, bees included, a memorial garden seemed the perfect addition. She’d worked alongside Ettori, healed nicely now, to dig flowerbeds and carve out a meandering stream that cradled the hedge maze twists. Rows of rainbow tulips and hyacinths, lavender and honeysuckle caressed the sparkling water, and bushy orange trees, laden with sweet white blooms, cast shade over the path to the ivy-thatched gazebo where Naokah now sat. There were no graves for Tati, Gabriella, or Lenita, only marigold mounds, blooming promises that she would bring them back safely from wherever they were.

But first, she’d need help.

Naokah rose as Patri guided Matri to her seat beneath the gazebo. She wore a chartreuse headscarf today that shimmered in the soft afternoon light. Hope fluttered through Naokah, even if Patri had been the one to pick it out. Aurea had convinced Naokah that the black mourning attire she’d worn the past month wasn’t befitting for her swearing-in ceremony. And with some prodding, she’d finally relented. Brielle would’ve agreed. Gabriella Costa’s color had been red. But the night Naokah’s lover had made her a train of chartreuse curtains, warm and gold and brilliant against her tan skin, there’d never been any other choice.

“Where’s Marcos?” Naokah asked Patri, as he sat beside his wife.

A faint smile touched his lips as he pointed his chin. Her little brother in his faded blue tunic followed after Mauricio, who excitedly signed about the bees buzzing around the bleeding heart flowers around the veranda. A hard knot formed in her throat. Marcos had found a friend.

“Matri,” Naokah whispered, trying to get her mother’s cloudy eyes to focus. She set down the fat leather tome Tati had left behind in her chambers, behind her mirror, behind her crude, half-finished mural in a secret vault. She wasn’t sure when Tati had placed it in there. She’d only regained her memories after her accident in the library bunker, but Naokah hadn’t wasted time wondering. The book wasn’t just a book. It was sacred and special. Even still, Matri didn’t move. So, Naokah told her mother and Patri everything, about her discoveries, her failures and victories, how Lenita had sacrificed herself for the greater good, how Tati had been happy and in love, that she would’ve come back to Croi Croga to make amends had the prior Keeper’s father not tricked her. Tears spilled down Patri’s wizened cheeks, but Matri remained unfazed, a statue. Naokah worried her chest might sunder.

She pressed her mother’s stiff hand on the tome. Just like when Naokah had touched the old parchment, crackling sparked the air. Ancient magic tingled around the trio. Intoxicating power, sweeter than honey and stronger than tilled earth, raw and primal and consuming, whirled around them like the stolen wind. The magic coursed over Naokah’s hands and up her arms, spreading over her skin, warm and inviting and impossible to deny. Matri’s eyes beamed, shining like polished amethysts, like the mother she’d had before Tati’s disappearance, like the witch she’d always been but denied.

“For years you blamed yourself for Tati’s departure. You thought your fight was irreconcilable. You were wrong,” Naokah said. “Your sister would’ve come back if she could. But she, like the wind, was stolen from us. And now, with the Razing expanding—” she shuddered, blinking away the ashy creature she’d found in the southernmost lake, “—we must ensure her life’s work wasn’t in vain. If I’ve learned anything from my short tenure with the bees, it is that power is in numbers. We will send out a beacon to other Midworld witches, and we will find another, more habitable world where we can evacuate all Vindstöld. Will you help me?” She placed her hand, palm up, atop the spellbook, trembling, waiting.

Matri’s jaw hardened before smacking her hand into Naokah’s, who stifled a wince. So strong. “Yes,” her matri said, in a voice that could grow flowers and sprout springs. “I will help. But with one condition.”

“Which is?” Naokah asked.

“That upon this expedition, we find our sisters too.”

Naokah’s heart ballooned, and Patri, twitching in his navy tunic, looked like he was about to jump up and fly. She’d join him. “Of course, Matri. That was the plan.”

Unassisted, Matri, the woman Naokah had waited for to speak and sing and live for over ten years, stood and pulled both Naokah and Patri into a tight hug. “Good, now let’s get you sworn in.”

* * *

Before heading to the ceremony, Naokah excused herself to stop by the fountain. The quartz glittered in the afternoon light, and she sat on the lip, running her fingers through the cool water. Where Lenita had spent her final moments. Maybe that’s why out of all Abelha, she felt her presence strongest here.

“I never thanked you for everything that you did when we were kids,” Naokah said to the rippling water. “Matri was gone, sedated by pain. But you didn’t think twice, stepping up, raising me and Marcos. Never once complained. Daughter knows I was a handful.” She shook her head, smirking at a memory of Lenita chasing after Naokah and her little brother with a broom. Annoyed she’d made them clean their room, they’d switched out her sugar bowl, giggling as Lenita took a heaping bite of salty porridge. “I’m so sorry about what I said that final day. I was angry and bitter, ridiculously jealous. You were always just…so good at everything—” she swallowed hard, “—suppose I wanted something of my own. I’ve come to realize, though, it was always me holding myself back, not you. You only wanted the best for me, yet I was too blinded by envy and self-pity to see. I don’t know if you can even hear me, but I promise on my life, I won’t give up until I find you. I love you, big sister.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Miss you more than the world misses the wind.” She grazed the water one last time and sighed, crawling to her feet. If only she had Lenita’s blessing—

The water congealed around her hand, pulling her down. Her breath caught in her throat as a silhouette with amethyst eyes stared up from the waves.

“I already forgave you,” the water gurgled. “Forgive yourself.”

Naokah’s chin trembled, and more tears streamed. “I’ll try.”

“Go swear in. You’ve earned it.” The shadow shifted into what could’ve been a smile. “And Nao?”

“Yes?”

“Care for a little wager?”

If she had any doubt about the vision before, she didn’t now. Typical Lenita, always up for a challenge. Naokah wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Terms?”

“Bet the Keepership that I find you first.”

She chuckled, rivalry igniting. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”