Chapter 34: Maiden

I would have to force Waryn from going to the conclave. I could use a few drops of Ether to put him to sleep—if he allowed me to come near him.

I just had to stop yearning. There was no hope for me and him. There never had been.

How far would I go to save Marin? If I couldn't do this one thing Pyren asked of me, then everything was lost. Marin was as good as dead.

Maybe that was the point this whole time. Pyren didn't want to set me free. He would wish to erase my existence, so there would be someone less in this world who knew his secret power.

I couldn't shake the growing feeling of despair, coupled with the overwhelmingly bitter taste of utter defeat.

How could I win if Pyren was ahead of me in everything?

Two days after my first visit to Waryn, Pyren came again and took me there. I spent the hour sitting in my old bedroom, looking at the lion-paned walls and wondering if they watched me.

I visited again two days after. I was numb now. Not willing or unwilling. If it weren't for those sudden pangs of unbearable longing, I could almost understand what it was like to live as a turner.

Four days before the Pinnacle ball, Emil gave me my fourth and final dose of serum. "You'll be strong now," he kept saying, his voice a whisper so the guards won't hear.

He taught me much, more than Pyren knew. I didn't dare hope that this knowledge was enough to let me win. I tested my bounds, but could I truly break free?

Three days before the Pinnacle ball, I was fitted for a new dress and mask.

And then two days before the ball, in the afternoon, a knock sounded at my door. Whoever was there would have been vetted by the guards.

It was a servant bearing a box. "Your new mask arrived, my lady," she said. She was older than most of the other servants, and I had never seen her before.

I took the box from her and dismissed her. I was told the mask-maker needed at least two days to make my mask, even though I had chosen a simple design.

I opened the box and moved aside the wax paper. I wondered if all mask-makers packaged their masks in the same way Shana did.

I looked at the mask inside.

It was not the mask I ordered.

I sat down hard on the bed as I picked it out of the box with trembling hands. For the first time in days, I felt something. I could see through the fog in my mind.

It was a full yellow gold mask that covered even the mouth. The lips of the mask were the replica, in gold, of my own lips. The nose, with holes for the nostrils, was my own nose, and so was the shape of the eyes and forehead.

There were no gems. The gold was as smooth as satin silk. The only adornment was a kind of wig attached to it, made out of long white silk feathers that would cover my hair and reach down to my waist if I put it on.

It was a maiden mask of my face.

I turned it over to look at the inside. Shana always left a stamp on her work. A small G. I never understood it, until now.

It was there, and there was also something else.

A single symbol.

A message conveyed without words.

It was unlikely that Shana would be able to give this to me without Pyren's knowledge. If she wanted to help me, she wouldn't have given me away in the first place.

And she would have told me everything that day when I saw her last.

But why would Pyren give me this information, even if it was a lie?

I looked at the maiden mask, meant to resemble a spectre, my thoughts following the path of this new hint.

To believe it, I had to trust someone who betrayed me.

If it was a lie, then I would be led to wherever Pyren wished to lead me.

If it was the truth, it filled all the pieces I was missing from the picture.

I assaulted the box, sifting through the packaging. But there was no written message. Nothing but this mask.

***

Three spectres spun around me in a circle, searching for my beacon and never quite reaching it. It was early for the ball, but I was already dressed and ready.

My dark green dress was of a severe cut, the cloth closing even around my neck, as per Lord Aspertin's instructions. I was not to look interesting or appealing because I would not be presented as eligible this ball. I merely had to attend because it would be rude to our hosts not to.

"The most important thing," Emil said. "Is never to stray from the path. That man that takes you... he isn't attuned to the paths. He forces his way through. You must rise when the path rises, you must twist and change with it. It will not hurt you."

He explained the risks to me, again and again after he gave me the fourth and final dose of serum. I was ready, and even if I wasn't, even if I failed, there was no other choice.

I reached for the nearest spectre, but hesitated.

"Don't be afraid. I'll follow you." Emil said.

I took the spectre's hand. Like Emil taught me, I projected myself into her, not the unnamed essence she craved, but the part of me that could keep it out of her grasp. Then I collected the second spectre, and felt the beginning of strain behind my ears. But I still had to collect the third.

There was a brief moment, I thought my control was slipping, but whatever it was, I passed it and it was time for the next part.

I felt the direction of where I wanted to go. To that place where Pyren took me, where Marin was being held. Because I already visited that place, I could feel the path directing me towards it. I could also feel the path Pyren took.

I drew myself through the spectres and down that path—like passing through a soft veil—and then I was in the circular room with the black flagstones at the top of the tower. I put my mask back on. I didn't wear an inner mask today.

Emil was standing beside me, as if neither of us had ever moved. It didn't feel like travel—it didn't feel like anything.

But there was an expression on his face which I had never seen.

He brought his hand to his ear, as if it ached him. "This place is evil," he said.

Those were Marin's same words.

"Do you think this will work?" I asked him.

"It will," he said.

I flew down the spiralling staircase and ran down the long dark corridor. Like before, the place was silent. The only sound was the rustling of my gown and the tap of my slippers.

With a wave of gratification, I realised that I remembered where Marin's room was. I opened the door, my heart jumping to my throat.

The girl in the bed looked starved. Her dark hair was just as tangled and she was dressed in a white shift. She was lying still, eyes closed. She didn't lift her head to look at me.

She wasn't Marin.

I stepped inside. Her skin was the grey of old snow. I took another step towards her. Was she dead? I shouldn't have cared about a girl who wasn't Marin.

I reached out.

"Stop," Emil said, sounding almost apprehensive.

The moment I touched the girl, she crumbled, like ash. A white cloud of dust rose up in the room.

I stumbled back, protecting my mouth and nose with my sleeve.

The dust swirled around me, as if caught in a whirlwind. For a moment, I could see an outline of a girl, hallowed eyes, pale cheeks, round bosom and then—

She vanished.

In the bed, only an empty white shift remained.

I clasped my hand over my mouth so as not to cry out.

There were hundreds of rooms in this building. Did Marin also vanish into dust, or was she somewhere here? I would have to search every room.

I rushed past Emil, opening the next door. The girl inside there was sleeping too, but I could see from afar that she wasn't Marin.

Not sleeping, dead.

I ran on, taking less care with how much noise I was making. Door after door. Some of the girls were awake, and lifted their heads to look at me with horror.

I hurried on. Emil was behind me, silent and troubled.

At the end of the corridor, was another similar to it. How big was this place?

I would never find Marin.

Just as I was about to round the corner, Emil stopped me.

There was a sound. Someone was wheeling a cart. I could hear the high-pitched squeak of wheels and the soft jingle of glass. I peeked around the corner. There was a woman dressed all in white cotton, with a full white mask that went all the way down to her throat and even covered her hair in a type of cap. Even her hands were gloved in white. The cart she was pushing had two levels, on the top were small empty glass vials and a strange glass tube instrument fixed on a lacquered wooden board. Below were black boxes. She stopped at the nearest door and opened it, wheeling the cart inside.

Emil tugged at my sleeve. I looked to see that his eyes were wide. He shook his head and pointed in the other direction.

I followed him, feeling a weakness spread through my limbs. How was I to do anything? I had to get Marin out of Pyren's grasp.

"That was a maker," he finally said.

"What's a maker?"

"A human," he said.

I didn't have time for Emil's cryptic answers. I led the way towards the stairs. Someone was coming towards us. Even from down here, I could see the white trousers of another maker. The rest of him was coming into view one stair at a time.

We had nowhere to hide.

I removed my mask and summoning the spectres. I felt for the paths, as Emil taught me, and was about to take us to the top of the tower.

But something distracted me.

A path was created by a place one visited, or an object one touched. It could never be a person. Nearby, there was something like a piece of path.

It was feeble, almost too weak. But without giving it any thought, I passed towards it. There was uncomfortable pressure, not quite as terrible as travelling with Pyren, but my journey through the mist had a few bumps and knots.

I fell to my knees next to a bed in a cell. There was Marin, under a white duvet. But her eyes were closed, she was unspeakably still. She was grey, just like that the girl before.

A path couldn't be made with a person. But a dead girl was a corpse—an object.

"Marin," I said in a strangled whisper. "Marin."

It couldn't happen this way. It had to end differently.

Pyren didn't like to share his secrets or keep promises. He knew I would do his bidding for the smallest chance that I would get her back.

"I'm so sorry." My vision was blurred. I stroked her coarse, tangled her. At least she didn't crumble at my touch. "I'm so sorry, Marin. I couldn't... I couldn't save you."

Emil's palm landed on my shoulder.

I shook my head.

Now, I would truly never see her again. Everything had been for nothing. Even Pyren wouldn't be able to get what he wanted.

Lives, wasted.

I couldn't even summon the will for revenge. There was...nothing I wanted anymore.

There was nothing but the tears that fell through my eyes, running over the gold of my mask.

Even though I knew I had to go, for a very long time, I couldn't leave her.

"What am I going to do?" I asked in a small voice, empty of my heart.

Emil said nothing for a long moment. "It will come."

"You don't understand—"

"No," he said. "I remember..." Even though he was all made up of soft lines and warm light, there was a hardness to his face. "I remember."

"She's gone," I almost screamed it. "It's over. She's—"

Something stirred beneath my hand.

At first, I'm not sure I understood what I felt. But I stopped speaking until I felt it again.

She breathed out a sigh, her forehead moving beneath her mask, and then her eyes began to open.

"Marin!" My voice was a little too loud. She was still alive, barely, but alive. "I'll take you away from here," I babbled. "Everything's going to be alright, Marin. I promise. Everything will be fine."

I was dizzy when I looked up at Emil.

He was looking at Marin with his lips parted. "She doesn't have much time," he said to me, shaking his head as if there was some water in his ear. "Let's leave."

I wrapped the duvet around Marin's body, as if she were a baby. "I need you to close your eyes, Marin," I said. "Don't look, no matter what."

She obeyed without question. I wondered if she thought this was all another dream inside an endless nightmare.

I took off my mask. Emil lifted Marin, duvet and all. I turned away and connected the spectres.

***

Emil gently placed Marin on the bed as I put my mask back on. I opened the satchel we had brought with us, handing him the blindfold.

"Marin," I said. "Emil is going to give you some medicine. It might burn a little but please bear with it."

She murmured incoherently in reply.

He removed the black box from the satchel himself and opened it without warning.

I averted my gaze away from the light, but I had to stay vigilant for what would come.

At Emil's word, I had to act, no matter if the glare from the serum hurt my eyes. Serum was the greatest medicine known to man. I would heal her, no matter her injuries and keep her alive. I readied myself to fend away the spectres that would come for her.

But suddenly, the light blinked out, like a fire doused and I looked up sharply. Marin's head was rested in the crook of Emil's arm, and he was looking at her with a puzzled expression.

"I don't understand," he said. "It's like..."

"Like what?" I was looking in the air, looking for the haze that would appear—but nothing did.

"Like she had it removed."

"Had what removed?" Even when there was no fight to fight, I was frantic.

"The beacon, the quality that pulls spectres to humans. She had it removed."

"How could it be removed?"

"I don't know."

"Can she..." My voice was high. I couldn't let my emotions win. "Can she grow it back?"

"It was a good choice, with the serum," he said. "But I have to get more, fast."

He slipped Marin's head back onto the pillows. She roused slightly and opened her eyes.

"Yael?" she whispered.

"I'm here, my love, I'm here," I said, sitting on the bed beside her.

"Where am I?"

"You're almost safe, Marin," I said. I touched her face. "Emil, how soon can you get another dose?"

"I'll have to leave now."

"Then go."

I didn't look at him part. I didn't look anywhere but at Marin's face.

I took soft white bread rolls out of the satchel and a skin of water. I piled the pillows behind Marin and let her eat the bread in small pieces—as much as she could take—and then I urged her to drink.

She was exhausted after. But when her eyes closed in sleep, her face was more peaceful.

I kissed her hair. There was a strange scent to it, salty and bitter. A raw red bruise blossomed on the back of her neck all the way to her hair.

What did they do to her? What did they do to my sister?

I rose to my feet. I hated to leave her like this, alone, but she and I weren't yet safe. There were still things I had to do.

I took off my mask.

***

I could hear Waryn from behind the wooden pane moving about as he prepared.

I didn't have the stone Nava had given me anymore. I removed the black one from its place and looking in through the eyeholes.

He was buttoning his blouse, a white one this time. I watched him from behind, the triangle shape that his shoulders created with his waist, the smoothness of the skin on the back of his neck.

I longed to be held by him outside this tangle of lies. But such a thing could never exist.

He was never going to trust me again, not after he knew the truth.

Was that why I chose to trust Shana again? For my own redemption?

"Waryn," I said through the wooden pane. "I need to talk to you, please."

He froze and began moving towards the wall. I moved away as the pane swung inward and closed behind him. "Come to try one last time?" he said in flat tones.

"No, Waryn, this is different."

"Funny timing, right before the conclave. It's clearly a trap," he replied.

"It's not, Waryn, I know who's really behind everything and it isn't the Kiri."

"Contrary to the evidence—"

"The evidence was constructed to deceive you and distract us. This game of chairs and alliances, it's all a farce. Please, Waryn, there's going to be a coup tonight."

"Again with that theory of yours. How am I supposed to believe anything you say, Yael? You should've told me from the start he approached you."

"You have no idea what I'm up against," I cried. "You can't even begin to comprehend."

"If you'd have told me—"

"You wouldn't have trusted me the moment I was contacted."

He didn't reply.

I inhaled deeply to calm my heart. Waryn had never loved me. It was only an attraction, because our bodies fit together, because he smelled and looked appealing to me and I to him.

There was never anything more.

It was better to believe that then to feel this way.

"It wasn't the Kiri who started all this," I said. "It was your father."