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If I didn’t kill the Mother, if I didn’t disband the empire … My body tensed, and it wasn’t the image of empty grain sheds and hollow-eyed children that filled my mind. Instead …
You embarrass me, Emelin.
‘I suppose …’ My voice croaked a little at the familiar sting, every fibre of me wincing as that verbal slap in the face hit me for what had to be the hundredth time. ‘I suppose I want to prove I’m good enough to do it.’
‘Yes,’ Zera said and sighed. ‘Of course.’
I sank down on the nearest stool, resting my elbows on my thighs and my chin in my hands. ‘Is there anything I’m overlooking?’
‘That depends.’ Zera cocked her head a fraction, studying me. Her eyes were full of questions. ‘Some people are drawn by the prospect of glory, no matter how noble their intentions appear at the surface. They’ll save the world to be a saviour, not for the wellbeing of the people in it.’
‘Like Achlys and Melinoë?’
A scoff-like laugh escaped her. ‘My dear, they sit on a throne of bones. No one who doesn’t secretly revel in their power would make such choices in life.’
‘They’re not terribly secretive about it either, these days,’ I said sourly. ‘Do you happen to know why that bloody throne is so important to her? We thought it may be a weak spot because she’s so protective of it, but we haven’t exactly figured out how it could hurt her.’
Zera raised a thin eyebrow. ‘I’m not aware of any hidden powers it might have. As far as I know, it’s simply one of the pretty toys Korok made her.’
Had Creon been wrong, then? I pushed that thought away to mull over later. ‘And you think I might just end up with the same sort of pretty accessories if history takes a wrong turn somewhere?’
‘I don’t know, Emelin. I no longer know how to know. And that scares me.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ I said weakly, ‘I don’t think I’m exactly looking for glory. It sounds like yet another burden to bear, honestly.’
‘Hmm.’ She looked away, unsmiling.
Not good enough. I felt it in my gut, the sharp-toothed gnaw of failure. Whatever I should have said, whatever I might have done to persuade her … this wasn’t it.
‘Is there anything I can say?’ I hated how desperate those words came out. One day in this place, and I was already begging? 'I know I can’t predict the future, but …’
But is there really no promise you can trust?The unspoken words filled the small room with an empty weight, a stupid, unthinking plea for which only one response was possible.
Zera’s thin fingers tensed, but she turned without an answer, her shoulders slightly bent even without the burden of the world’s grief in her hands. ‘Come, dear.’ Her voice, low and resigned as it was, didn’t waver. ‘It’s time to bake some blackberry tarts.’
And that was all we said on the bindings that day.
I woke at sunrise on the third day and found the bag still by the bedroom door.
Curiosity got the better of me. I scrambled out of my nest of pillows and blankets, tiptoed to that closed door, and listened sharply for signs of life – no creaking of floorboards to be heard, no shred of hummed melodies or even audible breaths. Either Zera was very quiet, or she was still fast asleep. Likely the latter.
I decided to risk it.
The bag looked heavy – like the full bags of flour on Cathra that even the miller’s bull-necked son could only lift with an abundance of groaning and growling. I studied it for a moment, estimating my chances. Even if I wasn’t able to pick it up, I should at least be able to shift it a little, shouldn’t I?
Cautiously, I wrapped my fingers around the knot at the top of the bag and gave a gentle yank. The rough cloth didn’t give way – not even the tiniest fraction of an inch.
I glanced at the door, which was still closed, and pulled a little harder.
Nothing. I might as well have tried to drag a towering cliff somewhere. The bag wasn’t just heavy, it appeared to have taken root where it sat, a colossal weight so immovable that I wasn’t sure how it hadn't cracked through the floorboards yet. I gritted my teeth, locked another hand around the rough hessian cloth, and gave another sharp yank, with more conviction now.
The bag didn’t budge.
Just as I was flexing my fingers for another attempt, the sound of a footstep in the next room told me Zera had woken up. I shot away from the grief of the world, grabbed a blackberry tart from the kitchen counter, and had already shoved two big bites into my mouth by the time the goddess emerged from the narrow door to the backroom.
‘Morning, dear.’ She looked suspiciously amused as she casually grabbed the bag and dragged it with her to the kitchen side of the room. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Pretty decent,’ I said, trying not to stare at those bony arms pulling the weight of half a mountain along. ‘You?’
