“Perhapssomedaywe could mount an expedition prepared enough to survive, but you? Alone? Sirin, it would be a death trap. We don’t even know…“ the Lord Lunologists cut off, voice wavering. He dropped into his chair, burying his head in his hands as his shoulders shook.
Mikail Lagrath, Lord Lunologist of the Watchful Order, the most senior member of their guild on the planet and bane of her adolescence, sounded like he might burst into tears.
“We don’t even know what happened to them. They simply vanished,”he whispered. “The last expedition was only supposed to ascertain the danger and return immediately, but even they were lost.” He raised his gaze to hers and steadied his breathing. “I forbid you from going. You must not, under any circumstances, venture further north. Do you understand?”
Sirin blinked back at him. This was meant to scare her into abandoning her course. She’d finally worn him down and forced him to admit what he’d been hiding. What perhaps the leadership of the Citadel had been hiding for many years since they lost all of those people.
She could appreciate the Lord Lunologist’s caution—she could—but this research was herlife.Without it, she didn’t even know who she was. She couldn’t just abandonit and find a new area of study. Lord Lagrath didn’t understand. That was fine, no one had truly ever understood. But Sirin now knew that he, using the vast resources he possessed, would do everything he could to stop her if she persisted.
Sirin met his eyes as he raised his head. Hewastired, and she could see his concern for her reflected in his gaze.10
“I understand,” she whispered to him, pleased to see relief wash over his troubled face. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—I didn’t understand.”
“I know, my dear,” he said. A great gust of air whooshed out of him. “I hope you understand I must swear you to secrecy. There are those who would be excited by the idea of searching for something so forbidden. If you do not hold your tongue, I am afraid I will be forced to expel you from the Watchful Order and denounce you as a lunatic.” He shook his head sadly. “Every student who comes here to learn is like a child to me, and I hope you know I only tell you this to keep you safe. I am sorry to break your heart so.”
Sirin nodded, standing to dust off her skirts. “I’m sorry to have worried you so, Your Lordship. I understand the gravity of the situation. You don’t need to worry about me any longer,” she said as she moved toward the door.
“Sleep well. Tomorrow we shall see if we can pique that interest of yours in another direction,” Lord Lagrath said, settling down into his chair with an exhausted smile.
“Goodbye,” Sirin said, easing the door shut behind her.
The sun no longer glinted through the wavy glass windows of the halls and the gas lamps periodically spaced along the stone corridors were already lit. The lighting had always been a favorite part of her day, ever since the lines had been installed when she was a student. When she was in residence, she loved to sit on a bench in the hall, outwardly appearing as if she were studying, and watch as the maids glided between the lamps, lighting them in a routine so choreographed it seemed like a dance. Lord Lagrath had even deprived her of that small joy, having lectured her through possibly the last opportunity she’d ever have. It seemed a silly thing to be upset about, but she was too raw from the ultimatum to properly moderate her emotional responses.
If she left, she sacrificed her place amongst the Watchful Order, effectively choosing exile. There would be no support from the Citadel, no rescue party to follow her. Acquaintances at the Citadel had proven time and again that their loyalties only stretched as far as the Watchful Order sanctioned, so no one was likely to stick their neck out if she disappeared. Her family had died of a plague while she’d been a student, not even a year after she’d presented as a lunologist. She had distant relatives, but she hadn’t seen them in years and only wrote sporadically, having struggled to maintain the relationships with how often she moved.
She smiled for a moment, remembering her youngest brother jumping about the room with her cousins, excitedly raving about how he would alter his body if he too turned out to be as gifted. He’d decided he would grow his muscles to be big and strong and have lightning-fast reflexes, like the heroes of old. Even if they did not share her powers, her siblings would have become sought-after partners; everyone wanted the possibility of a lunologist in the family, and they shared her genes. For a brief year, she’d drastically improved their lives and their prospects.11She supposed that wassomething tohold on to, to be proud of. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of pain that heralded tears.
Sirin shook her head. She needed to focus; she didn’t have time for this. Opening her mind’s eye, she plunged into her body, finding the trickle of lunula glowing through her veins. She could feel the warm, steady pulse of it in her heartbeat, and she dipped into it now; just a bit, right at her tear ducts. She nudged it, urging it to clamp down on them. There were many ways to accomplish this task; she could have instead altered her brain’s signals or the chemical makeup present in her brain. Both felt dishonest to her, a betrayal of her family’s memory. Instead, she kept the emotions caused by those chemicals, even the signals her lunula allowed her to feel sizzling along her nerves. She stopped the tears at the last possible juncture. Shedidn’thave time to mourn them again, but neither would she disrespect them by wiping away her pain entirely. Her body responded to the magic’s prodding instantly, stopping her tears while the stinging remained.
What the Lord Lunologist failed to grasp was she hadnothing else.Oh, she had casual friendships, colleagues she could rely upon to challenge her ideas when needed, and smiling faces to greet her in cities across the continent for a nice dinner and a quick liaison. She had aunties and uncles to write to, but she doubted they really knew who she was or what she was like anymore since she couldn’t bear to visit and see the empty house where she’d grown up. In truth, she had nothing and no one to hold her back.
She had her work, and nothing more.
As she passed through the emptying hallways, she nodded to people she knew but she never really saw them. Sirin grimaced to herself; she knew what they would see. Silly Sirin, always seeming to not quitefit. Her deep brown hair would surely be escaping her braid, she’d have ink smeared across the tanned skin of her nose, her brown eyes would appear unfocused on her surroundings. The image wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but it was also an image she’d cultivated. No one took her seriously, not anymore. So no one muchcaredabout what she did. She hoped that meant it would be a good while before anyone noticed her missing.
Her path forward was clear. When confronted with the end of her life, professionally and literally, Sirin found she was still driven to search for her answers. If that was the cost, she was willing to pay it.
Ducking into her room, she pulled her travel pack from the wardrobe and laid it on her bed. She didn’t have a suite of apartments as other lunologists who lived at the Citadel full time might have, but she’d inhabited this room each time she’d stayed at the Citadel for a visit and it was allocated for her use alone.
Smiling sadly, she looked around the room at all the small touches she’d made to make it feel more like home. Vibrant tapestries woven in the intricate geometric designs of her homeland covered the stone walls and diffusers scented the room with mango and calamansi oils. Nearly every surface was littered with the small artifacts she’d gathered in her travels. Her living wagon was much too small for much clutter, so she’d kept such things here, the only permanent residence she had.
Sirin lingered over the collection of treasures she’d accumulated over the years, filling her shelves between books. She had a small model of a theoretical vehicle, powered by lunula instead of steam, created by a friend from Meurteau. Its tiny gears and the shine of lunula from its holding tank had always brought a smile to her face, even if the design had been a failure in the end. There were carved figurines of mythical creatures, her own fantastical menagerie symbolizing the folklore of each place she’d stayed. She ran her fingers over a fierce-looking dragon who she’d positioned to breathe fire over a snarling orc. A great man-bear hybrid stood roaring on its hind legs, a myth from Pershing, the Northernmost town on the continent. Sirin smiled and pocketed it, thinking she might even check in on the little old lady who had told her such a tale when she gathered supplies there in a few days.
Picking up a small porcelain toilet, she chuckled.Thatparticular invention had spread far and fast. The first time her friend had spoken of it had been with such fervor. It’d seemed too good to be true. No more covering excrement in sawdust or using latrines a hike away to hide the stench. She set it back on the shelf, sad to leave the toilet behind but spending a bit of lunula to ensure the memory stayed fresh.
And books. So many books. Children’s books from home, stories about people who looked like her, in a place that felt familiar and had kept her company when she felt alone. She brushed her fingers across the spine, grateful she had the tales of foolish men with coconuts and boys who turned into stone tucked safely away in her mind. The shelves housed rare copies of works that held the hints which had sent her on her path of discovery. There was an entire shelf dedicated to books on manners from different countries of the world, which had eased her way into foreign spaces during her travels. They would, she realized, stay here; a museum of her life.
Until this evening, she’d assumed she would go, gather research for a few months, and then return home to the Citadel to write a paper on her findings. Or she would go off on another trip to chase down a colleague or a lead. Perhaps, she’d imagined, she would decide to settle near the source once it was located, but such a possibility had always assumed she would first return home triumphant. She’d share her findings and potentially invite others to join her before she settled there. Now, none of that was guaranteed or even likely.
With it went her secret hopes of a partner. Sirin had harbored the dream that if only she were vindicated, one of her casual acquaintances might take her seriously and a relationship might blossom into something beyond the casual assignations to which she’d grown accustomed. Perhaps had she stayed in one place, had she known anyone who wasn’t a lunologist, she might have had a chance at something real. Instead, she’d focused on her work to the exclusion of all else, and now, it appeared it would stay that way.
Perhaps I’ll tame a gaggle of Arctic animals and start a herd. I suppose I have been on the path to eccentric hermit-lady for years anyhow, I might as well embrace it. Whatever happens, happens.Though it stung to realize, more than she wanted to admit, she’d been raised to deal with the hand life dealt her, so there was no use fretting over it.
After several hours of packing, re-checking her supplies, and ensuring the waterproof coverings were secure on all the books she’d bring, Sirin crept out of the building under cover of night.12The massive castle that was the Citadel was cold and dark. The gas lamps no longer lit the corridors with a cheery light, a sign even the staff were asleep. Sirin used some of her lunula to enhance her eyesight, ensuring she wouldn’t need to dig her lantern out of her pack. When she was a girl, she’d been no stranger to midnight creeps through these halls, but she no longer had the paths memorized, the Citadel changed so rapidly that even her mental maps couldn’t keep up. She was a grown woman, and no one would normally question her moving about late at night, but itwasdecidedly abnormal for her to carry a gargantuan traveling pack through the halls. Anticipation bubbled inside of her, making her stomach flip-flop wildly.
Eventually, she made her way to the carriage house, where her horses waited alongside her living wagon. Butter’s creamy coat stood out against her brother Biscuit’s, which is what had initially drawn Sirin to the pair. They were a stocky, hearty breed with thick necks and a pronounced darker stripe down the center of their manes. They’d no longer get adorable patterns clipped into them, but they’d been foaled at the Citadel, so they’d receive the best care regardless. As she approached, Butter lowered her head to sniff Sirin’s hair, and Biscuit, as per usual, cracked open an eye, annoyed to be roused from sleep. Sirin giggled, the familiar feeling grounding her before the giggle caught in her throat, constricting it into a muffled sob.
There was no way they could come on this journey. It would simply be too cold, and she refused to expose them to the increasingly likely probability of death.
