“It was Kamari’s decision. Long before you came back here. Many people have taken it upon themselves to plunder certain evidence or texts over the years. The trials of your parents, their training, and what magics they created with their fellow trainees.”
Something alights in my chest at her words. I could learn about them, learn about their magic, but as quickly as my mood soars at the thought, it crashes down again. “It wasn’t given to me because it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s not here.”
“The records of nearly all Fifths have been liberated. The Usher was looking for the right combinations of power, the right people to bring together. He set on this path a long time ago.”
Maybe… maybe this would have all happened anyway, even without my parents starting the battle—a whimsical thought, born out of hope for their memory.
I should know better.
“And Kamari?” My lips roll inward. “How was she first used? She spied, didn’t she? She turned Micah against us, and countless others.”
“It isn’t us versus them. Not to all. I am on no side other than Aslendrix.”
“That’s not good enough.” My teeth grit together.
The Maker turns, her head snapping to one side as she mumbles to herself. “Kamari is a powerful Guard. Her family were always powerful. But remember, some aren’t satisfied with their gifts, no matter how abundant they are.”
“Her family made her do this?” I think of my parents and wonder if they were the catalyst for this, or just the victims of something that had been building for years.
“It is never as simple as that, Ever. But the Usher was her paternal great-grandfather.”
Grandfather? He looked ancient, like the Maker. My eyes narrow at her as my mind slots the piece of information together. “Why do you insist on doing nothing, of being idle while they fight between themselves over whatShegifts? Change something!”
“It is not my place!” She raises her voice to me, and I jolt back in my seat at the ferocity in it.
“Would you? If it were your place and you had a choice?” I don’t stop.
“It would need more than just your voice, Child, to see that change.”
We drift into silence, each weighing the conversation with sips of tea.
I didn’t side with Fenix—with my parents—because it wasn’t right. I still believe that. Kamari thought differently.
“Is there anything else you’d ask of me?”
I flick my eyes up to her empty ones. She knows what else is on my mind. I just have to pull the courage to ask it. “I would like to bury them. Kalan and Fenix. At the same place where my parents were buried.” She nods at me, understanding my unvoiced question. That place is still a mystery to me—an unknown location near the lake. Perhaps if I know, I’ll be able to find a sense of closure around my family and lay it to rest.
Maybe.
Ten helps me to dig the graves, as marked by the Maker. Despite the chill, my back burns, and my hands scream as I dig the shovel into the soil.
It’s a sombre place. The ground is still cold and saturated with slush from the melted ice after the storm. There’s no sign of the other bodies, nor of the Jarkoreth or Sur’gos. Part of me wants to ask why. But after everything, my thirst for answers seems to have quietened. For now, at least.
It isn’t the same for the rest of The Court. Ten says there will be many burials and pyres, yet the unrest at the heart of the battle remains.
We place their bodies into the ground, and my heart aches for the tragedy of it all.
Ten doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask me if I’m alright, and I am relieved. How am I meant to tell him that a sense of sorrow hasseeped inside of me and taken hold as I bury the brother who killed me? The brother who sought to drive so much pain into our lives.
Even now, even from death, he’s driving me to that familiar point, pulling at the stitches of my heart that are now frayed and tatty and unable to keep it whole.
As the sun begins to lower, I stand at the edge of the lake.
“Don’t do it again, Aslendrix. Don’t grant someone with magic like mine. People have feared power, hidden truths, and killed, all in their own cause to keep Kirrasia safe. Don’t gamble with that again.” I toss a pebble into the lake and watch the ripples span out as far as I can see, hoping thatshewill hear me.
The lake shines with all the colours I’d first imagined it might, the shades muted by the occasion perhaps, the lingering hue of snow casting over the water.
It’s tranquil. Lonely. I can almost feel a part of myself take root here. Like a piece of me—a piece that died—has left to be with my family—the graveyard of the Harts.
