There is nothing but the crackle of the fire and the distant moan of the Godwinds. My breath rattles in my chest like I’m just a husk, little more than that corn dolly I made with my mother all those anni ago. On those steps that are probably still here, somewhere. I gulp in an inhale, the smell of warm stone and fresh asphodel petals leaking from my memory and into the present.
“How did I survive?” I find myself asking, trying to sound imperious, like I’m not afraid of anything, like I’m made of stoneinstead of dust and petals and pain. Beside me, Nyatrix sighs, the sound almost devoured by the crackle of the fire.
“The hidden panel in your home, I imagine,” Agrippina says, her gaze unflinching. My stomach plummets. “The moment your mother heard of the Host’s Tithe demand, she made plans. That was Celia. Always ready.”
My heart swells, and I go stock-still. It’simpossible—it’s impossible this Sepulchyre woman knows the name of my mother, a woman I lost far too early, whose name I have never spoken for fear that her actions may further sully my standing in Lumendei. Grief claws at me. How ready the Host made me to forsake her.
“She was a talented healer,” Agrippina murmurs, leaning her forearms onto the small table. She raises one hand for a moment, her fingers curled, as though to brush away my tears. At the last moment, she changes her mind—but how desperately I want to fall into her arms, to imagine what my mother may look and smell and feel like, had she not been taken from me. “And she adored you. That’s what’s most important for you to know, Ophelia. The sun rose and set with you, as far as she was concerned.”
I turn away, staring into the hearth as I grit my teeth, willing myself not to cry. If she found a way to save me, why not herself? Why couldn’t she have crawled into that little den, too? Even if we had died, we would have gone together. I would not know this pain I feel now, like something sharp-clawed has climbed beneath my breastbone and now desperately, wildly, wants back out.
“One of us was supposed to find you first,” Agrippina tells me. “For almost thirty anni, I’ve dreamt nearly every night of one thing: pulling the panel back in the remnants of your mother’s cottage and finding it empty.”
The older woman’s eyes are bright with tears. My own vision blurs. Tentatively, I reach out with my free hand, brushing the back of Agrippina’s weathered knuckles. In a heartbeat, she wraps her hand around mine.
“By the time I arrived with the rest of the Celeres,” Nyatrix adds, glancing down at me, her expression heavy with grief, “you had already been taken.”
It would be the most beautiful lie—that I was loved. That I had a home. That I wasn’t the only survivor, just the only harvest reaped from the orchard the Host razed. “You must understand,” I manage, “how hard all of this is for me to believe.”
“Of course it is, love,” Agrippina says, so genuine I want even more to weep. “But there’s no rush. You’re safe—or at least, safer than you were. The Cult of the Mater Dea carries on, and we’re here for any questions you might have.”
“Mater Dea?” I ask, the words somehow familiar on my tongue.
She exchanges a look with Nyatrix, who lets out a very long sigh but then nods.
“We are a group of healers, cunning-folk, and wise women,” Agrippina tells me, her shoulders tight with tension. “We believe that the Creatrixes will return. Rise again.”
“Easy, Agrippina,” Nyatrix says, though she doesn’t pull her fingers away from mine.
“She should know, Nyatrix,” the older woman retorts fiercely, tilting her head back to meet the knight’s gaze, defiance gleaming in her eyes.
“Don’t speak about me like I am not here,” I say, surprising myself with how easily the words come to my lips. Self-consciousness sears through me a moment later; I am a guest in Nyatrix’s home, saved by her goodwill. All my anni in Lumendei should’ve trained me to behave better.
Swallowing, I look at the knight, afraid of her reaction. But there’s no anger or frustration on the sharp planes of her face. Instead, the corners of her mouth are upturned, one eyebrow raised, her eyes glittering in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Apologies, Lady Ophelia,” Nyatrix says, raising my hand from the table. She leans low and brushes the back of my knuckles with a kiss. “You are quite right. Agrippina wishes to tell you something that you may find distressing. Perhaps it’d be best to wait a few days, until you’ve had more rest.”
The little stone kitchen is so quiet that Agrippina’s sharp inhale rings out like a church bell. I look between the two of them, gently pulling my hands into my lap. A log crashes in the fire and I jump, my heart climbing the hill of my throat. I don’t know how to explain to Nyatrix that there would be no rest or comfort for me, not with this unknown stone hanging above my head. If it is to crush me, it may as well be now.
“Tell me, Agrippina,” I say. “If you believe I should know, then enlighten me.”
The woman pulls in a deep, hitched breath, her lips pressed together. I try to straighten my spine despite the still-present ache of the flail wounds.
“We believe the Creatrixes will rise again,” Agrippina repeats, her eyes two pits of shadowed gloom in the firelight. “And, in accordance with the Cult’s Sacred Scriptures, we believe that they will send two Avatars in their stead. Two creatures of earthly flesh, destined to usher in a new age. To topple their Son from His unearned throne.”
Confusion floods me. I furrow my brow, opening my mouth to speak, but Agrippina continues before I can. “Many moons ago, we thought that your mother was Vitalia’s Avatar,” she says. “And with her gone . . . it very well may beyou, Ophelia.”
My blood throbs in my ears. The fire crackles. The Godwinds rattle at the door.
I say nothing. What is there to say? I have always known my mother was a heretic.
I have always known I am not very good at being on my knees.
Chapter 36
“All my life,” I say, my tongue too large for my mouth, “I’ve been told I was Spared for a reason.”
“Perhaps,” Agrippina murmurs, her tone almost reverent, “you were.”
