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Right.
Because of choices. Because of what I’d felt. Because this new knowledge, just like new power, would make my life harder, and it hadn't quite been a walk in the park so far. My fingers tightened around my mug as my thoughts swerved off, away from the bindings and towards that memory that lay heavy and inescapable in my chest –
Valter and Editta.
The thought of them alone awoke the memory of their fear and grief, the sensations no longer as overwhelming without the bag in my arms, but vicious enough even as echoes.
‘My adoptive parents …’ I hesitated, awkwardly putting my mug aside. They could hardly be a subject Zera wanted to discuss, and yet my thoughts latched onto it with overwhelming fierceness, pushing even the matter of the bindings aside. ‘They had their reasons, didn’t they?’
Zera sighed, turning her head to stare outside. ‘Yes.’
‘They were frightened.’ I wasn’t sure if I liked it, that newfound insight that wasn’t just rational understanding butexperience, an explanation so vivid it became a justification. Could I still be a victim if they were hardly perpetrators? ‘They … they didn’t mean to do any harm.’
‘No.’ She sat still as a statue except for the restless motions of her bony fingers plucking at her long grey braid. ‘But that doesn’t make them harmless, of course.’
I shut my mouth and swallowed audibly.
‘Here is something you need to understand,’ she continued softly, looking back at me. Her eyes were pools of eternity, dark with knowledge far beyond my imagination. ‘Something quite essential to make sense of the world once you’ve seen it like this. Just because people have reasons doesn’t mean they’re right. Reasons are easy to come by. It’s wisdom that creates the true challenge.’
‘Like the Mother,’ I said hoarsely. ‘Who has reasons, but …’
‘But chose the wrong path nonetheless. Yes.’ A joyless chuckle. ‘Once someone ends up casting her living children aside in her hunger to avenge the dead ones, you can be rather sure she’s beyond saving.’
Creon. My throat squeezed violently and unexpectedly. ‘Yes.’
‘And similarly, you don’t need to excuse Valter and Editta for their choices simply because you understandwhythey made them.’ She tucked her brown woollen blanket tighter around her shoulders. ‘They were out of their depth, of course, and I feel for them. But they still chose the wrong solutions, and you suffered for it. Empathy and anger are allowed to exist side by side.’
‘Yes,’ I said again, because I wasn’t sure what else to say. My chest was tightening, as if to work against the relief that welled in me. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are very welcome,’ she said, her slow exhalation close to a sigh. ‘But that understanding won’t make the path forward easy, dear. You will still be hurting people you may truly not want to hurt.’
And the more power, the more hurt I could inflict … I was slowly getting dizzy. How much did I trust myself – enough to make those decisions?
Then again …
‘If I don’t have that power,’ I said, and my voice came out unexpectedly clear, ‘is there another way we could ever break the bindings? Will the magic be reversed if we kill the Mother?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her mirthless smile betrayed that she knew the conclusions I’d draw, hated them, and still couldn’t bring herself to lie to me. ‘I’m not an expert on binding magic. The basic facts are all I know.’
Which meant this might be our only chance to break them – to restore the fertility of every magical female around the archipelago, to get Agenor’s memories back, to hear Creon’s voice. The dizziness waned. Doubt solidified into steely resolve, into the only conclusion I could draw: those were not prices I was willing to pay.
What it would cost me … I would find out, and if I was unlucky, I’d find out soon. But the gods-damned bindings had to go, and here lay the way to break them.
So I said, ‘Teach me. Please.’
And with a last, tight-lipped sigh, Zera nodded.
Chapter 20
Eventhechickenswererestless when we strode out into the garden, my knees shaky despite the five slices of bread I’d munched down after dragging myself from the blankets of Zera’s bed. The bag of grief lay safely in the goddess’s bony hands again. Even so, my senses seemed to have been sharpened, as if the world had grown brighter, louder,harsheraround me: the sunlight was a dagger to my eyes, the fragrance of cherry blossoms a smothering perfume, the rustling of trees a rumbling thunderclap. I was wearing my own comfortable dress again, and the grass brushing past my bare lower legs seemed rough like cat’s tongues.
As if my entire being was a freshly healed wound, sensitive to the gentlest prodding.
Zera walked before me, closer to nervousness than I’d ever seen her before. ‘I’m not sure it will work,’ she told me for the fifth time as she led me through the low arches of the willow trees, towards a side of the island I hadn't yet visited. ‘I haven’t tried anything like this since I lost my powers. Honestly, I’d say it was impossible if not for …’
She faltered, gripping the bag tighter as if it threatened to slip from her fingers. I reflexively took half a step forward to help, then realised what I was doing and dropped my hands with an ice-cold shudder.
You could have been dead.If I could barely handle sunlight, this wasn’t the moment to lay another finger on that bag.
