Work. My task. Once, that was blissfully straightforward. Now I found myself choosing each word gingerly, like steps across a fragile bridge.
With her prompting, I went on to tell her about my time with Atrius—carefully, using only facts. What he asked me to seer about. How we took Alka. How we took Vasai. Then I told her of his future plans—that he intended to move on Karisine next, to open a pathway to kill the Pythora King.
And here, I hesitated.
It was relevant for me to tell the Sightmother about his plans for his cousin to support his attack, and in doing so, tell her about the civilians living on the island of Veratas.
Yet, I remembered the careful, tentative tone of voice Atrius had used when he told me about them—like I was being entrusted with something precious and delicate.
I had split seconds to make the decision.
Civilians, I decided, were not relevant. It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter, I told myself, as I ended my brief without mentioning Veratas, and as I listened to the Sightmother’s long, thoughtful silence.
“Hm,” she said, finally. Her fingers played at her chin.
“It’s been months,” I said. “I’ve remained very close to him. You asked me to understand his ultimate goals, and I have. After all I’ve learned, I have a recommendation.”
The Sightmother’s brows rose, shifting above the teal blue of her blindfold. “By all means, tell me.”
“With every battle I’ve seen and plan I’ve witnessed, he has attempted to minimize the risk to human citizens. It doesn’t always work, but that doesn’t change the fact that he tries. And that’s because he intends to rule this kingdom. He sees the humans as his people, as much as the vampires are.”
The Sightmother did not hide her skepticism on her face nor in her presence.
“I didn’t believe it either at first, but I’ve seen it proven time and time again,” I said. “He has more respect for the lives of the humans here than the Pythora King does. And perhaps—”
No—no perhaps, no maybes. I was stronger than this. I had a recommendation. I would make it.
“The Pythora King has killed tens of thousands of innocent people. More. And we have been fighting against him for decades. For what? What have we achieved?”
The Sightmother said nothing, her presence unreadable.
“The Bloodborn conqueror may not be our enemy,” I said. “Perhaps Atrius would make a much better ally.”
The silence of the Sightmother’s presence now seemed ominous. Still, she said nothing, and so, neither did I. I let the statement stand, even though some desperate part of me was frantic to walk it back.
“Atrius,” the Sightmother said at last, voice flat. “How familiar you’ve gotten.”
My stomach twisted. The Sightmother’s disapproval was always a cold blade.
Atrius’s kiss burned unbearably on my lips.
“You told me to grow familiar,” I said. “Just as you asked me for my recommendation.”
“And that recommendation is what, exactly? You haven’t fully said it.”
Too late to back away now.
“Abandon our mission to kill him,” I said. “Ally with him instead. Help him overthrow the Pythora King.”
“And crown a vampire king instead?”
I wasn’t ready to promise the Sightmother that Atrius would be a perfect king to this country. But I had seen the way Atrius cared for those who served under him. That was worth something. It was a rare quality in a ruler.
“He trusts me,” I said. Was that the truth? I didn’t know if I could make that promise, either—though the memory of his face in the firelight, just him and I, floated through my mind. “He could be guided. He respects the Arachessen’s power. We could help him. He could become—”
“I told you that Acaeja disapproves of him and his mission.”
I struggled to fathom this. My entire life, I witnessed the worst of what the Pythora King was capable of. I knew it better than anyone—better than the Sisters who had been too young when they became Arachessen to remember life outside the Salt Keep. “Atrius is a vampire,” I said, “but the Pythora King is a monster. How can the Weaver possibly—”
“Are you questioning her will, Sylina?”
The Sightmother did not raise her voice. She did not need to.
I closed my mouth. No matter how many years passed, her rebuke stung just as it had when I was a child.
“No,” I said. “No. I am not.”
The Sightmother’s stare and her grip on my presence didn’t let up.
“There is something else you want to tell me,” she said.
I resisted the urge to flinch. I had gotten spoiled having my thoughts to myself lately, and grown lax about guarding them. With the Sightmother’s disappointment still simmering in my chest, I wasn’t especially eager to humiliate myself even further. I was only going to prove to her that I was what the other Sisters whispered about me.
And yet. I had to ask. Not just because the Sightmother already saw the shape of my secret, but because my brother’s life was worth my humiliation.
“When we marched on Vasai,” I said. “I met someone from my former life. Naro.”
The Sightmother had no reaction.
“He’s… he’s very ill. He was taken advantage of by Tarkan for decades. He has been addicted to Pythoraseed for years, and it has ravaged him. If the withdrawal doesn’t kill him, the drug will. But—”
Until now, I had been successful at keeping my voice calm and measured. Here, a little crack slipped through before I could stop it.
“But Arachessen healers might be able to help him. They might—”
“You’re asking to allow an outsider into the Salt Keep?”
The Sightmother’s voice was kind, as if comforting a child. But the harsh phrasing of the question hurt to hear, because I knew how it sounded.
The Sightmother stepped closer. Her aura wrapped around mine. What had been overbearing before now turned into an embrace.
I no longer cried after the damage to my eyes. But sometimes, I felt the symptoms of it—the prickling behind my eyes, the choked sensation in my throat.
“I could take him somewhere else,” I said. “And they could come to him—”
The Sightmother took my hand. Her thumb rubbed it, back and forth, back and forth, the steady cadence of a heartbeat. She had done this since I was a child. At the time, I was so grateful to have such affection. I thought I would never feel a loving touch again. And in the Sightmother’s, I thought, This is it. I’m finally safe.
Now, for one horrible moment, I resented it. I resented it so fiercely I almost yanked my hand away.
“Sylina does not have a brother,” she murmured. “You know this. I know I do not need to tell you this.”
She was right. I’d taken vows. I’d given up my former life. I’d cut out every influence. And back then I was so grateful for it. There was nothing about my old life that I wanted to keep. Nothing but death and loss and fear and hurt that I never wanted to experience again.
I’d been so quick to throw away Vivi.
But I hadn’t known then that I was throwing away Naro, too. I thought Naro was already gone.
Never once had I questioned my vows to the Arachessen.