Yet maybe some of that girl still lived in me, because I broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of sitting at this table again, irrationally afraid of what the others might see in me.
Atrius, of course, had sensed my anxiety last night, as I tossed and turned in bed. He’d pulled me against him, curling his body around mine, and grumbled into my hair, “They’ll listen to you. If they don’t, we’ll just kill them all.”
I’d been grateful for something to laugh at, even though I wasn’t actually sure that he was joking.
I felt the pressure of this meeting. That much was indisputable. But now that I was standing here in this room, the pressure was just the same pressure I felt before any of the many diplomatic meetings I’d had in the last few weeks. I had expected that this room would feel magical in some way. Blessed. Like it saw too much of me.
But I had already witnessed that—when I stared into the face of Acaeja herself.
I witnessed it every time I was in the presence of Atrius.
This? This was just a room.
Still, there was some power in ritual. I set out the chairs myself, placing them evenly around the circular table. I spread the salt. No, none of it was magic. None of it was godly. But it helped us all feel a little less alone in this world—and that counted for something.
When I sensed the Sisters approaching, escorted by Erekkus and his men, I tied my blindfold on once again in a show of respect to them and to our shared history. I was seated at the center of the table, in the chair the Sightmother once occupied, my fingertips pressed to the salt. The Sisters were ushered in and sat down in their seats. They all were healthy and clean. Still, I sensed their fear, wary and palpable.
Some held their hands to the salt immediately, grateful for something familiar. Others hesitated for a few uneasy moments before acquiescing.
Asha was the last one to act. Her presence was the coldest.
“You don’t have to,” I said, “if you don’t want to. I just wanted you all to see my truth as I see yours.”
Asha didn’t acknowledge me and kept her hands on her lap. That was fine.
I turned my head, feeling all the familiar souls around me. I smiled. “It’s good to see you all together again. I’ve missed you.”
The truth. I didn’t intend to speak anything but the truth, tonight.
“I hope you’ve all been comfortable... even though I know the circumstances haven’t been ideal these last few weeks. And I’m sorry for that. A lot has been changing.”
“You killed the Sightmother,” Asha spat.
A ripple of fear, grief, anger spread around the table. Erekkus took half a step closer, as if preparing to restrain Asha, but I held up a hand.
“I didn’t,” I said, “but I’ll take responsibility for her death.”
Her lip twitched with a sneer. “You were always so lost in your worldly wants. None of us are surprised that you murdered the Sightmother and fucked a vampire to make yourself a queen. And you expect us to follow you?”
Once, her words would have hurt.
Now, I felt nothing for her but pity. This was fear. That’s all.
“No,” I said. “I don’t expect anything from you. I’m just trying to give you something. You can take it if you want, or not.”
“And what is that?” she sneered.
“Something that was kept from all of us. The truth.”
I pressed my hands against the grains of salt. I exhaled my nervousness.
I had never before been honest at this table.
“All I ask of you,” I said, softly, “is for you to listen.”
But tonight, I opened my soul, exposed the threads I had always been so desperate to hide, and I gave them all of it.
I gave them the truth.
I was braced for their response. What I had revealed to them was an affront to everything they had known about the Arachessen. We had all been raised to have complete, unquestioning faith in our Sightmother and our goddess. What I was telling them now... it was such a gutting betrayal that it would be easier for them to deny it.
Some of them grew angry as I talked, interjecting with vitriolic accusations. Others were withdrawn and silent. I answered all their questions. I gave them all the scant proof I could. I offered to take them to see the body of the Pythora King, in its clearly manipulated state.
For hours, we talked. I was honest about all of it—the things I knew, and the things I didn’t. So many questions I still couldn’t answer, no matter how much I wished I could.
And when I felt their heartbreak, I experienced mine all over again.
For better or for worse, we had built something beautiful in our unshakable faith in each other. I grieved it as it shattered. I was here to create something new with them, but that didn’t change the tragedy of what had been destroyed.
Eventually, hours later, we had exhausted ourselves. Everything that could be said had been. We leaned over that unbroken chain of salt, simmering in each other’s grief.
Only then did I lift my head and turn to all of them, reaching my presence out to theirs.
“I know that what I have told you is difficult to hear, and even harder to understand,” I said. “I know that I’ll be spending much of my life trying to understand it, too. I wish I could give you all the answers you’re looking for. I—I wish I could find them for myself.” My voice cracked slightly—I cleared it, swallowing down the emotion. “But while we can’t control our reckoning with the past, we can control our future. The Pythora King, in whatever form he existed, is gone. Now we’re left with a broken kingdom that needs us, and a world of opportunity of what can be done with the pieces.” I drew in a breath and let it out. “How long, Sisters, has it been since Glaea belonged to its people?”
“The vampire is not one of Glaea’s people,” Naya pointed out.
“No,” I agreed. “And he’ll be the first to admit that, too. But I am, and I stand beside him. He isn’t Glaen, but he knows what it is to be lost and betrayed by those who were supposed to protect you. He knows this kingdom deserves more, just as we do. And our voices are just as powerful as his. I know this is a big question, and I’ve given you a lot to consider. But that’s all I’m asking of you. Consideration.”
The words hung in the air for a long moment. I found myself holding my breath along with them.
Little Yylene, Weaver bless her, was the first to stand.
“Yes,” she said, her small voice barely filling the room. “Yes. I’ll help.”
I couldn’t suppress my grin. Not only at my first ally, but that it was her—the young girl who, like me, had always so struggled with her emotions.
Soon after her, another Sister stood, and another. They didn’t say anything. There was nothing more to say. But I felt their solidarity all the same.