I hadn’t entered their city with the intent of killing three of their members. That had come about in self-defense. If they had any honor, they’d take this as a lesson to train their numbers better.
They watched me for a few more moments, and then, as one, they turned from the river and headed back into the city.
With a knife, I sliced off a strip of fabric from the bottom of my cloak. I tied it around my back and left arm with help from my teeth, immobilizing my arm across my chest to prevent further injury. Blood seeped into the makeshift bandage. I paused to catch my breath. I didn’t have much time. I’d left the Addamos behind, but what waited for me on the dead plains was much worse.
“Plains” was a misnomer. The long grasses before me rolled over gentle hills. Their peaceful appearance belied their true nature. But returning to Lovero now would be a death sentence. The Addamos would be watching for me. And soon they’d inform the Da Vias. Luckily, the three Addamos who knew I wasn’t Rafeo were dead.
The pain in my shoulder settled into a fierce ache. Regardless of my injury, I had to keep moving if I wanted to have a chance.
The dead plains were dotted with shrines and monasteries dedicated to Safraella. If I could reach one, I’d find sanctuary.
I remembered the stack of paper on my father’s desk, the bids for our new Family priest. I scanned my memory of the one I’d examined, searching for the location of the monastery. Northwest of Genoni.
Mounting Butters with a single arm was difficult, but after much swearing and kicking, I managed to climb into the saddle. I rested, then nudged Butters forward. We headed northwest. I kept my eyes peeled, watching the dark landscape for movement.
Everything was wrong. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Why had this happened to me? How had my life come to this? Fleeing in the night, injured and alone.
My fault. All my fault.
But, also, the Da Vias’. I tightened my fist on the reins. Butters flicked his ears. It was their fault, too. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget this feeling, the rage flowing in your blood.
Val. His actions had condemned me to this fate. If I could just speak to him, hear his side of things—no. Don’t be dumb, Lea. Nothing he could say would fix what had happened. Even if, more than anything, I wanted to feel his arms around me, telling me everything would be all right. That no one would find out about us. That we’d be safe together. But now I was alone and I’d never be safe again.
Ahead, something lay in the tall grass. Butters snorted, and we approached cautiously. Nothing moved other than the grass in the wind.
I knew it would be a body. I looked down as we passed. A man, dressed in cheap silks that fluttered around him in the night breeze. He lay facedown, his head turned to the side, dirt pressed against his mouth and open eyes. Nothing marked him, as if he’d dropped dead from a failed heart. It wasn’t his heart, though, that had brought his death.
Anyone could become a ghost. People who died out of favor with their gods, people who didn’t worship a god, even people of good faith who died with too much rage or despair in their hearts. It was why we left the coins on people we clipped. It acted as a balm to ease their rage, to signal to Safraella that they’d been murdered for holy reasons and deserved a chance at a new life.
Movement to my left. I turned slowly, trying not to draw attention.
A wisp of white, a figure floating in the night across the field. An angry ghost. The dead plains were full of them.
Many gods had their own personal hells they could damn their followers to, but Safraella did not. If someone was devoted to Safraella but died out of favor, they entered a sort of purgatory. Ghosts congregated on the dead plains, waiting for a person to stumble upon them so they could steal the body and turn that person into a ghost.
But a ghost could never again be a person, and after a day or so it would abandon its stolen body—often on the dead plains, like the body in the tall grass—and begin its search anew, endlessly looking for the life that had been taken from it.
I shivered. The angry ghosts were dangerous. They could use their rage to move objects, or they could rip your soul from your body. No one would ever willingly face a ghost. The ghosts were why the Addamos had let me go.
I ducked my head and asked Butters to speed up. So far the ghost hadn’t noticed me. Sunrise was only an hour or two away. If I could pass through unmolested until then, I could travel to Yvain and find my uncle. Luckily, the Addamos didn’t know where I was headed, but there were only so many places one could go to from the plains.
Butters huffed, his breath steaming in a puff of white in the cool spring night.
To the right, more movement. Another ghost, heading south toward the river.
I hunched in my cloak. My shoulder burned and my vision faded. I bit my lip until my sight cleared. I needed to stay in control or I wouldn’t make it out of the dead plains.