My heart beat faster, my chest painfully tight. “Will you send my brother back?”
“No.” The witch traced an obscure pattern in the air. “That is not how this works. He is your creation, not mine. Your brother did not know when he asked, and you did not know when you answered, but unlike my father, I suspect Fox Pahlavi is where you both want him to be. You can summon the dead, and they will come at first, because they are creatures curious of the life they once tasted and long to savor again. But you cannot bind dead folk without their consent, and you cannot make them stay. That is the first rule of the Dark. There are only two types of people you cannot raise from the dead: those with silver heartsglass like ours and those who are not willing. And your brother is very willing.”
I felt sick all over again. I did not want to be a bone witch. I could not be a bone witch. Lilac had promised me gems and dresses and a handsome prince. “And if I don’t want to?”
The lady’s bright eyes looked back at me, knowing. “Do you know that it is considered in poor taste to lie to the one who saved your life?”
I averted my gaze because she was right. I did not want the woman’s presence in my room, tainting the air with a truth I had no desire to hear. I did not want to think about my brother, torn between the living and the dead by my own hand. But I had wielded the magic, and I had liked its flavor. Even then, my fingers itched to trace that exquisite rune in the air again, to sample it with my mind. The spell’s aftertaste still lingered in my mouth—like sweet peaches, like silken honey that had burst underneath my tongue and ran smoothly down my throat.
“The Dark are greedy runes. Draw them once, and they ruin you for any other magic. The Dark are also jealous runes. We cannot channel Fire and Water and Earth and Wood runes any more than we can attack with the shadows on the walls. But most importantly, the Dark are seductive runes that steal into your head and make free with your thoughts when you least anticipate them. And for that, you will require watching.”
“I don’t need watching,” I said out of a desire to be stubborn.
The witch guffawed, a strange sound from one who looked so elegant. “Yes, child. You need no watching, and I should have stayed in my asha-ka in Ankyo and let the Dark sup on the waste of your bones. And then your family would have two funerals instead of one.” She sighed. “We have little choice, you and I. It is the law: if you do not serve the kingdoms, then the Faceless shall seek you out. Which path would you prefer: bone witch or traitor?”
I took a long, shuddering breath. This was true; I owed her my life if not yet my trust. “What’s going to happen next?”
“We leave for Ankyo as soon as you are able.”
I froze. I had never left my village, much less traveled to Kneave, Odalia’s capital. I knew that Ankyo was even farther than that, across Odalia’s borders and into the kingdom of Kion.
Mykaela of the Hollows smiled at my stricken face. “There are many things that I need to teach you, Tea, and it would inconvenience me to have the villagers’ fear running underfoot when it is most inappropriate. Your family may visit if you wish them to. It is a long journey, but if your studies go well, we can arrange to have their expenses paid for by our House. And we shall take your brother with us.”
“Will you make him better?”
Lady Mykaela turned to me, and only then did I see how terribly old the woman was. Not old from the passage of years but from seeing too much of what most would rather see little of.
“You can’t make the better of the dead, sweet child,” she said, “though I reckon death could make the better of us.”
? ? ?
Fox showed no inclination to eat anyone once the doors were unbarred, though food could have improved his features. He was too ashen, his eyes red rimmed, but he stood obedient while Lady Mykaela made her inspections. A crowd still gathered as news of my condition had spread. Mrs. Drury stood to one side and gave me the evil eye, and when the people muttered and whispered, they looked at me the same way they looked at the bone witch.
“You’re in better shape than most I’ve seen.” She reached up and smoothed Fox’s hair, and my mother’s hand twitched in response. “All your fingers and toes and the wits still in your head. Do you feel at ease in this skin?”
“I am not uncomfortable,” Fox replied.
“I am sorry,” the lady said, this time to my parents. “Tea will not be safe here. Not from the villagers’ prejudice, which can be rectified. Your daughter must have training or the Dark will chew holes into her heart, eat her from the inside out, until she shall be more husk than the dead we trade in.”
“Do you want to do this, Tea?” Father asked, like he believed I still had a choice.
I did not want to, but Fox was now my responsibility, the way I had been Fox’s in those days before he went to war. “I am going to protect my brother,” I said slowly, trying out the words to see how they sounded.
My brother smiled at my gumption, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
“We must go soon,” the bone witch said, “but before we do, I owe you one more thing at least. You will not have a chance to enjoy your Heartsrune day, so I hope this is of some consolation.” She held out to me the most beautiful heartsglass I had ever seen—gold spun into intricate leaves winding through the glass on all sides. Small stones of ruby and beryl balanced out its paleness. Shivering, I allowed my sister Lilac to clasp it around my neck.
Lady Mykaela of the Hollows drew a shape in the air, and I felt nothing more than a small tug at my chest as the bone witch coaxed my heart out and into the glass. In that early sunless dawn, it shone—not pink and red, as my parents’ and siblings’, or even purple like my witch-sisters’, but a dazzling silver white.
She prepared our meal with simple tools, in rudimentary fashion—a metal pan over a small fire, oyster shells for spoons, coconut husks for bowls. Mine was a feast worth more than I was: a leg of turkey stuffed with sage and thyme and dripping in gravy, freshly baked bread as if just from the ovens, and fish swimming in a tangy sauce made from chopped apples and glazed lemons. There was wine of the finest vintage from Tresea’s famed vineyards.
“I came prepared,” she said, smiling at my astonishment. “A merchant from a nearby town supplies my needs and asks no questions. In many places, money speaks louder than one’s beliefs. Did you think I would come here to forage for scraps when I have other skills at my disposal?”
In contrast, her meal was simpler: a glass of water, choice fruits and raw vegetables, and servings of sliced runeberries. “I never did acquire a taste for runeberry wine. I prefer to eat them raw.”
“These are not from Stranger’s Peak.” The runeberries that grew in that desolate region were smaller and rounder, like brown peaches. These were larger and paler in color.