“Vetris? Carriage? Spring Welcoming?” I start. “Does he always spout nonsense or is tonight a special occasion?”
Firewalker glowers at me in a way I assume is supposed to be very intimidating, but it just makes him look constipated. Seawhisper kneels so she’s eye level with me, her gaze lighthearted, sparkling despite the seriousness of her next words.
“We think the humans are on the verge of starting another war, Zera,” she says. I shoot a look at Nightsinger, who remains expressionless. “That assassin who attacked you tonight—do you still have his dagger?”
I fish around in my bloodstained dress and hand it to her. With skilled fingers she opens the handle by a little latch, revealing that it’s hollow on the inside, a tube of white fluid there. The smell of it is acrid and bitter.
“Is that stuff why it hurt more than the usual stab?” I ask. Seawhisper nods.
“White mercury. It’s a chemical the humans discovered during the Sunless War.”
“They invented it to kill us with,” Firewalker corrects coldly. “It’s the entire reason we were weakened during the final battle at the Moonlight Keep. If we ingest even the smallest amount, our magic is suppressed for hours, making us easy targets.”
Seawhisper nods. “A human—we don’t know who—has been equipping assassins with these sorts of weapons and sending them to suspected witch haunts. We believe it’s to test the effectiveness of white mercury against Heartless, in preparation for war.”
I frown. “It didn’t kill me, or even incapacitate me.”
“It’s not meant to harm you.” Firewalker narrows his eyes at me. “White mercury suppresses magic—that includes the magical connection between witch and Heartless—so it takes more magic to heal a mercury-infected Heartless. Use your puppet brain—stab all of a witch’s Heartless, force her to heal them, and what do you have left?”
“Well that one’s easy—a weakened witch.”
He nods. “A simple kill for even the most battle-green human.”
“Clever. And nasty.” I put my hand to my mouth. “But what does this have to do with me?”
The two witches look to Nightsinger, who puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “The High Witches have devised a plan, Zera, to delay the war. Do you know what the Spring Welcoming is?”
“Some old Vetrisian ceremony full of pomp and glitter and sweetrounds, I’m guessing.”
“Enough with the stalling,” Firewalker barks. “You’re going to Vetris. You will pose as a noble intending to marry the prince, and when you have the opportunity, you will take his heart and turn him into Nightsinger’s Heartless.”
There’s a stretched silence. I snort. “Your jokes are almost as bad as mine. Almost.”
“We need the prince as a captive,” he insists. “A ransom—a bargaining chip against the humans.”
I look at Nightsinger, but she’s quiet. Seawhisper is, too, as if they’re both waiting for my reaction. The whole idea is so absurd I can barely keep myself from laughing.
“Even if I wanted to play dress-up and commit treason, you’re forgetting I can’t go a mile and a half from my heart without becoming a useless, screaming lump. A witch would be better off doing it.”
“We cannot,” Nightsinger says softly. “The humans have erected a tower called the Crimson Lady. We aren’t sure how it works, but it can detect magical energy within the city of Vetris almost instantly. We lost all of our witches in Vetris within a matter of days.”
“They were drowned,” Seawhisper says solemnly, her smile absent this once.
“But—” I grasp at something, anything, as I start to realize they’re serious about this. “Me? I’m kept alive by your magic. That tower will detect me—”
“You aren’t a conduit of magic as we are.” Firewalker rolls his eyes. “You are simply tethered to this world by it. That infernal tower can no more detect a Heartless than the naked eye can see the wind.”
“And you decided I was best for this job? Don’t the other witches have a Heartless who knows how to dance and kiss copious amounts of noble arse better than me?”
“There are few who fit the age bracket for the Spring Welcoming,” Nightsinger says. “It’s a ceremony in Vetris that welcomes marriage candidates for royal children into the Vetrisian court. The prince has rejected so many potential brides that the humans have grown desperate. It’s the perfect opportunity. And it was decided among the High Witches that you are the most outwardly pleasing of our Heartless.”
Seawhisper chimes in. “If we want the prince as our Heartless, we’ll need to set a very pretty trap. And you’re the perfect bait!”
“P-Pretty,” I sputter. “As in, pretty irritating? Or pretty loudmouthed?”
“Pretty as in… Well, you’ve got a nice face,” Seawhisper says, eyes nearing my chest. “Among…other things.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You chose me because of my—”
“According to our information, he has a type, all right?” Seawhisper throws her hands up. “And you fit it!”
“Listen, I’m flattered, but—”
“Ugh. Spare me your modesty,” Firewalker snarls. “I have little patience for it.”
“Fire,” Seawhisper says sternly. “That’s enough. She’s overwhelmed.”
“I do wish you’d stop making excuses for her,” he insists coldly. “She’s a Heartless. Her duty is to obey, not question.”
“My duty is to Nightsinger.” I straighten my shoulders. “No one else has my loyalty—least of all an irritating slimeball like you.”
Firewalker’s face darkens, but Seawhisper comes between us with a cheery smile. “Then you’ll do it, won’t you?”
“You haven’t explained what I’m doing, except for seducing this prince and taking his heart. We’re talking about the same prince, right?”
“Eighteen-year-old Lucien Drevenis d’Malvane,” Nightsinger’s soft voice cuts in. “Heir to all of Cavanos and the Higher Reach, Archduke of Tollmount-Kilstead. Also known as the Black Eagle of the West.”
“That’s a very impressive list of titles and all, but I still can’t leave these woods—”
Seawhisper shoves something in front of my nose—a delicate gold heart-shaped locket etched with stars and the three moons. Mystified, I take it, and she smiles brilliantly.
“Go on, open it.”
I carefully pry open the locket, only to see a scrap of pink flesh resting within. Beating, in a very familiar rhythm.
“Is this…?”
“A piece of your heart!” Seawhisper chimes. “I made the locket myself. It will let you go much, much farther from your heart than normal. Far enough to get to Vetris, for certain.”
“She fails to mention the magic to make something like this was lost in the War,” Firewalker drones. “And that four other witches died attempting the same spell.”
“Oh, don’t be macabre.” Seawhisper punches his arm lightly. “It’s all for the cause, right? I’m sure it’ll be worth it. That is, if Zera agrees to go.”
“Do you have to turn him into a Heartless? Why can’t you just kidnap him?” I ask.
Firewalker snorts. “Because a Heartless can be told what to do. They can be ordered.”
“Ordered?” I wrinkle my nose. Firewalker’s face lightens, and he looks to Nightsinger.
“Don’t tell me—you’ve never ordered them?” he asks. Nightsinger can’t meet his eyes. Firewalker laughs, for what’s the first and probably last time. He turns his gaze back to me. “Hilarious. But then again, I should’ve expected it. Nightsinger’s always been a soft touch.”
“What do you mean—”
“A witch can give a command to a Heartless with enough magical force behind it to make them obey. That’s why we need the prince Heartless—he’d escape, otherwise, or try to kill us. Maybe send messages to his father. When the prince is Heartless, Nightsinger will command him to be utterly silent, utterly pliable. Won’t she?”
Firewalker looks to Nightsinger, bu
t she won’t look back at him. I had no idea. The books never talked about that. I thought being forced to eat organs was bad, or chasing off intruders in the woods. But this? She has total control over us, even though she’s never used it? She focuses her green eyes on me, a deep sadness in them.
“Will you do it, Zera? Will you take Prince Lucien’s heart?”
She’s asking me, not ordering me. She’s different from Firewalker, from every other witch who apparently commands their Heartless. A pressure settles on my chest, suffocating me. Nightsinger called the humans desperate, but the witches must be equally desperate if they want the prince as their captive this badly. Badly enough to rest all their hopes on an unproven wild card like me? Badly enough to throw any girl his way and hope for the best? I feel like a piece of meat all of a sudden. Nightsinger comes up wordlessly behind me and takes the locket from my hands, circling its chain around my neck and fastening it for me.
“Won’t the Crimson Lady detect this magic necklace?” I ask.
“I told you.” Firewalker bristles. “They can’t detect the tether—”
“Fine, fine. Say I go to Vetris,” I interrupt him. “And what then? I just walk up to the prince and say, ‘Hello, handsome, I do hope you enjoy bodily injury,’ and take his heart?”
“If only it were that easy.” Seawhisper shakes her head. “There’s a noble within the court—she’s the one waiting in the carriage outside the forest for you. Her family is one of the rare human families who still worship the Old God. She’ll claim you’re a long-lost niece and help ingratiate you into the court.”
“How can you be so sure she won’t betray—”
“I tire of this,” Firewalker snaps. “Your questions are meaningless. We’ve arranged it all—you must go, now. Nightsinger, if she won’t agree, order her—”
“Will you give us a moment?” Nightsinger’s voice rings clear. Firewalker looks disgruntled, but Seawhisper tactfully pulls him away. The two of them transform into white crows in a blinding light and fly out the window. Nightsinger turns to me with a soft smile.
“I’m sorry about them. They’re…on edge. We all are, ever since we learned of another impending war.”
“Are they really willing to place the fate of a war in my grubby little hands?” I hold up my palms, forest dirt under my bitten nails. She folds her hands over mine, encompassing them gently.
“No. But we are outnumbered. And these white mercury weapons the humans are making—” She exhales. “I will be frank with you, Zera; we won’t survive another war, unless we act before the humans do, and quickly. You aren’t our only plan, but you are one of the few that may buy us enough time to prepare others—we suspect the king will be eager to save his only heir and refrain from striking out at us as long as the prince is ours.”
I stare at a floating glass rose, my own face distorted in it. Nightsinger’s skin is cool and soft, her nails long and ladylike.
“Nightsinger, I—”
“I won’t ask you to defend us for nothing in return,” she says quickly. “I’ve done that for too long. If you do this, I’ll give you your heart back. And Peligli’s, and Crav’s—all of your hearts returned. You’ll have that freedom you ask after so often, if you succeed.”
Hope floods my chest cavity like a searing light. To be whole again? To be human, to go where I please, to eat real food, to be the only voice in my own head? To regain my memories of my mother, my father, their love for me before they died? It’s everything I’ve wanted for so long, for three years of wallowing in dim woods and my shattered past. A tiny regret pulls me the other way; if I say yes, it’ll mean another jar on Nightsinger’s caged shelf. But if I say yes, it’ll be the only jar there.
“I’ll do it,” I say finally.
“It’ll be difficult, and dangerous.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I straighten my spine. “If you asked me to go underground and kill a hundred fire-breathing valkerax for my heart, I’d do it. But you haven’t. You’ve asked me to take some stuck-up noble’s heart. And that’s much easier.”
Nightsinger flashes me a smile, a rare and gentle thing. She and I walk down the stairs. Crav is back, sleeping on his sheepskin right next to Peligli. I move to pack my clothes, but Nightsinger stops me with a whisper.
“Lady Y’shennria will provide you with new garments. Come—I’ll take you to her.”
I look at Crav’s sleeping face. “Can I say good-bye?”
She nods. “Meet me outside when you’re ready.”
I kneel as quietly as I can at their sides. Crav’s dark lashes flicker over his cheeks. His eyelids are slightly red and swollen, his boots a little muddy. He probably ran to the head of the creek. It’s peaceful there, and I know he cries only when he’s sure he’s alone, like I do. We’re both prideful like that—refusing to let others see us in our moments of weakness.
“Don’t worry, Crabby.” I stroke his cheek. “I’ll get your heart back.”
If I squint, they look like human children. Children with hearts and freedom, growing and changing, never trapped by magic stasis. If I look at them sleeping peacefully, I start to believe I can make up for killing those men by freeing them, no matter how little it truly is.
I leave the cottage, my hands empty of anything but my father’s old relic of a sword—rusted at the hilt and dented in the blade, but still bearing a semblance of dignity. It’s all I have of him, of my old life. The three witches stand tall in the foxgloves discussing something, the fireflies dancing among them. When I approach, they quiet.
“It’s been decided.” Firewalker straightens his suit lapels as I approach. “If the humans discover your true identity, they’ll most likely torture you for information. And we can’t have you revealing anything about us. Lady Y’shennria will send word if your position is compromised, and Nightsinger will perform your shattering.”
I make my eyes the sweetest of daggers at Firewalker. “I’ve been ripped apart by wildcats, stabbed through by humans. I’ve fallen off a cliff and broken every bone in my body. It’s hilarious that you think a little torture will be enough to make me talk.”
“It’s not a matter of a ‘little’ torture.” He sneers. “We have no forces to send into Vetris to free you. A caught spy is never treated well. It would be years of pain the likes of which you can’t even imagine—the humans would pump your veins full of white mercury and burn you from the inside out, repeatedly. Slowly. And that’s the best-case scenario.”
My face goes cold, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of flinching.
Nightsinger can’t meet my eyes as she murmurs, “I’d rather you not suffer more than you have already, Zera. I hope you understand why it must be this way.”
Of course I understand. I understand my life is hers to do with it what she will, that I’m powerless to resist, or decide, or even change. That is the fate of a Heartless, the price of our eternal life—chains heavier than iron.
But I can break them. I know exactly how to break them now—with Prince Lucien’s spoiled little heart.
“Are you two done?” Firewalker demands. “The carriage awaits.”
I spare a glance at him. Underneath his shortness and anger, the moonlight reveals fear in the lines of his face. Even Seawhisper’s smiles now look paper-thin to me, her lips trembling, as if she’s holding something in. For all their power and majesty, they’re still afraid of war—of death. Of being unwritten from this world—a fear all living things have. A fear I have once again.
“Yeah.” I straighten. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” He looks pleased with me for once. “Then stand in the center of us. We’ll send you there—it’s faster than walking, and you’re on a bit of a time restraint.”
The three witches form a triangle. Seawhisper looks to Nightsinger with concern in her eyes.
“Are you sure you still remember the spell, Night? You’ve been away from the Tree for so long—”
“I remember,” Nightsinger answers immediate
ly. They fall silent and still. One second their eyes are normal, and the next they’re jet black, from lid to lid, corner to corner. Their fingertips hanging at their sides grow black, nails stretching long and sharp like claws, and equally dark. Nothing about the growing darkness is natural—it’s cold and void-like, a black deeper than the night itself, as if the magic is eating away at the very reality of color. It consumes their skin all the way up to their wrists. The stronger a spell, the higher the void grows up a witch’s extremities. I’ve only ever seen Nightsinger turn her tear ducts black, or the very tips of her nails. This spell, though, is something far more powerful. Their mouths form the same words in sync, but all I hear is the roaring silence of the woods. They speak the Old God’s tongue—an inaudible prayer to him. The foxgloves around me sway with a sudden wind, the fireflies scattering.
In a flash, Nightsinger opens her eyes—no longer black, but green and white again—and smiles at me, her voice audible once more.
“Be safe, Zera.”
“You—” I blink, and get to finish my sentence to a whole new vista, one with a muddy road and a misty midnight horizon. The forest is to one side, vast grassy plains on the other, the Bone Road stretching beneath my feet. “—too.”
I haven’t seen the world on this side of the forest in three years, and I drink it in greedily. The tall grass of the plains sways gently in the midnight breeze. Everything looks so huge, the sky pressing down on me; the three moons seem even bigger without a canopy to hide their faces. I take a moment to breathe in—not the damp, molded pine smells of the woods but the bright, alive smell of earth warmed to its bones by the sun and cooled by the moons each and every day.
A carriage waits not far ahead, covered in slate gray silks and drawn by two roan mares. The driver waves his hat. I begin toward him at a trot, looking back once at the velvet woods. I’d forgotten how strange the feeling of leaving was, like a bittersweet snowflake on the tongue. It’s a bare taste of the freedom I’ve lusted after for three years—a freedom that waits for me in the chest of Lucien Drevenis d’Malvane.
Stupid girl. You’ll never be free. The hunger rasps a laugh, clinging like a spider to the dark corners of my mind. No matter how much you squirm, no matter how far you try to run, those men are still dead because of you. The shadows of what you’ve done are long and eternal.