Elodie wanted to run to her. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest. “Do not dare tell me what I will or won’t do.”
Sabine sank to her knees and began to weep. More and more courtiers appeared, whispers building as they gawked at the New Maiden’s misfortune. The louder Sabine sobbed, the worse Elodie felt. She knew the emotion was artificial, that her own cruel words had only been props in a production. Still, she could not shake the inherent horror that came from denying a woman the truth.
Elodie prayed the New Maiden had faith in the contents of her heart. Then she turned on her heel and headed for her study. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope the castle’s inhabitants were as loose-lipped as Katrynn had led her to believe. If all went according to plan, Elodie would soon receive a visit from the prophet of the Second Son.
Tal
Tal was used to being hurt by those he loved: his father, whose calloused hands seemed made to inflict suffering; his mother, whose silence was proof her loyalty did not belong to her son; Elodie, who prioritized country above romance and thus did not return his devotions.
The front lines were a place to heal and grow in more ways than one. The Second Son offered Tal the satisfaction of being seen. He witnessed the boy’s pain, the serpentine shadow that slithered through his bloodstream, squeezing the air from his lungs. Rather than chastising his inadequacy, the Second Son taught Tal how to tame his emotion. Where once the shadow sank its fangs into Tal’s heart, darkening his mood and injecting him with paranoia, now Tal could suck the poison from his wounds and turn that venom into anger.
Tal’s anguish became rage. His pain became power.
Made comfortable by the weight of a weapon in his hand, Tal wielded His word easily. He extracted dormant anger from his compatriots and filled the empty space with His teachings. Tal converted ten men, then fifty. Soon the medical tent grew too small to fit His followers.
“You have done well, my son,” said Ludwig, the gray-haired soldier who had tended to his wounds and to his soul. “But it is time for you to go.”
Tal’s blood ran cold. “Have I displeased Him?”
“On the contrary.” Ludwig smiled. “You have proved yourself essential. Your impact will be greater on the front lines of His battle than it ever could be here in the training camps. Take this”—he handed Tal a knapsack that contained discharge papers, a thin gold chain, and an unfamiliar uniform—“and take Him.” He handed Tal a small glass vial. Inside was a single black berry.
Puzzled, Tal held the vial to the light.
“The better to know Him,” Ludwig said. “May He guide your every step.”
Tal smashed the berry between his teeth. A trickle of juice dribbled down his chin. A shadow flitted across his vision. A voice flickered to life inside his head.
In this way, the prophet was made.
When Tal returned to Velle, he did not do so alone. He carried with him the Second Son.
PART THREE
The Second Son was the only Favored impervious to the New Maiden’s word. While the others melted like wax around Her wick, Sebastien alone remained untouched. His heart was guarded, the barrier impenetrable by tender words alone. This only made Her more invested in him.
Just as Sebastien’s vision had foretold, the two grew inseparable. The New Maiden vowed to become acquainted with every piece of his soul, the better to reach him. They were so entangled it was sometimes difficult to remember where one stopped and the other began. Their minds met, their fingers intertwined, even their hearts beat in time. But one obstacle remained between them.
It was the New Maiden who first addressed the unspeakable.
“Let me unburden you, Seb,” She whispered. “Let me hold the darkness for you so that I may know you fully.”
Sebastien refused, for he did not wish to subject Her to such horrors. But She would not relent, and eventually he agreed. The Second Son offered the New Maiden his darkness, and then finally he was free.
—Psalm of the Second Son
15
Sabine had once dreamed of the freedom to weep without consequence, had coveted the thought of tears spilling heedlessly from her face, pooling at her feet, unbottled and uncontrolled. But as she wept in the south wing before an audience of courtiers, Elodie’s call for her banishment still ringing in her ears, Sabine could not help but think that without her magic, crying was an empty gesture, a waste of energy. Worst of all, it offered her no release.
“Bet.” Katrynn helped Sabine to her feet, her voice firm. “Bet, it’s time to go.”
The whispering had already begun, talk of the New Maiden’s volatility fluttering about like a bird trapped indoors. Sabine wished it were so simple. She had only just begun to understand her emotions when she had ascended as the New Maiden. Then everything changed. Without the darkness, she could not connect her heart with her actions, could not identify the murky emotions that now guided her. They held none of the clarity of her darkness, offered no glimpse of its sharp tongue, refused to slither around her heart or slip beneath her skin. Her current emotions merely clung to her, dulling her senses and clouding her vision.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” Katrynn called to the onlookers as she guided her sister past their hungry eyes. “Have you nothing more valuable to do than spread gossip of the New Maiden’s missteps?”
Not one observer seemed the least bit chagrined as the sisters hurried toward the Anders family’s quarters.
“Well, that was the turnout we wished for, wasn’t it?” Katrynn asked quietly as she pushed open the door.
To the sisters’ surprise, their mother was there, as though she had been standing with her ear pressed against the wood, the better to hear. Artur was thrashing about the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” Katrynn frowned at the chaos.
“We heard everything,” Artur said, poking his head into the sitting room, his expression sour. “Clearly, you’re not welcome here, and our family sticks together. So we’re packing.”
“He’s right, love.” Orla Anders pulled her younger daughter into an embrace. “I know you cared for her, and we appreciate the hospitality, but no one should speak to you that way. We won’t stand for it.”
Sabine used her sleeve to wipe away the tears still streaked across her cheeks. “You believe me banished, then?”
Her mother frowned. “Bet, she made that impossibly clear. She really was rather cruel.”
“That’s good.” Sabine cleared her throat. “It means we were convincing.”
