The vile words shocked Elodie like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head. She was not often privy to the opinions of her subjects, but if these were the things spoken about her, she found that perhaps her ignorance was appropriate.
People continued to pour into the tavern. Someone elbowed Elodie roughly in the chest, sending her stumbling into the person in front of her. But there were so many bodies squeezed into the room that they could not even turn to confront her.
It was almost a relief to watch Tal wave people closer to his makeshift pulpit in order to offer those in the back the suggestion of space. The scrapes on his cheeks had begun to scab, making his injuries look far worse than they actually were.
“Welcome, friends,” the prophet called. “We are all equals in this room. There is no front or back, no better or worse. That you chose to convene this morning is the first step. And for that, He thanks you.” Tal paused, putting a finger to his lips. “Some of you are here because you already believe. Some of you, though”—his eyes wandered lazily, the silence gaining power the longer he held it—“are here begrudgingly. Dismissively. With hesitation in your hearts. But mark my words.” Tal spread his arms wide and tilted his face to the ceiling. “By the time the sun has settled in the sky, there will be no doubt.”
Tal clapped his hands, and the tavern plunged into darkness. A hush overtook the crowded room like a hand clasped over an unsuspecting mouth. Then Tal clapped again, and the candlelight returned.
“Do you see?” He was close to laughter, his lips spread wide with pure joy. “Do you see how simple it is to turn light to dark and back again?” He ran a hand through his hair in a purposeful tousle, his eyes shining bright. “This is the power the New Maiden claims. But it is nothing He cannot do. In fact, He is the one who first originated that power.”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“That is what She does not wish for you to know,” Tal continued, voice hushed. “That power that She claims? It was stolen from Him. But where He was strong enough to hold it, She was too fragile to contain it. The power twisted and corrupted Her. In the end, it defeated Her. Is that what you wish for the world? Will you put your faith in a girl too weak to save Herself?”
The murmurs grew to mutterings.
“This second coming of the New Maiden has already led Velle toward ruin,” Tal continued. “Our neighborhood churches have been padlocked and burned to the ground. Our stores of food depleted. Our harvests were drowned, our access to imports cut off. Tell me, who has failed to protect us?”
Elodie felt the blood drain from her face. Tal was using his access to her intelligence—secrets told to him in confidence—to turn the crowd against Sabine.
“The world ran well before the New Maiden reappeared,” Tal shouted above the crowd’s rising jeers. “Our country was strong. We were free to invest our faith where it belonged. But now there is shame associated with dissent. A willingness to look past the truth in favor of what has always been. Is it not righteous, to question everything? Is it not just, to hold our gods to higher standards?”
Tal’s words ignited the crowd like a dribble of alcohol introduced to a match. Assent rang around the room, burning bright. But he was not finished.
“I tried to reason with Her,” Tal continued. “I approached Her calmly and plainly. But when She learned who I was, that I carry the word of the man She stole Her power from, the New Maiden threw Herself upon me like a rabid dog.” He gestured to the wounds on his face, and the crowd began to boo. “She tore out my hair and drew blood from my skin. She would stop at nothing to silence me from speaking the truth.”
All Elodie saw was red. The red of the Loyalists’ uniform, the red of the kerchiefs tucked into lapels, the red of the anger blazing behind Tal’s eyes. The prophet was twisting the facts, had repainted the scene to befit his own narrative. He was lying to her people and turning them toward a false agenda.
“The Second Son knows the danger of emotion,” Tal said, his voice eerily calm. “He understands that stillness is strength. He recognizes your pain but will not waste your time with tears. Instead, he will fight for you. But first…” Tal grinned as the crowd leaned forward. He had them right where he wanted them. “You must let His light in so that Hers might finally be extinguished.”
19
The light in the Lower Banks was not impeded by towering ships or teetering apartments. Instead, it cascaded dreamily across the lush green of the tall grasses, reflected the crisp blue water of the banks, and glittered gold against the minerals in the clay-colored silt.
It was the most beautiful place Sabine had ever been.
The land held untapped energy, a humming, wandering vibration that thrummed all the way to her fingertips. When Sabine smiled, she could feel its buzzing in her lips.
That morning, she woke before the others, left them slumbering in the spacious tent provided by the attendants. Pilgrimages to the Lower Banks were common enough that guest accommodations were not only available but well-kept. Their group fit comfortably in a circular tent, which contained cots with clean linens and a small jug of water available to freshen up. Sabine had been easily lulled to sleep the night before by the sound of the water and Genevar’s gentle snoring.
Now she walked along the shore with bare feet, the cold sand tickling her toes. She inhaled, deeper than she ever had before. The influx of salt air set her brain reeling. The New Maiden had wandered this coast. She had dug Her fingers into the silt of this sand, had wept the tears that revitalized the banks. Here, She had summoned the power to save Her home when it needed Her most.
“Maiden?” A tentative voice, soft like a well-worn quilt, interrupted her musings. It was a white-robed attendant, one of the guides who inhabited the peninsula. The attendant was about her mother’s age, with eyes that held the same kind creases in the corners from smiling. The attendant offered Sabine a pastry, a dense, seeded loaf crusted with pepper and caraway. “I thought you might be hungry, from such a long journey.”
Sabine accepted the food gratefully. The group had arrived after supper, and the initial glow of walking in her predecessor’s footsteps faded with every growl of her stomach. She tore off a giant bite, reveling in the crunch of the seeds. Her sigh of contentment made the attendant grin.
Sabine was thankful the local hosts were so inviting. They were the most steadfast protectors of the New Maiden’s legacy. They had every right to be defensive of Her second coming, to compare Sabine to the savior they knew. Instead, they were honored to welcome her into their home.
Probably because the Second Son had not yet poisoned Her followers so far south.
Sabine waited for her darkness to chime in. Instead, she was forced to think the foul thought all by herself. She hated that the memory of the voice that had once offered her comfort was now conflated with Tal’s taunting lilt.
The attendant pressed another pastry into Sabine’s palm before sidling off. Sabine tucked away her spoils and had only just settled herself on the sand when she was joined by the youngest Warnou sibling.
“Good morning.” Brianne’s head blocked the sun so that rays cascaded around her like a halo, making her glow.
“Sleep well?”
“No.” Brianne plopped down on the sand beside Sabine with a heavy sigh. “Genevar snores.” She pulled a sour face. “But it’s not just that. I’ve been thinking, and I want to be useful.”
Sabine frowned. “You’re already useful. Your presence alone is a help.” It wasn’t strictly true, but if it made Brianne feel better, that was surely good enough.
The youngest Warnou raised her eyebrows. “I was born a princess, Maiden. I can detect a liar when I hear one.”
Sabine snickered. “You sound like Elodie.”
Something like pride flashed in Brianne’s eyes. “If I were Elodie, you’d be letting me help you.”
“Very well.” Sabine chuckled at Brianne’s boldness. She had not always possessed such sure-footedness. Now that the youngest Warnou was no longer the prophecied Third Daughter, she seemed more certain of herself and her place in the world. Sabine envied that. “How about you help me figure out what I am meant to find here? How I might go about reigniting Her magic?”
Brianne clapped her hands together, looking vexed. “Did you always have magic?”
“Yes, and no. I was ten when I finally could identify it,” Sabine said.
During those early years, the darkness had never held Sabine captive. Instead, she had clutched it tightly in hopes of eking out an ounce of magic, enough to pay rent or her father’s debts. The darkness had initially been a fleeting presence, but always something she could control.
