Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(129)

“Wait.” I dropped my hands. “I’m trying to understand. You’re a Seer. You . . . See things. And where you See things is in the way air moves.”

“Yes.”

“Your sister is a Seer, too. She Sees things in dreams.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re both changelings.” My frustration was threatening to bubble over. “That doesn’t make sense. Seers are—they’re incredibly rare! My father didn’t have a Court Seer, because he couldn’t find one! His parents had a Shyi Shuai in their Court, but she didn’t See the future as much as bend the luck to make it do what she wanted, and maybe that’s what got them killed, since Shyi Shuai always get backlash. How the hell are you and Karen Seers? You can’t be.”

“Well, we are.” Cassandra shrugged. “Karen was the one who showed me. She didn’t know what she could do until Blind Michael took her. After that . . . it was like the dead bastard had woken her up by putting her to sleep. She watched the way I watched the air, and she started telling me how to interpret it. You want humbling? Try having your baby sister teaching you how do something that feels like it should be as natural as breathing, but somehow isn’t. I See things. My sister Sees things.”

“I . . . okay. Okay. I am going to stop arguing with reality, because it never gets me anywhere, and just beg you, please. Tell me what we need to do to wake my brother up. I need him. I need . . . I need my family back, and he’s the only one left for me to save. Please.”

Cassandra grimaced, reluctance written plainly across her features. “Can you get me a candle?”

“I have one in my bag,” said Walther.

“Of course you do,” said Cassandra, with the ghost of a smile. “Will someone turn out the lights?”

“I’ve got it,” I said.

The knowe wasn’t wired for electricity, but we knew how to mimic it. Most of the rooms were lit with a marsh-charm that looked a lot like witch-light without requiring each bulb to be lit independently. I turned the dial next to the door. The tubes feeding the charm into the room went cold, and the light dimmed before flickering out, so only Walther’s witch-light provided any illumination. He handed Cassandra a candle before dousing that light as well. Everything was darkness. The starlight creeping in around the edges of the curtains cast the walls into vague relief, more an idea of architecture than anything clearly seen. That was all.

There was a brief flare as Cassandra lit a match and held it to the wick of her candle. She had sunk into a cross-legged position on the floor while I couldn’t see her, and her hair fell around her face like a curtain as she bent over the flame. It would have been easy to assume that she was staring at the fire. I took a step closer, and saw that she was staring at the air above it, her eyes unfocused again, darting back and forth as she followed the motion of something only she could see.

“The first sword didn’t come from the stone; it came from the sea,” she said, voice hollow and distant. “They called it a lake, later, when they were trying to contain its power, but it was sea-forged and sea-drawn, and its blade knew brine before it knew blood. Sharp it was, and cold it was, and unforgiving, always.”

“What?” I demanded.

A hand touched my shoulder. Walther. I tensed, ready to remind him that touching queens without permission was never a good idea. He caught my eye and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Highness, but you need to let her work,” he said, voice low—he was trying not to distract her. “She can use the wind to scry, and that’s clear, just like Karen can walk in lucid dreams, but when you ask her to See, what you get is images and ideas. We’ll interpret them when she’s done.” Unspoken: This is what you asked for. This is what you wanted.

I forced myself to calm. I nodded. He withdrew his hand.

“She gave the sword away. She gave so many things away. Some for good and some for ill, but oh, she gave them all away.” Cassandra sighed. “So many things, and yet she can’t forsake the water. She never set the sleepers sleeping, never plumped their pillows or made their beds. Still, people came to her and asked for clever trinkets, and she had to say them yea. She never had a choice. Not since she chose once, and all her choices were taken away.”

Silence fell. Cassandra tilted her head to the side, like she was looking at something she didn’t understand. Finally, she said, “They asked and she said ‘yes.’ She has to say ‘yes.’ That’s why she hates us for asking. She gives and she gives and she gives, and we built a world on the idea that thanking her for what she’s already given is against the rules. We built a world on never being grateful, because we were entitled to everything we got. She’s the one who bottled the moon. She’s the one who refined the stars. She’s the one we have to talk to. But there will be costs. There are always costs. There have to be. It’s the only way we ever thank her. With our tears.”

She pitched forward, hands hitting the floor on either side of the candle. The motion was so swift that the wind it generated blew out the flame, casting us into total darkness. A wisp of smoke rose through her hair, paradoxically visible.

“Ow,” muttered Cassandra.

I leaned over and turned the lights back on. They trickled into life, revealing Cassandra unmoving on the floor. Walther was watching her, lips thin, face drawn.