Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf #1)(56)

Zan, Nathaniel, and Kate exchanged glances.

“You can feel that?” I asked. Kate nodded, her breath white in the air. My ears had started ringing, just like they had during the bloodcloth ceremony.

“The words,” Zan whispered. “You have to say them.”

I gulped and let my blood drip onto the leaves of the bloodleaf, which seemed to curl around the drops and cradle them for a moment before they disappeared into the veiny surface, completely absorbed. The ringing in my ears intensified.

I read the script Zan gave me, my words barely a whisper. “Oh Aren! Spirit of the spectral plane, queen in life, and favored of the Empyrea, we summon thee.” Then I repeated it in the old lang-uage: “O Aren! Spiritu Dei spectris planum, regina, in vita. Favorite de empyrea, ut vocarent te.”

Please, Aren, I silently begged as shadows began to collect in the corners and an unnerving, scratchy whisper began to crawl into my ears, come quickly. Then I lit the contents of the bowl on fire. The bloodleaf seemed to hiss as it burned.

The shapes were growing larger and larger, amalgamations of darkness that were not human, not animal, not grass or rock or tree . . . they did not feel like spirits that had lived and passed on. Nor did they feel like death—?they felt like whatever it was that cowered in death’s darkest shadow.

“Emilie?” Zan was saying. “Are you doing this?”

The table was rocking violently beneath our clasped hands.

“Aren,” I said aloud, squeezing my eyes shut. “Please, Aren, please. Merciful Empyrea, anyone. Please make this stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.” When I received no answer, I reached for the magic set free when I drew my blood and struck out with it, wielding it like a weapon. “Stop.” It was not an exhortation this time but a command.

Suddenly the whispering in my ears fell silent. The table grew still. The temperature of the air, already frigid, sank lower. When I opened my eyes, the shadows had disappeared and Zan, Nathaniel, and Kate were all staring at me open-mouthed. The candles were smoking; their flames had gone out.

Behind them stood the Harbinger.

She didn’t look like she had before; she seemed more wan, more faded. The hollows in her eyes and beneath the bones of her cheeks were more pronounced, her hair more limp and snarled.

“She’s here,” I said softly. They stared at me; they couldn’t see her.

“Ask her,” Zan said. “Ask her our question. Who will become the first sacrifice of Forest Gate?”

Aren dragged herself closer and closer to me, reaching out those ice-cold fingers, creeping them into my hair, onto my cheek.

“Aren,” I whispered. “Please. Show me the next sacrifice. Show me the maid.”

She bent over and grabbed my face in both of her hands, wrenching it down until it was level with her own. The visions began in a chaotic tumult, rushing past in an incoherent, disorienting succession of flashes. I was a ship unmoored in a savage whirlpool, no place to go but into the depths.

“Tell us,” Zan said earnestly. “What is she showing you? What do you see?”

“A . . . a party, I think. There are lights. Movement . . . dancing. The girl is waiting for someone outside. I see her dress . . . it’s silver. No, white. A man is coming. It’s dark. He’s tall. It’s dark . . . I can’t see his face.” The images were coming faster and faster. “I . . . I don’t know. There’s a hand. Teeth. A knife. The chime of a clock. Fifteen minutes to midnight.” I gasped violently. “Blood on hands. Blood in hair. A crack in an eye. Red. Red. Red.”

“What does she look like? What is her name? Can you give us anything?”

I was wading through a nauseating avalanche of images and sounds. Music, screaming, blazing streaks of light, thousands of voices talking at the same time. I focused on the girl, separating her from the rest of the din. She’s waiting. She hears a sound. She’s turning.

Oh no.

I let out a wrenching cry, and the Harbinger released me, gone in the same instant. It was over.

Kate rose from her seat and began tearing open the curtains, drowning us in light, while Nathaniel furiously rubbed out the chalk triquetra. Zan knelt at my knee, trying to calm me with soft sh sh sh’s. It took several hiccupping breaths before I found my voice again.

“I saw her,” I said weakly. “I know who she is.”

“Who?” Zan asked, searching my face.

“It’s me. I’m the maid.”





?22




They were trying not to disturb me, to let me rest, but I could see them silhouetted in the doorway. I could hear their whispers.

“Nothing has changed,” Nathaniel was saying. “In fact, we’re in a stronger position now than we could have possibly hoped for—?Emilie knows what’s going on, she wants to help us, and we don’t have to convince some other poor, scared girl to risk her life. She’s capable, brave. Think of all of the things she’s already had to do—?”

“Everything has changed,” Zan hissed. “Without her, we’ve got nothing.”

Kate asked, “Have you told the king about all this? Surely, if he understood the danger, he’d take action. Postpone the wedding and all these silly parties and traditions, maybe even start evacuations.”

“I tried to tell him,” Zan said, “and he laughed at me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “He made jokes about my intelligence and my ‘girlish inclination toward hysterics.’”