House of Salt and Sorrows(78)

“Versia gathers them up, and they rain down here.”

I studied the water, searching for a sign of its magical properties, but all I saw was my reflection staring back at me. “You speak as if you’ve met her.”

“I have,” he said, and pulled me over to a series of benches.

I sank down on the stone seat, toying with the skirt of my nightgown as I tried to make sense of all this. Back before we knew of the door in Pontus’s shrine, Fisher said gods once dealt directly with mortals, stepping in to mediate disputes, help with crops and harvests. Along the way, most retreated further and further into the Sanctum, content to leave mortal affairs to the mortals.

But I knew some gods still used emissaries to carry out tasks for them. Was Cassius one of Versia’s messengers? It would explain his vague responses about his life before showing up that morning on Selkirk.

“Do you work for her?” I asked, stumbling over my words. “As a messenger?”

His eyes crinkled into a smile. “No…I’m her son.”

My mouth fell open in astonishment. “Son? But that would make you…”

“Half god.”

I twisted my fingers together. It was hard to understand and almost impossible to believe, but I was sitting here, in his mother’s abbey. I felt the heat of the air and the stones beneath my feet. Her magic healed my hands. This couldn’t be made up.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

He ran his fingers through his dark curls, tugging on the ends. “Do you remember what you told me in the park at Churning? About how so many of the men you meet are after your position and money?” I nodded. “I too want to be liked for who I really am. Not all this.” He raised his hand, gesturing at the moon wall.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“You said you were being haunted. By your sisters.”

My hands balled into fists as I remembered opening my eyes in the bathtub and seeing not Lenore but Rosalie staring down at me. Cassius placed his fingers over mine, covering them with earnest care.

“I know you’re not.”

He squeezed my hands once, effectively crushing any bit of hope I had within me.

“You were right, back in the solarium. I shouldn’t have known your sisters’ names. No one ever speaks of them. But…I’ve met them…and I can promise you—they are not ghosts.”

I stilled. “You what?”

He cleared his throat. “The Sanctum is divided into different regions, each place a separate haven for the god or goddess it houses. To show Mother his devotion, Pontus built her a palace of moonstone in the Brine with him. It’s where I grew up, thoroughly doted upon, a strange half-mortal child. But as I got older, and it became obvious that I didn’t have the same talents as my other half siblings, some of that charm wore off.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“It sounds lonely,” I said, wanting to commiserate but also desperate to hear more about my sisters.

“It was. Mother was gone quite a bit, looking after all this. And there was no one there who was like me. All I had for company was the souls of the departed.” He offered a little smile. “I explored every inch of the Brine, talking to whomever I came across, listening to their stories, and one day I found Ava. She’s so striking, with her black hair and pale skin. She told me about her life before. About her sisters. About you. Later on, when Octavia came, she brought new stories with her. Then Elizabeth.”

I tried to wrap my head around the sheer incredibility of the conversation. “So…when you met me at the wharf, you already knew who I was?”

He nodded. “I hoped so. You look just like Ava. Then you said your name and confirmed it.”

“What else did they tell you about me?”

“Ava said you were about my age, a little younger, maybe. She said you loved to play the piano and run about the estate, pretending to be a sea captain on your boat.”

A blush crept across my cheeks, warm and pink. “I wasn’t more than six then.”

“Elizabeth told me all about the sea turtles.”

“That’s how you knew.”

He had the decency to look chagrined. “Yes…But this is how I know you’re not being haunted. Your sisters are in the Brine, happy and at peace. They’re not trapped here, with unfinished business. Whatever you’ve been seeing, it isn’t ghosts.”

“But tonight it was Rosalie and Ligeia—you don’t know if they’re in the Brine. And Verity, she’s seen them too. She’s made the most terrible pictures. And they look just like them. How do you explain that? She’s too young to remember Ava and Octavia.”

He leaned back against the stone wall. “It could be something else.”

I focused on his choice of word: something.

A line of women entered the abbey, interrupting us. They wore long ice-blue robes, the color of moonlight, with hoods up to conceal their faces. There were an even dozen, holding out lanterns of mercury glass. Charms of silver stars and golden moons hung from their corded belts, tinkling like chimes as they passed. Though most were focused on the altar, one girl at the end, younger than the rest of the group, glanced over at us with curiosity. Recognizing Cassius, she immediately dipped her head in reverence.

“Versia’s postulants. The Sisters of the Night. They live at the abbey, tending to the wishing wall and paying homage to my mother. They’re about to begin their first service of the day. Come with me.” Cassius drew me away from their ceremony.