Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(64)
“What are the crystals?” I asked.
“Festival decorations,” Hal said. “They’re put up during solstice week to celebrate these longer days, and to spread and reflect that light across the land to show that it is what makes all things possible.”
“Back home we decorated with flowers,” I said. My throat tightened at the memories. In Amalska, our midsummer celebration had been about the bounty the land gave us. This year flowers might still have sprung from the ashes, but they would have only had empty houses and burned rubble to grow on. No one would have trained vines to climb over trellises so they could burst into fragrant bloom for solstice. No one would be there to weave wreaths of blossoms to crown the heads of those ready to be married. There would be no feasts or stories—only silence, and the animals and land reclaiming the structures that remained.
I tried to close my heart to the sorrow. We had other tasks at hand—ones that might change the fate of Amalska. The shard of hope that I might find the Fatestone was all I had to hang on to, so I clung to it with all my strength. I fondled the edge of the bandage on my arm. I still couldn’t grip anything. The injury was a constant reminder of what the world wanted from me—my blood—and what I needed to fight against.
“There were flowers at the solstice festival here, too,” Hal said. “See?” He pointed to a low stone wall decorated with garlands that had begun to wither.
“If solstice has already passed, our time is running out. There’s no telling when the first autumn snow will fall and Ina will be able to challenge the king.” I frowned, trying not to give in to the growing dread in the pit of my stomach. There wouldn’t be much time to come up with a new plan if I couldn’t get into the Grand Temple or Hal couldn’t get what we needed from the royal alchemist.
Also, I couldn’t help worrying about Ina’s child. If it was solstice week now, Ina’s pregnancy had to be entering its final moons. How would Ina take care of a baby while preparing for battle? What would happen to her baby if I couldn’t change the past—or if I could?
“Fair point. Let’s go this way. I still don’t think they’ll let you into the Grand Temple, but I know a shortcut to it if you’re determined to try,” he said, tugging me into an alley.
We climbed up the alley stairs and emerged onto another street that soon joined the road leading south of the palace toward the temple.
As we drew closer, I began to appreciate how truly staggering the Grand Temple was. A high stone bridge with towering archways led through the castle wall to the temple. Some kind of ordinance must have prevented any of Corovja’s wealthy citizens from building homes too close to it, because a public park filled with trees, flowering bushes, and verdant grass decorated the hillside beneath it. It extended all the way up to the thick walls of the castle.
As Hal and I passed through the park, we cut through a grove of apple trees covered in pink and white blossoms. Hal playfully nudged their branches with a breeze so that the petals rained on us like snow. I couldn’t help but come to a stop, closing my eyes to let the falling petals brush over my cheeks for just a moment.
“I like it when you do that,” Hal said, his voice warm.
My eyes snapped open. “Do what?”
“Disappear into that place you go sometimes.” He plucked a few petals from my hair. “It’s like you’ve found a place or a moment where you’re at peace with the world and know you belong, and you’re happy.”
Warmth crept into my cheeks. In the moments of stillness when I felt most at peace, Miriel had scolded me for daydreaming, and Ina had often grown impatient to carry on with whatever we were doing. That Hal saw more and appreciated it . . . that meant something. Part of me wanted to follow where it led, to take his hand—not because I needed it but because I wanted to, because maybe a spark would leap between us again, just as it had the first time we met.
“The entrance is ahead,” Hal said, interrupting my thoughts. He pointed to a path of cobbled flagstones leading to wide stairs climbing up the hill at least two stories to the entrance.
At the top, a cleric stood between two heavily armored guards. Behind her stood the closed double doors, with large, ornate hinges stretching across them.
“It’s a pity I can’t use my compulsion on those sworn to the spirit god,” Hal said.
“Why can’t you?” I asked, not that I wanted to risk him passing out on me again.
“Those with vows to the spirit god are attuned to emotions and feelings. They can sense truth and lies. And in a way, my compulsion is a sort of deception—a way of getting people to lie to themselves.”
I knew spirit users could turn people’s minds against them, but I hadn’t thought about truth sensing or that Hal’s gift was a kind of lie.
We climbed the stone steps until we stood before the temple doors. My mouth was dry with nerves. The cleric carried a staff of knotted wood, and her hair was braided into an intricate arrangement adorned with golden beads and bells to symbolize her devotion to the spirit god.
“Hello, my children,” the cleric said gently. “The temple is closed to visitors without permission from the crown.”
“But I’m a demigod,” I said. Shouldn’t that give me some right to speak to the gods? One of them was a part of me. “The woman who raised me said my father was the wind god, but that has since been proved untrue. Now I know nothing about my history or parentage. This is my only hope of finding out the truth.”