Bring Me Their Hearts(12)
“If only it were that easy.” Seawhisper shakes her head. “There’s a noble within the court—she’s the one waiting in the carriage outside the forest for you. Her family is one of the rare human families who still worship the Old God. She’ll claim you’re a long-lost niece and help ingratiate you into the court.”
“How can you be so sure she won’t betray—”
“I tire of this,” Firewalker snaps. “Your questions are meaningless. We’ve arranged it all—you must go, now. Nightsinger, if she won’t agree, order her—”
“Will you give us a moment?” Nightsinger’s voice rings clear. Firewalker looks disgruntled, but Seawhisper tactfully pulls him away. The two of them transform into white crows in a blinding light and fly out the window. Nightsinger turns to me with a soft smile.
“I’m sorry about them. They’re…on edge. We all are, ever since we learned of another impending war.”
“Are they really willing to place the fate of a war in my grubby little hands?” I hold up my palms, forest dirt under my bitten nails. She folds her hands over mine, encompassing them gently.
“No. But we are outnumbered. And these white mercury weapons the humans are making—” She exhales. “I will be frank with you, Zera; we won’t survive another war, unless we act before the humans do, and quickly. You aren’t our only plan, but you are one of the few that may buy us enough time to prepare others—we suspect the king will be eager to save his only heir and refrain from striking out at us as long as the prince is ours.”
I stare at a floating glass rose, my own face distorted in it. Nightsinger’s skin is cool and soft, her nails long and ladylike.
“Nightsinger, I—”
“I won’t ask you to defend us for nothing in return,” she says quickly. “I’ve done that for too long. If you do this, I’ll give you your heart back. And Peligli’s, and Crav’s—all of your hearts returned. You’ll have that freedom you ask after so often, if you succeed.”
Hope floods my chest cavity like a searing light. To be whole again? To be human, to go where I please, to eat real food, to be the only voice in my own head? To regain my memories of my mother, my father, their love for me before they died? It’s everything I’ve wanted for so long, for three years of wallowing in dim woods and my shattered past. A tiny regret pulls me the other way; if I say yes, it’ll mean another jar on Nightsinger’s caged shelf. But if I say yes, it’ll be the only jar there.
“I’ll do it,” I say finally.
“It’ll be difficult, and dangerous.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I straighten my spine. “If you asked me to go underground and kill a hundred fire-breathing valkerax for my heart, I’d do it. But you haven’t. You’ve asked me to take some stuck-up noble’s heart. And that’s much easier.”
Nightsinger flashes me a smile, a rare and gentle thing. She and I walk down the stairs. Crav is back, sleeping on his sheepskin right next to Peligli. I move to pack my clothes, but Nightsinger stops me with a whisper.
“Lady Y’shennria will provide you with new garments. Come—I’ll take you to her.”
I look at Crav’s sleeping face. “Can I say good-bye?”
She nods. “Meet me outside when you’re ready.”
I kneel as quietly as I can at their sides. Crav’s dark lashes flicker over his cheeks. His eyelids are slightly red and swollen, his boots a little muddy. He probably ran to the head of the creek. It’s peaceful there, and I know he cries only when he’s sure he’s alone, like I do. We’re both prideful like that—refusing to let others see us in our moments of weakness.
“Don’t worry, Crabby.” I stroke his cheek. “I’ll get your heart back.”
If I squint, they look like human children. Children with hearts and freedom, growing and changing, never trapped by magic stasis. If I look at them sleeping peacefully, I start to believe I can make up for killing those men by freeing them, no matter how little it truly is.
I leave the cottage, my hands empty of anything but my father’s old relic of a sword—rusted at the hilt and dented in the blade, but still bearing a semblance of dignity. It’s all I have of him, of my old life. The three witches stand tall in the foxgloves discussing something, the fireflies dancing among them. When I approach, they quiet.
“It’s been decided.” Firewalker straightens his suit lapels as I approach. “If the humans discover your true identity, they’ll most likely torture you for information. And we can’t have you revealing anything about us. Lady Y’shennria will send word if your position is compromised, and Nightsinger will perform your shattering.”
I make my eyes the sweetest of daggers at Firewalker. “I’ve been ripped apart by wildcats, stabbed through by humans. I’ve fallen off a cliff and broken every bone in my body. It’s hilarious that you think a little torture will be enough to make me talk.”
“It’s not a matter of a ‘little’ torture.” He sneers. “We have no forces to send into Vetris to free you. A caught spy is never treated well. It would be years of pain the likes of which you can’t even imagine—the humans would pump your veins full of white mercury and burn you from the inside out, repeatedly. Slowly. And that’s the best-case scenario.”