The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(33)
The brass bell hung, silent and broken, over scaffolding once a part of the oracle’s temple. This was the worst casualty within the Willows, and the roads leading to it were paved with detritus and the smell of burnt jasmine. A sense of mystery had always permeated the bone witch’s recountings of this sacred place, and it almost came as a disappointment to me to realize that, when stripped down to its bare bones, it was not so different than the other asha-ka and cha-khana that gilded its borders. There was no magic here, and the zivar on my breast remained dull and dormant.
The winding corridors that weaved through the shrine’s inner maze were gone. The high ceilings and heady incense spiraling out of its slender chimney were gone. Even the domestic fires that had once burned with care within the sanctuary, the holy flames that had borne witness to asha professing desires under the guise of confessions—even their hearthstones were blackened beyond recognition. They lay collapsed under the weight of the building’s domed roof, destroying an institution that had served Kion faithfully for centuries.
There is an epic of the semi-mythic warrior-czarina Agafya the Good, a favorite tale of the Isteran-Tresean war saga. She had laid claim to Grezel, consequently sacking that Isteran city. She took great pains to destroy the temple of the Great Hero Anahita, the Isterans’ pride and joy.
Were not the walls built to keep all pillagers at bay? the poems sang. What foul manner of beast could tear down the dwelling of Anahita, that blessed temple upon temples? No man alive can equal its defenses, and for as long as it stands tall and proud, brilliant and ivory polished, Istera shall rule.
But sleek-eyed Agafya looked and saw the crumbling walls and aging remnants of an old order, not the vaulted shrine boasted of in ancient ballads. And so she raised her spear and cried aloud: “I am she who was born in the mouth of a mountain, nursed by warriors of the spring and reared by the wildness of winter. I am the new and the strong, while you cower behind artifacts of bygone eras. If this paltry shrine is all that speaks to Istera’s strength, then let it come tumbling down. I am no foul beast—I am only Agfaya.” And so did the czarina break Istera’s stronghold and chain them to her reign. And all that remained of Anahita’s temple were the shadows of better days.
Anahita’s temple had been a symbol of Grezel’s power, as the oracle’s temple had been of the Willows’. Had not the Dark asha admitted to me her fondness for old stories?
“There are no bodies,” Lord Fox reported, “and there are no signs of violence beyond the flames.”
“The oracle has survived for millennia, Fox.” Lady Altaecia stooped down to pick up something that glittered in the moonlight. It was a half-melted zivar, its jewels shattered from the heat. “I do not believe she would perish so easily. She told me once that I would raise a girl who will one day change the world. Mykaela told me she was given the same prophecy once. Perhaps the seeress knew about Tea all along.”
The man gazed at the rubble. “She was the first to tell Tea her future. She warned us that Tea would come to burn the city. Tea must have known and resented her for both.”
“It would appear that there are many things that Tea resents,” Zoya noted dryly. “But I would not have believed her to be this petty.”
Altaecia scoffed. “An innocent city laid to waste, Zoya, and you don’t find her petty?” The round asha challenged.
“Not like this. I can understand her rage against the Willows, but the oracle was not to blame for speaking the truth.” The pretty woman laughed. “Look at me, defending the oracle! She rejected me when I first presented myself as an asha novitiate, Bard. I had not come to her hallowed halls to be an asha, she said, but to win the heart of one. She was right, but I hated her for years. It was a blow to my pride. But I expected Tea to have a firmer hold on her temper than this.”
“Unless the darkrot has already began to infect her senses.”
A small blast erupted from nearby; one of the houses had caved in, sending fresh waves of fire spreading onto nearby asha-ka.
“Stay here, Fox,” Lady Altaecia ordered. “I will attend to this. Zoya, come with me.”
The women dashed off, but Lord Fox turned away. “She’s here,” he said, as if the words were rigid on his tongue. “She is—” He spun in a circle, gaze searching the smoke and the soot. His eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, he was as still.
“The graveyard,” he finally growled. “She’s in the graveyard.”
8
First things first, Fox said, speaking directly into my mind. There was some damage to the forge, but Wolf says it’s nothing they won’t be able to fix.
My brother, Khalad, Althy, and Kalen had ridden out to Knightscross with a handful of Deathseekers to assess the damage and hunt for the blighted victim, who had not yet been captured. Daisy accompanied them, volunteering her assistance to coordinate with the rest of the villagers. Inessa was also of the same mind, which meant she and Fox had spent a good half hour in the palace arguing about the necessity of her presence. I sat and stewed quietly in a corner of Fox’s head, resisting the urge to yell at them to hurry up because the princess was going to win anyway, as she often did. Fighting and making up were integral parts of their relationship—which was unfortunate, as I was privy to both whenever my brother or I forgot to keep up our barriers.