Page 51 of Requiem of Silence

The other Physicks focus their power, changing tacks and shooting Nethersong into the remaining wraiths. One by one, the spirits are expelled and hover overhead, darting around, searching for another host. But the Physicks blast them before they can take hold of anyone.

“We must open the portal again to banish them,” you say. Wearily, Nikora nods.

You all repeat the spell to reopen the portal, and the other Physicks help direct the spirits to it with carefully targeted peals of Nethersong.

Finally, they are gone and the portal is closed again. You sag, breathing heavily, more from the exertion of mental energy than anything else. The Wailers are almost all drained. It will be at least a day before most will be able to sing again.

Nikora and the Physicks look deflated as well. The carefully cultivated sheen of superiority she reflects is tarnished and dim. Cayro stands, breath heaving, face no longer impassive but full of rage. Four Physicks are dead, killed by wraiths. A few of the ones who became hosts still breathe, though they remain unconscious.

In the jar, the hand is shriveled again. One of the four remaining fingers reduced to a stub. Nearly one fourth of the remaining power of Saint Dahlia has been expended in this experiment. Nikora stares at the jar with pained eyes, doubtless grieving the loss. But you see something altogether different. Possibility.

Learning to do this all on your own may be difficult, but once you are able to control these spirits, a powerful army will be at your disposal. One that would be nearly impossible to defeat.

All creatures can be mastered, controlled, dominated—even the dead. You simply need to discover how.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Deaf to the strains of freedom

blind to the path from pain.

Like children, ever needy

we seek what is already ours to claim.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Zeli’s feet whispered across the terrazzo flooring as she approached the Goddess’s office. Since discovering the journal, the Goddess had spent far more time than usual in the office pacing the floors or staring out of the windows or hovering over the novices as they responded to correspondence. It was as if She was waiting for something to happen in that room.

Zeli did her duties to the best of her ability, delivering trays of food that would never be eaten to the dungeon and seeing to the Goddess’s needs in whatever way she was asked. She didn’t speakat length with anyone other than Varten for fear of saying too much either about the wraith attack that still hung over her head or the secret journal they were studying.

Some of the other Sisterhood acolytes would tentatively try to strike up conversation. Chatting with them would be a good way to practice her Elsiran, but she always demurred, blaming the language barrier. The more people she talked to, the more one of her secrets might slip and it was hard enough being around the Goddess, knowing the woman could read her emotions and intentions, see her guilt, excitement, frustration, and fear. She was also worried enough about what would happen to Varten when they were eventually discovered and didn’t want to risk bringing anyone else into this.

Standing in the threshold of the room, Zeli took a deep, calming breath. Her emotions could call attention to her if the Goddess were paying attention, so she endeavored to wrangle them under control. She had always been a little nervous in Her presence; that hadn’t changed. The reasons why were now different, but surelyShewouldn’t know that. Earthsingers couldn’t actually read minds.

And the other reason her heart stuttered more often than not these past few days? Why her breaths were just a little more difficult to draw into too tight lungs? Certainly that could be blamed on the musty smell that had permeated the secret room. Though she’d scrubbed the place from top to bottom.

The racing in her chest must be a reaction to mildew or dust—though if she was honest, she’d admit she hadn’t smelled either in days. No, when she was there, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Varten, heads bent over the book or their notes, all she smelled was his unique scent. And if her blood felt thick in her veins the whole while, and she spent the other hours in her day watchingthe clock until their meeting time, there was a reasonable explanation; she just hadn’t figured it out yet.

Zeli squared her shoulders and entered the Goddess’s office. At first she thought the room was empty, but a door in the corner she hadn’t ever noticed before was slightly ajar and two voices could be heard, one male and one female. The door was hidden in the paneling of the wall. She wasn’t certain where it led, perhaps to a closet or an adjoining chamber that the Goddess simply had never used before.

Concern filled her, causing her to approach slowly. Once, she had been caught alone in a room by a young man. She’d been frightened, unable to call for help. Her thoughts went to the Elsiran acolyte normally at the desk at this time of day, but suddenly nowhere to be found. Fear for the other girl gripped Zeli as the terror she’d felt all those months ago washed over her. However, as she drew nearer to the doorway, the Goddess’s melodic voice flowed out, putting her mind at ease.

Zeli turned to leave when the words she was hearing registered.

“What is it, exactly, that you want?” the Goddess asked.

“What I always wanted, dear sister. Equality.” The answering voice was like a snake slithering over gravel. Zeli froze, her blood turning to ice. Another flashback, this one from eleven years before slammed into her—she was immobilized on a stone table in the glass castle of Sayya, Lagrimar’s capital city. Fear took root in her chest like an evil rose. A robed figure swished away and as she stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down her cheeks, the masked face of the True Father hovered over her. She didn’t remember the words he spoke, but his grating voice was forever burned into her memory.

During the king’s stay in the dungeon, he hadn’t uttered asingle word. Zeli had been able to imagine the thin, russet-haired man lying on the cot safely behind bars as just another Elsiran. He’d worn no robe, no mask, no jewels. No bell ringer announced his every step and movement. No speech sullied the silence.

But now the voice coming from this hidden room in the Goddess’s office was the same one that featured in her nightmares. For years after she returned from giving her Song in tribute to the king’s thirst for power, she would awake in the middle of the night, skin slicked with sweat, writhing on a pallet between two other servants, screaming silently. Grasping at her chest, willing her Song back into place.

This rasping voice belonged to the one responsible for hundreds of years of her peoples’ terror. Her own dread and night frights. This was the Goddess’s brother, Lagrimar’s dictator, the True Father.

Slowly, feeling came back into her limbs, though she didn’t move a single muscle. The two spoke casually. The Goddess’s tone was nonchalant. Like this was just some errant family member off on a vacation and not a fugitive wanted for countless unspeakable horrors to generations of her people. Zeli struggled to focus back in on the conversation.

“… did you not say you wished to see me free?” the True Father was saying.

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