Page 71 of Requiem of Silence

Only thieves assign its value.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

“That was irresponsible and reckless!” Nikora screams when you awaken from the viewing trance, energy sapped, senses dulled. “Your experiment has done nothing but waste more of Dahlia’s precious flesh!” Spit flies from her mouth to hit you, causing you to flinch. You raise a finger to clear it from your brow.

You have no time for her hysterics, but you shake off your exhaustion and focus on her foolishness. “Nikora.” Your voice is calm and the pitiless tone you use makes her freeze, mid-diatribe.“Look at all my experiment has accomplished. We sent a small reconnaissance force that gave us valuable information about our enemy.”

“Elsira is of no concern to us.” Nikora spat. “They are your enemy. Our enemy is death itself. And your assurances that this trial would yield some benefit have fallen flat.”

Breathing deeply so you do not reach for her neck and begin to squeeze, you steeple your fingers on the table before you, ignoring their bluish tinge. The fire in the parlor burns fiercely at your back, but everything here is still far too cold.

“Would you rather lose your own men while learning how to manage the wraiths long enough to get information out of them, or lose foreigners who, as you say, are of no concern? I am interested in efficiency. We have effectively killed two sparrows with one arrow, that is true allyship. I am upholding my end of our bargain, and I consider this trial run a grand success.” You offer a smile that once dazzled your followers, but she merely narrows her eyes.

Calling the wraiths again to go to Elsira was a stroke of genius on your part; of course it was pure, unadulterated luck that had the portal from the World After appear in the heart of the palace. Certainly the place had been on your mind, and all magic responds to intention. It had not been conscious choice but a well-timed boon.

The energy you expended on the spell to watch the action play out has your lids feeling heavy. But tiredness is weakness and so you straighten, forcing your body to submit to your will. It helps that through the viewing trance you witnessed the girl queen and your sister battling the wraiths, struggling, and against only three. The revelation helps strengthen you.

“I think he has a point,” Cayro, Nikora’s second-in-command adds. You all sit at a rough-hewn table that looks just shy ofcollapse in the corner of Nikora’s sitting room. Cayro is farthest from the fireplace and cloaked in shadow. “We do not have the manpower to spare. Let us sacrifice others while we hone our abilities.”

She grits her teeth and stares at the man then back at you. “Hear me, Eero, and hear me well. I will not allow you to derail my mission. If you are my ally and are to continue enjoying the benefit of my hospitality, then your aims and mine must be in sync. I know who you are and what you are capable of. You are not fooling me.”

She motions sharply to Cayro and they both rise and leave. Once they are gone, you give in to the smirk pulling at your lips. You once met a wild dog like her, deep in the desert. It bared its teeth and growled, believing that it had some sort of power. But its blood soaked the sand just like any other creature that ever crossed you.

Imagining the feel of her neck between your hands is sweet.

For the next few days, you run the words of the incantation used to summon the wraiths over and over in your mind. It is a sloppy and indelicate thing. You had again failed to control the wraiths during that trial run. The creatures had been just as vicious and mindless as ever, their goal only to destroy.

Never mind that these spirits had no quarrel with Elsirans at all—it was the Physicks, after, who were responsible for their deaths with their Nethersong harvesting, you’d discovered—but their vengeance was stronger than their reason and fate had directed that energy toward your old enemy. You sensed, deeper in the portal, spirits who had kept more of their minds, better candidates for Nikora’s silly interrogations, but they had not come forward. The ones eager to return to the Living World were full of anger and desire for revenge. Even among the living these typesof men could be dominated easily. What you will need if you are to free yourself and regain your rightful place is a way to call upon the wraiths and control them with finesse, the way you do the Wailers.

But that second recitation of the spell triggered something locked deep in your memory, a place you never tread. The past is behind you so why turn around?Never take a retrograde step,your father taught you that. But now, for the first time, it has been vitally important to dig around in that vast archive of your life, so full of arcane bits of flotsam and jetsam you have tried to discard.

There is a secret hiding in there somewhere, the key to all this, but for the life of you, you cannot figure it out. After days of struggling you finally admit that you need help remembering.

There is someone who knows. But no, you cannot contact her and she would not tell you anyway, even if you had a way to speak to her. Still, the idea will not leave you. It’s been placed by some force you cannot identify, some urge you cannot so easily throw away.

When dawn comes and the servant brings the morning meal—the same bland food you have eaten for days now—you tell the man that you need to speak with Nikora.

The servant doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you, but not a half hour later another comes and takes you through the icy passageways and back to the sitting room. Nikora and Cayro are at the rickety table, flipping through loose pages written in a language you cannot read. Curiosity prickles, but you push that weakness away.

“Yes, Eero?” Nikora asks, distracted.

“I believe the key to controlling the wraiths lies in the incantation you use to summon them.”

Her eyes narrow, but she does not interrupt.

“Where did you learn it?”

“The Seekers discovered it during their missions across the world. Every part of the spell was carefully considered before it was tried.” She speaks to you as one would to a slow child. You grit your teeth in an effort not to show your impatience. Though in your mind, a vision of squeezing her skull between your hands comes unbidden. Imagining its pulpy contents steaming as they’re exposed to the cold air calms you. This is the future you work toward.

“And yet,” you offer, “the wraiths express undirected violence. The incantation seals the blood spell, it is the only aspect of the spell that is changeable.”

“But we are not summoning them at all,” she insists. “The spell is just to open the portal to the World After. Those near the portal enter our world.”

That is at the root of the problem, but she must be too daft to realize it. Cayro lifts his head, cutting an odd glance at her.

“I am not unfamiliar with the magic of the blood,” you say, evenly. “Its mastery is how I was able to hold power for so long. We need to adjust the spell to better accomplish our goals.”

“How did you learn it?” she asks.

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