Page 2 of Between Wrath and Mercy

It’s fine, Emmeline.

Shortly after, the doors burst open. My mother was holding Lucia’s hand, a triumphant look on her face. They had a Myriad Master on either side of them, escorting them down the steps. When I looked at Lucia, I wondered why I was the only one to notice the crumpled exhaustion written across her features. She averted her eyes from me, and it marked the beginning of a change in our relationship. We both were on different paths from that point forward, and I would always miss the time before that warm summer day.

The next day, the Myriad had distributed an official proclamation formally identifying Lucia as the Beloved. The one person prophesied to bring peace to the Three Kingdoms, the Myriad believed the Beloved to be someone blessed by Aonara, the Goddess of Light. I never found out what they did to confirm my sister was goddess blessed. She would never speak of it. Considering she was dead, leaving the prophecy unfulfilled, they had been wrong.

When Elora was born, I vowed I would never let her go through that. I would never let her be officially declared, especially considering it caused Lucia’s death, and they hadn’t even been correct about her. I wouldn’t let Elora be used as a pawn for political alliances or face the same dangers my sister had faced and ultimately succumbed to. So, when we had to leave Ravemont Estate and go into hiding, that was obviously my fault too, according to Faxon. Regardless of my feelings toward Faxon and his eagerness to portray me as the problem, I did feel empathy for Elora. She’d never had a normal childhood. The minute she was born, looking so much like her aunt from birth onwards, I knew she’d be hunted, and it was our responsibility to protect her. Sometimes that meant tough decisions. But because I felt bad for her, I chose to think about it rather than just say no outright.

Every night since that conversation, either Elora or Faxon would ask me if she could go to Mira. It was over a three-day ride to the port city, and they wanted to spend a few days in town, so, finally, they cornered me, forcing me to make a decision.

“Why don’t I come along, too?”

“You need to meet with Lord Kennon the same day we need to leave. I can’t leave any later for Mira, or I won’t be there for the shipment.” I rolled my eyes. He’d placed an order months ago for a specific type of grain from Nythyr, and part of the purchase contract included Faxon paying in labor to help unload the ship.

“What is Elora supposed to do while you’re busy with the shipment?” He couldn’t expect her to just sit at the docks all day.

“The ship will be in before dawn. She can stay in the room and read until I’m done.” He glanced at me with annoyance, his dark brow furrowing while he rubbed his hand over his thin lips and mustache. The man had never been handsome, and age had not done him any favors. His hair was thinning noticeably on top, yet he insisted on trying to adjust what little he had left to cover the bald spot. I didn’t understand it. He wasn’t fooling anyone. I’d offered to shave it all off, to help him own his appearance, but he’d screamed at me until he grew hoarse, and I never mentioned it again.

Looking over at Elora, I raised a brow.

“You know, you can read at home.” It was a half-hearted attempt to get her to change her mind. I knew she would much prefer to be reading at the inn in Mira.

“Mamaaaa,” She was much too old to be whining at me. They’d be leaving in two days if I allowed her to go. I needed to make a decision now if she were to have time to prepare.

“Fine. You can go. But you must keep your divinity in check. No showing anyone any fun tricks. And you have to dip your hair in brun root.” It went against every instinct I had, but the look on her face told me I made the right decision.

“Mama, thank you so much!” Her book flew out of her hands as she jumped into my arms. I pulled her in close, running my fingers through her long, curly hair. I gripped her upper arms and pushed her back to look at her, taking in her white mane and how it contrasted with her tanned skin, darker than my own. Reading outdoors was her favorite pastime, and it showed in her freckles and warm glow. She was radiant.

“Promise to be careful.” She’d always listened to me and taken every precaution I’d asked of her, but all the same, I felt the need to reiterate.

“I promise.” She nodded, a serious expression on her face, looking much older than fifteen.

That night, when I slept, I dreamt about Lucia and Elora. The three of us sat in a field making daisy chains. My sister was alive and whole again, forever seventeen, not much older than my daughter sitting beside her. The two were almost indiscernible from each other except for Elora’s curls—my daughter took after us. She didn’t look at all like her father, and I felt secretly triumphant. It was rare, Lucia visiting in my dreams. My subconscious fought to stay there with her. Just one more moment with my sister holding her hand and laughing with her was all I wanted.

Thenextmorningwasbrisk, a sharp breeze cutting into me despite the sun. There were brown and red leaves all over the ground, blowing in the wind. The crisp grip of autumn had officially descended. As Bree trampled up the back alley to the entrance behind Mairin’s infirmary, I pulled my cloak tighter and my hood down and forward to shade my face. The town couldn’t afford the services of a conduit, the cost of utilizing someone’s divinity too high, and Mairin did the best she could. After revealing my abilities to her, she’d call for me on occasion under the promise of anonymity, and this morning was one of those times. I wanted to help when I could, but it was too risky for anyone in Brambleton to know there was a benevolent conduit living just outside its borders, unwilling to accept payment for something that should be shared freely. And so, I moved in shadows, and those who benefited from it paid in secrets instead of coin.

The leaves softened the clatter of Bree’s hooves on the cobblestones, but Mairin still heard me arrive. Flinging her back door open, she yelled for me to hurry. Jumping down, I grabbed the extra rags from my pack and ran inside.

It was a small cabin made entirely of wood. Going through the back door, I crossed into a small, cramped kitchen before coming into the front room, which doubled as her living room and examination room. Mairin slept upstairs, an area only accessible through a small ladder that hung on the wall of the main room. The dark green curtains were shut, blocking the light, but a thin breeze behind them told me she had cracked the window for air. As I rounded the corner into the front of the cabin, a piercing wail met my ears. Mairin shoved the baby in my arms to check her while she attended to the mother. The infant was small but had strong breathing sounds. I held her still, focusing my abilities. I closed my eyes and reached out, flinging my divinity toward the fragile child in my arms, and listened for the tiny heartbeat, a small tug connecting us. The baby sounded fine. But when I’d reached out to the babe, I’d been overwhelmed by a louder stampeding rhythm. Looking at the mother, I realized why Mairin had called me. I swaddled the baby and laid her on a pile of blankets in the corner of the room.

“Toxemia?” I asked the healer. The mother’s eyes were closed as she lay on the bed, her extremities swollen. Though the room was comfortable, on just this side of cold, the woman had sweat beaded across her brow, and her features were ashen, her dark hair soaked. Mairin met my eyes and nodded.

“Gertie, can you tell me where you are?” Mairin’s voice was smooth and calming, an amazing juxtaposition from the fear I saw on her face. Gertie did not answer.

I lowered myself to my knees on the other side of the woman. I placed my hands on her neck, trying to slow her racing heart. This was a bit outside of my experience. I was used to healing wounds or broken bones. It was unusual for Mairin to call me to her during a birth. My healing abilities had gone untested against something like this. Regardless, I felt my hands heat up as I placed them on the woman. Normally, I would picture wounds knitting together or bones snapping back into place, but this time I imagined cool waters and winding streams—hoping to bring her heart rate back to normal. I passed my hands down her arms and across her chest. Down her legs and back up, doing the best I could, not quite confident in what I was doing.

“As long as she doesn’t seize, I think she’ll make it. Keep going.” Mairin whispered to me. After smoothing sweat-streaked hair from Gertie’s forehead and placing a cool cloth on it, she pulled her own hair back with a cord. The long orange-red curls were bursting at the leather, and I thought it was a true miracle it didn’t break. Her freckled skin was ruddy with exertion. I wondered how long Gertie had been in labor, Mairin desperate to reach me, knowing full well toxemia was often fatal. The messenger, Mr. Gunderson, my neighbor on the eastern edge of my property, didn’t seem too fussed to pass along Mairin’s request until he’d already talked to me for twenty minutes about his plans for his crops. The minute I realized, I hurried, knowing the healer only called for me when she truly needed me.

After nearly an hour of attempting to heal Gertie, she seemed like she was resting comfortably. The swelling in her hands and feet had gone down, and her heart rate had slowed—still accelerated, but a vast improvement. Mairin went to the babe, swaddled and asleep.

“I’m going to let Gertie rest before I bring her the wee one, but I think she’ll make it. Thank you, Emmeline. You’re a miracle worker.” I glanced at Gertie when Mairin said my name, glad for a few reasons she was peacefully sleeping, before turning my attention back to the healer. She swayed her hips, rocking with the baby. Mairin was a young widow and had no children of her own, but clearly adored every child who crossed her threshold. She offered services to even the poorest townsfolk, accepting nothing but the scraps from their table which pride forced them to shove into her hands. She was the closest thing I’d had to a friend the whole time I lived here, even if she’d only met Elora once. When Mairin had first arrived in town a decade ago, I barely saw her. Her husband wasn’t known for his kindness or his social graces, and he seemed to hide her away. When he died, she began seeing patients as a way to make ends meet, and she was great at it. When I went to her, offering up whatever assistance I could give, she was wary, but eventually, we developed a trust and camaraderie.

“I’m glad it worked. I was truly just guessing.”

“No, you weren’t. Your divinity knows better than you do.” She smiled a half-smile at me, always encouraging.

“Faxon is taking Elora with him to Mira tomorrow.”

“And Mama Bear is allowing it?” she chided. She never understood why I didn’t let Elora come into town with me.

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