She fell onto the floor, quickly rolling into a crouch. Popping back up, she came at us again. I started to reach for the blade in my boot when the god met her attack, thrusting the shadowstone sword deep into her chest.
The seamstress’s body spasmed as she reached out, trying to grab hold of the god. Tiny, spiderweb-like fissures appeared along her hands and then raced up her arms, spreading over her throat and then across her cheeks.
Jerking the shadowstone sword free, the god stepped to the side, his focus intent on the seamstress. Those fissures deepened into cracks as her legs collapsed under her. She went down hard, folded into herself.
I stood there, mouth hanging open. Patches of her body seemed to sink in as if she were nothing more than a dried-out husk. “What…what did I just see?”
“I have no idea.” The god tentatively stepped forward, nudging Andreia’s foot. The skin and bone turned to ash, quickly followed by the rest of her body.
Within a span of several heartbeats, nothing remained of the seamstress but her gown and a dusting of ash.
I blinked. “That was…different.”
The god looked at me. “Yeah, it was.”
“And you…you have no idea what just happened? Like that’s never happened before?”
Steel-hued eyes met mine. “I have never heard of something like that happening before.”
Being a god from the Shadowlands, I imagined he would know about mortals coming back from the dead. “What do you think was wrong with her? I mean, why did she act that way?”
“I don’t know.” He sheathed his sword. “But I don’t think Madis simply killed her. He did…something. What, I have no idea.” A muscle ticked along his jaw. “I would not repeat what you’ve seen here.”
I nodded. As if anyone would believe me if I did.
“I must go,” he said, glancing back at the ash-covered gown and then to me. “You should, too, liessa.”
I didn’t want to spend another second in this house, but a hundred different questions exploded in my head. The absolute least important one of all was what came out of my mouth. “What does liessa mean?”
The god didn’t answer for what felt like a small eternity. “It has different meanings to different people.” The eather pulsed in his eyes, swirling once more through the silver. “But all of them mean something beautiful and powerful.”
Chapter 7
A day later, I was yet again squirreled away in the east tower and blindfolded.
Sliding the iron blade between my fingers, I drew in a long, measured breath as I tried not to think about how the god had destroyed my dagger the night before. Luckily, I never practiced with it. I didn’t even want to know how Sir Holland would respond to learning that I’d lost such a weapon.
Or to the news that I’d stabbed a god in the chest with it.
I didn’t think Sir Holland would react all that calmly.
Looking back, I could understand why the god had destroyed the dagger. I had stabbed him. But I was still furious. It was over a century old, and if I had any hope of fulfilling my duty—if I were ever given a chance—I needed a shadowstone blade.
I also tried not to think about what I had seen—what had happened to Andreia. The image of her sitting up and launching herself to her feet like some sort of wild animal had lived in my head, rent-free all night long. I had no idea what could’ve been done to her, but I hoped the god figured it out.
Something beautiful and powerful.
His words still caught me off guard. But in my defense, he had called me a name that meant something beautiful and powerful, even after I’d stabbed him. That seemed even more unexplainable than whatever had happened to the seamstress.
Liessa. I couldn’t believe I asked that instead of a hundred other more important questions. Starting with asking what his name was.
“Now,” Sir Holland ordered.
Spinning, I threw the blade, exhaling at the sound of the smack it made striking the dummy’s chest. This went on for a godsforsaken amount of time until I could no longer not speak about what I had seen the day before.
After throwing the blade, I tugged down the blindfold. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he replied, starting toward the dummy.
“Have you ever heard of a…?” It took me a moment to figure out how to ask what I wanted without giving too much away. “A dead person coming back to life?”
Sir Holland stopped and turned around. “That…that was not the kind of question I was expecting.”
“I know.” I toyed with the hem of my airy cotton shirt.
He frowned. “What would make you even ask something like that?”
I forced a shrug. “I just heard someone talking about it when I was out. They claimed to have seen someone come back to life with fangs like a god but…different. They had fangs on the upper and lower teeth.”
His brows lifted. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. If whoever said that was speaking the truth, then it sounds like an…abomination.”
“Yeah,” I murmured.
He studied me. “Where did you hear this?”
Before I could come up with a believable lie, a knock sounded on the tower door. Sir Holland retrieved the blade from the dummy. He looked over his shoulder at me as he walked toward the door. I shrugged. “Who is it?” he called, slipping the blade behind his back.
“It’s me,” came a hushed voice. “Ezra. I’m looking for Sera.” There was a pause while Sir Holland rested his forehead against the door. “I know she’s in there. And I know that you know that I know she’s in there.”
A grin tugged at my lips, but it faded quickly. There was only one reason I could think of that would’ve drawn Ezra to the tower to find me. My gaze drifted briefly to the many stab wounds that punctured the dummy’s chest, and I thought of all the harmful things I’d done in the last three years.
Sir Holland shot me a scowl. “You never should’ve told her where you train.” He sliced the blade through the air. “She could’ve been followed here.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” I said, wondering who in the castle didn’t already suspect who I was and could’ve followed her.
“Truly?” Sir Holland demanded.
“Just so you know, I can hear you,” Ezra’s muffled voice came through the door. “And Sera speaks the truth. I simply stalked her through the castle one morning. And since I’m not unobservant, I figured out that this is where she spends a decent part of her days.”
“Like you didn’t know you were being followed,” he muttered.
I lifted a shoulder. Of course, I knew she had been following me, but since Ezra had remained kind towards me after I failed, I really hadn’t attempted to throw her off my trail. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know I trained. Sir Holland was just being dramatic.
“I haven’t been followed,” Ezra announced from the other side of the door. “But I can only imagine that the longer I stand here talking to a door, the more attention I will draw.”
“Let her in, please,” I said. “She would only come here if she had to.”
“As if I have a choice.” He threw the lock and opened the door.
Princess Ezmeria stood at the top of the narrow stairwell, her light brown hair swept back in a bun at the nape of her neck. Even though it was sweltering in the tower and most likely no better outside, she wore a black, pinstriped short waistcoat over an ivory and cream gown made of the same lightweight cotton. Ezra always seemed immune to the heat and humidity.