Under The Willow Root

“In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.”--Aristotle

Luca becomes a frequent visitor at the Temple, and eventually the other girls get bored of teasing me. I always have fun with him, but I never miss my daily exercises again. The morning after our first date, I woke up in such a state of foggy confusion that Feli and Kana accused me of getting drunk again. I had to extend my sessions to nearly twice their usual length for three days before I felt normal again. Now more than ever I’m convinced that dancing has something to do with why I’m not empty and mindless like other thralls.

Sadra visits more and more often and for longer periods of time as she executes her plan to break up with Orean, but slowly. I think she’s trying to make him think it was his idea though, as she points out, it carries the added benefit of distancing herself from my disappearance. Probably no one would connect the two events anyway, but it can’t hurt.

Mother Wenla comes through on her promise to help me and proposes an arrangement that solves all my problems nicely. Instead of bringing me into the Temple as an initiate, Mother Wenla hires me as a sort of adjunct dance instructor. I learned enough from Sadra to teach traditional forms to the youngest initiates, and I help out in some of the intermediate lessons as an assistant. In exchange, I get free room and board and a small wage. Frankly, I get most of what I would have gotten as an initiate without taking any vows or putting up with any restrictions, which suits me just fine.

Aside from being too busy to breathe, much less socialize with boys, initiates are forbidden from marrying or bearing children during their twenty-year commitment to the Temple. Technically, boyfriends (or girlfriends) aren’t forbidden, but the demanding schedules and strict curfews imposed upon initiates make maintaining relationships all but impossible.

Initiates complete their education in seven years. After that, they receive a personal talisman representing their status--I found out a while after the fact that Sadra had given me hers the night I escaped. Many “graduates,” like Sadra, take lovers wherever they choose and work in the private sector while others stay on at the Temple to teach or devote themselves to further study for the remainder of their twenty year term. It’s all fascinating and the idea of being a part of such an obviously close-knit community is tempting, but I just can’t afford to make a twenty-year commitment.

My reluctance is puzzling to my new friends at the Temple. Alesa seems to understand, perhaps because she was there the night I arrived and saw the condition I was in. Feli and Kana, though, are very outspoken and never pass up an opportunity to list all the reasons I should stay.

“You could still see Luca,” Feli wheedles as we make our way to breakfast one morning. “We’d all help. You have so much potential--and everyone is dying to learn how to dance like you. No one has seen anything like it.”

“I’m happy to teach anyone who wants to learn,” I say for the hundredth time. “Some things, anyway. It takes years, and I was still learning when--when my grandmother died.”

“That’s exactly why you have to stay,” Feli cries.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I protest.

“But you could,” Feli says seriously, “at any moment.”

I don’t say anything. She’s right, and my ability to leave is exactly what I can’t give up.

“What’s going on?” Feli asks as we come upon a group of girls huddled against the wall.

“Terrace folk,” Alesa tells us. “Looking for Sadra.”

My heart stops. When I can breathe again, I squirm to the front of the group and peer around the corner. Below us, in the chapel hall, I see my worst fear confirmed. Ismeni kneels, apparently praying, while Cimari speaks with Mother Wenla. I struggle to control my breath as the floor spins beneath me. I almost fear I’ll pitch over the balcony and fall to my death at Cimari’s feet.

“She knows Sadra means her harm,” Feli whispers in my ear. “I wonder why--that’s Councillor Orean’s sister, isn’t it? Has Sadra said anything to you?”

“No,” I say truthfully. “Not a word. What do you mean, she knows Sadra wants to hurt her? How do you know?”

“It’s my gift,” Feli explains. “I have a feeling for the gifts of others. That one always knows her enemies, and apparently Sadra is one. Whatever the reason is, I’m sure it’s good. Everyone says Cimari is simply poisonous.”

“She is,” I say without thinking. “I mean--”

“Was she the one who hurt you?” Alesa asks softly from my other side.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Don’t worry,” Feli says, and pats my arm. “We won’t say anything. And we won’t let her find you or Sadra. You can bet your last opal Mother Wenla won’t let her anywhere near either of you after this.”

Sadra is just as confused as the rest of us when she hears what happened. Once we’re alone, though, she confesses her fear that Cimari has begun to remember, or at least suspect, what really happened the night I ‘died’.

“But if that’s the case, why isn’t she looking for me?” I fret, pacing back and forth in the room we’ve been sharing since she moved back to the Temple full time.

“Well, she already told everyone you were dead,” Sadra points out. “She can’t very well go looking for a dead thrall. Not directly, anyway. Maybe she’s looking for you through me? But I just don’t see how she could know...how would she even think to connect the two of us? And why now?”

“What can we do?” I wonder. “You’re not going to go back to the Terrace, are you?”

“Definitely not,” Sadra assures me. “I’ll get a message to my friend Tona or to one of Orean’s other musicians. If anyone knows something, it would be one of them.”

Tona’s reply comes several days later, with disappointing results. She wasn’t able to find out anything more, and even Mother Wenla can’t provide any information that isn’t common knowledge among the Temple dwellers. I notice, though, that all Sadra’s assignments going forward keep her far away from the Terrace.

The incident with Cimari makes Sadra a little paranoid. Even though she set me up with him in the first place, Sadra isn’t quite sure about Luca. She doesn’t like the fact that he works so close to the Prince because it means she must have seen him somewhere on the Terrace, where the rich people live--where Cimari lives.

Thankfully, she accepts that it’s not a good enough reason to stop seeing Luca. Not that she ever comes out and says I should break it off, but she makes noises for a few days about it being dangerous and how it could somehow get back to Ismeni and Cimari. I’m glad when she eventually lets it go, because I have absolutely no intention of dumping Luca or changing anything about my situation.

Aside from the lingering worry about Cimari--and, of course, my dreams and my desire to go home--life is good. I like my routine, I like my friends, and I especially like my boyfriend...or gentleman caller, or beau, or just a guy friend, or whatever Luca is. I spend the summer teaching and dancing and learning as much as I can about everything I can. Luca does eventually figure out that I can’t read and he takes it upon himself to help me learn. He does it without making me feel inferior at all, and I find myself falling in love with him for it.

He doesn’t even press me about my past, though I can tell he’s curious. Part of it, I’m sure, is just fair play--he doesn’t like talking about certain things, either. He always changes the subject when I mention his family--or, more specifically, his father. So I don’t ask him about his sticky issues and he doesn’t ask about mine, and everything works out.

He knows that Sadra is on the fence about him--I’ve told him as much--and so he goes out of his way invite her out with us. All the time. While I appreciate the effort to win over my best friend, I could wish for a little more alone time with him. Two months go by without more than a peck on the cheek. It makes me crazy...and the slightest bit jealous, even though I know he only sucks up to her for my sake.

Sadra is always perfectly friendly when we’re all together, but she’s not herself. I can tell she hasn’t completely come around. When I ask her, she admits that even she doesn’t know exactly why.

“It’s just strange,” she tells me as we eat lunch on the Temple steps. “I know there’s something he’s not telling you about who he is. You told me yourself that he doesn’t talk about his family. I wish I could remember where I’ve seen him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I argue. “I can’t tell him certain things either. I can barely tell him anything.”

“Because you have a secret,” Sadra points out, jabbing her kabob at me. “So what’s his? If it’s anything as serious as yours...just be careful, that’s all I’m saying. In the meantime, we need to stop at the apothecary. I’m out of motherwort and I can’t make it through my monthlies without it.”

I stop chewing abruptly.

“Sasha, what’s wrong? You’re not eating your kabob. You love kabobs.”

“I haven’t gotten mine,” I say. “The entire time I’ve been here.”

“Liar,” Sadra laughs. “You get a kabob every other day.”

“No, my monthlies,” I say. “I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve been here a year and a half. That can’t be healthy.”

“Oh,” Sadra says. She lowers her voice. “Thralls don’t get monthlies.”

“Why not?”

“I have no idea,” Sadra says. “They just don’t. Let’s not talk about it. Not here.”

“And I guess we can’t ask the healer at the apothecary,” I sigh.

“No,” Sadra says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I say. “I’ve gone this long without it. I just hope my insides aren’t rotting away.”

“Mmm,” Sadra says, looking uncomfortable. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” I sigh.

Lately Sadra’s been avoiding the subject of, well, me. What I am. Not that it comes up very often. Since my escape, very little progress has been made on that front and I feel like Sadra is kind of okay with that. Then again, I haven’t exactly been putting a ton of effort in, either. Every time I think about my mission to go home, something else seems to get in the way or I lose steam because I don’t know what to do next.

We walk to the apothecary shop mostly in silence. I want to kick myself for making things awkward, but at the same time, I can’t help being annoyed at Sadra, too. Poor thing, so sorry the mystery of my enslavement and my missing menses made you uncomfortable. That was so thoughtless of me. I tighten my shawl against the autumn chill and glare at the road.

The apothecary isn’t what I thought it would be. I imagined something dark and spooky, with bubbling cauldrons and herbs hanging everywhere. Something more...I don’t know, Hogwartsy. In reality, the store is open and airy, with lots of windows and orderly shelves. Like most places in the City, it has more than a few paintings and frescoes lining the walls.

I drift along the walls, looking at the pictures and trying to guess what the different herbs are for. When it looks like Sadra is ready to go, I join her at the counter. Sadra chats with the shopkeeper as she wraps up a bundle of dried leaves, completely ignoring me. I roll my eyes--and find myself looking at a painting behind the counter. I stare at it intently, then look away, then look back again. No, it wasn’t a trick of the light. But it can’t be. It just can’t.

But it is. I’m looking right at the Mona Lisa. Oh, some things are different--her clothes and possibly the scenery behind her--but the face is unmistakable. I realize my mouth is hanging open and shut it quickly. I draw a ragged breath and let it out, squeezing my hands into fists. My hands and feet feel cold--isn’t that a sign of shock? Like, actual shock?

“Sasha,” Sadra says, shaking my arm. “Sasha!”

“Wha--oh,” I say. I tear my eyes away from the miraculous painting and follow her outside. “Did you see that painting?”

“Which one?” Sadra asks.

“Behind the counter,” I clarify.

“The one of the pasty-looking woman?”

Relief washes over me. I wasn’t imagining it.

“Well,” she prompts. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” I say after a moment. “It just caught my eye.”

“It is rather ugly, isn’t it?” Sadra says. “I don’t know why they keep it there.”

I’m not sure why I don’t tell Sadra the truth. Maybe it’s just that I don’t want things to get weird again, or maybe I’m still not sure it wasn’t wishful thinking making me see things. I don’t know what kind of wishful thinking would make me see that, though. And Sadra saw it, too. What in the world could it mean?

I go back the next day just to make sure that it wasn’t simply a picture of a woman who kind of looks like the Mona Lisa. But, no, it’s definitely her in all her iconic, instantly recognizable glory. What is it doing here? How is it here? Obviously it’s a reproduction--she’s dressed in the layered gown and shawl of a wealthy woman of the City--but it’s her. And the person who painted it...he--or she, of course--had to have seen the original. He has to have been from my world. The thought takes my breath away.

I skulk around the apothecary for three days, buying little packets of chamomile and lavender, until I finally get up the nerve to say something. By now I know the middle-aged woman is the owner of the shop and a Healer. The young man who helps her is her nephew. At least, I heard him calling her “Aunt.”

I wait until it’s the owner behind the counter and then buy yet another packet of herbs. My heart is pounding. I don’t know what to say. But I have to say something.

“That’s...that’s a lovely painting,” I say hesitantly, dropping a few coins into the woman’s hand. My hand trembles as I point at it.

“Why, thank you,” the woman says with a smile. “It’s of my mother.”

“No, it’s not,” I say without thinking.

“Oh?” the woman says with raised eyebrows. “Did you know her?”

“No,” I say, glad that there’s no one waiting behind me. Still, I keep my voice low. “But I know who the woman in the painting is...and she’s not your mother.”

“You look pale,” the shopkeeper comments. “You should let me examine you. It will only take a moment. Jarron! Take over here for a little while.”

The woman leads me through a door to a comfortable little parlor with a long, flat couch which I think might be like the table in a doctor’s exam room. I sit on it without waiting for an invitation. I don’t mean to be rude, but my knees are shaking too badly to keep me upright. The Healer hands me a mug of something warm.

“Poor child,” she says kindly. “You must be terrified.”

“Who are you?” I ask bluntly.

“My name is Caris,” she says. “I’m a Healer...and a gatekeeper, of sorts.”

“That painting…”

“Is not a painting of my mother,” Caris confirms. “Or of anyone from the City, as you well know. Best leave it at that.”

“So...you know…” I flounder, unsure of what I should say.

“I know what you are, yes,” Caris says. “Generally speaking. I don’t need details--it’s safer that way.”

“Can you help me?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes,” she says. “I can help you.”

I put my face in my hands and take several breaths, trying not to lose it. I don’t quite manage. My shoulders shake with the effort of keeping my tears silent. I can’t believe this is happening. I haven’t felt this much raw emotion since I heard Sadra say my name for the first time. It’s like a hurricane blowing out of my chest and through my eyes and nose.

“It’s alright,” Caris says, patting my back. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’re going to help you.”

“We?” I ask with a wet sniffle.

“My associates and I,” Caris explains. “People who know the terrible lie behind the House of Light and Shadow.”

“I have so many questions,” I tell her.

“Most will have to wait,” Caris says firmly. “This is neither the time nor the place. For now, tell me about your health. Any marked weakness, dizzy spells, weight loss...anything?”

“Well...I haven’t bled since--since I came here,” I say. “I’ve gone months without it before, so I didn’t even think of it until a few days ago. But it’s been more than a year.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that, unfortunately,” Caris says regretfully. “And, really, the more important thing is what’s causing the lack. Any fatigue or weight loss?”

“I’m not sure,” I say uncertainly. “I wouldn’t say fatigue, but...well, I haven’t been getting stronger, and I should.”

“Explain,” Caris says, and sits on the couch beside me.

“I work at the Temple,” I tell her. “I’m a dancer. When I was...before I came to the Temple, I could only dance a little bit and in secret. Now that I can dance more, I should be getting stronger. But I’m not.”

“Hmm,” Caris says. “You’re lucky. Many who find us are in much worse shape. You’ll be fine. Be sure to get plenty of sleep, eat as much as you can hold, and don’t push yourself too hard. I can give you a boost now and again in a few days, but there’s not much I can do until the real problem is addressed.”

“What’s the real problem?” I ask.

“Something we will discuss another time,” Caris says. “Now, lie down so I can examine you. I don’t want to make any assumptions about what’s ailing you.”

I hesitate but obey mostly out of curiosity. At first Caris pokes and prods me and listens to my heart and lungs just like any doctor. But then she simply lays her hands on my forehead, then my cheeks, then my neck, slowly working her way along my body. Her hands are strangely warm, like she just took them off of a hot water bottle, but the warmth doesn’t fade. It doesn’t seem like she’s doing anything special, but it’s wonderfully soothing.

“What did you do?” I ask when she’s done. “I feel...better.”

“I just restored some of your strength,” Caris says. “It won’t last, though. Come back in a few days and I can do it again.”

“But what--why--”

“Not yet,” she says gently. “I promise, you’ll get answers. But not yet.”

“Then when?” I huff.

“Soon,” she says. “I can be more exact when you come back. Three days should give me enough time to arrange a meeting.”

“A meeting with who?” I ask, bewildered and annoyed.

“Better that you not know,” she tells me. “It’s safer. Off you go, now.”

Caris sees me out and sends me away with a packet of herbs as well as instructions on their preparation. I wander back to the Temple in a daze. My head is spinning so hard I’m afraid it will fall off. I try to think about what just happened and what it means for me and for my plans, but my brain just stalls so I decide not to try. I try to think of something else instead, but that doesn’t work either.

I can tell I’m going to be completely useless for at least another couple of hours and I don’t feel like dealing with Feli and Kana’s giggling right now. But I don’t want to just sit around by myself, either. I slow down, then stop. Then I turn around and head for the baths, where I spend my entire week’s wages on every extra treatment and luxury they offer.

“If it’s something about the patient that’s messing with the MRI, why is it just the MRI and not the EEG or the CT scan?”

“I have no idea. But look at these recordings from when she was first admitted. They look fine, don’t they? But look at that. No, right there. Bizarre, right?”

“Christ,” the first voice says. I keep staring at the ceiling. “What are you going to tell her sister?”

“The redhead? That’s not her sister,” the second voice says. “She’s a friend. Poor kid doesn’t have any family. I’m not going to tell her anything. What would I say? I have no idea what we’re even looking at, much less what it means--if it even means anything. Weird doesn’t necessarily mean relevant.”

“I guess,” the first voice says dubiously. “What about the recent recordings?”

“Sometimes normal--normal-looking, anyway, obviously I’ll have to look again--and sometimes abnormal,” the second voice replies. “But not a useful abnormal. I’ve never seen anything like this. Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about it here.”

The voices fade away and I’m left alone, staring at nothing.

“You did what?”

“I spent all my money at the baths and--”

“Stop it, you know what I mean,” Sadra snaps.

“I found someone who can help me,” I tell her again. “Caris--the Healer who owns the apothecary--set up a meeting. It’s tonight, and I want you to go with me.”

“But what--how did you--who are these people, anyway?” Sadra demands.

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out tonight,” I say reasonably.

“Sasha, this is so dangerous,” Sadra cries. “I can’t believe you did this without me--you didn’t even tell me!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I say. “I just...I don’t know. It felt like I had to do it myself.”

“Why?”

“Well, maybe I was afraid you wouldn’t listen,” I say defensively. “You always get weird whenever I mention anything about--all that.”

“I do not get weird,” Sadra says hotly.

“Yes, you do,” I argue. “You change the subject and then barely speak to me for hours after.”

“I do not!”

“You do!”

“I do not--anyway, that’s different,” Sadra says, crossing her arms. “There’s no point in talking about it if there’s nothing we can do. But this is huge. You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now,” I say sullenly. “So will you come or not?”

“Of course I’ll come,” Sadra snaps. “But I’m still mad at you.”

Sadra fumes all the way to the tavern where Caris told me to meet her. It struck me as strange to have a secret meeting at a crowded tavern at dinnertime, but Caris pointed out that it’s actually safer than skulking around and acting shady. I don’t know if Sadra already realizes what had to be explained to me or if she’s just too pissed off to complain about it, but she doesn’t question the time or place of the meeting.

When we get to the tavern, Caris cheerily waves us over to the table where she sits with her nephew. Sadra and I wade cautiously through the crowd and sit. Sadra shoots me a glance that says quite clearly, “now what,” and somehow comes across as snide. Despite myself, I’m impressed. I’ve never met someone who could make snide comments with her eyes. I shrug back as snottily as I can manage. It’s not as good as Sadra’s, but it makes me feel better.

“You must be Sadra,” Caris says warmly. “I’m so glad you could join us. Sasha has told me all about you.”

“Sasha talks too much,” Sadra says shortly.

“Let me introduce my nephew, Jarron,” she continues, as if Sadra hadn’t spoken. “I understand you don’t have a young man.”

I can’t help laughing at Sadra’s outraged face. Jarron just rolls his eyes and buries his nose in a glass of wine. Poor Sadra. She doesn’t like being teased, and she was furious to begin with. Now I can practically see little flames shooting out of her nose.

“I’m only joking, dear,” Caris says, patting Sadra’s stiff shoulder. “Let’s get you both something to drink. Wine?”

“Watered wine for me,” I say quickly.

“Red,” Sadra grumps.

I lean forward and lower my voice. “Caris, where is--”

“Red or white for you, Sasha?” Caris interrupts, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Red,” I sigh, then look up hopefully. “Food, too?”

“Patience,” Caris scolds. “One thing at a time.”

Caris orders our drinks and makes cheery small talk until the wine arrives. I try several more times to ask who we’re supposed to meet, when we’re supposed to meet her--or him--God, why won’t anyone tell me anything--and why we’re sitting here doing nothing. Caris shuts me down each time. Even Sadra starts kicking me under the table. But I can’t help it. I just need some indication that this isn’t all some cruel joke.

“Here, child,” Caris says, setting another glass down in front of me. “Calm yourself.”

“No more wine,” I say.

“Your one and only night of debauchery was that traumatic, was it?” Sadra smirks.

“Yes,” I say firmly. “No more wine.”

“It’s only fruit juice,” Caris assures me.

I take a big gulp of the fruit juice, hoping that it will keep me from asking more questions I know won’t be answered. I hate that my self control is so weak. It makes me feel completely pathetic...and sick. Really sick. My stomach rolls with disgust--or something else. Saliva rushes into my mouth and I stand up abruptly.

“I--I don’t feel good,” I say thickly. “I’m going to--”

I lurch forward and throw up all over the table. Everyone scrambles backward. Jarron pushes his chair right into the path of a passing waitress, who staggers and drops her tray of dirty dishes on the table next to ours. People start yelling and pointing and staring--at me. I prop myself up on the table with trembling arms and pant, looking around in a panic. I think I might be sick again.

“Come on, now,” Caris says, and guides me through the crowd with her arm around my hunched shoulders.

“This way, Healer.” It’s the proprietor of the tavern. “Take the girl upstairs. I’ll see that no one disturbs you.”

“I’m sorry, Karr,” Caris says. “Truly.”

“The poor child’s ill,” Karr says. “Nothing to be sorry for. Take as much time as you need. Shall I have something sent up to settle her stomach?”

“Some broth and bread, if you would,” Caris says. “Jarron and the young lady can bring it up.”

Caris steers me toward the staircase. The faces turned my way now look more pitying than accusatory. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I want to lie down.

“Here we are,” Caris says as we enter a comfortably shabby parlor.

I immediately curl up on a low couch, clutching a pillow to my stomach.

“You poisoned me,” I rasp, glaring at her.

“Well, you didn’t give me much choice,” Caris says unapologetically. “You were about to start shouting out our business to everyone in the room. But think positively. It gave us an excuse to get away that much sooner.”

“But you poisoned me!”

“Sasha, listen to me carefully,” Caris says, sitting next to me. “I will do a lot more than give you a stomach ache if I have to. It’s not completely your fault. I haven’t told you much, after all. You don’t know what the House of Light and Shadow will do to you--to all of us--if we’re discovered. After tonight, you will know, and I expect you to behave accordingly. I want to help you, but if you do anything to endanger us again, we will disappear and leave you to whatever fate befalls you.”

I look away, feeling small and ashamed. Caris pats my knee and gets up to let Jarron and Sadra in. They each set down a tray loaded with food for all of us and settle down to eat.

“How do you feel?” Sadra asks, setting the bowl of broth in front of me.

“Fine,” I mutter. I don’t feel much like eating anymore.

“So,” Sadra says. “Can we stop playing games now or would you like to discuss those marvelous new paintings at the gallery some more?”

“Not long now,” Caris says. “As soon as Bard arrives, we can begin. In the meantime, eat. Jarron will keep watch.”

“You know, Jarron would like to eat, too,” he grumbles, but gets up and moves to the door.

“What would the House of Light and Shadow do to us if we were caught?” I ask.

Caris sighs and looks me in the eye. “We--the rest of us--would be questioned, tortured, and killed. You would be questioned, tortured, and sent to the outer reaches of the Empire for the army to use.”

“Use?” Sadra asks. “Use how?”

“Used to power the military’s casting,” Caris says grimly. “Or the House mages might keep you for their own experiments. Either would mean a short, painful life and a lonely death.”

I feel like there’s a cement block on my chest. I can’t believe I acted like such a baby. Sadra takes pity on me and rubs my back sympathetically. She puts the end of a kabob into my hand and winks. I smile weakly back. She knows my appetite never deserts me for long. I nibble on the kabob until the door opens again and the singer from downstairs walks in.

“I suppose you’re Bard,” Sadra says. “Finally.”

“Yes, I’m called Bard,” the man says, and lays down his knee harp. “But my mother named me Marcelo.”

I’m on my feet and clutching his hand before I know what I’m doing. “Marcelo.”

“Marcelo Andretti,” he says, smiling at me warmly. “Parli Italiano, mia cara?”

“Niet,” I breathe. “Vy govorite na russkom yazyke? Or English? Do you speak English?”

“English, yes,” Bard--or Marcelo--says, speaking English with a heavy accent. “What is your name, bella?”

“Aleksandra,” I tell him. I don’t know why I use my full name. “Aleksandra Ashley Nikolayeva. I go by Sasha.”

“You should call me Bard,” he says. “I left Marcelo Andretti behind long ago.”

Caris clears her throat. “In the common tongue, if you please. I’m sure we would all like to participate in this conversation.”

“How did you escape?” I ask, reluctantly switching languages. It felt so good to hear and speak English. “Whose...um…”

“We shouldn’t discuss specifics,” Bard says. “It’s--”

“Not safe,” Sadra interrupts. “We know. Why don’t we start with how the House of Light and Shadows has been lying to the entire world for the last century?”

“I want to know how I came here,” I say. “And how I can go home.”

Bard holds up his hands. “One thing at a time. Let’s start at the beginning. Or as close to the beginning as we can get. Caris?”

“The House would have us believe that there are two kinds of power available to us,” Caris explains. “But there’s really only one. Gifts are powered by an individual’s own energy and will. With extensive training, we can access the energy found in the world around us in order to perform feats outside the bounds of our own Gifts. But that knowledge has fallen out of use. People will always prefer the fast and easy option if there is one, and the House of Light and Shadow provides that option.

To use Light is essentially to use the same energy that fuels a Gift--but the energy comes from someone else. To create a thrall, mages of the House of Light and Shadow place a shadow in a person’s mind which extracts energy and amplifies it for others to use.”

“And they’ve been telling everyone for a hundred years that they’re creating vessels from scratch to hold Light that’s just...floating around the universe?” I ask, seeking clarification.

“And they’ve practically turned it into a religion,” Sadra snorts. “That’s revolting.”

“Essentially,” Caris says. “To be fair, only the most advanced mages of the House actually know the particulars of how thralls are made and what they are, and they put a lot of time and energy into making very sure no one has any reason or opportunity to ask awkward questions.”

“We figured that part out already,” Sadra says. “How do they find people to make thralls? Are they all from another world like Sasha?”

“Yes,” Bard says. “At least, as far as any of us can tell. Natives of this world are accustomed to accessing and utilizing their own power. Doing so takes a certain strength of mind, and that strength makes their minds resistant to this shadow. So the House mages cast their net into another world.”

“The earliest mages probably did think they were creating something from nothing when the first thrall was made,” Caris says. “But they must have realized the truth at some point because, in addition to the shadow which converts a thrall’s energy into Light, there is another which keeps the thrall silent and muddled. House mages call it the Pall. It’s actually a very clever and elegant system, and completely self-sustained. The shadows only fail when the body fails.”

“That must be why Dove was able to speak just before she died,” I say.

“Either that or she was like you and she was just hiding it all that time,” Sadra points out. “You said that the shadow only fails when the body fails. Does that mean that Sasha’s is still there?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Caris says. She turns to me. “Some, like you and Bard, develop the same kind of resistance that we have, but the shadows are still there. Only now both are drawing more from your body than from your mind. That’s why you haven’t been getting stronger, why your body isn’t functioning quite properly, why your Gift hasn’t manifested.”

“My Gift,” I repeat in surprise. “I have a Gift?”

“Everyone does,” Caris says with a smile. “But yours is being used for Light.”

“What’s your Gift?” I ask Bard. When he hesitates, I blush. “I’m sorry, is that rude?”

“Only a little,” Sadra assures me. “And only because some gifts are...misunderstood.”

She raises her eyebrows at me, and I catch her unspoken addition: Gifts like mine.

“I don’t mind telling you,” Bard says with a smile. “I’m a Compass. I have a sense for directions.”

I think about this, wondering how many Gifts there are. I know about Dreamwhispers, of course, and Catchsongs, Greenloves, Beastspeakers, Healers, Flametongues, Farspeakers, Truthseers...whatever Feli is.

“Feli,” I say, looking at Sadra with wide eyes. “She can feel other people’s Gifts...but she wouldn’t feel mine, would she? Could she know what I am?”

“She doesn’t,” Sadra assures me. “It was one of the first things she asked me about you. A suppressed gift is actually a fairly common effect of emotional trauma, so I let her think that’s what your big secret is and told her not to bother you about it.”

“Well, she’s not really wrong,” I murmur.

“Anyway, how do you know all this if the secret is so closely guarded?” Sadra asks Caris suspiciously.

“There is a man,” Bard tells us. “An Apostate who was once the most skilled and powerful mage in the Empire. He’s one of the last of those who know how to cast without Light. He realized the truth and rejected the House and all it stood for. He lives in exile beyond the southern mountains. I’m sure the House would love to get rid of him, but he’s too powerful and too far away. So they mostly pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“And he helped you,” I prompt.

“Yes,” Bard says. “He lifted the Pall from me and from many others.”

“Can he send me home?” I ask, holding my breath.

“That I can’t tell you,” Bard says. “You would have to ask him.”

“You didn’t ask?” I frown. “Didn’t you want to go home?”

“My family is dead. There was nothing left for me there,” Bard says with a shrug, “and a great injustice to be addressed here.”

“How is Sasha supposed to ask him anything if he lives beyond the mountains?” Sadra demands. “No one even goes into the mountains, much less beyond them.”

“We do,” Bard says. “And so will Sasha...if she wants to remove the Pall and find the answers she needs.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Sadra asks. “What if she stays here?”

“Then you can live whatever life you choose,” Caris says to me. “Until the Pall uses up all of your strength, anyway. At this rate, I’d say you have another fifteen years. Possibly twenty.”

“Just how dangerous are these mountains?” I ask nervously.

“Extremely,” Sadra says. “Some Prince of the Empire tried to conquer them hundreds of years ago and the whole army disappeared. No one has tried since.”

“No one has tried to ‘conquer’ the mountains because there isn’t much there to conquer,” Bard disagrees. “And logistically, it just wouldn’t be worth it even if there were. The journey is dangerous but doable for a small party. We’ve done it successfully many times.”

“But not every time?” Sadra asks shrewdly.

“Not every time,” Bard admits. “People have died. We’ve had to turn back once or twice. It’s extremely rugged terrain, and the beasts who live there are...uniquely fearsome.”

“So that’s our choice,” Sadra says sourly. “Possible death in the mountains or certain death twenty years from now?”

“That’s Sasha’s choice, yes,” Caris corrects her pointedly.

Sadra glares at Caris but doesn’t respond. Instead she looks at me.

“What do you think?” Sadra asks with worried eyes.

“I have to try,” I say without hesitation, but my heart is pounding. “When do we leave?”

“Not anytime soon,” Bard says. “It will take at least several months to arrange. You should take a few days to consider this, Sasha. It is dangerous.”

I nod, but I know I won’t change my mind. This is everything I could have hoped for. Well, maybe not everything. I mean, a pair of ruby slippers delivered to my room would obviously be better than a long, dangerous trip into hostile territory, but realistically, what more could I want?

As Sadra and I walk home, however, something occurs to me. What more could I want? I can think of one thing...what am I going to do about Luca?