can’t kill him.” Her mind bounded between fright and fatigue, desperate to say something to save Fos. “He’s innocent of wrongdoing, a man your order should be protecting, not tossing off ill-advised heights.”
“The innocent shall value no metal or stone above another innocent. Eighteenth tenet, stanza five.” Sheamab gestured to the snake-design circlet of gold that coiled out from Fos’s hair. “This man is the willing servant of an institution that values the glittering grit of the Lands of Loam above the common man.”
“The precious materials aren’t decadence,” Hiresha said, “but the tools of our profession. The vessels for our magic.”
“This place is the epitome of an empire that can see only wealth and splendor, that no longer accepts Bright Palms into their cities…” Sheamab ripped the jewel sash from Hiresha’s shoulder and threw it fluttering off the cliff. “…that believes trinkets would protect them from a devastation of Feasters.”
Hiresha’s mind bolted to the Lord of the Feast. Is Tethiel still here? The thought of Tethiel nailed against the Recurve Tower filled her with a buzzing dread. He had believed Hiresha capable of defending the Academy from any misfortune, but as she watched her jewel sash drift out of sight downward, she hurt with doubt.
“To the innocent, yours shall be the open palm of healing.” Sheamab’s heart beat once, visible as a white glob branching in her chest with veins full of light. The shimmer traveled down her arm to her hand, spreading in her palm into a haze. She folded her fingers down one by one. “To those less than innocent, your hand shall be closed.”
The two Bright Palms holding Fos set their feet. They hurled the spellsword into the night sky.
He hung in the air, for a moment. Hiresha felt just as adrift. Seeing him fall made her feel that she had nothing beneath her, that all she had thought safe and true had been torn from her. She stopped herself from crying out and forced herself to watch his drop.
Not once did Fos scream or cry out for help. His legs spun overhead. He turned, struggled, tried to reach out to the cliff. Black hair burst from its tie, the glitter of his circlet spun from his head. The circlet I gave him. He snatched it out of the air, but she wanted him to let it go, to forget her gift and do something to save himself. The glass of the Blade rushed up, either to break him with its enchanted strength or shatter around him as his torn body bashed through the roof plates of crystal.
He flipped and landed face-down on the Blade. Hiresha thought that at the last moment he had Lightened himself, had softened his impact to a leaf breezing down to the ground. If he had hit with full force, I would’ve heard a sound above the wind. Or do I only wish to believe so? The distant shape of Fos lay still, blurs of spellswords cluttering beneath him within the glass of the College of Active Enchantment .
Bright Palm Sheamab also peered down at him. Her expression peaceful, she said, “He will not slide off. The spellswords will have their warning.”
With no more ado than that, the Bright Palm dragged Hiresha away from the edge before the enchantress could even be certain if Fos was alive or dead. She cast the Bright Palm a ferocious look decidedly unfitting for a member of the Ceiling of Elders. Sheamab must have seen it but did not react.
It is decided, Hiresha told herself. I will simply have to destroy her and all her glowing company, before they hurt anyone else in my Academy.
12
Hall of Visitation
Bright Palm Sheamab strode back and forth in front of the women, the staff hitting the carpet with dull smacks that reminded Hiresha of the sound it would make striking flesh. The enchantress clutched her own throbbing hand, worrying what the Bright Palm intended for the novices.
The women and girls in teal clothing had been gathered on the ground floor of the tower for their safety. Now Hiresha thought them
“The innocent shall value no metal or stone above another innocent. Eighteenth tenet, stanza five.” Sheamab gestured to the snake-design circlet of gold that coiled out from Fos’s hair. “This man is the willing servant of an institution that values the glittering grit of the Lands of Loam above the common man.”
“The precious materials aren’t decadence,” Hiresha said, “but the tools of our profession. The vessels for our magic.”
“This place is the epitome of an empire that can see only wealth and splendor, that no longer accepts Bright Palms into their cities…” Sheamab ripped the jewel sash from Hiresha’s shoulder and threw it fluttering off the cliff. “…that believes trinkets would protect them from a devastation of Feasters.”
Hiresha’s mind bolted to the Lord of the Feast. Is Tethiel still here? The thought of Tethiel nailed against the Recurve Tower filled her with a buzzing dread. He had believed Hiresha capable of defending the Academy from any misfortune, but as she watched her jewel sash drift out of sight downward, she hurt with doubt.
“To the innocent, yours shall be the open palm of healing.” Sheamab’s heart beat once, visible as a white glob branching in her chest with veins full of light. The shimmer traveled down her arm to her hand, spreading in her palm into a haze. She folded her fingers down one by one. “To those less than innocent, your hand shall be closed.”
The two Bright Palms holding Fos set their feet. They hurled the spellsword into the night sky.
He hung in the air, for a moment. Hiresha felt just as adrift. Seeing him fall made her feel that she had nothing beneath her, that all she had thought safe and true had been torn from her. She stopped herself from crying out and forced herself to watch his drop.
Not once did Fos scream or cry out for help. His legs spun overhead. He turned, struggled, tried to reach out to the cliff. Black hair burst from its tie, the glitter of his circlet spun from his head. The circlet I gave him. He snatched it out of the air, but she wanted him to let it go, to forget her gift and do something to save himself. The glass of the Blade rushed up, either to break him with its enchanted strength or shatter around him as his torn body bashed through the roof plates of crystal.
He flipped and landed face-down on the Blade. Hiresha thought that at the last moment he had Lightened himself, had softened his impact to a leaf breezing down to the ground. If he had hit with full force, I would’ve heard a sound above the wind. Or do I only wish to believe so? The distant shape of Fos lay still, blurs of spellswords cluttering beneath him within the glass of the College of Active Enchantment .
Bright Palm Sheamab also peered down at him. Her expression peaceful, she said, “He will not slide off. The spellswords will have their warning.”
With no more ado than that, the Bright Palm dragged Hiresha away from the edge before the enchantress could even be certain if Fos was alive or dead. She cast the Bright Palm a ferocious look decidedly unfitting for a member of the Ceiling of Elders. Sheamab must have seen it but did not react.
It is decided, Hiresha told herself. I will simply have to destroy her and all her glowing company, before they hurt anyone else in my Academy.
12
Hall of Visitation
Bright Palm Sheamab strode back and forth in front of the women, the staff hitting the carpet with dull smacks that reminded Hiresha of the sound it would make striking flesh. The enchantress clutched her own throbbing hand, worrying what the Bright Palm intended for the novices.
The women and girls in teal clothing had been gathered on the ground floor of the tower for their safety. Now Hiresha thought them
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