Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf 1)

Rain.

“Zan!” Nathaniel said breathlessly. “Zan! Is he here?”

“I’m here,” Zan said from behind me. “What’s the matt—?” His eyes went wide and he pushed past me into the downpour, lifting his hands to catch the raindrops, his face a mixture of wonder and horror.

“You have to come with me now, right now,” Nathaniel said urgently. “It’s High Gate.”

“Stay here,” Zan ordered, slamming the door shut in my face. I stared, stunned, at the panel of wood for several long seconds before going for Kellan’s cloak. I would not be left behind, not if something had gone wrong with the gate.

The entire city was pouring out of their houses to gawk and marvel at the downpour, whispering and pointing in a singular direction. Soon the three horses appeared above the rooftops, but their pristine marble was now marred with scorch marks. In the alleyway I spied the corpse of a silver-white stallion, an Empyrean, but one I did not know. I gaped at it. I’d used Falada to undo one of the two completed sacrifices. The death of one horse should not have been enough to cause this.

I felt a hand on my elbow and turned to find Kate, her heart-shaped face colored with concern beneath her dripping hood. “Emilie,” she said gravely. “Don’t go over there. I promise you, you don’t want to see.”

My lungs began to expand and collapse in rapid pace. I shook her off and pushed myself through the gathering crowd.

I knew that something terrible had happened—?knew it in my bones—?but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of it. Before I could stop myself, I let out a keening wail.

Nailed to the lintel above the portcullis was the head of a once-white horse. Her muzzle was curled back from her teeth, frozen forever in a contorted scream, while her beautiful mane was matted with blood into snake-like ropes. Her blood was splattered and smeared all across the marble, black burns streaking out from the stains like the feathery marks of a lightning strike. Blood and rain dripped from her lips, forming rivulets of red that outlined each cobblestone below. The spirits of the gate wandered listlessly beneath the grotesque spectacle, unmoved by death or downpour.

I hardly noticed Zan and Nathaniel making a beeline over to me, or Zan’s attempts to quiet the awful sounds that were coming from my mouth. I couldn’t look away. Falada was dead. Dead.

“Emilie, stop. Please. You’re making a scene.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Emilie, just stop—?”

“Don’t touch me!”

Nathaniel scooped me up as easily as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. I fought against him, but the man must have been made of granite; he didn’t seem to notice my struggle at all. When he set me down again, we were out from under watchful eyes. Kate and Zan were following close behind.

“How dare you,” I said, quivering with rage.

Zan’s face was a mask of calm, which infuriated me even more. “This is what we were trying to prevent, Emilie . . . Bleeding stars. They must have realized, after they killed the one horse, what we’d done. And even though she was disguised, they could have cast a spell to see through it.” He cursed again. “I’m sorry about your horse, but you have to understand we have much bigger problems now . . .”

“You’re sorry?” Rain and tears were stinging my eyes.

“I’m upset too. We should have done it ourselves. At least then she could have gone humanely, but we failed—?”

I lunged at him; I wasn’t sure what I meant to do, but I didn’t get close enough to find out before Nathaniel stepped in front of him. Impeded by the human barrier, I was forced to retreat, and I began stalking up and down on my side of the divide.

“You failed!” I futilely wiped my eyes on my soaked sleeve, chin quivering. “I almost killed myself working your spell because you said you’d protect her, and you didn’t. I don’t even know why I believed you; you can’t even protect yourself. That’s what Nathaniel is for, right? To make sure you never have to ruffle a hair on your head, never have to get your hands dirty.”

Zan said in a quiet, dangerous voice, “Maybe you should go. Calm down, and we can talk again when you’re back to your senses.”

“Oh, I’ll go,” I said. “But this? This is over. I’m done with you.”

“Emilie,” Kate said, “wait!”

“If she wants to go,” Zan said, “don’t stop her.”

* * *

Back at the hut, emotions roiling, I slammed the door shut with a deafening crack and then collapsed against it as the expenditure of fury left emptiness and exhaustion in its place. My clothes were wet and cold, hanging heavy on my frame. I unlaced the ties of my bodice and dress and stripped it off, abandoning it where I stood, and moved toward the fire, wearing nothing but my white shift. I crouched, shivering, by the fire, and pushed the sodden lumps of hair from my eyes.

I was surrounded by the papers that had fallen from Zan’s lap that morning. I gathered them together just to get them out of the way at first but found myself unable to set them aside unviewed. The first two were charcoal sketches of a twinkling city, as seen from our high vantage on the wall last night, captured effortlessly in Zan’s bold, dramatic style. The third was of hands—?my hands. In one there was a luneocite knife. In the other, nothing but black blood seeping between long, white fingers.

Letting go of the papers, I stared at them. Last night’s cut had already knitted itself into a thin red weal. I closed my fingers into fists to hide the mark and the old, familiar shame. In my head I heard the distant echo of the Tribunal mob’s fevered chants: Witch! Witch! Witch!