Page 77 of The Gilded Ones

“I don’t think they noticed,” Britta quickly reassures me. “It didn’t seem to affect them. I don’t think it works on humans.”

I’m in such a daze now, everything seems far away.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t know this was happening?” Gazal asks.

I shake my head, my entire body heavy. Deathshriek? Compelled? I still don’t fully understand what they’re saying. Don’t want to understand. Because if I do, that means that it’s my fault. I’ve caused all these changes, taking all those lessons, building up the power inside me. I’ve made myself even more monstrous than I already am.

“It can’t be possible,” I say. “It can’t be.”

“But it is.” Belcalis’s tone is implacable, and there’s a look in her eyes now – something almost close to fear. “And the question is, what will you do?”

I turn to her. “Are you sure none of the recruits saw me change? Heard me?” My eyes flit to Keita, tightening the straps on his saddle. Please, no. Please… I couldn’t bear it if he turned away from me, if he suddenly hated me the way Ionas did when he realized I was different from everyone else.

Belcalis shakes her head, sending a wave of relief over me. “It was too dark for them to see you.”

“We only saw wha happened ’cause our night vision is better,” Britta says. Then she adds, “I think you’d better talk to White Hands. Whatever this is, we need to take care of it afore anyone else knows.” She follows my gaze to Keita. “Anyone,” she repeats.

I nod.

As it turns out, I don’t have to wait for a meeting with White Hands, because she summons me to the Warthu Bera’s roof the moment I return. When Isattu deposits me there, White Hands is lounging on a bed of pillows, smoking that ever-present water pipe. The Hemairan night gathers around us, warm and sweetly scented, but all I can feel right now is my panic and fear. I know that White Hands probably called me here to talk about what happened with Ixa, but I have more pressing concerns.

White Hands doesn’t seem to notice my anxiety as she takes another puff of her pipe. “I hear,” she says, “that you’ve been experiencing some worrisome changes lately.”

I stare at her, startled. How did she know?

Then I remember – White Hands commands the Warthu Bera, and that includes all the matrons and assistants here. I shouldn’t be surprised if she has Isattu spying for her when we go on raids, if all the assistants are spying for her. “The assistants are your spies,” I say, suddenly realizing why they’re so deferential whenever they see her.

“The matrons too,” she sniffs. “I try to surround myself with the best.”

Her smugness only heightens my panic. If she knows what’s happening, how can she be so calm? I can barely stand still, I’m so agitated. I clench and unclench my hands to keep myself from picking at my nails.

“Is it the lessons?” I ask, pulling Ixa from my neck into my arms as I walk closer. “Is that what’s changing me?”

White Hands nods, a languid incline of the head. “It might be.”

“Might be? I need a better explanation than that. Tell me why this is happening! You promised you would!”

White Hands doesn’t reply, only rises and beckons for me to follow her to the edge of the roof. Below us, the city of Hemaira is spread out like a dark ocean dotted with dimly flickering lights.

She gestures to it.

“Tell me, what do you see before you?”

“Hemaira,” I reply. What does this have to do with anything?

“And what fills Hemaira?” Now White Hands glances at me, as if there’s something she wants to gauge.

“People,” I reply, wondering where she’s going.

“And beyond Hemaira? What fills the wilderness?”

“Deathshrieks,” I say, quickly adding, “our enemies.”

For a moment, a strange expression flashes over her face, but then she’s back to that amused smile. “I see,” she says.

“What does that have to do with what’s happening to me?” I ask impatiently.

“Everything… And nothing.”

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