Page 79 of Claiming Glass

Nikolai, a man who used social niceties like a blade and always seemed at ease, was the first to step back.

“There’s a party waiting.” He paused to nod at me. There was no grief in his eyes. “I’ll raise a glass for you, Cousin.”

His and Mariska’s father, Rada, who spent most of the last decade on their family’s country estate, followed with mumbled wishes for health. The royal family was not much for public shows of emotion—even in this private setting. Mariska avoided my look and discreet plea to remain.

Before she reached the stairs, I hurriedly pressed a note into her hand and whispered, “I might be blind but did listen, just not like you wanted me to. If you trust me at all, go there now. Hurry and you’ll understand.Please.”

This plan had too many pieces and I too little time. Since my father’s death, I had been watched every moment. Vanya’s rude stepsister and Mariska must each do their parts and von Uster needed to be as loyal to the Crown as he claimed. Koshka, who surely must have the Goddess herself looking out for her, had to be trustworthy despite her grief. The alternative was unacceptable.

I cleared my face as I turned to Morovara. Instead, my grandmother waved me toward the furthest wall of the crypt.

The dark, horned feminine face portrayed on the wall sent shivers down my spine. No one depicted the Goddess unless they wished to draw her attention. I could not guess why my ancestors had. Perhaps it predated even them.

Solovyova’s fingers hovered over the sigil-surrounded image, as if she addressed the Death Goddess instead of me. “Are you marrying the von Heskin girl? The new one?”

“I’m making the arrangements,” I said, unable to lie before my ancestors and the Goddess herself.

“This is what it means to be king of Tal.” Solovyova’s knuckle touched the wall. She lowered her voice. “This is our secret and curse.”

“We’re cursed?” Her warnings were usually less direct.

“Curses are blessings used maliciously. Wishes so strong even the gods must listen.”

The light had dwindled as the others left. My mother remained watching the beetles consuming her husband, Morovara next to her. No one was listening, still Solovyova waved me to bend down until our cheeks touched.

“Herebov started it all. Tal was already ancient and growing steadily. He wasn’t king yet, but a powerful mage, head of one of the clans living on the steppe. A proud man thinking himself in need of a wife, despite already having a woman and children.”

“I know my history.”

“Then he met Ealhswip,” Solovyova continued as if I had not spoken. “The High Priestess and divine ruler of Tal. Some stories say that she used magic to seduce him, making him powerless before her, others that he loved her like a man loves a woman, but some whisper he claimed her without consent, stealing her power. Either way, they married in the old way, tying themselves together with magic, and he became the first king of Tal.”

“Then she died, he married Yelena—whom you’re named after—and started our line,” I supplied, needing to get to the point before Morovara left.

Solovyova scoffed. “Pay attention. Yes, she died. Some said he was so heartbroken by her death that he wentinto the realm of the dead and brought her back, others that he killed her, and she returned for revenge. Most said, he should have stayed away from Tal. Either way, the balance was broken.Otherscame through.”

“The Spirits?”

She shook her head. “They always came to Tal before passing through the Gate, but they weren’t alone on the other side. Dark things came out of the shadows.”

“And then?”

“The royal children did something utterly foolish,” Morovara said, and I spun to see her and my mother close enough to overhear.

“They did what they needed to do,” Solovyova snapped. “Herebov was dead, the tribes didn’t want to stay in Tal and peace was needed.”

“This happened three hundred years ago?” I asked, unsure how to handle the rising tempers from the two most powerful women in Tal.

“Two hundred ninety-nine,” Morovara said, her eyes locked on the Goddess’s chiseled face. “If you allowed me access to the Blessed Gate, perhaps we could stop it from getting to three hundred.”

Solovyova glared at her. “It’s time for you to leave. We’re the guardians of the Gate and it will remain locked.”

The high priestess shook her head. “I couldn’t do anything without the keys and your cooperation anyway. The history books say they made a blood oath. If I could examine it, perhaps I could ease the Spirits’ distress.”

“They’re dead. Distress is for the living.” Solovyova nodded to my mother. “Take the High Priestess upstairs. Her work here is done.”

Morovara sighed, pulled her dignity around her like a robe, and stepped away. “I’m not your enemy, but you fool yourself if you cannot feel things coming to a head. Tal is rising.”

“Where’s the missing food from the steppes?” I called after her. “Who’s behind the Spirit of Lowtown? What does it mean that the Goddess will walk again?”

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