Page 84 of Claiming Glass

Mariska gave her a hard look before squeezing my hand, her magic swirling through my body.

“You deserve much more than this—I didn’t know.” She choked down an angry sob. “You could have told me—you all could have told me.”

“I couldn’t.” Despite the healing magic, my throat was sore. “I killed for him. She’s dead.”

The words were for me.

Immeasurable time passed. There were no more tears or things to say. Mariska had questioned me until the others pulled her away, saying she had to return to the palace. She promised to be back to check in. I think I nodded.

I was left with no Lumi, prince, or guards. No duties, threats, or promises to keep.

Freedom.

Something was waking in me—a raging grief, a dark void, guilt enough to drown me. Feelings I had not been forced to face because my future held onlydeath.

Tired, but otherwise miraculously healthy, I got to my feet, found a bottle of Rivertown moonshine we had hidden behind the dresses, and climbed through the window to the roof.

The torches and Spirits below hid all but the brightest stars. Leaning against the chimney, I took a deep swallow from the bottle, then dropped all my walls.

Thousands moved below me—joy, anger, exhaustion, grief, love—they all sang, like the dead had.

I thought a lot of Spirits were out tonight, before feeling how many there truly were. It should not have been a surprise. Everyone who lived must die, and all dead came to Tal. Morovara had told me. I had seen the death figures of Tal in the Archive. Every city in the world had the same. Every village. Every farm.

There must be scholars in the palace who calculated the true numbers. They might have laughed at the surprise of someone who had lived in Tal their whole life not realizing how outnumbered the living were.

When you only saw the Spirits swirling on the streets or lighting up the Bone Grove, it was easy to ignore how the old people complained there were more now than in their youth.

I could no longer ignore it. If the dead were rising, the living were doomed.

The magic flared with my feelings and somewhere out there another answered.

My sister was gone, but Ifelther.

The Spirits carried more of their living self than anyone knew.

I emptied the bottle, wishing the memories and longing away. No matter what remained in her Spirit, I had killed her.

A sea of despair waited for me when I let the events of the last three-day sink in, so instead, I drank until the world spun.

For bells, I just watched. Slowly, the buzz from the alcohol disappeared and the magic that had condemned and saved me sang someone else was moving below.

Carefully, I made my way down the ladder to the second floor, where Kirill, Lana, and guests had their rooms, finding it empty. I did not need to open any doors to know it. The headache and nausea I knew was coming made me hesitate. I could crawl back into bed. Turn away as I had in the cell.

Perhaps the need for normalcy drove me. Or just the need for a distraction.

I headed down the spiral stairs, across the hall, and into Kirill’s office. For years, Lumi and I offered our paltry takes to be counted against our debts. While we had cleaned and maintained the rest of the house, we had otherwise never been allowed inside the study. The ledgers and business too secretive, Kirill too suspicious.

A woman in red embroidered coat and wide skirt sat behind the giant desk. A beaked mask made of mirrors and onyx turned her face into that of a sparkling predator. It showcased her blue eyes, red-painted lips, and perfect blond curls while making anyone hesitate to challenge her. The only grief-signs for her father’s death were the black bands encircling her wrists.

Bereavement and curses became my stepsister.

Lana made a note in the too-familiar ledger, then lowered the pen and considered me.

“They swore me to secrecy, trooped upstairs with your wrapped body—cursing the perfectly fine ladder—then left bells ago. I’ll keep my mouthshut, but don’t expect more. When the dust settles and fall comes, I’ll be among the living.”

“You’re not planning your own revenge?”

“For killing my father? I might have known how to pretend affection better than you, but don’t mistake it for love. Who do you think he beat before you came along?”

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