Emery
There are Gods who would use you, Gods who will steer you right, and Gods who wish you’d never been born. All you get to know are voices. It is up to each of you to listen.
– Toth, Headmaster at St. Viktor’s
A door rattled in front of Emery, and she had the terrible feeling that she was about to die.
It was a wide door, several hundred pounds of solid oak, barred with iron, quivering like a leaf caught in a storm. The air around it hummed. Tremors raised damp scents from the cellar stones, and an orange light burned fiercely around its frame.
“Any clue what they’re doing in there?” Emery asked.
The guards on either side of her were silent, tightly gripping their spears. Emery could have probably escaped them both; they seemed distracted, uncertain whether they should be more afraid of the girl they were escorting or of the door they’d brought her to. But no matter where Emery went, someone would have dragged her back to that spot.
Besides, she did not want to cause the guards any trouble. The man on her right had interesting sideburns and a long, serious face. Beads of sweat raced toward his bushy eyebrows. She’d always liked the look of him.
No, Emery wouldn’t run, though any reason she could give would only be an excuse. Truth was, a loud, inexhaustible part of her wanted to know what laid beyond that door, even if it killed her.
The hall was silent while she waited, apart from the door rattling in its frame, the crackle of a pair of torches at her back, and her long, dramatic sigh. She twirled a finger through brittle hair, wishing she was with her sister instead. Maybe there was still time to go back.
As soon as that thought crossed her mind, the door flew open and the torches blew out.
Rather than sinking into darkness, the hall became so bright that Emery had to squint to see ahead. A gust of burning wind blew past, knocking her back a step and filling the air with the stench of burning sulfur.
A figure, Derrick, appeared from beyond the doorway and grabbed Emery by the arm, his grip like iron. Rumor had it his father was a mountain and his mother was the moon. Like all good stories told at St. Viktor’s, this was not true. The reality was considerably less dramatic, though equally frightening: No one escaped Derrick when he wanted them. He was as solid as a mountain and as watchful as the moon.
That wouldn’t stop Emery from trying. She twisted her body, grinding the skin of her forearm against his steadfast grip. Expressionless as ever, he pulled her through the rushing winds, passing underneath the open doorway and tumbling deep inside.
When her eyes adjusted, Emery found herself in a small room, its walls lined with overstuffed shelves. Piles of diamonds spilled over mummified limbs and twice-skinned rats. Speaking Encyclopedias drummed under still-beating hearts. Trinkets and tools filled every corner, each piece recklessly laid atop another, rattling, clanking, tossed by the wind.
There was no time to account for every treasure. A ball of orange light demanded Emery’s attention, floating in the center of the room, pulsing, drying her mouth and burning her skin with flashes of hot air.
Toth peered out from behind it, his body hidden by its glow. It had only been a few hours since Emery had last seen him; she’d been hoping to go a little longer.
His crooked bones and oozing skin were better left unseen. When he spoke, his voice was like boiling stew, each bubble hoarse and painful.
“It was good of you to come,” he said.
Emery had tried to run away. “If this is about Sara, you can forget it. I already told you, I’m done.” This was a pointless thing to say. Had Toth meant to discuss anything, he would not have needed that ball of light.
“I know,” Toth said, staring into its glow. “You’ll serve a different purpose.”
Derrick was already pulling the door shut, trapping the winds as Emery clenched her fists, her mouth too dry to swallow.
To Toth, Emery and her sister had only ever been tools, meant to trap each other in. He would sooner kill them both than let either of them out of his sight.
And still, Emery had turned to him, told him the truth, asked him for his help. It was weakness that drove her—some desperate, idiotic thought that after all those years studying under him, raised by him, doing everything he asked, Toth might have actually started to care. Emery should have known better; she should have just kept lying, like everybody else.
“The ritual is almost complete. All that’s left,” Toth said, dipping his bare hand into a cup of molten gold, “are the fees.” He dangled his fingers, letting the smoking metal drip.
Each dollop disappeared before it hit the floor, making the ball of light at the center of the room grow brighter. Before long, Emery had no choice but to shut her eyes. Hot wind whipped past, taking her other senses with it. And suddenly, she was gone.
She stood in the void. There was no light, no sound, no heat—no foul taste, nor sulfur smell. Nothing, until a cold grip took her shoulder, and its lips moved at her ear.
“If I had wanted to listen, I would have answered your call. Why did you bring me here?” the lips asked. Its voice was a solid object, blunt enough to shatter bones. Emery tried to answer, but found that she could not. She jumped with panic and stayed in place, feeling the sting of icy breath across the back of her neck.
A God perched on Emery’s shoulder, its hand black, darker than the void, a puppeteer clutching her strings.
Toth appeared at Emery’s side again, bowing and trembling. Despite her predicament, it was a strangely pleasant sight.
“Please, Power,” Toth said. “Help me save the Prince.”
The God of Power was silent.
“King Maria has ordered his son into the Heartlands,” Toth continued.
Emery might have actually gasped if she were able. The Heartlands were the last place in the world a Prince would go.
“The King plans his own son’s demise.”
“And?” Power asked.
“I swore an oath. So long as I live, royal blood will never spill,” Toth said.
“Insolent servant. You would impose your will over that of your King?” Power asked.
“Faithfully,” Toth answered.
The God’s lips twisted into a dark grin.
“What, then?”
“Protect the Prince. See that he returns safely from the Heartlands.”
“And my fee?”
“The girl in your grasp, and all else in this room.”
The shadows grew eyes, searching every inch of Emery’s flesh and every fold of clothing. Her teachers often lectured on human sacrifices, their voices neat and callous. She’d learned of how the King took lives from every village, thousands just to hold his throne. And now, she imagined her teachers speaking of her, the name forgotten, attention given solely to the strength her life would buy.
What were the last words I said to my sister? Emery wondered, unable to recall. Her dying words were too mundane to leave a mark.
She should never have gone to class that morning. There were things Sara needed to know—lies to expose and dangers still to come. Now, Emery would never get the chance. What a wasteful way to end her life.
The God’s grip tightened on her shoulder, nearly tearing through to bone. Somewhere in the dark, glass and metal collided with stone as wind shook treasures from their shelves.
Then, without warning, the hand released Emery. Her clothing rippled as her lungs filled with freezing air. Without meaning to, she ran her hands repeatedly through her hair, tangling herself in the mess of dark red strands.
“Is something wrong?” Toth asked.
“I will know the weight of the life you give. Tell me, girl. Who are you?”
Emery took another breath. Well, I’m Emery. My sister’s the cutest and I don’t really want to die. She shook her head. No God would let her waste its time, certainly not Power. She would get a moment, maybe two, to speak before it killed her.
She could use that breath to yell at Toth, or to inform Power that being strong didn’t have to mean invading her personal space. She could beg for mercy.
But out of every possibility, above any chance for clarity or retribution, one set of words took shape, demanding her attention. Before she could think, she spoke.
“Don’t protect the Prince,” Emery said.
“And leave here empty-handed? You beg me for your life?”
“No.” Begging was pointless. There was no escaping death now that it had her. Her life was over, but she still hoped to make something of it.
“What, then?”
“My sister will be on her own without me.” She imagined Sara, balled up in the attic of the tower they shared, brown hair spilling out from her tight bundle of limbs. Without Emery, Sara would only have Toth. She was as good as dead, so—
“Take me as your fee. But instead of the Prince, protect my sister.”
Power laughed. The room shook.
Toth stepped closer, trying to speak, his voice lost between the shadow’s words.
“Intriguing girl. You’d impose your will on your killer and a God.”
It came so close that Emery could almost feel the rest of its face lurking in the shadows. As its hand tightened around her shoulder once again, freezing Emery in place, she delighted in the indignant gasp of horror Toth let out. If the little things were all she had left, she intended to make the most of them.
“If I protect your sister,” Power said, “or your Prince, what life can I expect from them?”
“Prince Yelena will be King,” Toth said, quickly finding his way toward confidence. “That is the only future fit for him. People will know the part you played and worship your name every time they mention his.”
Power hummed with appreciation. Fame and worship were like nectar for the Gods. They could not get enough.
“And you, girl?” It released Emery’s shoulder, letting her captive life spill into her for what she knew would be the final time.
She was stumped. Nothing she could say would make her sister sound half as important as a King. All she could do was speak from the heart and hope the God would show her pity.
So, what? I want my sister to learn how to speak her mind and talk to strangers. I want her to come out of her hiding places without needing to be coaxed. Emery could earnestly speak the cliche: I hope my sister lives a long, happy life.
None of that would convince a selfish God. She couldn’t condense the beauty of her sister’s life into a sentence or two, much less for a monster that hadn’t met either of them.
Sara was the type who lived in subtleties. It would take lifetimes, libraries to write out all the reasons she should live. So instead of even trying, Emery said the first words that popped into her head, words she’d been trying in vain to force down.
“I want Sara to kill the Prince.”
It was petty and stupid. But more than anything, it was true. So long as Toth wanted to protect Prince Yelena, Emery would want him dead.
Again, Toth gasped.
Power would refuse, of course. It would choose Toth and his Prince. But Emery was glad she got to give Toth one last scare.
It was a pathetic victory, but she told herself it was enough. It was enough. It was enough.
The rest, she left to her sister. It was Sara’s job now to make Toth suffer. Her chances weren’t great. She had no clue who her enemies were, or which of the stories Emery told her over the years were true. Emery should have never kept so many secrets, but even she had needed a story to hide behind.
“Pick quickly,” Emery said. “If you take too long, I might kill myself and rob you of your prize.” She cackled, loud as she could manage, hoping to sear the sound into Toth’s memory.
Power laughed too. The sound was thunder. Its breath was ice.
“You win,” it said, resting its hand on Emery’s shoulder.
“Me?” Toth asked.
“The girl.”
Emery watched the God’s lips move, but the words did not feel real.
“You can’t be—”
“Can’t?”
Toth stopped himself. “Yelena would give you the faith of every citizen of Erueth. What prize lies in Sara’s life?” Fury and panic bubbled under his voice.
“I have no interest in Sara,” Power said.
“What?” Toth asked.
What? Emery wondered.
“I refuse your contract as I refuse hers.” It patted Emery’s shoulder, nearly ripping it right off. “And leave here empty-handed.”
Emery realized, then, that her body wasn’t frozen. The God’s hand rested on her shoulder, absolute, a little painful, and oddly comforting.
“Why?” Toth asked. “The sacrifice? You could have the other, or her sister—”
“I told you when I first arrived. If I had wanted to listen, I would have answered your call. Ask another God. But use this one as your price—kill her, or give her life away—and I will grant my strength to all the Prince’s enemies.”
Emery stared at the dark shadow of that God.
“She, at least, has caught my interest.”
The room flashed with sudden blinding light as the wind doubled and stopped in the same breath. The rattling of stones and treasures stilled, hissing with residual heat.
The shelves were empty, their treasures deposited messily onto the floor. Books were scorched black, glass was shattered, instruments bent, twice-skinned rats still finding the strength to burrow in between the stones. Every piece of gold glowed violently orange, providing the room with its only source of light.
Beyond that, there was little to see. It was the most uninteresting square room Emery had ever been stuck inside of, built from bland cellar stones. There weren’t even spiderwebs to liven things up.
No wonder Power had been so upset. A broom closet was no place for a God.
In opposite corners, Toth and his assistant, Derrick, stood in shock. Emery wondered how much it cost them to summon that God in its flesh, all wasted…by her. She realized again how amazing she really was.
“Can I go now?” Emery asked.
Toth fell to his knees, pulling on his thin wisps of hair.
“I never should have taken you in,” he said, staring numbly at nothing. “I should have left you there to die.”
“You finally get it,” Emery said. “I told you that the day we met.”
There were several weapons scattered throughout the messy piles of gold. Emery considered grabbing one and skewering Toth while she had the chance, but Derrick stood too close.
He was feared for more than just his watchful eyes and iron grip. He was a Prophet—a soldier contracted to the Gods. For a bit of blood, he could melt all the metal in that room. For a finger, he could erase Emery’s senses.
Revenge could wait until Sara was safe. Emery still had to make it home.
“I’m gonna go,” she said.
Derrick grabbed her by the collar. “The cells?” he asked.
“No,” Toth said, eyeing her, obviously remembering all the times she’d broken loose before. “Keep her here, and double her sister’s guard. I need time to think.”
Toth opened the door, letting torchlight leak in from the hall. The guards outside peered curiously in, hands wrapped around their weapons.
They would not hurt Emery. Her life was safe, for now. But so long as Toth held her sister captive, he would find another way to bind her.
Derrick tossed Emery onto a heap of scalding, heat-warped gold. The metal jangled as she scrambled off it, leaping for the door as Derrick pulled it shut. With a resounding click, it locked from the other end.
All light vanished. Nothing remained for Emery but the sting of burning flesh and faint glow of heated metals that bounced off the cobble walls.
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