While Henry took the spot across from Nicolina, I opted to sit next to her in the hope that she would see the positioning as less adversarial.
We return to Lunameade tomorrow for the start of Dark Star Festival. It will be my last trip to the city for a while. If she can help me figure out what I’m missing about the Drained evolving and my father’s madness, that alone could be enough to get me the key to the tunnel.
The older woman peers up from her notebook to assess me. I’ve already explained that our well in Lunameade doesn’t seem to be as effective at healing as it once was, and that has piqued her interest.
“We think that the issue is environmental,” I say. “In order to explain and get your expertise, I would have to share some secrets with you, and you would have to swear to keep those secrets in the eyes of the Divine.”
I noticed in the short time I was in the Raining Star Bar before that there is a certain level of superstition among the storytellers. They taketheir devotion seriously, and this is a vow that wouldn’t be taken without the purest of intentions.
“It’s the sacred duty of all storytellers to understand what information is necessary for sharing our history and which details must remain private,” Nicolina says. She places her hand over her heart. “I swear to the Seven Divine that I will not speak of any secret information shared here today with anyone but the ones sharing it.”
I sense Henry’s annoyance immediately. By not telling him the complete information about the wells first, I’m reminding him that he still needs to get back into my good graces. Now he’ll feel obligated to comply the next time I need him to do something.
Manipulation is not my favorite tactic because it’s a man’s tool, but there’s no denying its effectiveness.
Nicolina listens intently as I explain what we’ve discovered so far about the well’s healing magic not working, the blood mist, and the Drained.
When I’m finished, she waves a hand to a woman across the room, and a few moments later, we have a fresh pot of tea and a plate of small cakes in front of us. Nicolina pours us all tea and takes a bite of a strawberry-topped cake before finally turning her attention back to me.
“Can you explain more about what you mean about the well not working?” she asks.
A cold sweat breaks out on my back. I knew this question was coming, but I am nervous about revealing even the barest hint of weakness in my family. For so long, the need to appear strong, flawless, and invincible has ruled my life. Sharing a crack in my family’s facade is unnatural but necessary.
“They aren’t healing, and they seem to create a bit of agitation in some.” I hope this is subtle enough to give her an idea, because if I explain the full extent of the madness, Henry will undoubtedly do something stupid. He already wants to kill my father, despite the way it would cripple the city.
Nicolina cocks her head, considering. “Can you draw a sketch of how the wells flow?” She opens her notebook and pushes her charcoal stick toward me.
I hesitate. This is valuable enough information that one of our ancestors, or maybe my father, tried to hide it, even from the family. But I needher expertise, so I draw a crude sketch of the Mountain Well, the Blood Well, and, after a long moment of hesitation, the Family Well.
Nicolina’s eyes widen slightly at the third well. She traces the path with her fingertip and sits back, closing her eyes.
After a long pause, she turns her attention back to me. “I suspect you’re looking at the answer. The well flow starts here in Mountain Haven, goes through town, to your Family Well, and then dumps out into the edge of the Drained Wood. You say that the secondary blood tithes are making the people restless—that there are more protests than ever. When the clan first came to the well and gained Vardek’s protection, they were happy to bleed in offering while they built the first small city walls around their settlement. Alistair Carren took care of them. No one was treated differently, and as more people entered the waters and were blessed with Divine gifts, he welcomed their assistance. More importantly, those who weren’t blessed were still tasked with good work and treated as equal members of the community—as they still are here at the fort. So we have to ask—what changed in the city?”
I look down at the map where her finger rests on the Blood Well.
“The unblessed started to be treated as lesser-than while we asked for more blood tithes,” I say.
Nicolina nods. “Your family and the other magical families of Lunameade believed that the unblessed had no magic. But there is a difference between an offering made with a willing and open heart and one made with anger and loathing. Perhaps they are not so magicless as we thought. Perhaps they are the true poison in the well and it’s affecting your family and the Drained.”
I stare at her in mute shock. It makes so much sense. My family has been steeping in all the unblessed people’s hatred and loathing. No one visits the well more than my father and Able after their nightly work of lighting the city wall with holy fire. Every day, they’re taking in more rage and disdain, and it’s only become worse since the secondary tithes.
“My advice is to stop the tithes altogether,” Nicolina says. “Make them voluntary again. Nothing is more potent than offerings made with free will.”
Everything she’s saying makes so much sense, but I can’t imagine how I’m going to convince my parents this is a good idea. I can already hear their arguments in my head. If she’s wrong, it will be almostimpossible to get people to go back to paying tithes afterward. It could make things better, but it could also bring the simmering tension in town into an all-out rebellion. They were already bold enough to attack Carrenwell House during our engagement party. They’re willing to escalate the violence for the sake of their revolution.
I spin my teacup in its saucer and meet Nicolina’s eyes. “Do you think what has been done can be undone?”
She shrugs. “I couldn’t say. That’s in the hands of the Divine. Sometimes all you can do is mitigate the damage for the future.”
I run my fingertip around the rim of my cup and turn to Henry. “Could you give us a few minutes alone?”
He frowns, a wrinkle forming in his brow. He wants to argue, but he thinks better of it and simply nods and leaves us to it. As soon as he takes a spot at the bar across the room, I feel his eyes on me.
I ignore him, keeping my focus on the delicate black cup hand-painted with small orange flowers.
“Those flowers are hard to come by outside these walls,” Nicolina says. “They’re called Polm’s Opus. Quite a unique flower. The poison in those pretty petals isn’t deadly. When harvested, ground down to dust, and ingested, Polm’s Opus petals offer temporary influence over a personandtheir magic.” She casts a glance at Henry. “Should you need it.”
I arch a brow. “And if one wanted to find it?”
