Ebonwilde by Crystal Smith

Author:Crystal Smith [Smith, Crystal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

28

Then

ZAN

His dreams that night were fraught, filled with flashes of things he’d tried to forget: the feel of his father’s backhand against his lips, the red sap of broken bloodleaf stems marking the place his mother’s body had fallen from Aren’s tower, the smell of Lisette’s gardenia perfume as she died in his arms, blood bubbling from her lips.

And always, there was Aurelia. She was in every thought, every memory, watching his struggles from a safe distance, accusations glittering in her eyes. Come and find me, she’d say, over and over, first as an invitation, then a question, and then a plea, and finally a demand.

And eventually, her words morphed into the shape of an eight-legged creature, glossy black save for a white, moon-shaped sliver on its abdomen. The spider crawled up his leg and across his torso as Zan trembled, too weak to move and swat it away.

Finally, when it reached his neck, the spider sank its fangs into the soft flesh.

Zan woke with a scream.

“Shhh.” A soft, soothing voice came from beside him. “Don’t try to get up. You’re safe. You’re in the Sisters’ hands now.”

A woman leaned over him, wearing a mild smile that belied the firm strength of her hands as she pushed him back against a pillow. He was in a light and airy room, with a high stucco ceiling and no furnishings save for the bed he was occupying, her chair, and a plain side table.

She wrung out a washcloth in a basin of cool water, and then used it to mop his brow. “What did you see?” she asked. “The venom of a crescent silk spider is said to awaken memories. And from the look on your face, son, I’d say not all of yours were pleasant.”

She called him “son,” though she could not be more than a handful of years older than him. Beneath the bone-colored silk of her wimple, her skin glowed a warm, sable brown. “We should probably thank you,” she continued. “For lighting the lighthouse lamp. Our keeper died three days ago, and by the time the storm hit, it was too late to send anyone out there as a replacement.” She poured him a cup of water from a glass carafe.

“The ship we came in on,” Zan rasped, accepting the water gratefully. “The Contessa. Did it make it?”

“I’m sorry to say that I don’t know. It’s not uncommon, after a big storm like that one, for there to be shipwrecks on our reef, even if we’ve got the lighthouse fully lit. We can find salvage up and down our shores afterward. Not this time. That could mean they kept on going, made it out just fine. Or . . . it could mean that there’s simply not enough of it left. Were it not for you and your friend, we’d never have known a ship even passed by.”

“My friend,” Zan said suddenly, attempting to sit up again. “Jessa—Jenny. Is she—?”

“Alive,” the nun said. “Though quite a bit worse off than you, I’m afraid.

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