Chapter 47: A Queen Among Blood: Chapter Forty-Seven - Yildiz

I find myself thinking about victims of home invasions and how so many will up and leave without a second thought. They won’t care if they have a mortgage to pay, or if they are living on their last dime. To them, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting away from that place. The place they once called home but will never feel like home again, because someone came in and made it feel unsafe; made it a place of nightmares.

I used to think it was only humans or those who share human DNA who take pleasure in the suffering of others. Irshiusts don’t, raitruums don’t, but then again we were never human. We were created only to help others. I now realise Gods are not exempt from that rule. Everything Jartre has done and is doing; there’s not a doubt in my mind he’s enjoying it. How much more shit do I have to deal with right now?

I’m pulled from my contemplation when the sound of footsteps moving closer reaches our ears causing Makbule and me to take defensive stances and I grip the mercury dagger strapped to my belt. Soon the scent of rosemary and burnt figs makes its way to us and I begin to relax a little, but I notice Makbule does not. A moment later Manon’s ivory aura with its French violet hue stands at the entrance of the cavern.

“It’s only me, I did not mean to worry you,” she says cheerfully.

“Manon, what are you doing down here?” I ask in confusion.

“Do you need any assistance?” she asks, “An extra set of hands couldn’t hurt, and who better to fight a makkari than a makkari?” she says casually.

“This is a Delegation matter, you have no business down here,” says Makbule with unveiled hostility. Wow, she really seems to hate Manon.

“My magic and knowledge are invaluable; you’d turn it down?” she questions sceptically.

“We already have two very useful makkares who live here. You’re not needed,” my sister almost hisses.

“Makbule,” I admonish her.

“I understand. You must be so on edge after what happened to your sisters,” she says, but I’m not liking the tone in her voice.

“With all due respect, Manon, this has nothing to do with what happened. No one besides an irshiust is allowed down here without our permission. How did you even know the Orraikam was down here?” I question suspiciously.

“Aulen told me, of course,” she says as her form starts to sway, “I, um… I’m suddenly not feeling very well,” she says weakly.

“That probably has to do with the nuummite we have scattered all around the cavern,” Makbule says casually.

“The what?” Manon says slowly in a hard voice. Oh, she is pissed.

I frown, now angered by her attitude, “A makkari has invaded our home, damaged the Orraikam and killed our sister and injured and spelled the other erasing her memories of the attack. Do you really think we wouldn’t take protective measures? I only wish we’d done it the first time; Nuray might be alive if we had,” I say sorrowfully.

“You let me stand here knowing what nuummite would do to me? You are supposed to be benevolent beings!” she shrieks.

Makbule shrugs, “You’re not supposed to be down here at all. We won’t apologise for the consequences that befall you for entering a sacred space in which you are not welcome. Now unless you want those symptoms to get worse, I suggest you leave.”

Manon’s breathing is laboured and angry and without a word, she turns on her heel and exits the cavern. I wait until I no longer hear Manon’s footsteps to speak, but just to be safe I chose to speak in the language of the Gods.

“Is there a reason why you hate her so much?”

“I don’t trust her,” she says flatly.

“Why is that?” I ask curiously.

“Ever had a conversation with that woman for more than a few minutes?” she asks.

“No.”

“None of us have. Odd isn’t it? Not to mention there’s something in her eyes. Something cold that makes me feel uneasy. It’s almost predatory,” she says as I watch her aura shiver.

“I’m afraid I’m unable to back up the eye comment, but I have noticed the same thing with her voice.”

“Her voice?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Her tone never matches her words. She says something kind or benign and I can hear insincerity or disdain in her words. It unsettles me,” I admit.

Makbule is quiet for a moment, “Can I confide in you?”

“Of course,” I say sincerely.

“I’m not sure we’re right about Isolde,” she says gravely.

“Go on,” I encourage. This is the first time any of my sisters have echoed my own concerns on the matter.

“You remember her, we knew her as a child. She was one of the sweetest, kindest people we ever met. Someone who Fretez would have been proud to see guiding the makkari. Then a week shy of her ascension she just suddenly turns into a psychopath? If it weren’t for all the witness accounts I never would have believed it. I still don’t want to, but the evidence against her is astronomical,” she sighs.

I think that over for a moment. Whenever the next High Priestess or High Priest of the makkari is born, the Delegation visit to welcome them into the world. We always know when a new one is born because the Orraikam senses it and begins glowing brighter than the sun. From the moment she was born, Isolde gave off such warm energy. Being around her almost felt how people describe being in our presence. She was a true light in this world. By age five she was already greatly respected by her kind, showing incredible magical aptitude and boundless compassion for others. We were all shocked to our very core the day we learned of what Isolde had done, and I admit we found the news hard to swallow. It was the opposite of everything we knew about her and experienced being near her. But as my sister said, the evidence was undeniable… or so we thought.

“Then perhaps the evidence is wrong,” I say thoughtfully.

“How do you figure?”

“My animai is a sanguidae who defies everything we know about sanguidaes. I have someone terrorising me in my sleep who looks and sounds exactly like my animai, and yet I know in my heart it’s not him. My eyes tell me it’s him, but instinct and logic tell me otherwise.”

“What’s your point?”

“Mother said she made me blind so I could see past all distractions. She said to trust the eyes I’ve been given. My point is, what if it’s the same thing? What if the truth we think we see, so to speak, isn’t the truth at all?”

“Are you saying we ignore centuries of hard evidence?”

“I’m saying we choose to look at the evidence another way. If we both feel uneasy about this, and something in us is telling us something is very, very wrong, I don’t think we should ignore it. I will not condemn someone unless I can say without a shadow of a doubt that they are guilty,” I say fervently.

Makbule nods, “Count me in. So where do we start?”

“I say we start with Manon. She is Isolde’s aunt after all, and the only member of their family to survive that night. Let’s start there.”

Makbule nods, and we both sit on the stone ground of the cavern ready to reassess all the facts we know about Isolde and Manon Laurier.

“Yildiz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for listening to me and trusting me,” she says appreciatively, “I’ve kept this to myself for so long. The last time I tried telling anyone, I was shut down.”

“Who shut you down?”

“Dilara.”

I snort, “That figures. She hates extra work.” We both snigger.

“Either way, thanks for having my back,” she says warmly.

“Don’t mention it,” I smile wrapping my arm around her.