85. A massacre of voices

Sleep came with a blink of Ada's eyes and, when she woke, it seemed like morning had crept just as quickly. Long sighs and short snores echoed around the dining chamber, the air so warm it felt as if summer had arrived early. Ada sat up and looked around at the sleeping fae. Their bodies were pressed close, hardly moving, and Ada's chest constricted. Her pulse sped and her legs trembled as she rose, eyes skipping between the bodies and seeing the dead rather than the sleeping.

Lark let out a soft groan and Ada gasped when she saw that his face was twisted in pain. Red hair was stuck with sweat to his face, and he must have drawn blood from his lip sometime in the night, for it was now crusted at the corners of his mouth. Ada's hands shook, her vision blurring, and instead of waking him she staggered from the hall.

The air was cooler outside and she sunk down onto the marble steps, resting her cheek against the pale stone. She closed her eyes but couldn't clear her head, and so thought of Min and her glittering crown of salt. The Lady of Wysthaven had been certain that the Saltsworn had dissolved in mythos, yet now Min's secret had surfaced, known alone by Ada and Raeph. It was a secret so powerful it could change an entire world. It could change the already altered life of a child.

Ada opened her eyes and began to walk. Small sage-lights buoyed around her legs, her path unmapped and in darkness. There were no fae in the passageways, and the sounds of sleep sifted from the rooms she passed. Ada knew the infirmary would still be bustling, but doubted her presence would be welcome, even less so if Min was still asleep. Yet still, she walked, her feet taking her to a round chamber once lined with wooden barrels. Tall candles flitted around her, casting strange shadows on the domed ceiling above and illuminating etchings of Old Fae.

At the top of a short flight of stone steps was a wooden door. Its slat had already been drawn back, so all Ada had to do was press her palm to the wood. It swung open onto the circular study, its floor strewn with papers stuck by wax and dust. A suspended copper ring was still baubled with burnt-out candles, and its little light showed Edmere sitting behind his desk. Before him was The Gilded Book, open on a page that Ada didn't care to try and make out.

"Adalyn," he said calmly.

She didn't wait for Edmere's invitation before she sat down opposite him. He closed The Gilded Book with a low thump, though the candlelight still played across its cover like puddles of molten gold. His fingers knitted together on the desk, and he placidly held Ada's gaze with his pale eyes.

"I went to the Lady of Wysthaven," Ada said softly and, when he waited for her to go on, "She had a lot to say about the city. It's history."

"And now she is dead," Edmere replied.

Ada flinched, picturing the Lady's flailing arms as she fell from the tower and dragged Min with her.

She said instead, "When I first spoke to you, you told me that the Stone Circle only wanted to survive. That's why you're down here —you said it was to practice magic safely— but there was nothing safe happening in Wysthaven last night-"

"The Hounds-"

"No, not just the Hounds." Ada wouldn't let him interrupt her again. "Fae from the Stone Circle were using magic to hurt people. You told me that each contact with the city would bring you closer to destruction, but you meant a different kind of ruin, didn't you? You were destroyed before, but now you had the chance to do the same to them.

"Yes, the Lady is dead. But what about all the others who also lost their lives? I saw a child last night with his arm entirely shattered. I watched Hester die beneath the tower. Is that truly why you wanted the Stone Circle to become stronger? Not just for magic, but for a massacre of your own? You said all you ever wanted was to survive."

Edmere flinched at the news of Hester's death, but his expression remained resolute.

"And survive we will."

Ada gritted her teeth, forcing in a breath before she asked the question she had been dreading since sunrise. "Was this massacre the real reason you brought me to Wysthaven?"

"I brought you here to retrieve a name," he replied.

Ada shoved her hand into her pocket and brought it down onto the desk with a bang. The book shuddered, and in the distance there came the clatter of bells. Between them was the glass flower from Rosamund's letter, still as bright and delicate as if it had just slipped from the envelope.

"My grandmother never even used the wish you granted her," Ada said. "What difference did it make bargaining with my gran for a wish she didn't make?"

"Perhaps there was no difference," he replied, only looking at Ada. "Or perhaps there was all the difference in the worlds."

Above them, the candles bubbled and spat, reaching the ends of their quicks. Ada felt a similar heat flaring within her, and she wanted to rise from the chair and feed all of Edmere's papers to the flames, stoking the fire until it burnt the city to cinders.

"One wishes with their words," he went on, "and in words, there lies power. Only the powerful survive."

Ada had heard enough of power during her time in Wysthaven, but still, she shook her head. "It wasn't my gran's words that gave you power. I chose to come here because I love her. It's trust and faith and love. That's real power."

Edmere settled back in his chair with a sigh. "I don't believe you came here to simply discuss your grandmother with me."

"No," Ada replied. She reached down again and this time set the wystwood box on the desk, placing the glass flower back into her pocket as she did so. Edmere swayed forwards, peering at the box with wide eyes as though the wystwood drew his gaze like a lighthouse in an ocean. His hands rose, as if to touch and open, but then he regained his composure.

"A box of wystwood?" he asked smoothly.

"It's yours," Ada said. "Or the Stone Circles, more accurately. If you're going to continue teaching fae how to use their magic, you should at least have something to also show the dangers that can come of it."

Edmere didn't say a word, but she saw the spark in his pale eyes, a hunger buried somewhere deep and still smouldering in its grave.

He swallowed. "This is no substitute for the name that was asked of you."

"I know," Ada said plainly.

"Without the name of the Saltsworn, our dealing is rendered obsolete."

"Yes."

A silence, and then, "I cannot send you home."

Ada took a slow breath and clenched her shaking fingers. But it wasn't for the final truth that Edmere wouldn't be sending her home; she had expected it from the moment she realised their deal would never be settled. Her horror was instead for Edmere's revelation. He still wanted the name of the Saltsworn. Perhaps he'd known all along it didn't belong to the Lady. Knew that the Saltsworn lived on with a power he could never truly possess.

Ada held his gaze for a long moment. Then, she lied.

"The Lady of Wysthaven is dead. I wasn't able to find out the name of the Saltsworn."

Edmere's pale eyes flashed molten beneath the candle flames. "A shame."

Ada looked at the little old man. She looked at his desk, his fallen papers, his golden book. Amongst it all, she saw a sea of ink and words; a thousand voices bound into pages or scattered across the floor. The Stone Circle was more than the man sitting before her now —its history and its future moved around the circular study like its copper ring of candles.

She wondered if the true power and punishment borne from magic could be truly considered in a thousand voices. If it could be questioned even in an entire library. She wondered if there were further miracles that might someday come from magic. Or if it was doomed to repeat its mistakes, over and over, like a circle set in stone.

"A shame indeed," Ada said. Then she stood and left without another word.