Rite (Deridia Book 9)

Copyright © 2023 Catherine Miller All rights reserved. ISBN: 9798393911324 This book is dedicated to the memory and legacy of Ashley Morrison (youngestoldcatlady). A beautiful soul that saved countless cats and kittens and never failed to bring joy to all who knew her. ContentsChill1. Grove2. Fire3. Dwell4. Hearth5. Drown6. Want7. Between8. Choose9. Emmy10. RiteAlso by Catherine Miller The halls felt empty. The air cool. The silence heavy rather than the comfort it had once been. Walls of metal that once gleamed with the pride he’d taken in his chosen home suddenly were sterile.His table, carefully laid with utensils. Even a cloth to cover the hard surface of yet more grey. A single setting. A plate settled, steaming.A lantern placed in the middle, hinting at a warmth that he did not feel. And yet...There was a comfort in purpose. In determination. Of a wait, to be certain. As he waited for the harshness of winter to act as his shield. His cover and his friend as he made his way back where he had long ago swore he would not return.Elrik was no warder, after all.He was not bound by the same honour. To oaths he had never taken. He had given them their answers. Had allowed them to return with far more than they could have expected. And he...He would as well.When the time was right. He would not have to face another long winter alone.He would see the Spiral again. Would have his due.The selection he was denied.And a husband he would be. Of that, he was certain.He was patient. He could wait.So he sat. And he ate.Alone.–Warder, Chapter 20 Chill “Sleep, Emmaryn.” A warm cloth at her temples. Wet with something. Heavy with it. It stung her nose, and made her think of herbs in the gardens, ones that needed special tending. For times like these? They’d been warned of it. Had been for generations.But it just kept coming back, didn’t it?No one knew why. Not the wise-women. Not the Keepers in their mysterious dwelling further down the mountain.Found her first.No, not first. Her friend Helvi was first. Her white skin tinged with blue, and she dropped, all while Emmaryn stood watching, her chores forgotten as her basket fell.They’d whisked her away. Shuttered the windows and barred the doors, trying to keep the sickness from the rest of the Spiral.It had come for her anyway.Then for her mother. And father next.“Not ‘upposed to sleep,” she tried to mumble out. It sounded slurred to her own ears, a mush of sound and breath that likely meant nothing to the strange ears listening to them. But she’d tried. Her mother had told her that many times in the beginning. Rest, yes. But try to keep awake. Keep drinking her warm broths and pungent tisanes, and all would be well soon enough.When had she last seen her mother? She couldn’t remember.Her limbs couldn’t move. Not with the host of blankets that had been piled on top of her. It wasn’t right, not when they did not have so many to share between their small family. These were furs from her parents’ bed, and they had need of them too, when they were so sick. When the cold seeped into their skin—their blood—chilling and tainting. Pulling away life and breath while teeth chattered and eyes grew heavy, and there was no one to tend the fires any longer.Was she crying? She couldn’t remember.But there was someone now. But the hands were not soft like her mother’s. Not large and strong like her father’s.Knobby at the knuckle. Worn and aged.“The worst is passed, Emmaryn. So you may sleep now and get strong again.”Her throat burned. The first heat she’d known in... she did not know how long.Was it the prickling of tears, of knowing without knowing, that if someone else had come to nurse her then...She tried to form the words. To ask what she should not. To make real the growing certainty that the house was too still, that these blankets and furs were not her own. But they would have been brought if... if...If her parents no longer had need of them.“Hush, sweet one. You’ve not got the strength to cry for them now. There will be plenty of time for grief later.”She ached. More fiercely than she had since this horrid sickness had taken her. She wanted to curl into herself. Wanted to push away the comforting hands, the hushing words, the sweet promises that she would be well looked after, later. She needn’t worry. Just rest, and sleep, and try not to think about the two she loved best in the all the world suddenly...Gone.And the other voice. The one deeper still. That whispered to her that they’d grown sick because of her. Caring for her. And this woman would too, and then there would be another mark against her conscience, and...Another draught against her lips. The hands a little firmer, the voice a bit harsher. Talking about nonsense and to stop her struggling, to listen.She was listening.Only, her heart had broken, and it did not seem like much point in getting better if it meant being all alone.She had not said a word. Had not given the smallest inkling to her thoughts.Yet she found her chin taken between two fingers, and it pinched, but she thought it rather intentional when her eyes opened, and although it was rather a blur, she saw.She did not know her by name. But from the way the blackness around her eyes seeped and swirled, her age was readily apparent. There were dark streaks within her hair, and it was piled and coiled with care. There were thick bracelets about her wrists that jangled as she moved, her eyes no longer as dark as they once might have been.A wise woman. A Selector. Sent to nurse an ailing girl. With no family left to tend her.Her lip wobbled.“You’ve had a bad way of it,” she murmured, her voice a strange counter to her