Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 154: A Mother's Burden

Sevren Denoir

It should have been impossible. I absorbed all that I saw with rapt eyes, trying to find some sort of deception. Some sort of trickery involved that could cause an illusion of unity.

But there was none. The same could be said for the preceding days I'd seen similar acts of unity and a lack of care for social status. For the blood that ran through each other's veins.

I watched as Toren was swallowed back up by the crowd, the deafening chant of "Fiachra! Fiachra! Fiachra" rattling every stone nearby down to their foundations. The waters of the canals themselves resonated with each drumbeat, a collective outpour of every emotion running through the city.

I'd disavowed Toren's goal. I told him that it couldn't be done; that highbloods would never risk mingling with the lower class of Alacrya. But for the past several days, that was all I had seen.

I'd spotted a few highbloods who tried to cling to their status, deeming their hands unfit to dig through rubble or carry supplies to and from the Fiachra Ascender's Association.

But those were few and far between. I had the feeling that they would be remembered, and not in the way they desired.

Caera watched the tumultuous mass of people by my side, a pinched frown on her face. My sister had awoken before me, and when I'd felt the need to sneak out of our quarters in the Association, she'd offered to join me.

I supposed I'd instilled a healthy disdain for authority in her. The thought made me swell a bit with pride inside.

"It's still difficult to comprehend," she said absently, her navy hair shadowing her face. "Everything that happened. It came so fast. So sudden." My sister huffed. "I mean, half a week ago I was twiddling my thumbs in my room. And now, I feel like I'm watching history. Taking part in history. It's strange, Sevren." She looked at me oddly through her midnight blue hair. "Is this what you've been doing without me?"

I snorted. "Making history?"

"Or being a part of it," Caera added.

I worked my jaw, thinking of Renton Morthelm's sacrificial charge toward the vicars. Without his actions, I wasn't sure Naereni and I would have made it to the Joan Estate. I'd only recently learned the man had survived, but his legs had been paralyzed, and he'd pierced his own mana core when the plague eventually reached his veins.

"There is history known to all," I said absently. "And some things that others may never know." I smiled slightly, nudging my sister's shoulder with my own. "I've been taking part in both. Feeling jealous?"

Caera scoffed, her cheeks flushing slightly at my teasing. "Only that you've been doing this without me," she said. Her eyes flicked to where my right arm used to be. "It seems... exciting at the best of times."

My smirk fell slightly. I opened my mouth to say something, but then the majority of the crowd moved away from the Sehz.

I spotted Seris Vritra's contented–almost fond expression–as she watched Toren go. She seemed to sense my attention after a moment, though, because she turned sharp eyes toward me. And when those eyes spotted Caera, they became very visibly discontented.

Caera froze, looking like a rat caught in a trap. "I, uh," she said, looking between Seris and myself. "I should probably go. I wasn't supposed to sneak out."

My sister gave me a quick hug, then darted off toward her mentor with nervous steps. As she did so, the Scythe of Sehz-Clar bored into me with her eyes, silently peeling apart my secrets layer by layer.

My mind flashed back to what Caera had told me in the wake of our escape from the Joans' underground estate. Just after we'd hauled Naereni's limp body to shore.