Chapter Sixteen
“I’ll kill you, Crow.”
Bramble did not speak much, but when she did, she did not mince words.
Briar crouched to gently push Petal’s hair off her face. Thorn scratches marred her cheek. “He’s…” What exactly was he again? Friend? Ally? Distraction? “Well, he’s Dragon, and he’s not here to harm her.”
Bramble glared at him, clearly inspecting him, seeing things only a rabbit witch could see.
Her shoulders finally lowered and she nodded once, tersely.
“He smells like that’s true. And not like lemon balm.
” Warlocks smelled of lemon balm, a soothing, pleasant scent meant to lure you in.
“But he also smells like he can’t be trusted. ”
Ethan inclined his head, unsmiling, and in complete agreement.
Briar was not sure what to make of that.
“He wants the shields lifted,” she said. “And he wants them lifted before anyone else can mess about with them. So, at least in that, our goals align.”
“For now,” Bramble said as though he was not standing right there.
“For now,” Briar agreed, as though he was standing exactly right there. “You’re exhausted,” she added softly. “Sit down and rest and I’ll bring you something to eat while we figure out what to do next.”
“Your sister can’t stay here,” Ethan said.
“I know,” she replied evenly. The back of her throat burned. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“Has she been here the whole time?”
Briar nodded.
“You are a surprise.”
“Not really.”
“Believe me, you are.”
Briar decided not to comment on that. “To move her, I would need some sort of cart. And a horse. Neither of which I have. Not to mention a place to hide her.”
“I can’t take her to the burrow,” Bramble said. “They’ve already sent Keepers to watch it. Even we can’t hide when there’s that many of them. And our secret places are too far, too hard to reach.”
“I assumed as much. And Sorcha’s castle is too far from here as well, unfortunately.” Sorcha lived in her family’s run-down castle in the hills. It was secluded enough to be safe, but it would take hours to get Petal there, with very little cover to hide them.
Briar made a sound of frustration. There had to be somewhere else.
“You could bring her to my ship.”
Both Briar and Bramble turned to stare at Ethan. There was no way to read his expression. “Pardon?” Briar asked.
“There’s not a person alive who can get onto my ship without my permission.”
He was serious. Bramble tilted her head, staring at him again. “Good.”
Briar blinked. “Good?”
Ethan nodded. “Then it’s settled.”
“Why would you help us?” Briar had to ask. She’d be a fool not to. And a fool to believe whatever he said.
“Like you said earlier: I need to get the hell off this island. Your sister is my best chance. And I don’t trust the Order.”
“Or the other Crows?”
“Hell no.”
It was a logical reason. One she could trust more than whatever was burning between them. Her body might want to lean toward him like a sunflower following the sun, but that was no reason to trust him with her sister’s life. Even if she did, somehow.
His own self-interest was a smarter thing to trust.
“But we should trust you?” she asked softly, regardless.
“Hell no,” he said again. “But I don’t mean your sister any harm.”
“You held a dagger to my throat.” And why had it given her a secret thrill? She clearly needed a cleansing. A bucket of salt. Iron shavings on her breakfast oats.
“I did.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” She was outraged all over again. There had not been even a hint of apology.
“It was necessary.”
“Necessary?” No one had ever made her screech in quite this manner before.
His mouth twitched as if he were aware of it, as if it might amuse him.
She began to contemplate murder.
He looked as though he was aware of that too.
“Twyla would have killed you on the spot if she thought there was any kindness between us.”
Was that what was between them? Kindness? She didn’t think so. It was too hungry for that, untamed and more tempting than sonnets and courtship rituals and kisses on the back of her hand. The pull made her limbs feel shivery and hot.
Ethan grunted. “And then you went and released her Black Shuck and all my efforts were wasted.”
“Oh.” She thought she might believe him. When she glanced at Bramble, she only shrugged.
“But we’ll never get her out of here unseen,” Briar said, back to the matter at hand. Back to what truly mattered. Petal. “Even if we take the cliff path, there’s bound to be a Keeper lurking back there. And who knows where Lord Coventry is hiding.”
“Coventry is too honorable to hide outside the house of a woman alone,” Ethan said. “And you’ve got the very earth beneath our feet answering to you,” he added. “I’ve got the sky and the sea. They can’t see through the green and the storm. Not all at once.”
It could work.
It had to work.
It was all they had.
Briar glanced again at Bramble, who watched him quietly. “And my sisters will help.”
“They will?” Briar asked.
“As they can. Petal stole the moon to prove herself to them. To be my betrothed. She is one of us now.”
Briar sighed. “That’s all very romantic, but I do rather wish she had written you a sonnet instead.”
But no one, not villager, not Keeper, not museum curator, would ever expect Petal Foxglove to be on the Dragon’s ship.
Briar could not think of any place safer.
Which was odd.
She nodded. “It’s nearly twilight. That will help as well.”
And it gave her the time to fetch the basket of seashells: cockles, mussels, periwinkles, and scallops.
And the painted top shell she was looking for.
In London they used the Tabula Rasa spell, inking messages into parchment that showed up in the receiver’s journal, or sometimes on their skin.
But on the island, they used seashells. Mussels wrapped in silver thread trapped voices, snippets of songs, spoken memories.
If you listened hard enough, you could hear a thousand secrets.
But painted top shells linked whispers together, sending them far away.
Sorcha had a shell of her own, spelled and connected to Briar’s.
Briar whispered into hers: Black Shuck in the hills. Find him before the others can.
The reply came quickly, an excited squeal: Puppy!
“Your friend is a menace,” Ethan said, standing so close behind her that her skin felt electrified even though this definitely was not the time for that sort of nonsense.
Briar nodded. “One of us has to be.”
He raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Do you think you’re not a menace?
Woman, you took on an Iron Crow whom even I don’t care to fight, armed only with a teacup full of honey and a mermaid hair you nicked from my belt.
Don’t think I didn’t notice that. And then you released a Black Shuck.
Into your parlor. And told him not to fuss. ”
Something about the disbelief in his tone made her feel significantly better.
She really did need a good magical cleansing.
Ethan left to secure a cart and Briar brought Bramble a basket of pasties made with potatoes and carrots and peas, a handful of pears and cherries, early for the regular season but not for Briar’s orchard.
She convinced her to sleep for the couple of hours that remained until twilight.
Briar spent her time pacing between the windows, watching for Keepers or Iron Crows or museum curators.
When Ethan returned, shrouded in storm clouds, she was tense as a bowstring.
The road had fallen into the blue shadows of dusk.
Rain hit the roof, spattered the windowpanes.
It was time.
A covered wagon trundled along the lane beside the cottage.
It was painted blue with cheerful pennants and garlands of bright flowers.
Yellow silk birds were attached to the roof by wires so it appeared as though a flock was continuously flying overhead.
The horse was a village horse, sturdy and unbothered by magic.
It was perfectly suited for the Midsummer Festival.
It could easily be carrying casks of strawberry wine, a soothsayer arriving to read tea leaves, a carnival troupe.
But unlikely to be housing a wanted witch and criminal.
The driver jumped down, blond curls plastered to his head. Briar vaguely recognized him from Ethan’s ship. He strode toward her, all friendly smiles. Were anyone watching, they would not have looked twice.
The rain beat down harder.
Briar gave the garden a little push, encouraging the branches and leaves to tangle low, the lilac bushes to stretch out, the hydrangea to spread.
Ethan climbed out of the wagon wearing a cloak that shadowed his face. He nodded to the driver and they ducked inside the tearoom. “This is Matthias,” he said. “No one ever believes he’s a Crow.”
Matthias grinned. “I would take offense, but I’m afraid it’s entirely true.”
They carried Petal down the stairs gently, but swiftly. Briar and Bramble had wrapped her in a cloak of her own. The rain came down in silver lashes as they brought her into the cart. Thunder cracked, discouraging anyone from approaching the cottage, from looking too closely.
“I’ve left the bonfires on the beach alone,” Ethan said. “So everyone will head down there. Except for the Keeper hidden across the street. He is not having a good time.”
Bramble crouched to slap her palm against the earth three times, the way rabbits thumped their hind legs to warn of danger. “My sisters and their Jacks will lure anyone away from us.”
Jackrabbits were even shier than rabbit witches, and twice as feral. Short of an actual invisibility spell, which was complicated and expensive and rarely worked as intended, they could not ask for a better guard. They climbed into the covered wagon and Briar pulled the door closed, palms sweaty.