Chapter 26
They’d all been safe up there, of course—the Brigants and Brigantesses, the lesser nobles, the other Orha.
By the time we reached the castle, bedraggled and exhausted, the storm had passed over, moving west toward the mainland, but distant lightning still flashed in the sky, and the rain had kept up a persistent drizzle.
Most of the guests had spilled out into the inner ward. With no Floodmouths left to protect them, they’d huddled under parasols or the hoods of their cloaks. There were figures up on the battlements holding lamps, and I wondered bitterly if they’d enjoyed a good show.
A murmur ran through the crowds as we appeared. One Orha fewer than we’d been when we’d gone down there.
As the young man who’d taken charge on the clifftop strode forward, he was met by Damona Osprey and a man I guessed was her son: white blond, his outfit sumptuous.
House Osprey were known for ostentation.
The family’s other Orha, in their flame-orange livery, clustered and fussed around them like oxpeckers.
Rexim appeared, inserting himself among them, and as Osprey’s Floodmouth reported what had happened, the Shearwater patriarch’s gaze cut to me.
“Corith! Thank the gods you’re all right.”
Vercha had spotted me. She was trailed by Llir, pale face shadowed, along with Tigo, Rhianne, and Mawre.
“Moons, you look terrible,” she said, peering closer. “What’s that on your—” She gasped. “Oh, Corith, you’re bleeding.”
With vague surprise, I looked down at myself. There were cuts on my clavicle, a slash on my arm. The gorse thorns…they’d been knifelike, but I’d hardly noticed the pain.
As Vercha fretted, seeming now more worried about my dress than my injuries, my gaze slid to the nobles behind her.
I’d nearly died. One of the other Floodmouths had. I scanned the ballgoers, trying to spot anyone looking grieved, wondering which House the fallen Orha had belonged to, but everyone I could see was wide-eyed and gossiping. Knocking back the dregs of their pale-green punch.
I opened my mouth to say something like “I’m fine,” but nothing came out. Instead I swayed. My limbs burned from the climb up the hill, my dress was waterlogged, weighing me down, and my throat was raw from swallowing seawater.
“Corith—” Vercha started, but a bulky figure blocked her.
“Floodmouth,” came Rexim’s deep, grating voice, pitched so only the family could hear.
He leaned in close, cheeks flushed with anger; and was there a shade of humiliation there, too?
“Miss Haney has been lauding your efforts. Though you seemed like nothing special to me, I’ve been happy, thus far, to trust her judgment. Now I see I was foolish to do so.”
His eyes darted to the nobles around us, his tone sharpening even further. “While you were off idling gods know where, the other Houses’ Floodmouths were reporting for duty. One had to step up and lead in your absence.”
I took a step back, chest constricting uncomfortably.
“Thanks in part to this sorry excuse for a Floodmouth,” he hissed, glancing at Tigo, Rhianne, and Mawre, “your home—a temple centuries old—is now little more than a pile of rubble. You’ll all have to move into the castle proper. Tell Miss Haney to open up East Tower.
“And as for you…” He loomed over me, making me shrink.
“With the vote weeks away, I can’t be seen to be running anything less than a fully competent household.
I’ll be writing to Arbenhaw first thing tomorrow to let them know to expect you back.
You can spend tonight in East Tower, too, but don’t bother making yourself at home there. ”
Face pinched as though I were a clump of mud on his boot sole, he stalked off, his fur-lined cloak swishing.
Vercha hurried after her father, calling to him to wait. I couldn’t bring myself to meet the others’ gazes. All I wanted was to curl into a ball.
Llir seemed to rouse himself. “Tigo,” he said, voice pitched low, “take some other Mudmouths and inspect the Orha’s tower.
What’s left of it, anyway. Make it as safe as you can.
We don’t want it collapsing on any gawkers tonight.
” He looked me over briskly. “Mawre—towels and dry clothes for Corith. And Rhianne—hot brandy. Bring them to Miss Haney’s office. ”
Jerking into motion, they went their separate ways.
I glanced at Llir, caught off guard. It was the first time I’d heard my name on his lips.
“Come on,” he said, “you need to sit down.” He tipped his chin toward the housekeeper’s office.
But when I tried to walk, my legs went weak, failing to carry the weight of my dress.
After a moment’s hesitation, he moved in next to me, sliding a velvety arm beneath my shoulders.
I shuffled along, pressed in next to him, acutely—almost painfully—aware of his warm frame.
It was a relief to be out of the drizzle, away from the curious stares of the guests.
As I limped into the office, I glimpsed myself in a mirror: dress so wet it was black instead of purple, stained with blood, its lace sleeves shredded.
Strands of dark-copper hair over my face.
Eyes shadowed with fatigue and smudged powder.
I sank gratefully onto a bench near the hearth—the couch looked more inviting, but I didn’t want to stain it. A small fire snapped and crackled in the grate.
Llir leaned tiredly against the wall across from me. As he pushed a hand through his rain-dark hair, I noticed his doublet and hose were soaked, too, his dancing shoes ruined. Had he been one of those watchers on the battlements?
“I couldn’t do it,” I croaked out, exhausted. “Some of the others, they—they held it back a bit, but—” I faltered, staring down at my chapped hands.
He let out a breath through his nose, resigned. “I don’t really know what they expected you all to do out there.”
“Why send us, then?” I said, an edge to my voice. I couldn’t help but look up at him accusingly.
He frowned. “It was Osprey’s idea,” he said, tone clipped. “They’re very powerful. Lots of influence. The Brigantess said Father should take advantage of it, all these Floodmouths here in one place. Try to ensure nothing important got destroyed.”
With a splinter of guilt, I thought of the tower.
“Avocet and Turnstone agreed with them,” he added.
“But your father has more influence than any of them, surely? He’s about to win the Chamber Seat, after all.”
Llir’s eyes darted away. “Father…chose to assent, too.” In the distance, a growl of thunder sounded. “I suppose he wants to keep the big players onside.”
They were all as bad as each other, I thought viciously. Worse when they were together—when they wanted to impress.
I swallowed, remembering Rexim’s declaration. It was over, I realized with a creeping sickness: my task for the Cage, any hope of my reward…I’d lost my tools anyway. It was all on Avrix now. I’d be sent back to Arbenhaw to await a new placement and never find out what the Cage knew about Zennia.
“They’ll send me down to drain the marshes,” I said flatly. “Or to sail in some navy somewhere.” I met his eye. “I hope your next stint without a Floodmouth is shorter, and less of a burden than it clearly was after Zennia.”
Llir stared at me. “A night’s sleep can change minds,” he said. “Including, with any luck, my father’s.”
It took a moment for his words to register. “Why do you care if I stay or go? I’m Vercha’s little pet, not yours. That’s Tigo.” My face was warm—a mixture of shame and defiance.
In the firelit gloom, I saw his brows pinch in anger. “Pet?” he repeated, quiet and hoarse. “You have no—” He paused. “Tigo’s been like a father to me—”
But before either of us could say anything else, the door banged open and people bustled in.
Rhianne’s crimson head appeared first, bent over a cup of something steaming. Mawre followed, holding crisp, clean clothes. And barging in past them, navy dress rustling, came Catua, her blond hair hanging in damp ringlets.
“Are you all right?” the youngest Shearwater said. “Llir and I saw the wave from the battlements. We were trying to spot you, see if you made it out okay, but it was too dark. And then all those vultures came up…Are you still bleeding? Here, look, I have towels.”
The blood had slowed, nearly stopped by now, but I let her crouch down and inspect my cuts.
Llir was watching me. I avoided his eyes.
I’d perhaps been too hasty with my accusing looks, my sparring…
But that didn’t change the fact that others had been up there, delighted by the spectacle, salivating at our peril.
Something fierce had begun to smolder in me.
It had sparked—the first licks of it—back in the cove, seeing just how little value Rexim placed on my life.
Then, bit by bit, it had been stoked into a fire.
All the disparaging words about Zennia: Inept.
Foolhardy. Specimen. Dud. The way we were expected to stand around like accessories, beholden to traditions born from loathing.
Brigant Crake’s violent ambitions for us on the borders.
And now, this casual, callous disregard.
I’d excelled at Arbenhaw in hopes of an easy placement—but with Houses like Osprey and Shrike wielding influence, nothing would ever be easy for Orha.
I looked blankly at Catua as she dabbed at my skin. She says big change has to happen slowly. But I’d been feet away from being cast off that cliff. If nothing changed now, I’d end up like the Floodmouth who had been swept away. And so would countless other Orha.
Zennia must have had this fire in her, too. Hers had first kindled before she came to Arbenhaw, and by the time she’d witnessed those fights in Port Rhorstin, it must have grown into a blazing pyre. Hot enough to burn away any fear of the Hundred.
“Corith?” Rhianne’s face swam into view. “Drink this. I’ve added ginger.”
I cupped my hands around the mug. I didn’t have the energy to think more about this now.