Tidespeaker

Chapter 33

This time I didn’t bother to avoid the gatehouse. The guards there couldn’t know I’d been spying for the Cage, and in any case, my caution was eclipsed now by shock.

Crake.

I lurched up the path as guards ran back and forth. One, a rat-faced man I recognized—one of the three who’d carted me to the cove all those weeks ago—stalled and sneered, hefting a longbow and quiver. “You,” he shouted, “get that Mudmouth! Where is he? He needs to throw up some earth defenses!”

I didn’t, couldn’t, force out a reply. I darted past him, ignoring his yells. My chest was thumping; every breath burned my lungs.

My mind flashed back to Rexim’s luncheon: our unexpected visitors, the knowing glint in Crake’s eyes. Had their intrusion been a ploy to scope out the island? And his request that Rexim stand down as a candidate…maybe that had been a last chance.

And these were the consequences of refusing.

Behind me guards barked orders, hauled weapons.

They were organizing themselves as best they could around the gatehouse, lining the ramparts, readying behind the arrow slits, but the forty or so of them wouldn’t hold off Crake’s men.

Even with the drawbridge, the moat, the barbican…

with Tigo out of action and the laconite useless, Iovawn Crake would crush them all.

The inner ward was surprisingly empty, only the odd soldier streaking through the fog. As I loped toward a servants’ entrance, trying to ignore the roaring in my head, I heard shouts from inside. The crack of a pistol. My stomach pitched, and my thoughts flashed to the siblings.

I changed direction, digging out my knife.

As I slipped into the keep, Nemaine’s words drifted back to me: “I take it you know our mutual friends are arriving…” I remembered her captives’ grim understanding. They must all assume I was allied with House Crake. Nemaine had never mentioned the rebels. The thought of it made nausea rise in me.

Then—shouting. It was coming from the ballroom. I stopped short, my stomach roiling with dread.

Part of me wanted to flee, find somewhere to hide. The ruins of the old tower might suffice. Rhianne’s dark cellar, with its nooks, its hidey-holes…Crake surely wouldn’t venture down there.

But another part of me—a part that frightened me—was urging me to the ballroom.

To do what I could. For now, in this moment, things were starting to become clearer.

I cared about Rhianne, Mawre, even Tigo.

The siblings…my thoughts there were blurry, jumbled.

But Rhianne loved Catua, and Catua had always been kind to me.

And the prospect of Llir getting hurt made me feel ill.

As though propelled by some unseen force, I jogged to the ballroom, where the great doors stood open.

I glanced inside, and for a few dizzying seconds, I thought the Shearwaters and the Cormorants were acting again.

Playing out another scene, spouting lines at each other.

But then I saw the grimace on Emment’s wine-stained lips.

Catua’s pale, almost colorless complexion.

The haze of pistol smoke wafting over their heads.

The tableau was laid out like a painting before me: Avrix, gun in hand, aiming it at Rexim. Swords, the same ones used for the play, and crossbows in the hands of the Cormorants’ Orha. Morgen, flanking her brother with a blade. Vercha and Llir in the wings, wan faced.

I’d expected to see someone bleeding on the floor, but Avrix’s shot, it seemed, had been a warning.

I staggered, trying to take in what I was seeing. My feet scuffed the floorboards as I caught myself on the doorframe.

Avrix’s head whipped around. “Ah, there you are.” His dark eyes glittered, as genial as ever. “I’m glad you popped up. Means we get the chance to thank you.”

Beside him, his sister was smiling at me, something almost predatory in her gaze. “Indeed,” she added. “Our efficient little helper. You’ve made our job, and House Crake’s, much easier.” She frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

I stared at them as the others turned their gazes on me. I must have looked like a fish caught on a line: eyes bugging, mouth opening and closing mutely.

Morgen laughed. “Never mind. Now, where were we?”

“What do you mean, Corith has made your job easier?” It was Catua, her white face now blooming scarlet.

“Your job of coming here under the pretense of a visit, scrutinizing our defenses and doing gods know what else, sending word back to Crake, plying us with drink, making sure all our weapons were here, where you could take them? Your job of betraying us? What’s Corith got to do with that? ”

I was frozen, a statue. I couldn’t look at Llir. I didn’t want to hear what the twins would say next, but I was pinned to the doorway by the Shearwaters’ stares.

“Believe me,” said Avrix with a strangely sad smile, “I know how much of a shock this must be.”

“Especially for you, Vercha,” his sister continued. “So much time, so much effort, put into your little protégée here. I remember your telling me what an asset she’d been.”

I chanced a glance at Vercha, who was standing stock-still. She was looking at Morgen, face bleached, brows pinched.

“Speak plainly,” Rexim barked at the twins.

His hair was sleep tousled, but he looked sharp, alert.

He’d pulled on a laconite-studded doublet, one I recognized; one Avrix had surely tampered with.

Though he had no weapon, his hand hovered at scabbard height.

“What does the Floodmouth have to do with this?”

“Why, she’s a little baby cuckoo, of course,” said Morgen. “Bedded down right here in your nest. An informant for the Cage. And, lately, a saboteur.”

Avrix. He’d told his sister everything.

“The Cage,” repeated Rexim, shaking his head. “It’s Crake who’s coming down that causeway. So I say again: Speak plainly.”

“As you wish,” said Avrix irritably. His aim hadn’t faltered; his finger stroked the trigger.

“Your little cuckoo here has been spying for the Cage, preparing the way for a visit they’ve been planning.

Don’t know all the details, but I know she’s been digging…

ferreting out all your dirty little secrets, probably so her conspirators could use them against you. ”

Heads whipped around. Sharp gazes fell on me. Had Catua noticed her Charter was missing? Was Llir thinking of when he and Tigo had caught me?

“As for what they were going to do—likely something drawn out and painful. Something to do with your winning the vote, which won’t be happening now, of course.” He cocked his head. “You know, we’ve actually saved you all…”

“No.”

I’d spoken—it shocked me as much as them.

“No, you don’t understand,” I forced out. “They weren’t going to be violent. At least, not unless they really had to.” It was Crake who’d brought the army, not the Cage. I so wanted to believe the words I was uttering. “They were going to try to persuade—to bargain—”

“You,” Rexim spat. His voice was poison. He raised a finger, pointed it at my face. “Be silent. You don’t get to speak.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Llir staring, but I still couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“You say you saved us?” Emment said to Avrix. His skin was grayish, his eyes unnaturally wide. “You’ll have to explain that one to me. Friend.”

“From the shame of being yet another Cage casualty.” Avrix was smiling, gaze still locked on Rexim. “Far more noble to go down to House Crake.”

“But why?” Catua hissed. “You still haven’t told us why.”

The smile on Avrix’s face turned pained.

“Little Cattie. We don’t relish having to do this, you know.

Our families have been allies—friends—for decades.

But that friendship has rarely borne fruit for us.

All those years, and what have we Cormorants received?

What gifts? What patronage? What buoying up, even, in the wake of the growing power, the growing popularity, the growing success of the mighty Shearwaters?

” He shook his head sadly. “I tell you: nothing.”

“That’s a lie—” Rexim tried to cut in, but Avrix spoke louder, intoning over him.

“Nothing. And so when Uirbrig Crake, boor though he is”—Avrix winced slightly—“made us a very generous offer, it was hard to refuse. And I’m sorry for that.”

“Like hells you are,” Emment growled in response. He looked unsteady, reckless in his tipsiness.

“Father’s going to win the Seat.” Catua’s voice was a blade’s edge. “Then you’ll get the rewards you seek.”

Morgen laughed, high and clear. “Oh, no, I don’t think so, my dear. Your little cuckoo has seen your accounts. Daddy’s extra income will pay off his debts, save him from the shame of having to sell off your heirlooms, but there’ll hardly be any left over for friends.”

The family turned their eyes on me again. Rexim’s lips were twisted at the corners, bitter and knowing. My face burned crimson.

I’d not slept for nearly a full day and night, and with all the wine that had flowed after the play, my mind was sluggish, like the streams out on the flats.

But my shock was subsiding, leaving shivers in its wake.

I thought back to Avrix’s story, the night of the ball.

All lies, of course. My skin prickled shamefully as I wracked my memory.

Had I mentioned the Cage first or had he? I’d just assumed…

And before that, when we’d met in the culverhouse. He hadn’t been sending a message to the Cage. He’d been contacting Crake.

I’d been so stupid.

Distant shouts. I turned, glanced behind me. By the sound of it, the Crakes were at the gatehouse already.

A scuffle in the room made me whirl back around. Emment had lunged for Avrix’s pistol, taking advantage of his momentary distraction. The Cormorant swung his arm; there was an almighty bang. Emment and Avrix yelled out together.

Rexim threw an arm up to shield his face. There was shouting now, a shriek from Vercha. My eyes raked their forms, expecting to see blood, but the gun had backfired in an explosion of powder. Avrix dropped the pistol, his hand a black ruin. Burns marred one of Emment’s cheeks.

“Out!” roared Rexim, and he gestured to his children. As one, the Shearwaters sprinted for the door.

For me.

“Tsk,” Morgen snapped out behind them. “Should’ve kept Nemaine here. Daiman! Orran!” The Cormorants’ Orha began to advance.

I pressed myself against the doorframe as Rexim hurtled toward the exit. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to eviscerate me, but since he had no blade, he could only glare cold murder.

He swept by me, followed swiftly by the siblings, and at last I sought Llir’s gaze as he passed me. He was pale as frost, his cheeks hard planes. In his eyes, disbelief warred with hot anger.

“Useless,” I heard Morgen mutter. Their Mudmouth was speaking, and I could feel the ground rumbling, but it was too late. Dust spiralled in the Shearwaters’ wake.

“Come on,” barked Avrix. I tried to back away.

Though I’d inadvertently aided them—I felt sick at the thought—we certainly weren’t allies, and I didn’t think they’d show me mercy.

I brandished my stubby knife, but Avrix barrelled straight into me, unperturbed.

I fell and rolled, my shoulder jarring painfully.

When I clambered to my feet, they were past me, pursuing the Shearwaters.

Not knowing where else to go, what to do, I trailed after the Cormorants, fingering my knife.

“This way,” Catua shouted in the distance. “Get to the laconite—and then the armory.”

My stomach dropped. Avrix hadn’t told them what we’d done…

The Cormorants skidded into the main corridor, lined with the statues I’d spent so long polishing. At the far end was the door that led to the armory, but as I staggered in behind them, peered into the gloom, I saw Emment and Llir trying in vain to open it.

“My apologies,” called Avrix between harsh breaths, “but of course, we couldn’t leave that room unbarred.”

Catua said something low and urgent to her father, and Rexim glanced down at his laconite doublet.

With mounting horror, I watched the Orha move forward. Daiman, the Mudmouth. Orran, the Gustmouth. Orran was limping; I recalled he’d sprained his ankle. Their Floodmouth, Ebba, must be somewhere with Nemaine, no doubt to provide a counter to Rhianne…

As though my thoughts had acted as a summons, a hand touched my back. I jumped, whipped around.

“You’re here!” came a voice. “I thought their Sparkmouth had got you.” I found myself staring into Rhianne’s freckled face. “I’ve been lying low, trying to get to Tigo and Mawre…”

“I—” My tongue was dry; the words wouldn’t come.

But Rhianne was no longer paying attention to me.

She was staring, white-faced, into the shuddering hallway.

For the Mudmouth was muttering again, under his breath, splinters erupting from the dark, polished floor.

Slivers of plaster, wickedly sharp, speared down from the ceiling, making the Shearwaters cower.

“I don’t understand,” Rhianne whispered. “The statues…”

“They’ve all been tampered with.” My tone was flat. I turned to her. “Rhianne. I have something to tell you—”

But she ignored me, striding forward, speaking under her breath. I watched as the torches on the walls all flared.

“What now?” Avrix snarled, still cradling his hand.

Morgen turned, smiling brittlely at Rhianne. “Well, now,” she said, “aren’t you a clever little squirrel? It seems some harsh words with Nemaine are in order. She was supposed to corral you all.”

“I’m afraid she failed in that,” bit out Rhianne. “And I’m afraid I’m about to incapacitate your Mudmouth.”

As she took a step forward, my heart swelled with hope. I retreated, knowing my hidden laconite might hinder her.

She spoke a few words, and a flame shot downward from one of the torch brackets, making straight for Daiman.

“We leave,” shouted Morgen, turning toward us. To Avrix, she hissed, “Let Crake handle the Shearwaters.”

They ran for the door, brandishing blades. Something whizzed past us: a crossbow bolt.

Behind them, a shriek: Daiman’s cloak was on fire. In an instant, he was down on the floor, tearing it off, but Rhianne was still speaking. More sparks descended.

We dodged the Cormorants and their limping Gustmouth. Before long Daiman came streaking after them.

“Come on,” Rhianne said, her eyes flickering between Catua and me. “It might take a while, but I can get into the armory…”

I stared at her, my former flare of hope dying.

“Corith.” She was holding her hand out. Beckoning.

My eyes found the Shearwaters, still shouldering the door. Rhianne didn’t know yet. I couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I turned and dashed away.