Chapter 35
Nemaine pulled me to a tall, unglazed opening that looked out into the shadowy inner ward.
The chill air was like a slap to my cheeks, smelling of brine and acrid smoke.
The mist had thickened, drifting wraithlike through the cloisters, and I stopped struggling, peering out fearfully.
Clangs and shouts rang out from the darkness.
Somewhere a man shrieked, over and over.
It wouldn’t be long now.
As Nemaine looked on eagerly, I pictured Crake sweeping in.
Cutting down the Shearwaters; Catua and Llir.
Uirbrig Crake sitting in the Chamber, any chance of rights crushed beneath his armored boots.
He and Shrike would fill the Court with their cronies, with those who shared their penchant for violence. And then…Breova. We’d soon be at war.
What future for me, others like me, in that world? For Rhianne and Mawre and Tigo? For Llir?
Scant guards streaked from the curling mists, staggering into the ward, seeking shelter.
A few of them made it to the keep’s main door and disappeared through it, barring it behind them.
But Crake’s forces were roiling up behind the rest, a tide of bristling blades and axes.
One by one, those left were cut down, skewered at swordpoint or battered around the head.
A cheer went up as two men rode through the barbican.
Dark dread bubbled over in my stomach. The one in front was squatter, uglier: Uirbrig Crake, showing teeth as he smiled.
Behind him came the man I feared much more, at least here, on this isolated island.
Six and a half feet, hair black as charcoal, he sported a silver breastplate and a cloak.
His gaze swept over the ward, the walls.
I tried to shrink away, but Nemaine held me tight.
Crake’s soldiers soon filled the yard, holding torches. The fog was thin, hanging motionless, ghostlike. They brought in the battering ram I’d known was coming and carried it, chanting, to the keep’s main door.
Iovawn Crake murmured to his father, and the older man laughed: a croaking guffaw. Then the Mudmouth spoke again, his eyes on the ground, and a shiver ran through the stones beneath my feet.
Boom.
The ram began its work, each deafening thud making my teeth knock together. And in between them, a growing judder. Cracks appeared in the walls around the door.
“Shearwater!” Uirbrig’s voice rang out over the ruckus. “Show yourself! I hadn’t pegged you for a coward.”
The ram pounded a few more times. Then, on the third floor, near to West Tower, a window opened and Rexim leaned out.
Uirbrig gave a wave of his hand. The battering ram stilled, and the ground stopped shuddering. For a moment, there was only mist and muffled silence.
“Coward?” Rexim called. My stomach flipped over. Was Llir there, standing just behind him? Emment, Vercha, Catua? Rhianne? I felt a sudden longing to see them, to be with them, a burning want like a torch in my chest.
“I, the coward?” Rexim continued. “When you are the one too afraid to wait for the vote?”
Uirbrig chuckled as though he’d expected the reply. “You know me, Rexim. I’m a man of action.” His watery eyes narrowed, his smile turning pinched. “I’m what this nation really needs.”
“And when they find out what you’ve done? You think they will vote for you?”
“Come, friend. We both know many of them would. The Hundred, much as you try to deny it, are still a bloodthirsty rabble at heart.” Uirbrig shifted heavily in his saddle.
“But in any case, they won’t find out. As far as they’ll know, House Shearwater’s unfortunate destruction will have come at the hands of that scourge, the Cage. ”
The bottom fell out of my stomach at his words. Rexim, stunned to silence, simply stared. Nemaine must have sensed me stiffen, as she chuckled. With disgust, I felt her breath tickle my ear.
“Oh, yes,” Uirbrig continued, looking gleeful. “Sending the Cormorants turned out to be fruitful indeed. Your old allies would have the run of the island for an extended time, where my son and I couldn’t. Access to all your weapons, your laconite.
“And then, just a week ago, I received a crow…” He smiled, showing his teeth, slowly shaking his head.
“You should keep a closer eye on your own servants, Rexim. I’m told there was a cuckoo under your beak all this time.
Shameful. And now, for all the Hundred will know, your downfall has been yet another violent victory for those”—he spat on the stone—“traitors.”
His eyes, and Iovawn’s, roved the high windows, perhaps wondering if I—the cuckoo, the traitor—cowered somewhere behind the thick walls. I tried to rear back but was blocked by Nemaine.
“Don’t worry, little mouse,” she said. “You’ll meet them soon.”
Her solid body pressed into me, trapping me, but with a start, I felt something sharp prick my hip. My knife. In my panic, I’d forgotten all about it. I went still, not wanting to alert her, and began, with agonizing slowness, to move my hand to where I’d stashed it.
Rexim had vanished from the window now. Uirbrig gave a disappointed shake of his head and lifted his fingers. The onslaught resumed.
Iovawn Crake was muttering again, his eyes fixed ahead of him, his lips barely moving.
Ordinarily the laconite over the doorways in the ward, inlaid into the moat, reinforcing the archways, would have dulled and deadened any Mudmouth’s assault.
But as it was…there was a rumble, a low growl, that reminded me, bloodcurdlingly, of the quake before the tidal wave.
The ground in front of him seemed to ripple…
With a series of reports like pistol shots, the stone around the keep’s entrance split open and crumbled. The ram then made short work of the door, which splintered and fell inward, smashed to tinder.
I could only watch as House Crake’s forces marched through the inner ward and into the keep.
—
“Time to get acquainted with our real masters,” said Nemaine, drawing back from me, shifting her grip.
The split second of freedom gave me time to whirl around and grab my knife, now inches from my fingers. I stabbed out at her, my hand twisting awkwardly, but the blade connected and sank into her side.
She gave a cry and clutched the knife’s handle. The wound didn’t look life-threatening, but it was enough distraction to allow me to run. I pitched away from her, almost tumbling, then bound down the hallway, my strides uneven.
I heard her spitting curses behind me, then the sounds of her fumbling with something—a tinderbox. I had to get away before she struck up a flame. But there, ahead of me: my pouch of laconite. I snatched it up and held it close as I streaked down the corridor.
I now knew these halls nearly as well as I’d known Arbenhaw’s, and I darted from corridor to storeroom to stairway, taking the maids’ passages, the footmen’s hidden doors.
Soon the Sparkmouth’s heavy steps and snarls of rage faded.
Perhaps her wound had slowed her down. Or perhaps Nemaine had other matters to pursue—and didn’t think this “mouse” presented enough of a threat.
All the same, I was sure Crake would post guards in the keep.
Safer, for now, to be outside its walls.
I slipped out a side door, steadying myself against the stone. My legs dragged, my exhaustion overwhelming, but though my body was tired, my senses were buzzing.
The thought came to me: I have to do something.
There had to be some way I could help House Shearwater. Do something to prove to myself—and them, maybe—that I wasn’t who they thought I was: a traitor and a coward.
I took in the vista that opened ahead of me: a wide view east, looking down on the cove. The mist had thinned over the hillocks on the island, the fog moving westward, farther into the bay. And within it…lights at the far end of the island.
I squinted, wondering who would be down there. Crake must have sent men to cut off our retreat. Not that there was any escape at high tide, but when Crake arrived, the tide was lower. Uirbrig clearly wasn’t taking any chances. I was glad now that I hadn’t fled for the tower’s ruins.
And then I saw the boats.
There were three, pulled up high above the cove. I could just see dark figures moving stealthily around them.
Why would Crake have brought boats with them? They’d marched down the causeway. They couldn’t need vessels.
I recalled my confusion when I’d thought Crake’s army was the Cage. The Cage wouldn’t use the causeway; they’d come over the flats. Follow the high tide back out to the island, use the rivers, maybe, to get across the bay—undetected until the very last moment.
My pulse pattered rapidly as I peered through the gloom, watching as the tiny figures unloaded items.
Understanding came like a plunge into icy water.
A second later, I ran for the cove path.
—
I had to take the long route around, and I didn’t want to risk a torch. My feet didn’t know all its dips and rises, as they did with the shorter, well-trodden tracks, and with the mist still wadded in the hollows like gauze, I had to pick my way carefully, eyes on the ground.
As I approached the cove, I edged forward, concealing myself behind tall gorse and rocky outcrops. I caught whispered voices, the light steps of feet, strained words being exchanged as the figures milled ahead.
From what I could see through the haze and the dimness, the boat people were armed with bows and arrows, rusted short swords, battered-looking crossbows. They were dressed drably, wrapped in dark hooded cloaks, not a Crake banner or a piece of armor in sight.
I swallowed thickly, steeled myself to step forward, but before I could, an arm snapped around my throat.
“Got one!” hissed a voice by my ear.
The speaker was female. She sounded young. My mind seemed to seize. That voice…it was familiar.
We were quickly surrounded. Torches were held high.
A man stepped in front of me and tugged down his hood—bright gold hair roughly caught in a low bun, days-old stubble, a face startlingly handsome.
The last time I’d seen those cornflower-blue eyes, they’d been glinting at me from behind a lion mask.
“Kielty,” I said. It came out as a rushed breath.
He moved toward me, clapped a hand onto my shoulder. “It’s you. Good. I got your note.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You gave us the shock of our lives, you know. Well. Now I have one for you.”
His gaze moved deliberately to the girl restraining me.
She let me go, took a few steps backward. As I turned, she slowly lowered her hood.
Round, tan cheeks picked out by torchlight. Dark eyes I’d looked into so many times. Even in the dimness, I knew that face. I knew that hair, pulled up into bunches. I knew that figure, compact and springy.
“Corith,” came that voice again.
And all at once, everything crashed down on me.