Chapter 41
Figures emerged from the fading mist.
They were dressed in dark colors; most seemed to be sodden. Kielty was at their head, Zennia jogging by his side. The rest of the Cage trooped wearily under the barbican, and behind them, keeping a wide, wary distance from the rebels, came Ferda, Miss Haney, and a handful of other servants.
“Where’s Tigo?” came a voice. A tall figure strode toward us. Hot relief bloomed in my chest to see Mawre, a crack in her spectacles, her black hair still dripping.
Tigo.
Llir was already running, almost pitching over in his haste.
The Cage’s Mudmouths were tired, and cautious, but willing to help rescue one of their own. Leaving a few Orha to guard Iovawn Crake, Kielty came with us, joining in our digging, and eventually we uncovered a prone figure choked with dust.
My mouth tasted of bile and my innards were sick with nerves, but it seemed Tigo was alive—just. His legs were trapped, broken by fallen blocks, but his upper body had been spared, ending up in a dark cavity.
Bruising now joined the burn on his cheek.
He spoke only once, to ask after Llir, who climbed down next to him as the blocks were removed.
Only now did I notice the smoke trailing upward, hear the ominous, far-off crackling in the keep. Somewhere nearby, a window shattered, and I glimpsed licks of red flame inside.
“That was me,” a voice said—a trembling Rhianne. She stepped tentatively toward the castle, then flinched as something crashed down inside.
“Come on,” said Catua, ashen faced but calm, putting an arm around the Sparkmouth and leading her away.
I made to follow them, my hand tight around Zennia’s, when Emment’s tall frame stepped in front of us, blocking our way.
Face and neck still painted with blood, he pressed his fingers to the slash on his cheek. “You,” he said, eyes roving Zennia. “You let me believe you’d died out there. And you”—he turned to me, lip curling—“you convinced me I’d murdered her.”
My shoulders slumped. I was too tired for this. “I was wrong,” I replied. “I said I was sorry.”
He was quiet a moment, studying us. Then, to my surprise, he shook his head wearily.
“You know, as unhappy as I am about—all this”—he waved a hand at the huddle of cloaked rebels—“I think what you said was…good for me, in a way.” He’d sagged a little, too, gaze growing distant.
“It forced me to confront the consequences of my actions. Made me realize I’d been failing my family, over and over. Failing myself.”
Catua suddenly appeared behind him. “You need that cheek stitched,” she said to him gently. Catching Zennia’s eye, she smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Zennia nodded gratefully.
We all regrouped just beyond the outer ward, a safe distance away from the fire and smoke.
A tourniquet was tied above Iovawn’s sliced arm, and Kielty, face hard as he surveyed the Mudmouth, cauterized it, provoking a bitten-off cry.
Vercha, her shadowed eyes flickering between them, paced at a distance, looking jittery.
Emment and Catua soon struck up a debate about whether to keep Iovawn Crake alive.
“We can put him under the gatehouse for now,” suggested Llir, who looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen anyone. “There are two cells under it.”
“I don’t like that,” said Emment darkly. “If he gets the gag off somehow…”
The arguments resumed.
“What’s this?” Zennia remarked. There were chests piled on the ground, gold coins spilling out, the head of a jewelled scepter. She nudged a velvet bag that was hanging from a chest, and a laconite cuff tumbled out onto the scrubby grass.
“That belongs to us,” snapped Vercha, stepping in front of her. “The Shearwater hoard. Get your filthy traitor hands off it.”
I felt a flash of anger. “They’re not here for your treasure.”
Vercha turned on me. “Then what, may I ask, are they still doing here? And, for that matter, why are you still here? You need to get off this island. You and all your murderer friends.”
I glanced at the siblings. Llir and Emment looked on stonily, but Catua stomped over. “Verch, they saved us. Corith and her friends stopped Crake. She saved Llir”—she glanced at me fiercely—“and risked her life to come back for us.”
Vercha looked poisonous. “Have you forgotten why they came here? Their original plan—before Crake killed Father for them?”
“We were never going to kill Rexim Shearwater. We needed him.” Zennia’s jaw thrust forward belligerently.
Kielty was watching with folded arms, a small smirk. “We’ll leave you in peace,” he said, “just as soon as we’re ready. In the meantime, why don’t you use that laconite there to solve your little, ah…problem?”
He indicated Iovawn, and Vercha flushed pink. Catua shook her head and began to unload laconite—a jewelled chain, a studded coronet.
As Iovawn Crake was taken down under the gatehouse, laden with enough of the stone for a king, Kielty told his people to make ready to leave.
“You’re coming, right?” Zennia said to me suddenly. Vercha was hissing angrily at Catua, Llir trying to persuade Emment to have his cheek stitched. “Corith.” She looked hard at me. “You are coming with us?”
I rubbed a grimy hand across my face, closed my eyes.
The last few weeks flashed through my mind in an instant.
I thought of Rexim, of the nobles at the ball.
Of the anger that had unfurled in me after the great wave.
I remembered all the times I’d pushed away thoughts of the Cage, too uneasy, too afraid, to face things head-on.
All the times I’d thought a comfortable bed or a nice, hot breakfast trumped roughing it in the woods…
That, I knew now, had been only my fear talking.
I’d seen with my own eyes what the Hundred really thought of us. I couldn’t, with any conscience, step back into that world now.
My eyes fluttered open. Llir was staring at me.
I turned to Zennia and said, “I go where you go.”
“As do I,” came a brisk voice. Catua. She was pale, grim faced, but looked brutally determined. She stepped up to Kielty, held one hand out to him. “Catua Shearwater. I’d like to come with you.”
I’d never thought I’d see Kielty caught off guard. But now he did a double take, blinking rapidly. “I’m…sorry?” He shook her hand automatically.
“I’ve read the Breovan Charter. Many times.
I want to help you.” Behind her Rhianne was hovering.
She looked unhappy but not surprised. “Truthfully I don’t like some of your…
methods, but I do know that the people you target have done wrong.
And I think you might need someone who really knows the Hundred.
Who can help you with the politics. That’s—if you’ll have me. ”
Kielty looked as though Feast Day had come early. But the siblings reacted with a violence of emotion.
“Cat,” barked Emment, “you cannot be serious.”
Llir’s shoulders had stiffened. He’d frozen in place. Vercha stared at Catua as though she’d grown an extra head.
“I won’t apologize for it,” Catua said defensively. “Of course I don’t want to leave you all, but you saw what Crake did. How he rounded up the Orha. Llir—gods know what he was going to do with you. The families like that…they need to be stopped.”
“Cattie,” said Vercha dangerously, “this is insane. You’re not going anywhere with these barbarians.”
Catua sniffed. “I am, Verch. My mind’s made up. If you don’t report me—which I really hope you won’t—we’ll see each other soon, I promise. On the mainland.”
Emment looked shattered. He glanced at their burning home.
“Cat, all we have left is each other.” He paused, his silver eyes flicking to mine.
“I know I’ve not been…the heir I should have been.
But I promise—I promise you—I’m going to do better.
Listen. We’ll go to Breawr, tell everyone about Crake.
The vote…We can help someone like Father win—”
But Catua shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. “That’s not enough,” she said. “Not for me, not anymore.” She pulled him into a fierce hug. Beside them Llir stood, stunned.
Vercha, I noticed, had walked away stiffly, but no one was paying her any attention.
“I’m going, too,” said Rhianne, stepping forward, and when Catua finally pulled away from her brother, she grasped the Sparkmouth’s hand tightly in hers.
“And you?” Kielty said to Llir.
My stomach clenched uncomfortably. I willed Llir to look at me. My eyes skipped over his ash-stained skin, the rips in his shirt, his blood-splattered blade. But Llir’s gaze only slid slowly to Kielty.
“You’ll leave this island before the next high tide.” His voice was lower than I’d ever heard it before. “And you’re lucky we’re not sending alerts ahead of you, telling the authorities to intercept you on the mainland.”
“Really?” Kielty said. His blue eyes flashed a challenge. “You’re one of us, friend. Aren’t you proud of what you are? Don’t you want to shed that shame you’ve clearly been living with?”
Llir moved toward him, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not your friend. And you know nothing about me.” His eyes were pure ice; his shoulders trembled. “If Crake hadn’t murdered my father today, I have no doubt at all that you and your people would have.”
“I’m sorry you believe that,” Kielty replied peaceably. In contrast to Llir, his posture was calm, open. He seemed to realize that here was a lost cause and moved off to oversee the preparations for leaving.
Gradually most people filtered away, the Cage to retrieve their boats and supplies, Rhianne and Mawre to help tend to Tigo, Emment to continue pestering Catua.
I was left alone—or so I thought—to stare, hollowed out, at the burning castle.
But when I turned, I saw that I wasn’t alone.
Llir was behind me, his eyes on his ruined home.
Despite the spots of dried blood on his jaw, his hair salt tousled and wild over his forehead, he still somehow managed to look regal. Even beautiful. Finally his green eyes sank to meet mine.