Chapter 47
Idon’t waste a second. The instant I’m out of the cave, I grab my dagger from the ground and leap onto Fen’s back, and immediately he’s bounding towards the city.
We need to get to Magnus. We need to find him. Protect him! I urge Fen forward.
Visions flood through my mind. Visions of a Torailian attack. Their silent stealth will have ensured they’ve snuck into the city unseen, but where? Through the pyrrhic? No, they would have been discovered. Unless … unless they’re the ones with the shading powers.
Shit! Is it possible? Kyor believed it was a Morathkian power, but until a moon ago, I didn’t even know that the Torailians had any magic at all.
If they can move unseen, how far have they got? Even Loch wouldn’t have heard them coming, not with the way they communicate in their heads.
I clutch the dagger at my side, feeling my pulse pounding from my temples to my fingertips. Why would the Torailians want it? There’s nothing I’ve read or heard from Caz that would suggest they have any desire to free or kill Sanrott. The Sannings alone hold the right to wish for the God’s death.
But there are still so many holes in what we know.
And what of the Great War that Oel spoke of? Could that be against the Torailians? Right now, it feels like I have nothing but questions and once again no time to ask them. The Torailians are already here.
A wave of excitement crashes into me, making my own fear spike immediately afterwards. Have they captured Magnus already? Or worse, killed him?
The surge of grief that hits me at the thought is unexpected.
I haven’t travelled this far, haven’t lived through the pain and horrors only to discover I have a grandfather, to then lose him.
Not when I don’t yet know him. There hasn’t been time.
But I will make it. If he’s still there, if they haven’t taken him from me, then I will use what time I have left to learn about him.
If.
I shake the spiralling thoughts away. Magnus is king of the Issen. I saw for myself his immense power, how he can plunge the world into total darkness. How he commands his armies to fight against jotnar. He can protect himself.
He can.
But what about my friends? Benny is in no state to fight.
He needs his focus to use his powers, and without it the others will be at greater risk.
And what if the Torailians recognise them?
What if it’s the same ones that we fought and they decide to finish what they started? What if they tracked us here?
I can’t lose Benny too. Not after Ruben. After Llin. I can’t lose any more of the people I love.
The throb of magic calls and I let it come. Let the temperature plummet around us so fast my breath crystallises, and as the icy air burns in my lungs, my thoughts snap into focus.
Kyor will protect them. I know he will.
Get Elska. She and Kyor need to head to the palace right now.
Fen hums slightly. In agreement, I hope.
‘Kyor will protect them,’ I repeat aloud as the combined thoughts and words work to gradually slow my heartbeat.
When my breath is fractionally steadier, I offer myself a quick chastisement. I don’t even know what the Torailian numbers are, but the chance of them being the same ones who attacked us is surely slim.
I think they might be the ones who tried to take the knife, I say, conveying my thoughts to Fen. Maybe they tried sneaking in first, and it didn’t work. And now they’re going to attack Isthyr for it.
Perhaps, but it does not sound like there’s an attack going on, Fen replies.
I pause and try to listen above the sound of his feet padding through the snow.
He’s right. There are no great cries coming from the city. No signs of distress. No dark clouds, snowstorms, or thunderstorms encompassing the sky.
So what does that mean?
They haven’t revealed themselves yet, I conclude.
That was the same way they attacked us, suddenly surrounding us.
The advantage of their magical telepathy is that they can think to one another without having to shout commands.
That’s what they’re using here. Silent stealth.
Well, they are not going to get away with it.
Nearly there, Little Raven, Fen says.
The sky remains blue, meaning that either Kyor hasn’t been drawn into battle or that they captured him first.
No, that possibility doesn’t stick. There is no way they would have done that without him going down fighting.
As we race through the city, several children wave excitedly, but I don’t slow. I can’t, not if I’m going to keep them safe.
Which way? Fen asks, his feet barely touching the ground as he skims over the streets.
I’m not sure, I respond. Give me a second.
Guesswork isn’t going to cut it here. If I’m going to locate them in a city this size, magic is my only option. Closing my eyes, I try to focus on the emotions, seeing if I can use them like a compass to locate the Torailians.
To the left, I tell Fen, hoping I’m not mistaken and leading us further away from them. But as the same sense of glee I felt in the cave blooms even more fiercely, I know I’m correct. This is it. This way, I tell him. Now right. Right!
Fen shifts in that direction, skidding slightly as the route is blocked.
Confusion floods through me. No, this doesn’t make sense.
My heart clenches. It is the Torailians.
More than that, they’re the Torailians from the vision I had in the slip.
But their caravans are moving in the open.
There’s no stealthy hiding going on here.
No jumping out, ready for an ambush. And there, standing at the palace door – in fact holding it open for them like some sort of servant – is Magnus himself, with his welcoming half-smile upon his face.
He’s invited them here, I conclude, shaking my head in disbelief. Fear and anger submerge every other emotion in me. Why? Why would he do that? And yet the answer comes before Fen can answer.
‘The trade partners. The trade partners are the Torailians.’
How many times did Ruben mention that he was waiting for their trade partners to arrive so that they could get more flour? How they need the riverweed to grow for that exact reason.
I clench my fists hard enough to sting my palms. Of course the trade partners are Torailians. Who else would they be? Not the Morathkians. And it would be slow trade for sure with the Sannings, given they travel in pairs and how few there are.
Dammit, that was what the slip was trying to show me. That they were coming here.
I need to get in there. I need to hear what’s going on in that room, I think, looking at the palace.
Then why not walk in, Little Raven? I am sure Magnus would allow it.
My jaw clenches. He’s right. Of course Magnus wouldn’t have a problem with that, but then I would be in a room full of Torailians, and they would try to force their way into my mind, anticipating my every word.
It would be impossible for me to think straight.
Not only that, but there’s also a chance this group would recognise me as what the others believed me to be: an abomination.
For me to go in there as someone not only housed by the king but related to him could be enough to ruin any trade agreements they have and have them once more baying for my blood. I can’t risk it.
I don’t want them to see me, but I want to know what’s going on. I want to listen in.
Fen doesn’t question this statement. Instead, he awaits my next direction.
Take me around the back of that building, I say. Find a route where they won’t see us.
In a matter of minutes, we’re standing behind the building. We got here unseen, so now I just need to work out how to listen in without them spotting me.
There’s an alcove there, I say, pointing upward.
It’s a small balcony area that, judging by the shape of the ice above us, is curved inwards.
I can’t imagine anyone else would be there, and there’s definitely space for me to stand.
Hopefully the window will be open a little, and I can listen in. Wait down here for me.
Time to put my old climbing skills to use.
There was a time when I would climb constantly. Climb to fetch eggs. Climb to get into Etta’s temple. Climb the wall in the battle yard so I could sit with Benny and observe the other Rettlings as I tried to figure out how I might survive the trials.
It feels like a long time since I’ve sneaked around up high, and it’s not as easy as I remember, though that’s not just because of lack of practice. Damn ice buildings are slippery.
I grit my teeth against the slickness of the surface, only for a memory to surface.
The fourth trial. The cliff face. Kyor and I together. He made it easier by chipping small sections of stone with static to give himself handholds.
Maybe I can do the same with ice.
I reach up, allowing magic to simmer through my fingers. As they throb with power, I press my fingertips against the frozen surfaces. Small notches form beneath my skin.
Perfect.
The throbbing in my hands causes the exercise to be more pain-filled than I braced myself for, but in less than a minute, I’m there, pulling myself onto the balcony.
Just as I’d hoped, the window overlooks the large hall below, which the Torailians are currently filing into, though there is no opening, only thick glass.
Still, I might be able to hear if they speak loudly enough, and so I’m leaning forward to peer inside when a voice speaks from the other side of the balcony.
‘You? What the fuck are you doing here?’
Brida.
‘Me? What are you doing here?’ I shoot back.
‘I asked you first.’
My back teeth grind together. Do I want to tell her the truth? No, but the fact that she’s spying too is … interesting.
‘I’m here because I don’t trust them,’ I say. ‘The Torailians. Now what are you doing here?’
She lets out a huff. ‘Same.’
I raise my eyebrows. First the vandsang caves, now this. It appears Brida and I have more in common than either of us would like to admit.
‘Why not?’ I ask her.
Her cheeks draw inwards, and I can tell she’s contemplating how much she wants to share.