The Scarecrow Queen

by Melinda Salisbury

  “Nia!” he says, holding her at arm’s length before pulling her back into his embrace. “I thought everyone was dead.”

  “They mostly are,” she says into his shoulder and, despite herself, starts to cry again.

  He strokes her hair until her sobs die away. “Is your family?” he asks her.

  “No. They’re at the coast with my brother. His wife just had her baby. I was here with … I was here. I hid.”

  They’re silent for a moment, and I notice she hasn’t said she was here with Kata and the alchemists. So whoever he is, this man isn’t part of the Conclave.

  “What about Lirys?” the man says. “Do you know anything? Have you seen anything? I went to the dairy, but the place is destroyed and they’re gone …” He trails off, looking at Nia hopefully.

  “I don’t know,” Nia replies. “I’m sorry.”

  The man nods, then his gaze falls on me. “So who are you, then?”

  “Twylla, meet Kirin. And Kirin, this is Twylla—she’s a friend of Errin’s,” Nia says to him before I have a chance to speak.

  His attention snaps back to Nia at the mention of Errin’s name. “Is Errin here?”

  “She was …” Nia looks at me helplessly, and the man follows her gaze.

  “What?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

  Nia takes a shaky breath. “Listen, maybe you should come with us. We can talk on the way.”

  “On the way to where?” Kirin asks.

  “You’ll see when we get there. Which needs to be soon; the sun is setting.”

  He looks at me once more, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Do you have somewhere better to go?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Then we should leave.”

  As he leaves the shop, I notice he has a limp; he favors his left leg much more than his right.

  “You trust him?” I ask quietly as Nia makes to follow him.

  “Yes. I’ve known Kirin since we were children. He was friendly with my brothers. He … liked me, for a while, when he was about thirteen.” She smiles. “He was three years younger than me, but that didn’t stop him following me around, him and …” Her smile fades, and I wait for her to continue. “Anyway, it’s forgotten now.”

  She ducks out of the shop to where Kirin waits, and I follow, staying behind them as they walk, my fingers on the hilt of my sword, ever watchful for attack. They talk softly, too softly for me to hear, and then Kirin drops back, falling in step with me.

  “So, you’re Lormerian?” Kirin says, and I nod. “Did you meet Errin in Almwyk?”

  “No. I came to Tregellan before all this.”

  “Did you live in Tremayne?”

  “Scarron.”

  He whistles softly. “Why Scarron? There’s nothing there.”

  “That was the appeal.”

  * * *

  We leave Tremayne through the Water Gate, retracing the route Errin and I took to get to the town. We stick close to the side of the road, Nia leading, then me, with Kirin bringing up the rear. The countryside is eerily quiet, the path muddy from the rain, and the air smells washed clean. Miles pass in trudging silence, and I fight off wave after wave of tiredness. As the night draws in, the temperature drops, and I begin to shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, beneath my cloak, the sack of salvaged knives clinking faintly with each step.

  Then finally, to the left, I see shapes hulking in the shadows, and the acrid smell of smoke hits me, and I recognize the farm buildings Errin and I passed on our way to Tremayne. The Prythewells’ farm.

  Nia steps off the path and into the fields approaching the barns and sheds, and I follow, the long grass whipping against my skirts. We pass the worst of the damaged buildings, now nothing more than skeletons, beams jagged and jutting like snapped ribs, the walls burned away, the scent of smoke still on the air. Nia leads us deeper into the complex of buildings, until we come across a barn that has fared better than its neighbors. One half is blackened, the roof burned away, but the other half looks much sturdier.

  As soon as Nia pulls open a small door and ushers us inside, I see Sister Hope, hunched like a crow over a small fire at the back of the space. She stands as we approach, and it looks as though she’s aged a thousand years since I last saw her. Her face is waxen, the skin taut over her bones, making her appear more hawk-like than ever. Her attention passes from Nia to me, finally resting on Kirin, and something changes in her eyes. “No one else?”

  “No.” Nia’s voice is the gentlest I’ve ever heard it, but Sister Hope flinches as though she’s been punched. “I’m sorry.”

  Sister Hope shakes her head, discarding the apology. “You found Twylla.”

  “Where are the others?” Nia asks after a moment.

  “I sent Terra, Glin, and the alchemists on to Tressalyn, with Sisters Honor and Wisdom. There was no sense in them waiting here, and smaller groups will be less conspicuous on the road. Who’s this?” She looks at Kirin.

  “Kirin Doglass. He’s from Tremayne. Used to be the blacksmith’s apprentice.”

  Sister Hope’s gaze sweeps over Kirin briefly before she looks back at Nia. “Did you salvage anything from the Conclave?”

  “It’s all destroyed. We scavenged what we could,” Nia continues. “It’s not much.” She kneels down beside the fire and begins to pull items from the sack: bread, the apples, some grubby-looking bandages, and an almost full bottle of brandy. Sister Hope kneels, too, and tears off chunks of the bread, adding it to a bowl she unearths from inside the sack.

  I sink down next to her. “Thank you for waiting for us,” I say, wanting to say something.

  She doesn’t reply; instead, she pours a little of the brandy over the scraps of bread, soaking them, before moving back, and I see for the first time the prone outline of someone lying on straw away from the fire. Sister Courage.

  “How is she?” I ask softly.

  Sister Hope still doesn’t reply, but she shakes her head.

  Nia reaches for the bread and helps herself before offering the loaf to me. I take a piece and pass it on to Kirin, then move closer to the fire, grateful for the warmth. Kirin sits beside me as Nia tosses us both an apple and reaches for the brandy. I refuse it when it comes to me, tiredness already clouding my mind, but Kirin takes it and drinks deeply. We sit in silence, listening to each other crunching our apples, the occasional slosh of liquid in a bottle, and Sister Hope gently murmuring to Sister Courage. When she moves back to the fire, the bowl is still full of bread.

  “She’s asleep,” she says quietly. “I don’t expect her to wake again.” We let the words settle on the air, the weight of them, of everything we’ve seen tonight, heavy on us. “As soon as she’s at rest, we’ll leave for Tressalyn.”

  “What about Kata? And Silas and Errin?” Nia says instantly.

  A dark look passes over Sister Hope’s face. “We will find them,” she says. “But first, Tressalyn.”

  “But Kata—”

  “My son—my only son—was taken, too,” Sister Hope snaps, then collects herself. “If I thought we could get him—get them all—back just like that, we would be on the road to Lormere by now. But we can’t. Twylla is our only hope of defeating Aurek for good. For the greater good of all of us, getting Twylla to Tressalyn has to be the priority. We need a strategy; we need a plan.” She pauses. “Silas and Kata would tell you the same thing.”

  I feel a spike of annoyance at the way she talks as though I’m not there.

  But as I begin to ask what her plan is once we get to Tressalyn, Kirin speaks. “I don’t understand. Who are you people? Where’s Errin?”

  Sister Hope looks between us, finally settling on Kirin, causing another spear of anger, sharp in my chest. “You’re from Tremayne. Were you there during the attack?” she asks.

  “No, ma’am. I was conscripted, and stationed with the army in Almwyk, but I escaped after the Sleeping Prince attacked and made my way home, to Tremayne. My fiancée and her family liv
e there, too. Or they did. I don’t know if they got out …”

  Sister Hope ignores the plea in his voice and continues. “And you know Errin Vastel?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I grew up with Errin and her brother. In fact, Lief is my best friend.”

  I turn to him, openmouthed, my anger temporarily forgotten. So that’s why Nia stopped talking about Lief earlier.

  Kirin frowns. “What?” he says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I shake my head as Sister Hope and Nia exchange a glance. “So Almwyk has been taken?” Sister Hope asks, drawing his attention back to her.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kirin says. “Four nights ago. The Silver Knight came through with an army and sacked the town. Thankfully, all of the civilians had already been evacuated; it was just the soldiers and the town Justice left. They slaughtered him, and I … well, I ran.” He looks defiant. “It was that or die, too.”

  “What of the other towns? Tyrwhitt? Newtown?” Sister Hope asks.

  “I don’t know. I avoided them, just in case—kept to the fields and byways. Headed straight here, as fast as possible. I wanted to get back to Lirys—my fiancée—and put as much space between me and the Silver Knight as possible.”

  We all remain silent, none of us wanting to be the one to tell him.

  “What?” Kirin says again. “Why do you all look like that?”

  I lick my lips, and swallow. “You say the Silver Knight was the one who led the invasion?”

  Kirin nods. “He did. I fought him. He almost had me.”

  There is a pause. “Lief is the Silver Knight,” I say finally.

  He looks at me, eyebrows knitting together, blinking slowly. “No.” He shakes his head, then swigs from the brandy bottle again. “No. No, I just told you, I fought him. He nearly—he nearly killed me. Lief wouldn’t have fought me. We’re practically brothers.” He puts the bottle down and looks at us all in turn. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have anything to do with the Sleeping Prince, not Lief. You’re mistaken. You don’t know him.”

  “I fought him, too. While he was standing next to the Sleeping Prince. In my home.” Nia reaches over and takes the bottle. “I’ve known him almost all my life, too, remember.”

  Kirin gapes at her, then stands, wobbling before he finds his balance. He turns and walks away from us, out of the barn.

  Nia moves as if to go after him, but Sister Hope shakes her head. “Leave him.”

  Then I remember something. “So you knew, when Silas healed Errin, that she was Lief’s sister?” I say to Nia, and she nods. “But you were angry he wanted to help. Why, if you knew her?”

  Behind us Sister Courage whimpers, and Sister Hope moves quickly to her side. “We just didn’t know …” Nia drinks again. “We knew Lief was the Silver Knight. That’s part of why Silas was watching her.”

  “Part of?”

  “You were the main reason. Lief was your only Tregellian connection. We thought eventually you’d seek him out.” I say nothing, and after a moment Nia continues. “But we weren’t sure whether Errin was with them or not.”

  “I’m still not sure.” Sister Hope joins us again.

  “Still?” I begin, but she holds up a hand.

  “The attack on the Conclave came just hours after her arrival—”

  “She was with me. And by the time we reached Tremayne, it had already been ravaged. We had no idea what we were heading into. Don’t forget she had her spine broken by one of his golems.”

  “What if that was part of a plot to draw out the philtersmith?”

  “You think she planned to have her back broken?” I scoff. “Quite a risk to take.”

  “No riskier than searching for a job at the castle in Lormere, and working for mad Queen Helewys …”

  The back of my neck prickles uncomfortably as I remember Lief and his first betrayal. Errin was looking for me, though she didn’t know it was me. Was it for him? Was it only that my identity was revealed when we were already in the Conclave that saved me?

  “No,” I say, my voice like a whip. “She had the chance in the ossuary to hand me over. She could have easily told him where I was hiding.” Again something stops me from saying it was Lief’s idea that both Vastels sought to hide me from the Sleeping Prince. “It could have all ended down there. She could have told him I was hiding, and he could have killed me and guaranteed his safety. But because of Errin, it didn’t happen.”

  Sister Hope stares into the fire. “Well, I hope you’re right,” she says finally. Then she, too, stands, following Kirin out into the night.

  I stare into the fire, waiting for Sister Hope or Kirin to return, but neither does, leaving me alone with a taciturn Nia and a dying Sister as the night draws in. Nia’s half-lidded gaze is focused on the ground before her, the brandy bottle held loosely in her fingers is close to empty, and I expect she’ll pass out soon. I turn instead to Sister Courage and find, to my surprise, that she’s rolled onto her side. Her eyes are clear, and fixed on me. Carefully, I move over to her.

  “Can I help you?” I ask. “Can I do anything for you?”

  She doesn’t speak for a moment. “No, child. You can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “As am I. I’m not ready, if I’m truthful. I wanted so much more.”

  The bleak, sparse honesty in her words makes me look at her closely, and with a start I see she’s not old at all; she’s younger than my mother, and Sister Hope. She still has her triple-peaked hood on, and I think how uncomfortable it looks.

  “Shall I remove your hood?”

  Her lips quirk. “Why not?”

  I reach gently for the covering and pull it from her head, revealing hair as red as mine, though shorter, darker where it’s sweat-slicked to her head.

  “Gods, that’s better,” she says, tilting her chin to the air. “Thank you.” She falls quiet for a moment. “You’re all so young,” she murmurs, then coughs, a choking, wet hack that leaves her body spasming with the violence of it. She tries to turn away but I see red on her lips, coating her teeth. I lean over, gently lifting her head, so the blood does not drown her. When she’s finished, I wipe her mouth with my sleeve.

  “Water,” she rasps.

  A hand appears before my face, holding a goblet, and I turn to find Sister Hope standing over me.

  I take the goblet and hold it to Sister Courage’s lips. She gulps the liquid down, finally shaking her head to tell me she’s had enough, and I lower her back to the straw. She smiles again, then her eyes flutter shut and I slip my hand from beneath her neck. We stay still, Sister Hope and I, watching as Sister Courage falls asleep, her breathing shallow, a rattle in her throat. When I look away I see Nia curled on her side by the fire, the bottle still clutched in her hands.

  “We must talk, Sin Eater,” Sister Hope says.

  “I’m no Sin Eater.”

  “Amara is dead and you are her eldest and only living daughter. You are the Sin Eater. I suspect you are the last Sin Eater.”

  Every hair on my body stands up at her words.

  “So we must talk,” Sister Hope continues. “I must know your intentions. Will you flee again? Or will you do your duty?”

  My duty. A lifetime of expectation weighs down on me: I could be back in my mother’s hut; I could be in Rulf’s chamber. I could be singing for King Terryn. I could be in the ossuary, feeling the strands of my life knit together like the tapestries I used to stitch in a tower in Lormere. Sin Eater. Daunen Embodied. Poisoner.

  All I have ever been, all I will ever be.

  “I’ll stop him, if that’s what you mean,” I say finally, holding her gaze. She is the first to blink.

  “How?”

  “Poison, of course. My specialty. I need an alchemist, and I need Errin. Errin can deconstruct the potion—the Opus Magnum—and, with my blood, reverse it to create the only poison that can be used on the Sleeping Prince. With my blood added to that poison, we’ll have a replica of the original one used on him. We can
poison him again.”

  “But you understand he’ll have been taking the Elixir? That’s why he needs my son. As long as he drinks a little a day, he’s immortal. He can’t be stabbed, or crushed, or killed. Or even mortally poisoned, I expect.”

  “The Elixir stopped the poison from killing him outright last time, but it still put him to sleep. Whatever is in my blood is strong enough to incapacitate him, at the very least.”

  Sister Hope looks thoughtful. “And there’s no Bringer to collect hearts and wake him again this time. No fail-safe for him.”

  “No,” I say, my voice low. “But that won’t matter anyway, because I’m going to kill him while he sleeps. To the best of my knowledge, you can’t survive a beheading, no matter how many potions you drink or how magical your blood is.” I sound much braver than I feel. “So we’ll take off his head, and send it far away from his body. We’ll brick it into something, hide it in the mountains. Bury it at sea. Whatever it takes.”

  Sister Hope gazes at me with wide eyes. “You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. And you should have done it years ago. The girls who lost their hearts and lives to him over the centuries, Merek, everyone in Lormere, Almwyk, Tremayne. Everyone in the Conclave. Their deaths are on your conscience, too. My ancestor may have placed the original curse on him, but your people are the ones who perpetuated it: hiding him away in Tallith, protecting him, even when he ate the hearts of innocent girls.”

  She opens her mouth, but I don’t let her speak. “It ends. Now. It has to. Otherwise, what’s stopping him from coming back again?”

  “And Lief Vastel?” Sister Hope spits. “What of him?”

  I look away from her, into the fire. “He has to pay, too,” I say finally. I think of his arms around me, his laughing eyes, the musical lilt of his voice when he whispered in my ear.

  “Could you take a sword to his neck?” she asks.

  I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  For the first time, Sister Hope looks at me with approval.

  * * *

  When Sister Hope returns to Sister Courage’s side, I check on Nia, finding her unconscious. I pry the bottle from her hands and cover her with a cloak; I don’t envy the headache she’ll have in the morning. As I move the bottle so she can’t accidentally knock it over, I catch the scent of the brandy and have an unexpected flashback to being in Lormere, to Merek holding a cup of it to my lips while Lief glowered behind him. The memory takes my breath away for a moment, the strength of it overpowering. I set the bottle down and sit back, staring into the darkness, thinking of Lormere, of Merek, of all the things he’d hoped for once the throne was finally his.