Dante tore his gaze from Hob and glanced at the pretty Castile girl. With an absent nod, he crouched and yanked the cellar door open. Peering within, he promptly covered his nose. “Something must have died.” He turned to glare at Hob. “What are you waiting for?”
Removing his suit jacket, Hob rolled up his shirtsleeves and peered down the trapdoor. A rank, rotting odor wafted up from the blackness.
“I’ll need a light,” said Hob.
“Can’t you conjure one?” said Dante. “Ah, but of course, you’re only muir.” With a flick of his fingers, he sent a ghostly green orb drifting down the opening. “Be quick.”
The orb only gave off enough light for Hob to see his immediate surrounding, so he descended the winding steps cautiously, testing each with his toe. Ten steps. Fifteen. He squeezed past a brittle tree root. The smell was getting stronger.
The final step deposited him in a low room, where Hob had to crouch. At the edge of the orb’s eerie light, he saw a forge. As he approached, the smell became overpowering. A dead animal—a badger or wolverine—was decomposing by the bellows.
Sitting atop the forge was a crucible with two scrolls poking out. Dante called down.
“What did you find?”
“Two scrolls,” replied Hob.
“Bring them both.”
Hob sighed. Cheating was bad; cheating like an idiot was infinitely worse. “Are you certain, milord?” he called.
“Now!” barked Dante.
With a sigh, Hob took the scrolls and squeezed back up the staircase.
“Give them here,” growled Dante when Hob had reached the top.
Hazel spoke up. “If we take both, another team won’t be able to find their next clue.
Dante broke the seal on one of the scrolls. “Nothing gets past you, Your Highness.”
Hazel exchanged an incredulous look with Hob. “Two scrolls means only one other team has this challenge,” she explained to Dante. “If they don’t find a scroll down there, the master will know our team took it.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Namdu. “We’d be disqualified.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. For a moment, it looked like he was going to strike Lord Jain, but he merely thrust the unopened scroll back at Hob, who returned it to the forge.
When a thoroughly filthy Hob climbed back out, he found the team had left the roofless smithy and was now bickering in the street.
“It has to be that lagoon by the Warming Lodge,” insisted Tatiana.
Once again, Dante consulted his map. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s far too obvious. I’d guess Star Lake.” He pointed at a distant peak.
“It would take us all day to hike up there,” said Tatiana.
Dante sneered. “Afraid you’ll get your shoes dirty? No wonder no one takes the court brats seriously.”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly my point. It’s the weekend. The masters know perfectly well they can’t keep us more than a few hours before we throw a fit. Everything will be nearby.”
“My family has a dinner across the channel,” reflected Mei-Mei gravely. “If I’m not ready by six, my parents will kill me. But they’d kill the masters first.”
Tatiana folded her arms.
Dante watched Isabel Faeregine give a triumphant whoop as she emerged from a ruin a few blocks down. “You’d better be right,” he muttered.
The group set out for the lagoon beyond the ruins. They passed several teams along the way, some huddled in urgent conversation, others affecting disinterest as they trudged off to their next objective. Too eager to win or too cool to care. Hob felt a stab of pity for both camps. The wonders of the Direwood seemed to be lost on them. His gaze fell upon a herd of wildebeests grazing in the distance.
A vise closed about his upper arm. Hob turned to see Dante’s gold-whiskered face inches from his own. The boy’s tone was calm but the look in his eyes was murderous.
“Correct or contradict me again, and they’ll find you rotting down that hole. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, milord.”
Releasing Hob’s arm, the boy strode ahead, his hand resting on his saber’s pommel. The rest of the group was looking at the lagoon, except for Hazel, who gazed back at the stragglers with a frown on her pale pixie face. Brushing past her, Dante retrieved a pair of oars poking out from some reeds and tossed them into a rowboat beached upon the shore.
“What was that about?” said Hazel as Hob reached her.
“Nothing, Your Highness.”
“Get in the boat, muir,” said Dante coldly. “The clue says someone has to row to the middle and turn three circles.”
“Very good,” said Hob. “Would anyone care to come with me?”
Namdu balked. “I heard selkies live in Direwood lakes.”
Tatiana peered at the water’s wind-rippled surface. “Aren’t selkies like mermaids?”
“No,” said Mei-Mei. “Strovsky mentioned them last term. Selkies don’t look anything like mermaids. They’re water beasts.”
Wonderful, thought Hob. Tossing his jacket on the grass, Hob dragged the boat into the shallows. Cold water pooled in his shoes, but he didn’t care. He was seething over his exchange with Dante. It took all his restraint not to snap an oar in half.
“Wait.”
Hob turned to see Hazel stepping carefully down the bank to join him. He helped her into the boat, where she sat almost comically upright with an expression of nervous expectation. Trudging through the muddy shallows, Hob pushed the boat past the reeds.
“Is this prudent, Your Highness?”
“Probably not,” she replied. “But I’m not going to let the pages have all the fun. And Sigga’s never far.” She waved to the bodyguard, who was watching from a different bank. Hob had no doubt that if something went awry, the Red Branch would be at the princess’s side in a blink. The agent could probably walk on water.
Pulling himself over the side, Hob figured out how to slip each oar into its lock.
“You don’t have much experience with boats,” Hazel said, pulling up her hood. Rain was beginning to fall in tiny droplets.
Hob looked over his shoulder to gauge the lake’s center. “None, Your Highness. Where I’m from, water tends to be frozen.” Pulling on the oars, he tried to mimic what he remembered of the skiff boatman’s technique, but still managed to splash water everywhere. The boatman’s job was safe.
Hazel did not speak again until they were well away from the bank. “What did Dante say to you just now?”
“Nothing that bears repeating, Your Highness.”
“He’s vile,” she muttered. “All the Hydes are vile.”
Hob said nothing. It would not do for a page to comment on such an observation. He focused on rowing and trying not to think of sea monsters. Water would never be his element.
“I think,” said Hazel, “this may be the first time I’ve spoken to you alone.”
“I suppose it is, Your Highness.”
From the corner of his eye, Hob could see her fidgeting with her rings. “Our conversations in Rattlerafters have been very helpful. So . . . I guess I wanted to say thank you. And for speaking up for me just now.”
Hob inclined his head. “You’re very welcome, Your Highness.”
He rowed in silence while drops began to patter on the water. The rain was cold, but not unpleasant. Hazel hugged her knees.
“We must look silly to you,” she said. “Us court brats and FYGs. You’ve actually done things in your life. We mostly posture and pretend.”
“Running an empire isn’t pretend.”
A smirk. “Ministers and magistrates run Impyrium, Mr. Smythe. Don’t act like you don’t know. I’d imagine you must think we have it awfully easy.”
“No, Your Highness.”
“You’re lying.”
Am I? Hob was not entirely certain. He pulled one oar to straighten the boat. “Most people get to do what they’re good at. You have to be good at everything. That can’t be easy.�
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She sat up suddenly. “That’s exactly what it is,” she exclaimed. “The expectations can be so suffocating. There are times I just want to . . .”
She trailed off, at a loss for words or something deeper. Hob glanced up. Hazel Isis Faeregine, granddaughter of the Divine Empress, was gazing over the side with a tiny, almost rueful smile. Hob was on the verge of feeling sorry for her when he remembered who she was and what her family represented.
Today you’re Hazel. But someday, you’ll harden into a Faeregine. It’s only a matter of time.
Still, this was an opportunity. The princess was clearly in need of a friend.
“It’s probably not my place to say this, Your Highness, but I have faith in you.”
A mirthless laugh. “You’re legally obligated to have faith in me, Mr. Smythe. Don’t you know I’m a living god?”
Careful, Hob told himself. You can’t win this game today, but you could lose it. Lighten things up.
“I don’t know much about gods, but I do know you’ve been a quick study in Rattlerafters. I have faith you’ll get done whatever it is you need to do. Just keep at it.”
He couldn’t decide if her nod was one of appreciation or simple acknowledgment that he’d spoken. A moment later, the princess gave a start and spun about to face the shore.
“Is everything all right?” asked Hob, puzzled by her behavior. One would have thought someone had just tapped her on the shoulder.
Hazel did not answer. She looked troubled, as though searching for something in the forest or foothills she could not quite pinpoint. After a few seconds, she faced forward again and glanced over Hob’s shoulder.
“That must be it.”
He turned to see a small buoy bobbing in the green water. “I guess we’ll see if I can turn this thing.” Gripping the oars, he pulled one and then both, one and then both, until he’d made three shaky circles.
“Now what?” he asked.
There was a shout from shore. Mei-Mei Han was jumping up and down, pointing frantically behind them. Hob turned to see something rising just beneath the water’s surface. It raced toward them, a bow wave forming over a sleek brown head. How big was it? Twenty feet? Thirty? Was it a selkie? Some kind of whale? Hob looked for Sigga. Why wasn’t she coming to help? The creature was closing rapidly. The bow wave disappeared as the beast submerged.
CHAPTER 10
THE REAPER’S TOMB
One gallant act is worth a thousand dinner dates.
—Toby the Smee, fabled bon vivant, raconteur, and lothario
“Hold on!” Hob yelled.
The boat gave a jolt as the creature rose beneath it and propelled them toward shore with heart-racing speed. Hob and Hazel clung to the boat’s sides, uncertain whether to laugh or shriek as lake water streamed over the sides.
Poking his head up, Hob saw they were already near the reeds. If they didn’t slow down, they’d crash onto the shore.
There was a barking laugh as the creature released them and wheeled its great bulk about. Peering over the side, Hob found himself staring into an intelligent black eye set in a seallike face. Rolling onto its back, the selkie flicked something into the boat before submerging. It was a packet wrapped in oilcloth.
“I guess that’s the next clue,” Hob said, handing it to Hazel.
“Thank you, Mr. Smythe. When I can breathe, I’ll open it.”
They laughed. For an instant, Hazel seemed like any other girl he might have known in Dusk. The moment was short-lived, however. Already, the boat was drifting through the reeds.
“Do you have it?” called Tatiana.
Hazel held up the packet.
“Woo-hoo!” cried Mei-Mei. “That was amazing!”
“Hurry up,” said Dante. “Other teams are on their third challenge.”
Hopping out, Hob dragged the rowboat through the shallows up onto the pebbled sand. His uniform and shoes were ruined, but it had been fruitful. A year’s worth of Rattlerafters classes would not have yielded what a brief, terrifying trip in a rowboat had just done. Hazel Faeregine trusted him. Hob only wished that fact made him happier.
While Hazel and Mei-Mei opened the packet, Dante loomed over Hob, who was busy pouring water from his shoes.
“You row like a one-armed ostrich.”
“Ostriches have no arms, milord.”
Dante darkened. “I know they don’t, muir. That’s the joke.”
“Thank you, your lordship. Jokes are always better once they’re explained.”
Tatiana snorted. Once again, Dante seized Hob’s arm. His fingers dug in like talons.
“I don’t care for your manner. If you served my family—”
“He doesn’t,” said a cold voice.
Dante wheeled upon Hazel. “What did you say to me?”
“He doesn’t serve House Hyde,” she said flatly. “Mr. Smythe serves House Faeregine. And if you don’t release him, you’re going to learn what that difference means.”
Hob was astounded by Hazel’s transformation. It wasn’t physical—she remained a small albino girl in dripping red robes—but the look of contained anger upon her delicate features was positively unsettling.
Dante let go of Hob. “There certainly is a difference, Your Highness. Your house is dying and mine has never been stronger. There hasn’t been anything special about the Faeregines for a thousand years. Everyone knows it but you. It wasn’t Typhon that went up in flames. It was your whole damn family.”
“What does that ship have to do with anything?” said Hazel.
A laugh. “Ask your uncle.”
“I’m asking you.”
The young earl spread his hands as though it pained him to share such unpleasant news. “Rumor has it Lord Faeregine poured his entire fortune into that ship. Losing one’s own money is bad enough, but he lost a lot of other people’s too.” He tutted. “Wise men don’t put all their eggs in one basket. Especially baskets stuffed with gunpowder.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about, but say another word against my uncle and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Dante sneered. “Report me to the empress?”
Hazel took a step forward. A ghost of a smile appeared that did not extend to those rabbity red eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper. “No. But you will dearly wish I had.”
Hob had his own doubts regarding the Faeregine mystique, but he could not pretend a chill wasn’t invading his bones. He hadn’t felt anything like it since séyu when he realized the Cheshirewulf was stalking him. Who was this Hazel?
Namdu broke the tension. “Are we actually going to solve this last clue or stand around arguing? I could use a homunculus.”
Releasing Dante from her gaze, Hazel opened the envelope and read the clue aloud.
“Earthbound Goddess, Winter’s Bloom,
the Reaper sleeps within her tomb.
Stand within the ancient crown
that rises from the barrow downs.
Past Sphinx Rock and by Split Oak,
you’ll find her where the ravens croak.”
“Lovely,” said Tatiana.
Namdu gazed about the Direwood. “Where’s Sphinx Rock?”
Mei-Mei was already studying her map. “I don’t see it anywhere.”
Hazel folded the clue and tucked it in her coat pocket. “I know where to go. It isn’t far.”
Dante laughed. “How’s that, Your Highness?”
“I’ve been there before.”
Mei-Mei plucked Hazel’s elbow. “But you said earlier you’d never set foot in the Direwood.”
“I haven’t.”
With that, Hazel turned and walked west, arms folded as she leaned into the wind. Her teammates looked at one another.
“Well,” said Tatiana. “This took a turn for the weird. What should we do?”
Mei-Mei shrugged. “Follow her. Unless someone has a better idea.”
The group trailed after Hazel, who was already thirty yards ahead. Pulling on his squashy shoes, Hob g
lanced back to see Sigga following once again. Bodyguards probably had to walk a delicate line between ensuring one’s safety without being too intrusive. The Grislander must have known the lagoon contained a selkie and that the creature wasn’t dangerous. Perhaps she’d come to the same conclusion about Dante Hyde.
Despite its fearsome name and reputation, the Direwood struck Hob as more wondrous than truly perilous. Court brats and FYGs lived in mansions and palaces. Of course they were ill at ease in the outdoors. But Hob grew up in rough country. Compared to the Sentries, the Direwood was a game park: wild enough to see some animals, safe enough for lords and ladies.
But that impression began to change as they left the grassy open and climbed a narrow trail into the foothills. Once again, as in the tunnel, Hob sensed a tense watchfulness in the woods. Hazel was plunging ahead, heedless of the branches and brambles. The others, however, proceeded more cautiously.
“Are there wolves in here?” asked Tatiana, flicking a leaf from her shoulder. “This seems like the kind of place that would have wolves.”
Dante grinned. “Afraid you’ll be devoured, Lady Castile?”
“It would be a tragedy to die before the May Ball. My dress is fabulous. Who are you taking, by the way?”
“Hazel Faeregine, if she’ll have me.”
The two laughed.
“Shh!” said Namdu, who flinched at every broken twig. Hob found this entertaining until he realized he’d be fetching Lord Jain new trousers if an owl gave an untimely hoot.
“What do you think of all that ‘Reaper’ business in the clue?” whispered Mei-Mei. “It symbolizes Death, doesn’t it? I don’t need a homunculus that badly. My family has imps.”
“Don’t you know anything?” said Dante. “It’s a reference to Mina the Fourth. Historians call her the Reaper. Strovsky’s always blathering on about her. She has a thousand tombs scattered around Impyrium. I’ve ridden past one in Eastmarch. Another one must be here.”
This explanation did not comfort Namdu, who touched his forehead in a sign against evil. “She’s supposed to be the worst one!”
To his chagrin, Hob found that he sided with Namdu. The Reaper was greatly feared in the Northwest, which still bore the scars of her brutality. Whole regions were still uninhabitable, their soil a toxic ash. According to legend, she was even more powerful than Mina I and infinitely more bloodthirsty. The Hauja called her Ankü—Hunger—and would not leave their huts during the winter solstice when her specter was said to walk abroad. That the former empress had been murdered and her body scattered meant nothing to the Hauja. They insisted the Ankü could not be killed, not truly. She would return someday, like some dark comet, to have her vengeance.
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