My fingers found his palm in the semidarkness.
No glove. He must have left them off after the mountainbeast attack.
I took his hand anyway.
A beam of light shot from our connection and vaulted straight toward the ceiling. It found solid rock and pinged back toward us before hitting the ground with a pop.
But I held tight. Because as long as I didn’t let go, it probably wouldn’t happen again. At least I didn’t think so. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to what happened when Mor and I touched except that something happened each time.
“Tannie, we are going for stealth,” Warmil tossed over his shoulder from up ahead. “You could try to keep things under control.”
I looked up at Mor. “As if we had any idea how.”
Mor’s face seemed to redden in the dim light as he returned his concentration to the path in front of us. But he didn’t let go of my hand.
Don’t think I didn’t notice.
A few long, silent moments passed as we worked our way through the caves.
I sighed. “If I never see the color slate gray again, it’ll be too soon. Do you think this is what it’s like to be a root-snacker, tunneling through the earth, the ground the same as the ceiling and same as the walls?”
Mor chuckled. “Couldn’t tell you.”
“What a boring life.”
“But there are all those roots to snack on, and that’s something.”
Snacks. I grimaced. “Why did you have to mention food?” My stomach rumbled on cue.
“Sorry.” But he didn’t really look it.
“If you thought you’d turned me into a hardened, seaworthy sailor, you’re wrong, you know.”
“Truly? I couldn’t tell. You seemed downright hard-boiled.”
“Shocking, I know. But no. I need a hearth, a bed, and three warm meals a day to be truly settled. Oh! And pillows! Preferably three.”
“What in the world would anyone want with three pillows?”
“Two under my head, one at my side.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness.”
It was a little funny to think about, since I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d had such comforts. Before we left on our quest for the cure, I supposed. Truly, my brief weeks in the palace were the only time I’d had such things in all my life.
And that was some moons ago. Maybe I’d become hard-boiled by accident. I glanced down at my fingers, interlaced with Mor’s, and my stomach did a backflip.
Scrambled, more like.
“So . . .” He slid a sideways glance at me. “You really need a hearth on solid ground to be happy?”
“No, actually.” I grinned. “Wouldn’t mind a bunk on a ship right now, to be honest.”
Suddenly, Mor yanked my arm back, and I nearly stumbled to the ground.
“Hey, what—”
He put his hand over my mouth before I could say anything else. Then he held a finger to his lips and gestured up ahead.
I had been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed everyone in front of us had stopped. Father held up one hand to signal us to halt, and then he covered the lantern box partway with a cloth to block out the light.
He must see something up ahead. Or someone.
It was then that I could just make out the muffled sound of voices. They seemed far away, but it was probably the cave playing its tricks on us. They were obviously close enough that Father could see them.
After what felt an eternity, Father pulled back the cloth a bit and allowed more light to illuminate the path. He gestured to Warmil, then nodded down one passageway.
Stars. They were going to get closer.
I took a step forward to . . . do something. To stop them from approaching whatever lay beyond.
The Master, perhaps?
But one glance at Dray told me that wasn’t likely. True to form, he was hanging back behind several others. He did have a knack for keeping himself out of danger. If we were approaching his former Master, he would have placed himself front and center, surely, to be our mouthpiece.
It had to be a competing team up ahead, and that could be just as deadly.
Father and Warmil moved away, taking the light with them. For several awful moments, we stood in complete darkness. I listened to the sound of my blood drumming in my ears and prayed my father and Warmil would make it back alive.
The lantern light shimmered toward us again.
“Come,” Father whispered. “I want you to see. All of you.”
We tiptoed after him and Warmil, whose sword was drawn.
After a quick right turn, then a left, we found ourselves by an archway of stone. Beyond the archway was an open cavern like the one where we had discovered the ancient strand—and the mountainbeast—except this one was about a third the size, if I judged right.
Since we didn’t have the benefit of light strands or Diggy’s rock sparkles, I wasn’t sure I was judging right.
But there were three men huddled near the far wall.
One had his hand pressed to the stone. “I think it’s back here. I feel something.”
“Well, get it out,” another said. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I’m just not sure how to begin . . .” The man pulled his hand away from the wall.
The third man drew a tool from his pack. “I’ll get it.”
The first began to object. “I don’t think—”
A pickax slammed into the stone.
The second man rose and rolled his brawny shoulders as if working out the kinks. “Let him. That’s why he’s here.”
The first man stood too. “Not sure if this is the best way to go about it, is all.”
“He’s the digger, and you’re the weaver. Let him do his job so you can do yours.”
The weaver shot a look at the brawny one. “And what’s your job, exactly?”
“I’m the leader,” he said with a smirk in his voice. “And the muscle, obviously.”
Father studied the digger. Probably gathering information. And also watching to see if they succeeded in collecting a strand.
A terrible thought struck me.
What were we supposed to do if they did collect one of the strands? We hoped to find all eleven so another team could not deliver them to the Master. So what would we do if this team collected one while we stood here? Surely Father wouldn’t hurt them . . .
I glanced at his right hand, resting on the hilt of his sword.
Stars. Maybe he would.
But in the next moment, those thoughts fled from my mind. All my thoughts were crowded out by complete and total horror.
I stood frozen as Diggy pushed past all of us and strode straight into the cavern, in full view of the other team.
The weaver saw her first. “What the—”
The pickax stilled in the digger’s hands, and the brawny one’s eyes popped wide. “Hey, what are you—”
“Do you know me?” Diggy interrupted. She stared up at the brawny one as she stalked ever closer.
“No, who are—”
“I know you. You’re Lasech Bo-Camdrine. You sailed under Captain Bo-Gallogwyr three years ago.”
I saw nothing about the big one to indicate he was a sailor, and I wondered if she might be mistaken. But then I saw his boots—so like the sharkskin ones I had noticed on Mor when we first met.
Diggy stepped closer to him. “You were my friend at first. Do you remember? You liked the way I brewed the bitter-bean. Said it reminded you of home.” She paused. “But then you started visiting me at night, and you weren’t my friend anymore.” Diggy’s voice was deathly calm. “Do you know me now?”
My insides finally melted, my feet unfroze, and I sprang to life. “Diggy, no!” I sprinted into the cavern after her.
But I was too late. Many years too late.
The recognition dawned on Bo-Camdrine’s face as he finally seemed to recall the young girl whose innocence he’d helped steal. How could he not have know
n her on sight? How could her face not be etched into his memory?
It didn’t matter. For Diggy was within striking distance now.
“Diggy, stop!”
She drew the dagger from her left hip and plunged it into his stomach. Quick as lightning, she withdrew it and thrust it into his armpit and left it there. She spun a half-turn, pulled another knife from the scabbard on her left thigh, and stabbed backward—straight into the man’s inner thigh.
Three wounds in the space of a breath.
I reached her just as she yanked both blades from Bo-Camdrine’s body.
He stared, his hand clutching the abdominal wound. Then he dropped to his knees.
Karlith rushed into the cavern, up to the bleeding man. “Oh, Creator.” She turned. “Warmil!”
He was already halfway there, as were Father, Mor, and everyone else. The two other men from Bo-Camdrine’s team stood immobilized by shock at what had just happened.
The only person in the whole cavern who didn’t look shocked was Diggy. Her face was calm, but boiling just beneath the surface were four years of rage and pain and horror and heartbreak.
Bo-Camdrine collapsed to the floor. Warmil crouched beside the bleeding man. He didn’t reach for the pouch at his hip. Didn’t examine the wounds closely. Just shook his head.
“She knows anatomy,” he said finally, glancing at Diggy, then back to Karlith. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Before he even finished saying it, Bo-Camdrine’s blood spilled its last. One of Diggy’s many tormentors lay dead on the floor of the cavern.
She took a step back from him, then turned. Her brows rose, almost as though she had just realized she wasn’t alone—that she had a horrified audience. She looked around at each of us in turn.
Only Karlith moved or spoke. She muttered prayers under her breath as she closed Bo-Camdrine’s eyes. Then she looked up at Diggy, tears brimming on her lashes. “Oh, my dear girl. What have you done?”
Diggy took another step away. Her chest began to heave.
“Diggy,” Mor began. But there was no end to his plea. What else could he say?
Nothing could take back what had just happened, same as nothing could take back what had happened to her four years past.
Diggy’s gaze darted around the circle—between her friends and companions, across the still body, then to his fellows, whose faces began to register fear and anger. And then her focus landed on Dray.
He was staring at her, wide-eyed. And then that snake opened his mouth to speak. “Yes. The Master will be very keen on you.”
A shadow crossed her face—something I couldn’t decipher. Something too deep and too painful for me ever to understand.
Without a sound, she turned and bolted into the darkness.
“Diggy, wait!”
Mor and I both ran into the passageway after her. A ribbon of light from my hand raced one way, and a strand from Mor flew ahead in the other direction.
But there was no sign of her. She had vanished.
And just like that, in every way that mattered, I lost Digwyn En-Lidere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BRAC
Eny Bo-Fergel pressed his lips into an invisible line as he looked down at the piece of parchment in his hands. I had scribbled a few figures on there, like I had done in the dirt with a stick when my father and I would puzzle through the matters of acreage and seeds and projected yield at harvest.
I couldn’t read or write words, but the hash marks and symbols we used to deal with numbers for the farm were as familiar to me as the scent of fresh-turned soil and the feel of a flail or harrow in my hands.
“It won’t work, will it?” Defeat billowed around my words like a cloud of dust.
Eny paused another moment. “I did not say that, Brac.”
I pointed to one set of scribbles. “I thought if we could get fifteen hundred good, solid farmers, it might work. Surely there are fifteen hundred farmers in Tir who would be willing.”
Eny nodded. “Farms are failing on both coasts. The Wildlands have it even worse than the east, if you can imagine. And you’re right—the land in the middle of the continent has not dealt with drought and blight to the same degree.”
“Then could we do it? Could we cultivate that land and turn it into some sort of . . . communal farmland, or something? If that’s where the soil would produce, that’s where we should go.”
Eny’s lips pressed tighter. “But the cost.” He looked at me. “The cost to feed and house the men working the land. It would be a massive undertaking, and I’m not sure the royal treasury could support it.”
I flopped into the chair behind my desk. This study and the rooms attached to it had once belonged to one of Gareth’s councilors. Naith had chosen them as my apartments because they were close to the throne room.
I couldn’t quite stomach the idea of moving into the queen’s rooms, though those were suggested first. I had ordered them left empty and her things untouched for the time being. But I knew eventually Naith would demand I do something with them.
“I don’t see another solution,” I said to Eny. “This is all I have to offer the people. I’m a farmer, so I—” A lump rose out of nowhere in my throat. A big fat lump of failure.
I took a breath. “This is all I have to offer Tir, and it’s a whole lot of nothing.”
Eny sat across from me and placed the parchment on the desk. “It’s not nothing. This is a good idea. We just have to take a very close look at the royal treasury.”
“You know, it’s funny,” I said bitterly. “When I was a peasant, I thought there must be a pile of money in the palace somewhere. A roomful of it. And that the king could just do whatever he wanted with it.”
Eny smiled faintly. “There is money enough. But not a roomful. And it is a delicate balance, income versus expenses. We must be careful not to drain the treasury all at once on one large project. This is why wars so often bring financial ruin.” His gaze returned to my scribbles. “Perhaps if we implemented it in phases . . .”
“I wonder what Tannie would say,” I said without meaning to—without thinking about it, really.
It was habit to wonder what Tannie would think about my ideas and plans. Those plans had always been small when we were younger. And hers had always sounded so wild—traveling around the world, selling stories, living life out of her satchel and meeting new people every day.
Mine were simple. A new crop next planting season. An idea about how to set up my farmhouse on the land my father had set aside for me.
For us. For me and Tannie. That had always been part of my plans.
But now, when I thought about the future, I didn’t see Tannie by my side. It had nothing to do with her pirate and everything to do with the right mess I’d made.
And still I craved her presence. I wanted my best friend back.
I glanced up to find Eny staring at me. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I miss her,” I blurted.
“Tanwen, the storyteller.”
“Aye. She’s my best friend.”
Was my best friend. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.
Instead, I said, “If I could have one thing right now, do you know what it would be?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I would go home. I’d like to apologize to Tannie somehow, of course, but if I could have just one thing, it would be that. Home.”
Eny nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Some things can’t be undone, can they?”
“No, indeed, my lord.” He caught himself. “Brac.”
I heaved a sigh. “Maybe this would all look different after a mug of ale.”
Eny’s eyebrows rose.
“What? You don’t know that everything looks better after a mug of ale?” I shook my head. “You gotta get out from behind the desk every once in a while, my friend. But be careful with this here novel information. Some things you ought to stay away from look better at the bottom of a mug, too, and you ca
n get yourself in a right bit of trouble.”
His eyebrows rose higher.
I grinned and stood. “I’ll pop down to the kitchens and get us both a pint.”
“I can send someone.”
“Aye, but I’m sick of being waited on.” I paused at the door and shook my head. “Sakes. Never thought I’d hear myself say that. Be back in a minute.”
I didn’t hurry down the hall, because all that was waiting for me on the other side of this brief errand was an impossible problem. Might as well enjoy my break while it lasted.
The servants’ stairwell to the kitchens lay just ahead. Naith had scolded me repeatedly for using the servants’ passageways, but Cethor’s tears, were they faster. Made sense, I supposed, as the servants were expected to move through the palace like lightning—silent, invisible lightning, never seen or heard but always available. Royalty, nobility, and important officials were expected to parade around the front rooms and public hallways, the wide, grand staircases and main thoroughfares.
Give me the shortcuts any day.
The low entrance to the winding stairway was just to my right, but I jerked to a halt before reaching it.
Naith’s voice carried out of the door to my left.
That door led to his private chambers—that I knew. But he had excused himself shortly after breakfast, saying he wanted to spend some time in the temple and see to the priestly business there. He complained about that constantly these days—missing the priestly work, wanting to be close to the goddesses again.
I’d finally told him to see to whatever he blasted well felt like and stop whining about it.
But now, there was his voice. Low but unmistakable, still here in the palace.
Now, I knew it wasn’t right. Whatever else had happened, I really hadn’t forgotten the basics of right and wrong, and sneaking into someone’s private chambers to eavesdrop on their conversation was wrong.
But my hand still found the knob and twisted it. I slowly leaned on the door until I had space enough to peer in.
Naith was not in the front room. The door to his bedchamber was open, and his voice carried in from there. It was nearly a miracle I’d heard him to begin with, but there was something about his tone—urgent pleading spaced between explosions of frustration.
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