When I return, he leaves, taking coltish steps, and returns fully dressed too, smelling just as horrendous as I do.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need water,” Merek says. “And boots.”
We both look down at our bare feet. “Maybe some of the other houses have supplies.”
With no other option, he nods his agreement, and we cautiously leave our small sanctuary. We scan the surroundings, relieved to see no other signs of life, save for a tern aloft on a draught on the far side of the lake.
“Perhaps they think we’ve drowned,” I say.
Merek doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t think he’d believe that without a body.”
We find a water butt behind one of the houses, and, though the water tastes stale, we spend half an hour taking gulps of it – slowly, so we don’t make ourselves sick. In one house we find a pair of boots with the sole half flapping off like a tongue. They’re too big for Merek, never mind for me, but he stuffs rags into the toes and pulls them on anyway. I find a pair of suede slippers in another, and take those; thin as they are, they’re still some protection from the ground. We find a dented tin jug with a lid that we fill with water to take with us, and then return to the house we slept in to get more towels – fashioning the largest into cloaks – and the small medicinal kit.
“To the mountains, then?” Merek asks.
“How do we get to the mountains?”
“It’s a day and a half walking, at least, to get to the base of them. We’ll have to head towards the coast and follow it along into the mountains. It’s either that or double back and go behind Lormere castle.”
My heart sinks. “I suppose the advantage is Aurek will assume we’ve gone to Scarron to join Twylla.”
“Let’s hope so.” He looks into the distance, as if he can see the mountains. “Let’s go.”
Part Three
Twylla
Chapter 16
I go from sleeping to waking in an instant, holding myself still in the pitch black of the room, my right hand inching silently beneath the pillow to the knife I keep there. My fingers curl around the handle, and I hold my breath, listening. But the only thing I can hear is Nia snoring softly on the other side of the room; whatever woke me was probably in my own head.
As my heartbeat returns to normal, the last vestiges of sleep fade away, leaving me annoyingly wide awake. So I reach for my robe and throw it around my shoulders before feeling my way carefully across the floor, heading towards the door. At the last moment I trip over something and stumble, crying out, and the snoring stops abruptly. I bend down to rub my toe and listen to the sound of flint being struck. A second later candlelight flares and Nia is glowering at me.
“What time is it?” she asks, her voice fogged with sleep.
“Still early, I think.”
“Then why are you up?” she grumbles, putting the candle on her nightstand before burrowing back into her pile of blankets.
I look down to see what I tripped on, scowling at her clothes and boots piled in the middle of the floor. I shoot a filthy look at the covered lump on her bed, wondering how on earth her poor wife copes. I’ve never known anyone so messy in my life, and I had two brothers. Biting my tongue, I cross the room to the bowl and ewer, splashing my face with water a fraction above freezing. I pour fresh water into a tumbler and drink it, before turning back to my room-mate.
“Do you need the candle?” I ask.
“No,” she says into her pillow.
I roll my eyes, crossing the small room and picking it up, leaving Nia to her sleep.
As I walk down the corridor, heading towards the Sisters’ former parlour – now the room I’ve commandeered as our strategy room – I hear a voice, a man’s, rumbling and fast. Curious, I push the door open and find Hope spreading a map over the large table, pinning the corners down with half-empty glasses and whatever else comes to hand. Her grey hair is coiled around her head, and I can see the thin edge of her nightgown beneath her robe. The room blazes with light, every candle lit, the fire high in the grate, illuminating the hooded man who stands before it with his hands spread, and for a moment it looks as though he commands the flames. He pushes back his hood, revealing the dark skin and hair of Kirin Doglass. He turns at the sound of the door closing behind me.
“You’re back!” I say, rushing over and adding my own candle to a curling corner before hugging him.
“Only just.” His arms close around me and we embrace. He smells of horses, and sweat, still cold from being outside. “Lortune was completely locked down. Our spy couldn’t pass on the message until a few hours ago. I was about to come and wake you.” When I look up at him his eyes are bright, almost manic.
“What is it?” I ask, immediately alert. “What’s happened?” “The fire we saw was Lormere castle,” Hope says.
“The castle?” I turn to her, then back to Kirin, who manages to look both grave and excited as he nods.
We were all up until late, watching the red glow down in the valley, far below where the Sisters of Næht housed their order. We’d known the fire was in Lortune when I sent Kirin to find out what was happening, but I’d thought it was businesses, or homes. Not Lormere castle itself.
“Was anyone hurt? Any word of Errin?” I ask. “Silas?”
“Silas is fine. He’s precious to Aurek, remember.”
“And Errin? Is she all right? Do you know how the fire began? Was it deliberate? Tell us!” I demand.
“I’m sure he will once you give him a chance to speak,” Hope says dryly.
I bite back a retort and nod, as Kirin grins, his cheeks dimpling.
“I don’t know for sure how it started, but I do know there was an incident. With Errin. She found Silas during the blaze and they tried to escape.” When he pauses I lean against the table, needing the support. “Aurek caught her, dragged her before the crowd and accused her of starting the fire, and being the leader of the Rising Dawn.”
“No,” I breathe. “Errin started it?”
“I don’t know, and she denied it, obviously. So Aurek started killing anyone who’d served her, naming them as accomplices. Then he turned on Lief, saying he thought Lief was acting as a double agent.”
“What?” Hope moves around the table to join us. “He rounded on Vastel?”
Kirin nods. “Lief managed to convince Aurek his loyalty lay with him, but said that he wouldn’t vouch for Errin and—”
“Typical,” I spit, my heart thudding in my chest.
“There’s more,” Kirin says. Something in his tone has Hope and me exchanging an anxious glance before looking back at him as he continues.
“Lief realized his mother wasn’t in the crowd – he’d assumed someone else had moved her to safety. What he didn’t know was Aurek had taken her to a different tower – the one that went up in flames first. And she was in there still. Lief, Errin and Aurek all ran to the tower, but the next people saw was Aurek mad with fury, crying out that Errin had escaped, and one of the servants with her.”
“And?” Hope demands. “What then? Where’s Errin? Where’s my son?”
“Silas is still at the castle, imprisoned again. Errin is on the run, possibly with this servant.” He pauses. “Aurek sent men with dogs after her.”
“Dogs?” I ask, a shiver running down my spine. “The queen’s dogs?” I remember them all too clearly.
Kirin nods, his mouth a thin line, and the taste of bile fills my mouth. Please, please let her have got away.
“Gods,” Hope shudders, giving voice to my thoughts. “I hope she made it. I take it her mother didn’t survive.”
“Silas made the Elixir for Mrs Vastel – Aurek granted Lief that. She is saved.”
“Of course he did,” I scoff. “Aren’t they best friends – brothers – in all this?”
Kirin says nothing.
“What?” I look at him. “Am I wrong?”
“Aurek blamed Lief for Errin’s escape. He . . . punished him.”
“How?”
“Thirty lashes. He delivered them himself. Our spy watched the whole thing. He was taken to Lortune town square, tied to a pole, and Aurek whipped him unconscious in front of the crowd.”
Hope raises a hand to her face, and I stare wildly into the fire.
I see the image in my mind, Lief’s back, smooth and lithe, bared to the winter air. I see the sleek smile of the Sleeping Prince as he raises his hand and announces to the crowd that Lief deserves this. I see them, wanting the violence, but fearing it at the same time, both lust and loathing. I see the whip curling through the air, slicing into Lief’s skin. Him slumping forward, his back in tatters.
Kirin speaks again, softly. “Apparently, he left Lief tied there until he woke. He waited for Lief to say thank you before he’d allow him to be untied.”
I dash three steps across the room and throw up into the bucket we keep ready to douse the fire.
There’s a cool hand on my forehead, and Kirin kneels beside me, his eyes drawn down in concern.
“Do you want water?” he asks quietly, and I nod.
He’s back within a moment, a tumbler in his hand, and I sip at the contents, letting the cold liquid soothe me.
“I assume he’s been given the Elixir,” Hope says from somewhere behind Kirin, a bright edge to her voice.
“He refused it.” Kirin looks at me as he speaks. “Apparently, he said he’d rather bear the marks of his folly and learn from them. As with his eye.”
His eye. Every time I think about his eye guilt floods me, even as I know it shouldn’t. I did that to him. To all intents and purposes, I cut out one of his green eyes. And just as I don’t understand why he refused the Elixir then, I don’t understand why he’s done so now. Where did this streak of masochism come from?
Kirin watches me, and I summon a smile. “All right. So, I take it the hunt for Errin was unsuccessful?”
“Of the five hounds unleashed, only one returned. But not with her.”
“Then she’s out there, somewhere. We need to contact every ally across Lormere, and tell them to watch out for her. If they see her, or hear news of her, they are to get her to safety and let us know immediately so we can bring her here.”
“I’ll go back out now.” He turns to leave at once.
“Wait,” I say. “You said Lief was taken back to the castle? So it’s still intact? Is Aurek still there?”
Kirin nods. “But the fire was bad. The north and east towers were destroyed, in the end. That entire half of the castle is ruined.”
My tower still stands, then.
“Apparently Aurek has it under lockdown,” Kirin continues. “He’s ruling from the south tower now, using the queen’s old rooms. Barely anyone is allowed in or out.”
“He’s scared,” Hope says, raising her brows at me. “He knows what it means if Errin finds you.”
“Having her would only be the first step. We’d still need an alchemist to tell us how to make the Opus Magnum.”
“For all he knows we already have an alchemist.” Hope says. “We have to consider that Errin’s escape might provoke him into doing something more.”
She’s right. And that is exactly what we’ve been trying to avoid these past few moons. We can’t afford to do anything that would make him lash out. We need the Rising to give him something tangible to focus on, as well as to rally the people to us. But we’re balancing on a knife edge. Giving hope to the people whilst not frightening him too much.
“We can’t risk pushing him into acting, not yet,” I say. “Nor retaliating by harming the children he has prisoner. We need to send word to the Rising cells to drop any action for the time being. Put it on hold until we have Errin, and the recipe. Hold off on everything.” I take a breath. “And to that end, contact the watches at the child camps,” I tell Kirin. “Send word to Greld, Serge, Tarvy – all of them. If it looks as though he plans to harm the children at any of the camps, I want enough people ready to get them out.”
He nods, his face hard. If we have to strike to get the children out, we’ll expose ourselves and our network, and lose the fraction of an advantage we have. It’s a risk. But none of us would sacrifice the children for our cause.
“Spread the word,” I continue. “Tell everyone to be ready, just in case. Things could move very quickly and I need us all to be prepared for it.”
“I’ll send messengers now.”
“Thank you. Then make sure you eat. And rest. And . . . bathe.”
Kirin raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying I smell?”
“Like a horse.” I summon a smile despite my dark thoughts – an old skill I developed for Helewys, and deploy often as a general. He returns it easily. “I’ll join you all for dinner.”
He sweeps out of the room and I turn to Hope.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
I walk past her, heading to the table and peering down at the map, as if I might see a miniature Errin on there. Hope comes to my side.
“We have to find her,” I say.
“And we shall. Now, answer my question. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know.”
“Would a fight help?”
I look over at her. “Oh Gods, yes.”
I leave a note for Nia, telling her we’re in the yard and to come straight to us, then head to the armoury – once a storeroom – to suit up. Hope is already there – her armour is missing from its stand and I can hear her footwork on the flagstones in the courtyard beyond, and the occasional sound of metal on metal as she strikes the pole at the centre. I quickly braid my hair and tuck it into my tunic, before donning my own leather armour.
It’s red, made out of old saddles, and it fits me like a glove.
I strap on the leg braces, buckling them around my calves and thighs. The tunic next, fastening it at the sides, twisting to make sure it’s loose enough to move in. Then finally my arm braces, and my helmet. We tried, when I first began training, to have me in metal armour, but a lifetime of sitting around being solemn meant I simply didn’t have the strength to wear it for long, let alone fight in it. Even lightweight children’s armour was too much, and that was after two moons of training, running, climbing, and lifting barrels of flour as makeshift weights. So Trey, the leatherworker who helped us make our red paint, took a knife to a whole host of old saddles we liberated from the Sheriff of Haga’s stables, and fashioned me a series of body plates from the thick crimson leather.
Red like the rising dawn.
Once they’re on I kick out my legs, swing my body, raise my arms, and when I’m happy I lift down my sword belt from its hook and draw the blade, checking it over.
Hope tells me it was Silas’s, the sword he used to practise with. When she offered it to me, telling me her son used it as a child, I thought she was insulting me. Until she explained about weight and balance.
“No point having a large weapon if you don’t know how to use it,” she said, grinning, and I got the joke a little after everyone else started laughing. But I got the point too. I couldn’t lift a sword like the ones Merek and Lief had fought with. But this, three foot long, thin as parchment and with a sturdy but light hilt . . . this I can lift, even more easily than the one I took from the Conclave. It’s my sword now. Hope said I should name it but I think it’s like a living thing; you can’t name it: it already has a name. I just need to wait for it to tell me.
Satisfied, I sheathe it and fasten the belt around my waist. I step out into the courtyard, and as though she senses me, Hope turns. Her grey hair is hidden under a helmet – metal, like her armour. Hope has decades of fighting experience behind her, decades of training with sword and staff and bow. But as she told me, even the most seasoned fighter can be unlucky.
“Speed, and stamina,” she told me the first time she allowed me to pick up a sword. “You’re too small and too weak to be able to fight aggressively. So learn to defend yourself. Attacking takes more energy than defending. T
ire them out, then quickly end it. Nothing fancy. No showing off. Wear them down, then strike.”
“Sin Eater,” she says now, bowing to hide the curve of her lips.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Stop me, then.”
In that moment I could hug her, for giving me this distraction, for trying to rile me up. It’s kindness.
But I don’t hug her; instead I lunge at her, eager for first contact.
The metal we hold rings like a bell, sparks flying, as she raises her sword to defend my blow. She twists her wrists to drive my sword down, and I dart back before she can thrust at me. Such is her skill that she fights with a blunted weapon when we practise; I’d be dead ten times over by now otherwise.
She spins out of the thrust and crosses the sword over her body, beckoning me with her chin.
“Come on, princess. At least try.”
But I don’t, beginning to circle her, foot crossing foot, and she does the same. My leather armour creaks faintly, and I don’t take my eyes off her.
She feints at my left, and I swing out to block the attack, only for her to come at my right. I whip my body out of the way, the tip of her sword catching my breastplate, and she laughs. I strike out and it’s her turn to dodge as my sword glances off her sword arm’s vambrace, the metal ringing like a bell.
“Ouch,” she says deliberately. “That wasn’t very ladylike.”
“You talk too much, old woman,” I say.
“You’ve asked for it,” she counters. And then she moves.
She is a whirling, flashing, unstoppable force, a black blur of controlled fury as her sword comes for me from every conceivable angle. Even if I had the skill to attack, there’s simply no time; it’s all I can do to block her movements and she’s driving me backwards, ever closer to the wall.
Then she stumbles on a stone; it’s a fluke, an utter chance, but it’s exactly what she trained me to hold out for and I use it.
I wallop her vambrace again, making her gasp, and in the moment she takes to regain control of her wrist, I am on her, and now she is the one trying desperately to deflect my strikes; she is the one whose sword is swinging like a crazed pendulum as she repels attack after attack after attack.
[Sin Eater's Daughter 3] The Scarecrow Queen Page 18