“Aye.”
“But I guess real life is strange sometimes, too.” I looked down at our interlocked hands.
I closed my eyes and kept them closed until the feel of Mor’s fingers disappeared. My eyes stayed shut until I could taste salt in the air, hear the lapping of the waves against the hull, and feel the hard wood of the deck beneath my body.
Then Dylun’s voice. “Tanwen, are you all right?”
I cracked one eye open. Mor was on one side, Father on the other. It looked like they had broken my fall. The orb was still clutched in my fingers. “This thing needs to go back in its box.”
“Did it not work?” Dylun asked curiously.
“It did.” I sat up and placed the orb back onto the velvet lining of the box. “But you weren’t kidding about the power of those strands.”
I tried to stand, then tumbled back over. “Oh. Maybe not yet. I tell you, having a rush of memories fly back into your head isn’t as peaceful as you might think.” In fact, my head was throbbing pretty badly.
“Take your time, Tannie girl.” Father supported me as I sat.
I glanced down at my midsection. My blouse was still tattered where it had been burned, but my flesh had healed beneath it.
I was just about ready to make another try at standing when a sudden remembrance smacked me back down. “Oh, stars.”
Mor crouched beside me. “What is it? Are you feeling sick again?”
“No. I just remembered something.” I looked up at him. “A lost memory from the battle in the throne room. The high priest. Naith Bo-Offriad.”
“What about him?” Father’s concern clipped his words.
“That halo-head creature I made. Well, it went after him, but before it could get to him, he vanished. It was like he made strands of night. That’s what I thought at the time, until the memory disappeared with a pop.” I looked from Father to Mor. “But the strands he used to escape during the battle looked an awful lot like the ones we’ve been fighting.”
Mor and Father shared a look.
“We need to get back to Tir,” Father said. “Immediately.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
TANWEN
The awful thing about having something urgent to attend to when traveling by ship is that a ship goes as fast as it goes. You’re at the mercy of the wind and the rigging and the skill of the sailors and the whims of the currents.
Wylie would have corrected me. Currents don’t have whims, he’d say. They obey the laws of the sea, just as we must.
But that didn’t change the fact that they seemed against us. Stalling our return to Urian, just for fun.
We took turns pacing the deck. Father, Karlith, Dylun, and Warmil had talked over my recollection about Naith. I heard them talking about weavers in general, too, and how the rules of our strands seemed to be bending all over the place. There was the appearance of the truth strands in my stories that were beyond my control, the reawakening of the ancient curses, the dark strands of malice being manipulated in ways the Creator surely never intended.
Then Dylun casually mentioned “other” strange uses we had witnessed lately, and all eyes turned toward Diggy.
She had come back above, but she huddled in a dark corner near the quarterdeck, sipping yet another cup of spike-fruit tea. Karlith had furnished her with a near-constant supply since Diggy first learned it was on board. Truthfully, it seemed to soothe her nerves, and that was a good thing.
I eyed the others and felt a spark of protectiveness for Diggy. I knew what information they hoped to get from her. We all had seen it. That thing she had done. And Diggy had not mentioned being a weaver. So what was this trick of hers?
We all wondered.
But could it not wait? She was panicked and defensive. We had practically forced her onto a ship, the one place in the world she didn’t want to be. Yes, we were saving her life, but still, she needed some space to breathe.
“Don’t,” I said to the others. “Let’s not ask her about it now. She’s exhausted.”
“We’re all exhausted,” Dylun pointed out. And he wasn’t wrong.
“Aye. But her more than us. Her life has exhausted her.”
Dylun didn’t know the whole extent of it, of course. And I’d not be telling him. That was Diggy’s story to share, if she chose to.
“Tanwen,” Dylun said, “if she knows something about all the strange occurrences we’ve been seeing, we need her to tell us. It’s a piece of the puzzle.”
“I understand that. And I know how you love puzzles. But she’s not just a puzzle piece. She’s a person, and I’m telling you, we need to give her some time. And space, if you’re wise.”
Dylun sighed. “Honestly, she’s a tiny lass. You make her sound most dangerous.”
“You didn’t see the knife-throwing.”
“The what?”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. Go ask her.”
He strode over to her darkened corner. “Hello, Digwyn.”
She looked up at him but didn’t move, smile, or speak. She cupped her mug of tea in both hands, her palms covered in curious leather gloves—they had no fingers at all.
Diggy seemed to notice Dylun looking at them. “For climbing trees,” she said. “Harvesting coconuts.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“It’s cold on board. I don’t like it.”
She wore the same outfit she’d worn each day since I had met her, but Karlith had knitted an oversized sweater so she might wrap up against the wind of the ship and the sea and the Tirian autumn she had not felt for three years. Mor was rather dismayed she insisted on her shorts and wouldn’t wear a proper pair of trousers or a skirt. Perhaps the chilly Tirian air would eventually inspire her.
“Yes,” Dylun said. “It does get rather cold aboard ship.” He cleared his throat. “Digwyn, I would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I do.”
“Pardon?”
“I do mind. Stop talking to me.”
Dylun swiveled around to look at me. I held up my hands. I’d tried to tell him.
“Well, it’s very important that I ask you these questions,” Dylun said.
“Then why even bother asking me if I mind?”
Dylun looked unnerved. Not sure I’d ever seen that before. But he forged ahead. “I need to ask you about what happened on the beach.”
“We fought a black cloud, and the sick lass died. Now we’re here.”
“I mean what you did.”
“I fought with you.” Diggy frowned at him.
What looked like genuine confusion settled on her face. Then again, I knew I was already developing a soft spot for the lass, prickly though she was. Maybe she was just giving Dylun a hard time.
“There was something particular you did. Something with Zelyth’s strands, and then mine. You did it at the stone head, too.”
“Aye.”
“What is it, that thing you do?”
Diggy shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I. Do. Not. Know.” She pulled her mug closer. “I don’t like you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Because I don’t like you?” She almost smiled. “That’s strange.”
Dylun sighed. “Can you explain to me what you did?”
“Nope.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both. I don’t know, and if I did, I don’t think I’d tell you.”
“Has it happened before?”
I moved closer now. “Dylun, I think that’s enough. She says she doesn’t know what happened.”
“But she did it. She grabbed strands out of the air with her hands. Changed them into other things. It was as if lightning crackled in her palms. She did something to our strands.”
“I couldn’t use my knives,” Diggy said. “There wasn’t a person making the dark strands. I couldn’t use my knives, so I did something else instead.”
“But how?”
Dylun sighed again.
“Dylun, really,” I said. “Do we have to figure it out now?”
“Tanwen.” He turned to me. Grave, but not unkind. “She grabbed strands from the sky and turned them into weapons.”
When he said the word “weapons,” I remembered our situation a little more clearly. This girl—this abused, shattered, frightened girl—could amplify others’ strands. She could grab the strands of any weaver straight from the sky and use them for whatever she wanted. Her will alone seemed enough to accomplish . . . anything.
And some unknown pursuer wanted to use me and Mor as a weapon because we were linked. What would that thing do when it found out about Diggy? Perhaps it already knew and was chasing us all the more intently.
I sank down beside Diggy on the deck.
Dylun tried again. “Has this ever happened to you before, Digwyn?”
She shrugged. “Once or twice.”
“When?”
“A long time ago. And if you ask me any more questions, I promise to remove your eyeballs in your sleep.”
Dylun’s brows rose, and his mouth opened.
Diggy turned to me and held out her cup. “Spike-fruit, Tannie?”
I forced a smile and accepted a sip of the tea, but my thoughts raced.
We had to protect her. And protect the world from her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
TANWEN
Sleep eluded me that night. We had to be getting close to Physgot now. And then what? Would there be some evil strand sorcerer waiting on the dock for us, ready to kidnap me and Mor? Or worse, Diggy? I had promised to keep her safe. Was I about to break that promise, after just a couple weeks?
I rolled over on my bunk and stared at Diggy’s back, watching her breathe for a while. Then my thoughts wandered to Wylie and how I wished I could have asked him for advice or reassurance, or even just talked to him about nothing at all or shared a jest. My heart pinched.
Grief is like that. It crashes over you in unexpected waves.
I needed air. I slipped my feet into my boots and wrapped up in a shawl. Bless Karlith and her knitting. She was the only reason I hadn’t shivered to death on this trip, so fond I seemed to be of jumping aboard ships with nothing except the clothes on my back.
I creaked my way up the stairs to the deck.
And really, I’d almost been expecting him.
“Ho, Mor.”
“Ho, Tannie.”
“Couldn’t sleep again?” I asked.
“I don’t think I’ve slept in moons.”
“I’m sorry for that. You must be so weary.”
“Aye.”
I wrapped the shawl tighter around my shoulders and leaned my back against the rail so I could see his face better. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
He sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Tannie. I just—” He broke off. “I tried to do the right thing. And somehow, I feel like it made everything worse.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. You didn’t make anything worse. Everything is better because you tried to do the right thing.”
“Gryfelle is gone. Diggy seems to despise me.”
“Gryfelle being gone isn’t because you tried to save her.”
Mor looked past me to the sea. “I didn’t succeed.”
“That’s not the same as making everything worse. You did right in trying to save Gryfelle. And, hey, you accidentally saved me in the process, so there’s that.”
He gave a half-smile then. “I’m sorry, Tannie. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that didn’t matter. It does matter to me, and it wasn’t an accident.”
“Mor, I know. Of course I know. I was teasing you.” I smiled. “And Diggy will come around. I’m sure she will.”
“I’m not so sure. But she’s taken to you, that’s certain.”
“I like her.” I grinned. “Even if she is a little unraveled.”
“Do you suppose the awful things that happened to her made her that way?”
“Perhaps. Living alone on an island for three years sure didn’t help. Imagine what my father would be like if he hadn’t had Cameria to keep him sane. Or sane-ish. Diggy needs a lot of love. And honesty. And trust.”
“I’ll try. If she’ll let me.”
“I think she will. Even if not right now.”
There was silence for a long moment. Then he murmured, “Wylie is gone.”
“Yes,” I said, and I managed it without tears for the first time. “He is.” I realized suddenly that Mor shared my heartache about the crewman he’d lost. “But you didn’t do that either.”
“Aeron lost a leg.”
“That wasn’t your fault. Aeron lost her leg because she fought for the people she loves. She fought for what she believes in.”
“Thank you for not saying she would want it this way.”
I snorted. “Well, that’s a load of rubbish. Who would want it this way? We all want to fight for what we believe is right, but we all would like to make it out on the other side alive and in one piece, if we can help it. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something.”
“Aye. Like a tragic romance story crystal. Those romances seem to disagree with your sentiment. They revel in the misfortune and heartbreak of death.”
“Fie on them.”
Mor chuckled. He leaned toward me, and I stilled.
But he tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear and leaned away again. “It’s never going to be all right, is it? You and me.”
I regained my composure. “I hope it could be. Someday. You’re still drowning under a tidal wave of grief, so maybe we don’t have to think about all that just now.”
He gave me a look, then took my hand. A blend of colored lights arced from our connection into the blackened sea. “Sure. We’ll just ignore that for a bit. Should be easy.”
I smiled and gently unlaced his hand from mine. “Well, ignore isn’t the right word. Maybe we just don’t have to talk about it right now. But I do want you to know—as soon as I can, I’m going to talk to Brac. I’m going to be honest with him and end our engagement, good and proper. I love him too much to carry on like this. I know I should have told him before, but everything was such a mess. I was so terrified of what was happening to me, and I didn’t want to admit it. It just felt like too much to handle at once.”
“I understand,” Mor said quietly.
“I just hope Brac does.” I sighed. “Something tells me he won’t.” I stifled a yawn.
“You should head to bed. Sleep while you can.” He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. “Night, Tannie.”
The tiniest crackle of lighting sizzled where our skin touched.
I smiled up at him. “Good night, Mortimyr.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
TANWEN
The Eastern Peninsula was so close, I could taste the hathberries.
I had to restrain myself from waving to Pembrone across the bay as we neared Physgot.
“Never thought you’d be so excited to see Tir,” Father said. He’d caught me grinning at the coastline.
“Home.”
“Indeed.”
“I appreciate it more than I used to, now that I’ve been around the world, raiding strands from foreign lands.”
“With Braith on the throne, there is opportunity to make Tir more than it was, besides.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“I’m an old man. Allow me my riddles.”
I laughed. “You’re not old. Forty, maybe?”
“Forty-five.”
I whistled, just to tease him. “Never mind. You must be one of the ancients Master Insegno talked about.”
“Impertinent.” He kissed me on the forehead and went to help the crew.
“Tannie?”
That small voice stirred me to immediate action.
“It’s all right, Diggy.” I turned and found her wrapped twice around in the sweater Karlith had knitted. She had pulled it so tightly that the yarn was stretched. “It’s all right. Come here by me.”
Diggy scooted next to me. Her breathing was a bit irregular, but not galloping yet.
“Look.” I pointed. “There’s Pembrone over there. That’s where I’m from. And I’m sure you remember Physgot. You must have sailed into this harbor a thousand times with your father.”
“Aye.”
“But this is my first time.”
She looked at me funny. “Can’t be.”
“I’d never been on a ship before this trip,” I said. “Farm girls don’t often take to the sea.”
“Fishermen’s girls do.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a farm up there?” Diggy nodded to Pembrone.
“I have a cottage. My mother’s family home.”
“Is your mother dead?”
Diggy was consistently abrupt, but I was growing used to it. “Yes, she’s dead.”
“Sorry. Mine is dead too.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry too.”
Diggy looked at the approaching coast. “Tannie?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m afraid.”
She let me wrap her in my arms. “I know you are, Diggy. But I’m going to keep you safe. I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”
“Will you leave?” This childlike side of Diggy squeezed my heart.
“Never.”
“Will you be my friend?” Her strong island façade had faded to frailty as we moved closer to the place where her life had begun to unravel.
“I will always be your friend, Diggy.”
“Then let’s go home.”
I knew something was amiss in Physgot before we set foot on the dock.
I had only been there the one time, but the hum of the town had been a balm to my hurting heart. I knew what that hum sounded like.
This Physgot did not sound like the one imprinted on my heart.
“Mor,” I called.
He was busy getting the Lysian secured to the dock, but he looked up anyway. “Aye, Tannie?”
“Something is wrong.” I glanced back out over the rooftops. “The city doesn’t feel right.”
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