Iovawn gave an almost imperceptible nod and strode away, his long cloak fluttering.
The inner ward became a hive of activity as the majority of the troops prepared to depart. Soldiers darted back and forth, beginning to load wagons, to pack equipment onto mounts. Llir was led away, kept separate from his siblings, and for a second his gaze seemed to dart around the walls, the windows, as though searching for something—or someone. I drew back, fearful that his guards would notice, and leaned against the stone, meeting Zennia’s dark eyes.
I took a breath, trying to center myself.
“Listen,” I said tentatively. “I think I have a plan.”
38
Itwas far too risky to leave the barbican by the door, so Zennia lowered me, with surprising, wiry strength, from the lowest window at the rear of our tower. I fell half the distance, jarring my ankles, pressing myself against the stone once I was down. Zennia passed Kielty’s rapier to me, then hung expertly from the ledge and dropped lightly to the ground.
She looked at me. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Her eyes were wide, reflecting the pink sunrise.
I nodded. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak.
She still looked unhappy, but she’d agreed we had no choice. None save hiding and waiting this out. Leaving the siblings to the same fate as their father. Leaving House Crake to sweep up the spoils and escape unharmed—with the Cage taking the fall.
“Kielty will agree,” I said, “when he hears Crake’s plan. If he doesn’t…”
I didn’t want to think about that.
“Okay,” Zennia muttered, more to herself than to me. “Let’s do this.” She took a deep breath.
“Remember,” I said, “watch for their retreat. And tell the Mudmouths—”
“I remember,” she cut in, smiling. She pulled me into a fierce hug. “Be careful. Okay?”
“And you,” I said, my voice little above a whisper. I tried to commit the warm feel of her to memory.
A noise off in the yard made us jump, pull apart. And with that, I watched as my friend—my sister—turned and disappeared into the haze like a shadow.
—
For a moment, as I stood there, frozen, I recalled the sick, fleshy slicing of the greatsword. The thud on the platform. Vercha’s high-pitched shrieks. I went dizzy, swayed, pressed a hand into the stone. Then I blinked and sucked in a breath of cold air.
Pull it together. You have work to do.
I sidled along the barbican wall, keeping to the shadows, tugging up my cloak’s hood. In the distance I saw dim figures in the mist, the to-ing and fro-ing of soldiers, of horses. As I watched the activity, I bit my lip until it was bloody, steeling myself, feeling my heart thump painfully. I knew what it was I needed to do. Knew what it would mean, and what would happen after…Doing it, however, was another matter entirely.
Finally I straightened, pulled my hood down lower, and strode brazenly away from the wall, circling the barbican. Making for the inner ward.
Voices echoed off the lofty stone, beneath them the ever-present rushing of the ocean. The cloying dampness in the air clung to my clothes.
“Hoi! You there!”
I’d known this would happen, but that didn’t stop the unpleasant knotting of my insides.
“Yes?” I snapped, forcing my eyes to narrow. I drew myself up, ran my eyes over my accoster.
He was young—good—and fair haired, his armor gleaming.
He looked taken aback by my cold reception but planted himself in front of me anyway. “Speak your name. Your business.” He touched his blade.
“I’m not one of the Shearwaters, if that’s what you’re insinuating. You think I’d be walking around out here if I was?” I tried my hardest to channel Vercha. And Nemaine. “As for my business—isn’t it obvious? I’m preparing to leave this hells-cursed island, just as your dear leader has ordered.” I inclined my chin toward the inner ward behind him. “I’m Ebba, the Cormorants’ Floodmouth. Let me pass.”
A handful of soldiers strode past us, leading horses. A few hauled the battering ram that had splintered the door. Their eyes passed over us, fleetingly curious. If enough of them saw him let me go, maybe they wouldn’t bother questioning me again.
He fingered the rough laconite hanging around his neck. It was ringing faintly, backing up my story. He took in my cloak, the set of my mouth, then waved me on. “All right. Hurry, then.”
