Now that he’d been identified as Orha, he’d been separated from his bloody and beaten brother and from his sisters, who huddled pale faced across the ward, to await Iovawn Crake’s eventual return. Llir now sat with his chained-up ankles in front of him, his back against the wall, his wrists tightly bound.
I winced to see his gag drawn tight under his cheekbones. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his doublet, and he sat now in grimy, baggy shirtsleeves, his collar hanging open, his head tipped back.
We held each other’s gaze for one long moment, my stomach jumping queasily as I remembered last night. The tableau we’d held, the stir of his breath, how close I’d been to that curve of pale neck that now stood out sharply against the castle’s dull stone.
And after, in the stairwell, before everything had gone awry: the glint of his eyes through the holes of his mask, those stretched-out seconds when his lips had met mine, the feel and taste of him, warm and wine tinged and too brief.
But the memory was already blurring in my mind. Had that really only been a few hours ago? Had it even happened at all?
Now, rather than those smiles on the tower roof or his surprised, slightly teasing look after the play, his expression was closed, his stare a stony challenge. He looked deliberately away, flicked his eyes around the battlements; closed them, after a while, resting back against the stone.
I, in turn, hunched down on the cobbles, burying my head in the gap between my knees. I didn’t want to meet any more ice-cold stares, see the judgment in the faces of those I’d deceived.
I told myself I shouldn’t care what the Shearwaters or their Orha thought of me. I wouldn’t be seeing them again after this. Even if all of us made it out of here alive.
Alive.
That was what I needed to focus on.
I stared hard at the ground and waited for Crake to give the order.
39
Notlong after, preparations were complete.
Mounts had been readied. Stolen goods had been packed. Crake’s soldiers moved into formation, ready to march home ahead of the Morning Tide.
I strained my ears as I was hauled to my feet, trying to hear the sea’s distant buffeting, but the shouts all around me, the clinking of armor, drowned it out. I was jostled into place with the others.
A satisfied-looking Uirbrig Crake rode past, heading to the front of the line. Rhianne, just ten feet or so ahead of me, looked as if she wanted nothing more than to spit at his feet, her gag the only thing stopping her. Beside her, Mawre looked on stonily. Tigo was some way ahead of us, tightly bound, specially guarded by three hulking soldiers. Llir was behind. I couldn’t quite spot him—only the flash of a white shirt, a bent head, tousled hair.
My own guard, a man, stood close beside me. Stringy hair in a ponytail; grinning yellowed teeth. As I shivered, the chill seeping into my garments, he hung a laconite pendant around my neck. “Don’t want any of you Orha filth trying anything funny on the march.”
I gave him a flat stare. My gag rendered me useless anyway, and besides, although he couldn’t know it, there were still a few laconite beads in my pockets.
Morgen Cormorant trotted past us, head held high, followed closely by her brother. Avrix’s hand had been bandaged, and he held it close to his chest as he rode. His gaze caught mine, and his lips twitched slightly, his uninjured hand rising in a small mock salute.
Before I could scowl, a call came: “Move off!”
My stomach flipped. Were Kielty and the others ready? Had Zennia even gotten to them to relay the plan?
We trudged off, the soldiers laughing and bantering, the horses snorting, the wagons creaking. Soon the bay opened out ahead of us, fog cloaked and eerie, a ghostly white mire. Around and in front, the mudflats glittered, and behind us came a low, murmuring roar.
Thud, thud.Leather soles hit the causeway. Greaves reverberated. Blades clanked against armor.
If this didn’t work, what awaited us on the mainland? A brutal placement in the Quagland marshes? A short-lived stint in Crake’s or Shrike’s armies? For some, no doubt, a quick execution. Those who refused to work. To comply.
I suspected Llir Shearwater would be among that number. Though I didn’t look around, I could almost sense his gaze. Could he see me ahead of him, my shoulders hunched?Traitor. Cuckoo.
He didn’t know what was coming.
I flicked my gaze north, then south, to the sides of us. There, close by on the mudflats, I saw them: Dark humps of sand. Jagged furrows in the dimness. Someone—or more than one person—had been there. People who could bend the ground to their will.
My pulse picked up, sweat prickling between my shoulders.
Step one. They’d done it. Kielty had come through.
I flashed a quick look over my shoulder, hoping the Cage were even now back east. They hadn’t had much time, but if they’d split their resources…
