The Shearwater brought his horse around expertly and grabbed the reins of my puzzled mare. “It’ll be a tight one,” he said to Tigo, sounding strained. The rain had turned his hair dark; the breeze buffeted it into his eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” came the rumble of Tigo’s voice behind me, and we set off, my thrumming heart like wings beating in my chest.
6
I couldsee my mare was slowing them down considerably. At full gallop, and with such powerful horses, I imagined this trip was usually quite quick for them. The Shearwater and Tigo had probably calculated their crossing perfectly.
Now I, and my poor mare, had made it far more perilous.
Thin rain soaked my face as we clattered down the causeway, my braids and Tigo’s hair streaming out behind us. All around were the glimmering, weed-strewn mudflats, great dark headlands erupting to the north and south. Craning my head to peer back the way we’d come, I saw only a shadowed line where the coastline was, the far-off greenish tint of the marshes, and the causeway curving behind us like an eel.
My breath came faster as we neared the causeway’s end. There was still no sign of any waves up ahead. The island reared now as though bearing down on us, its rocks, black and sea slick, thrusting up from sodden sands. The mass of land spiralled upward to a pinnacle, where an ancient-looking castle perched. Its walls were dark and weather-beaten, its ramparts crowded with flocks of white birds. Banners in theHouse colors—deep violet, navy, and gold—flapped so violently they seemed about to take off.
Other squat buildings were clustered on the shoreline. There was another stone harbor, a small shingle beach. In just a few moments, we’d reach their safety.
And then—a spray of white against the rocks. With a jolt, I saw that the tide was coming back for us, already slopping shallowly at the shore.
The Shearwater pulled up, his steed’s hooves skittering on the rain-slicked causeway. It was shocking how quickly the waters were rising. Pepper rattled up behind him, and we made the mistake of hesitating a moment. Channels filled, waves reared, surf fountained against the rocks. The swells broke over the causeway ahead, growing deeper by the second, threatening to cut us off entirely.
The Shearwater, I noticed, was looking at me. With horror, I realized it was a look of expectation. My eyes flicked to his laconite, and he nudged his horse back, only now appearing to realize the stone might hinder me.
I stared at the water and tried to call on my training, but Arbenhaw seemed a thousand miles away, Zennia’s emboldening gaze even further—lost forever. My emotions were boiling, my heart a thudding drum. There was no use pleading with the water in this state, even if it had been inclined to listen.
I closed my eyes, knowing I had mere seconds to control this, and saw my ball of light flaring bright as a bonfire. But with the churning tide creeping ever higher and the Shearwater’s gaze boring into my back, it was useless. I couldn’t do it. I snapped my eyes open.
“Let us pass!” I gasped to the water anyway, but it was wild as a bear, implacable as stone. Tigo tensed behind me as a wave sloshed in front of us, making Pepper snort and toss his huge head.
Rhama’s words came back to me:“The ocean is a…different beast.”He’d been right: This was nothing like the pools at Arbenhaw, where I’d had few problems succeeding in practicals. Where Zennia had always been standing to one side, reminding me that I could do this. Here I felt none of that strange, faint connection I usually felt when I spoke to water. None of that sense that we were somehow kindred. This water felt vast and alien. Wrathful.
“Come on,” Tigo called, “before it gets any deeper.” And with one solid arm steadying me in the saddle, he nudged Pepper forward, into the surf.
The Shearwater was no longer looking at me. He urged his horse and the gray mare onward, face pale under the iron sky. The sea buffeted us, swirled angrily over the causeway. Soon it was knee-high on our mounts and still rising. I was anxious about the mare—I could see the whites of her eyes—but she followed us dutifully, almost nose to tail with Pepper.
“Steady,” Tigo said to the horses. “Steady now.”
I nearly choked with relief as we made it to the beach. Our mounts staggered up the shingle, drenched to their bellies in seawater. Tigo tugged Pepper around, looking back out at the tide. Gulls rose in great flocks ahead of it, and a tidal bore burgeoned in one of the riverbeds. In the far distance, I saw tiny figures on the mudflats. Foragers, maybe, heading back to safe ground.
Twisting in the saddle, I caught the Shearwater’s eye. He pushed back his rain-slick hair, staring at me.
“Welcome to Bower Island,” he said, his tone clipped. “Tigo will show you your living quarters.” Then he kneed his steed in the direction of the path upward and was off, riding hard up to the castle.
—
I bent my head to hide the burning in my face as Tigo and I hiked east from the beach. We’d dismounted to give the horses a rest, and wereclimbing a dirt path that switchbacked through a dense wood, curving around the castle to the far end of the island.
“Arbenhaw,” Tigo said quietly behind me. When I looked back, he was shaking his head. “Thirty-five years, and I still dream about that place.”
“You’re Orha,” I said, surprised, taking him in.
“Mudmouth,” he replied shortly. “Your arrival completes the four of us.”
The Shearwaters’ set. The set I was now a part of. Cold nerves curled up from somewhere below my chest.
The silence between us dragged on for a few minutes. I almost felt that the specter of Zennia was here, striding up the path alongside us. I burned to ask about her—had they liked her? And she them? But the set of Tigo’s shoulders told me the subject was closed.
Instead, in a clumsy attempt to be companionable and to redirect the conversation elsewhere, I asked, “What business took you to the mainland this morning?”
No answer was forthcoming, and when I looked back again, Tigo’s stony gaze was fixed determinedly on the path.
