I crawled forward on my hands and knees, hair sodden and nightshift dripping, and peered up to see Emment Shearwater above me. He looked like he might expel the contents of his stomach, but whether that was down to the events just passed or his activities last night, I had no idea.
“A somewhat fraught pass,” came Rexim’s voice, “but a pass nonetheless, I suppose. I congratulate you.”
Pass.He couldn’t know that I’d utterly failed. That the only reason I’d survived was because I’d…given up.
I sat back on my haunches. A croak escaped my lips: “You’re twisted.”
I instantly regretted it, but Rexim only chuckled. “As I said previously, I had to be sure.”
Eager to gather up some shreds of my dignity, I forced myself to stand and hugged myself, shivering. Water pooled beneath my shift’shem.
Llir was standing some distance away, staring. Vercha seemed delighted by the whole sadistic display: Her gloved hands were clasped as though she’d been applauding, and her expression was disconcertingly proud. Catua, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen—she must have left, perhaps in protest.
“See? What did I tell you?” Vercha said, stepping forward. “I knew she’d get there eventually.” She tipped her head. “Come now, don’t let hard feelings fester. There was no way to test you without its being a surprise. And you passed, didn’t you? No need to dwell on whatmighthave happened…”
“You’d have let me die,” I whispered, trembling. “All of you.”
Emment had moved a few feet away, his hands on his thighs, his face oddly grayish. He swallowed, and Llir put a hand on his shoulder, but his brother shrugged him off. He avoided all our eyes.
“We’d have pulled you out before it came tothat,” Vercha said.
She gestured to three hulking figures nearby. I’d overlooked them, perhaps mistaking them for rocks. But they were my kidnappers, I was certain of it: a woman and two men. Beside them rested a comfortable-looking litter.
“We don’t expect you to walk back, of course.”
I moved a few steps away. “I’m not getting in that.”
Rexim’s dark eyebrows dipped in displeasure. I’d somehow gotten away with my first outburst, but now he looked irritated, dangerously impatient. The rational part of me berated myself.
When Zennia told me her stories back at Arbenhaw, I admittedly wondered if those early memories might have blurred together with the wild imaginings of a young child. I wondered if the Hundred really considered us that lowly. Now it didn’t seem far-fetched at all.
But I knew that if I made an enemy of the Brigant, I’d be straight back to Arbenhaw today—or worse. I’d never know what awaited me at the meeting in Port Rhorstin, never know what had happened to Zennia in the bay.
“I meant to say,” I tried again mildly, “that I’d prefer to walk. Thank you.”
“As you like,” Rexim replied after a pause, and snapped his fingers at the waiting guards. They jerked to attention and lifted the litter, bearing it up the stone-strewn path. “Today,” he added, “your real work begins. I expect you to report to Miss Haney without delay.”
Though my body pulsed with pain, and Rexim must have known it, I forced myself to stand straight-backed as the family moved away, trailing after the soldiers. Rexim and Vercha walked together, speaking quietly. Emment looked relieved to be heading back to his bed.
Llir left last, troubled gaze out on the ocean. I glared at his back. This had all been his fault. If he hadn’t mentioned the causeway last night, Rexim might never have gotten this idea into his head.
I waited until they were far enough ahead of me, then took a deep breath and limped back toward the tower.
But it wasn’t until I was halfway there, and heard the waves battering the cliffs behind me, that I realized I had forgotten to thank the Waking Tide.
9
Ittook me an age to pick my way painfully up the slope.
My palms and soles were raw from the climb, my muscles screaming, my nightshift sodden and heavy. In the distance, the Shearwaters disappeared into the castle, no doubt to enjoy a sumptuous breakfast. My stomach growled, but I ignored it, pressing onward.
The base of the Orha’s thin tower came into view, three figures outside it, two short and one tall, dressed for the day in their violet livery. Tigo had a hatchet resting against one shoulder. Rhianne shaded her eyes against the rising sun, her face screwed up, wincing, as she watched me approach. Mawre, standing slightly apart from the others, had her arms folded tightly over a fringed navy shawl.
I balled my fingers into fists, more to hide the tremors in them than anything, and slipped on my mask: that stony schooling of my features that was second nature after my training at Arbenhaw.
“I’m sorry he put you through that,” Rhianne said, taking me in. “We saw everything from up there.” She nudged her chin toward the top of our tower—the steps must have spiralled all the way to its pinnacle.“I knew he was angry about what happened with Zennia, but I didn’t think he’d…” She shook her head, gave a shrug.
Tigo surveyed me, his brows pinched together. Reticence and concern fought for dominance in his expression.
