Llir stared at me. “A night’s sleep can change minds,” he said. “Including, with any luck, my father’s.”
It took a moment for his words to register. “Why do you care if I stay or go? I’m Vercha’s little pet, not yours. That’s Tigo.” My face was warm—a mixture of shame and defiance.
In the firelit gloom, I saw his brows pinch in anger. “Pet?” he repeated, quiet and hoarse. “You have no—” He paused. “Tigo’s been like afatherto me—”
But before either of us could say anything else, the door banged open and people bustled in.
Rhianne’s crimson head appeared first, bent over a cup of something steaming. Mawre followed, holding crisp, clean clothes. And barging in past them, navy dress rustling, came Catua, her blond hair hanging in damp ringlets.
“Are you all right?” the youngest Shearwater said. “Llir and I saw the wave from the battlements. We were trying to spot you, see if you made it out okay, but it was too dark. And then all thosevulturescame up…Are you still bleeding? Here, look, I have towels.”
The blood had slowed, nearly stopped by now, but I let her crouch down and inspect my cuts. Llir was watching me. I avoided his eyes. I’d perhaps been too hasty with my accusing looks, my sparring…But that didn’t change the fact that others had been up there, delighted by the spectacle, salivating at our peril.
Something fierce had begun to smolder in me. It had sparked—the first licks of it—back in the cove, seeing just how little value Rexim placed on my life. Then, bit by bit, it had been stoked into a fire. All the disparaging words about Zennia:Inept. Foolhardy. Specimen. Dud.The way we were expected to stand around like accessories, beholden to traditions born from loathing. Brigant Crake’s violent ambitions for us on the borders. And now, this casual, callous disregard.
I’d excelled at Arbenhaw in hopes of an easy placement—but with Houses like Osprey and Shrike wielding influence, nothing would ever be easy for Orha.
I looked blankly at Catua as she dabbed at my skin.She says big change has to happen slowly.But I’d been feet away from being cast off that cliff. If nothing changed now, I’d end up like the Floodmouth whohadbeen swept away. And so would countless other Orha.
Zennia must have had this fire in her, too. Hers had first kindled before she came to Arbenhaw, and by the time she’d witnessed those fights in Port Rhorstin, it must have grown into a blazing pyre. Hot enough to burn away any fear of the Hundred.
“Corith?” Rhianne’s face swam into view. “Drink this. I’ve added ginger.”
I cupped my hands around the mug. I didn’t have the energy to think more about this now.
“Come on, let’s give the girl some privacy,” said Mawre, placing the pile of dry clothes by my side. “They’re Rhianne’s, so they’ll be a bit short for you.”
“Only my things survived,” the Sparkmouth said sorrowfully.
“Thank you,” I managed, my face flushing again. Though I knew the old tower’s destruction hadn’t solely been my fault, it was hard not to let Rexim’s harsh words eat at me.
A thought struck me then. “Port Rhorstin,” I said. “The wave…”
“They have Floodmouths,” said Mawre, “employed by the harbormaster. But the island will have taken the wind out of the wave’s sails. I think only our southern boathouse got flooded. You bore the brunt of it.”
One of us had paid the ultimate price.
As they filed out, Catua murmured darkly to Rhianne.
Llir pushed off the wall and headed to the door, then paused for a second, catching my gaze. Eventually, eyes flicking down over my ruined dress, he said simply, a little stiffly, “I’m sorry.”
I wondered if he was thinking of his father’s punishment. Of the fact that this might be the last time we spoke. I half regretted my harsh words of earlier; I supposed I should bid him a final farewell. But when I parted my lips, the words got stuck in my throat.
Instead, I glanced away, fingering the pile of dry clothes, and when I looked back, he had slipped out the door.
—
I was woken the next morning by a loud, insistent knocking. When I cracked an eye open, I couldn’t work out where I was. Then, recognizing my new room in East Tower—pokey, with a whining draft and a drip from the ceiling—the events of the past twelve hours crashed in on me.
Dark thoughts swirled, threatening to pull me under. Last night, as I’d wound my way up here, I’d known I would need to send word to Kielty, admit I was being banished from the island. But now, jolted roughly from a dead sleep, I wondered sickly if I’d missed my chance. Was this my escort fetching me already? A new Egard and Belamy to deliver me back to Arbenhaw?
There were no drapes over the arrow slits here, and a cold, bright light speared through them onto the stone. I groaned and turned over on the uncomfortable cot bed. My limbs were lead weights after the fury of the tidal wave.
Whoever was out there hammering on the door clearly realized no one was going to answer, for they opened it, stepped through, and snapped it neatly shut behind them.
It was Vercha, bundled from neck to toe in a thick riding mantle with white sable trimmings.
“Still abed?” she said, gazing around my sad little chamber.
