A scuffle in the room made me whirl back around. Emment had lunged for Avrix’s pistol, taking advantage of his momentary distraction. The Cormorant swung his arm; there was an almightybang. Emment and Avrix yelled out together.
Rexim threw an arm up to shield his face. There was shouting now, a shriek from Vercha. My eyes raked their forms, expecting to see blood, but the gun had backfired in an explosion of powder. Avrix dropped the pistol, his hand a black ruin. Burns marred one of Emment’s cheeks.
“Out!” roared Rexim, and he gestured to his children. As one, the Shearwaters sprinted for the door.
For me.
“Tsk,” Morgen snapped out behind them. “Should’ve kept Nemaine here. Daiman! Orran!” The Cormorants’ Orha began to advance.
I pressed myself against the doorframe as Rexim hurtled toward the exit. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to eviscerate me, but since he had no blade, he could only glare cold murder.
He swept by me, followed swiftly by the siblings, and at last I sought Llir’s gaze as he passed me. He was pale as frost, his cheeks hard planes. In his eyes, disbelief warred with hot anger.
“Useless,” I heard Morgen mutter. Their Mudmouth was speaking, and I could feel the ground rumbling, but it was too late. Dust spiralled in the Shearwaters’ wake.
“Come on,” barked Avrix. I tried to back away.
Though I’d inadvertently aided them—I felt sick at the thought—we certainly weren’t allies, and I didn’t think they’d show me mercy. I brandished my stubby knife, but Avrix barrelled straight into me, unperturbed. I fell and rolled, my shoulder jarring painfully. When I clambered to my feet, they were past me, pursuing the Shearwaters.
Not knowing where else to go, what todo, I trailed after the Cormorants, fingering my knife.
“This way,” Catua shouted in the distance. “Get to the laconite—and then the armory.”
My stomach dropped. Avrix hadn’t told them what we’d done…
The Cormorants skidded into the main corridor, lined with the statues I’d spent so long polishing. At the far end was the door that led to the armory, but as I staggered in behind them, peered into the gloom, I saw Emment and Llir trying in vain to open it.
“My apologies,” called Avrix between harsh breaths, “but of course, we couldn’t leave that room unbarred.”
Catua said something low and urgent to her father, and Rexim glanced down at his laconite doublet.
With mounting horror, I watched the Orha move forward. Daiman, the Mudmouth. Orran, the Gustmouth. Orran was limping; I recalled he’d sprained his ankle. Their Floodmouth, Ebba, must be somewhere with Nemaine, no doubt to provide a counter to Rhianne…
As though my thoughts had acted as a summons, a hand touched my back. I jumped, whipped around.
“You’re here!” came a voice. “I thought their Sparkmouth had got you.” I found myself staring into Rhianne’s freckled face. “I’ve been lying low, trying to get to Tigo and Mawre…”
“I—” My tongue was dry; the words wouldn’t come.
But Rhianne was no longer paying attention to me. She was staring, white-faced, into the shuddering hallway. For the Mudmouth was muttering again, under his breath, splinters erupting from the dark, polished floor. Slivers of plaster, wickedly sharp, speared down from the ceiling, making the Shearwaters cower.
“I don’t understand,” Rhianne whispered. “The statues…”
“They’ve all been tampered with.” My tone was flat. I turned to her. “Rhianne. I have something to tell you—”
But she ignored me, striding forward, speaking under her breath. I watched as the torches on the walls all flared.
“What now?” Avrix snarled, still cradling his hand.
Morgen turned, smiling brittlely at Rhianne. “Well, now,” she said, “aren’t you a clever little squirrel? It seems some harsh words with Nemaine are in order. She was supposed to corral you all.”
“I’m afraid she failed in that,” bit out Rhianne. “And I’m afraid I’m about to incapacitate your Mudmouth.”
As she took a step forward, my heart swelled with hope. I retreated, knowing my hidden laconite might hinder her.
She spoke a few words, and a flame shot downward from one of the torch brackets, making straight for Daiman.
“We leave,” shouted Morgen, turning toward us. To Avrix, she hissed, “Let Crake handle the Shearwaters.”
