“You may know me as Emi Nightlark,” the Stav Guard said.
Draven clans took odd surnames. Ashwood. Nightlark. Thorian explained to me that every Draven young one took a piece of the earth in their names—from the wood, the plants, the sea, the creatures—as a way to keep their souls connected to the wildlands where they lived.
Emi cleared her throat and went on, “I have lived in Stonegate since my fourteenth summer, and I understand what it is like to sit where you are.” She hesitated. “So take my words and know it is not so dreary. This is not the end of your life, but there are expectations to remain safe within the gates.”
“Nightlark isn’t horrid, Ly,” Kael said, hoarse and strained. “I met her, sparred with her. She did this under a direct command.”
“She should have refused the command.”
“Lyra.” Kael sighed. “If not Emi, it would’ve been a blade from Captain Baldur. She even whispered to me before she used her craft that she would not let me die.”
My anger at Ashwood, at Stonegate, at my own magic made it impossible to have a glimmer of appreciation for the woman. Kael and his endless optimism softened the disdain, but still I didnot understand how another crafter could stand watch as families were torn apart.
There were means of surviving, then there were acts so vicious it would be better to die before committing them.
Emi described the trek to the gates. It would take long enough we would make camp in the wood before reaching the keep. From there we would be brought before the king.
A simple life, a purposeful life, that was how Emi described our new futures. Like all this was fated to be.
“For our journey,” Emi went on, “you will be expected to learn a few hand signals Sentry Ashwood will use often.”
Roark narrowed his eyes, but didn’t move, merely took us in like he could not decide if we’d be better off in chains or drowned at the bottom of the sea.
Emi held up her palms, slowly moving through a few commands Roark might use on our journey and expected us to recognize.
To ask us if we were in need of aid, he would cup his palms and draw them toward us like a supplicant seeking food or coin. To signal an approaching fight or for us to take up blades, we’d watch for crossed wrists.
To claim something as his—a strike, a kill, a horn of ale—Ashwood tapped whatever he wanted three times.
Should a threat arise or danger grow close, Ashwood would pound one fist over the top of the other, then signal a count of how many threats we faced by tapping two fingers until we calculated the full amount.
“One tap signals there could be up to two assailants.” Emi demonstrated on her own wrist. “Three taps means three or more. Understood? Naturally, if there are threats such as beasts or falling stone, I hope you all have enough wits to run without being told.”
Herb bread and a few strips of dried herring and berries were passed about for a simple meal. Emi took the morning to guide us through more of Ashwood’s commands, all while he kept his back to us, his focus on the sea.
I mimicked each gesture by my side; I watched every simple movement Roark made.
The man was not born of this land, yet he’d earned the trust of a king and the prince. Without the bark of captains or warriors, Ashwood could still bring a hush to a room, he could command the attention and respect of his men.
He was powerful and would not be a simple foe to defeat.
“You have not blinked once, Ly.” Kael pulled himself up to sitting, back against the mast. “Do Ashwood’s hands fascinate you for reasons I don’t yet know?”
I rolled my eyes. “Emi taught us basic commands, but nothing to know his true words. I want to know what he says when he thinks we cannot understand.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I simply need to understand him.”
The more I knew of the fiercest warrior of Stonegate, the more I had to believe I could find weaknesses in the walls. The more I had to believe I could get us free.
“When he speaks, I ask the woman Stav what it means.”
“Making nice with Stav Nightlark?”
I snorted with a touch of derision. “Never, but she knows the Sentry enough to speak with him often, and she seems interested in earning my forgiveness for what she did to you.”
Kael rolled his eyes. “Always scheming, aren’t you, Súlka Bien?”
