I think of every time I huddled and ran from a man I met in the lane back in my village. I think of the mob who came for Mare, and Elly’s death on the birthing bed, and the maid downstairs and her twin sister. I remember those cruel boys taunting the dying dragon, and the top-hatted man with his cadre of dark-hearted guards. I tell myself I should be horrified by what I’ve set into motion. Surely this will be a contamination on my soul, for I’ve behaved no better than any of them.
Except I don’t care and I have no regrets. The only thing I feel in my heart is a disappointment that I’m not the one striking down the maid’s tormentor.
Overhead, the rain continues to fall, and as I close my eyes, I see it as blood spilling from a body. I should be horrified. I’m not. Opening my lids, I look down at my palms, and swear I see red all over them. I tell myself I should be shocked. I’m not.
Yet in my core, I know I’ve added another violent layer to all the other wrongdoing of the situation. The cook is an abuser, but am I really any better than him? And what if Merc is caught and killed afterward for the crime? Then I’ve saved the maid and doomed him.
This is bad. What I’ve done is a kind of evil.
A feeling of disquiet animates me, so I set once more to a pacing, and it’s as I make another round of the room that my pack catches my eye. Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I go over and pick the weight up, taking it to the bed. The tie all but falls free for me, and getting a hand inside is like pouring water it’s so easy.
The box comes out as if it’s moving on its own.
When I go to free the little hook, it’s already been released, and the lid comes up as if blown open—
A flash of lightning flickers around the room and the circle of black crystals catches the illumination as if breathing in the energy.
An uncontrollable urge to take the object out stirs in me, but I’m not about to cut myself on it again, so I’m careful about how I reach in. This time, it doesn’t feel cold, and there’s no sharpness as I take the circle of—
A crown.
It’s… a crown.
As the contours emerge from the box, my eyes skip around. Curls of black metal seat the spears of black crystal that rise up at different levels, all of them capturing the lantern light and going rainbow. The detailing of the workmanship is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and what I think is just an abstract pattern of waves turns out to be the depiction of an army of warhorses and weaponed men. I turn, turn, turn the circlet in my hands so I can inspect eachindividual figure, their swords and musket guns, their forward leans over the necks of their galloping, furious steeds, the many deep of the ranks.
It is a crown of war made of shadow, and Mr. Lewis’s voice enters my mind as if he’s speaking right to my ear.
One is a compass that will guide you on your quest, the other is the point of it all.
For some reason, tears spear into my eyes—
“Sorrel, it’s me.”
I jump to attention and look at the door. Has Merc acted this fast? “Coming!”
My hands are sloppy as they return the royal jewel to its velvet seat, and it’s as I get the box back into the pack and then jump forward to unlock things that I revisit my resolve: That object is not my journey.
I am at my destination.
My fingers fumble with the bolt on the door, and I’m shaking as I open things up for so many reasons.
Merc enters and shuts us in together. “Not the right time.”
As he goes over to the table and puts the strange knife away, I struggle with a cowardly relief and a surging frustration—and when he turns to me, I feel even more unstable. He’ssocalm, but then again, this is his business. He’s unbothered because this isn’t a shocking situation for him to be in.
I remember him saying he wanted to kill the cook himself.
“There are workers all around him in the kitchen.” Merc nods as if I’ve asked him a question. “Yes, she’s there and surrounded by others. They’re in preparation for the evening meals. It’s better to wait until the pub is full and the drinking is well on. The chaos will be to my advantage, and the night will make the after work much easier.”
This is a sign, I tell myself.
Maybe I should call off the murder and find another solution.
Merc goes over to the window seat and settles in. Crossing his arms over his chest, he lowers his chin and closes his eyes.
“Get some rest.” He exhales and shifts his shoulders as if getting more comfortable. “I know night is a while off, but we both need it after the travel.”
Then again, with the incessant storming, it might as well be after dark already.
