Eventually I thank the priestess and release her to her rest.
Pocket sits on the windowsill, looking at me with a questioning gaze. He tweets softly, nuzzling into my hand.
‘Go on now,’ I say, smoothing down his feathers.
He surveys the ground, judging the distance, and shakes his tail experimentally. After a couple of tentative hops, he leaps from the tower, dipping until a breeze catches him. He extends his wings and swoops around to look at me before taking off.
I watch him until he’s nothing more than a speck in the distance. The Bastion feels darker for his loss.
‘We will both be free of this place soon,’ I promise.
I am not alone when I lock up the library.
‘Shouldn’t you be resting?’ Salvacion says, startling me in the hallway.
I study her face as I let my heart rate settle. Her posture is less stiff than usual, and there’s a focus in her eyes.
‘Shouldn’t you be with the queen?’ I risk a retort.
She smiles then, coming closer. I lean back against the library door. ‘I like you,’ she says, towering over me. ‘You’ve got more spirit than the others did.’
‘Is that so?’ I ask, barely breathing.
‘Tread very carefully,’ Salvacion whispers. ‘It’s never a matter of if she’s done using you up, but when.’
I stare at her face illuminated by the torchlight. It’s weathered and hard, but this is the first time I’ve really looked at her. There are freckles on her nose.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I’ve served the Bastion for many years, seen many priestesses come and go. I know about that thing you have in there. And I’ve seen you with the princess.’
chapter forty
ris
We stew for weeks,steering clear of each other as much as we can, which is difficult in such close quarters. Finlyr’s barbed comments are as prickly as a sea urchin. The bickering is relentless; we blow hot and cold. Which is more than can be said for the wind, which still does not blow at all. The weather is more changeable on the open sea than on the Paranishian mainland. I’m grateful that we gathered rainwater in the barrels during that last storm, the one that almost claimed Finlyr’s life. I almost miss the rolling of the ship on those giant waves; now looking out on the horizon is daunting in its nothingness.
There’s not much by way of entertainment onSaltswept. I think everyone else’s main attraction is watching me and Finlyr fight. I can’t stand having idle time; it drives me to distraction. There’s nowhere to go, so I’ve made little projects for myself: Isagani and I fish; I watch Biba trying to make the ube sprout.
I’m checking the supplies in the storeroom one evening. Since the porridge blunder, I’m not taking any chances. Then I hear them: Isagani and Sinigang, conspiring on the quarterdeck above me.
‘Do you think they’ll resolve this soon?’ Isagani whines.
‘Flames eating each other – that’s what it is,’ Sinigang says. ‘They’ll run out of air eventually.’
‘Rocks banging together,’ Isagani says, and I hear them knocking their closed fists against each other. ‘More alike than they think. Both stubborn.’
‘Death by a thousand cuts,’ Sinigang says, voice smooth and rich.
‘I wish Fin would just be honest with her,’ Isagani sighs.
‘He told you what happened?’ Sinigang asks.
‘Not entirely. But it was bad. The guilt sent him to the bottle. He was in a right state when I met him.’
‘Sometimes there’s a peace in the inevitability of oblivion,’ Sinigang muses.
I quietly back out of the storeroom and go to sit on the forecastle deck, where Isagani and Sinigang won’t see me. As luck would have it, Finlyr is making his way across the deck, passing the brim of his hat through his fingers.
