“Little bit.” Nova held the raw knuckles of her right hand against the firelight. “It’s handled, though. Chairre’s on lockdown. Drakes haven’t announced the coup yet, but they’re definitely assuming power. Made it out like you disappeared into the night, grief-stricken and whatever, but the city’s being searched. Roadblocks reach about five miles outside it but no closer yet. Won’t be long before outposts choke the roads.”
“Transport?”
“We can’t risk the main roads, so no car. And no trains. But our good friend Dina traffics in both stone bears and amblers. We’ve been lent two, if we leave them at this address in Beverre.” She pulled out a map of Ixia and pointed to a spot on it near the coast and northern border.
“Three, maybe five days on amblerback,” Cutter muttered. “Plenty of time for them to shut down the border. Gets us close, though.”
“Where does Selah live?” Yemi asked.
Cutter gave her a curious look. “West of Amber Lake.”
“She apparently knows where to find Ursla.”
“Wait,what?” Nova asked.
“My Light, the goal is to get you out of the country. Amber Lake is half a day out of the way,” Cutter insisted.
“Who the fuck is Ursla?” Nova asked. “You meantheUrsla?”
In no mood for another dressing-down, Yemi ignored her. “The goal is to get the throne back. She offered to help if I sought her out.”
Cutter stood up and doused the fire aggressively, sending sprays of ash into the air. “I’m not taking you on a literal witch hunt,” he growled. “Don’t let the pastoral setting fool you—you are in very real danger until we cross that border, and then maybe,maybeyou’ll be out of reach. Until then, I am not here to do your bidding; my sworn duty is to keep you alive. You have three days to wrap your head aroundthat. Fill the waterskins. We leavenow.” He stood, towering over her, and stalked off in the direction from which Nova had come, leaving Yemi fuming and the two of them staring at one another.
“Well, what was that?” Nova huffed.
“I’ll explain on the way,” Yemi replied. She snatched the waterskins from where they lay in the dirt and went to fill them in the river.
11
• YEMI •
They made the ride in three days, free of incident by sticking to forests clear of main roads, military outposts, and arterial railways. Cutter had an ambler to himself, while Yemi and Nova alternated steering the second so the other could sleep. This was damn near impossible for Yemi—the sleeping on a mechanical crab bit—but Nova dozed to snoring almost as soon as Cutter told her he’d keep watch. She’d slump against Yemi’s back, arms wrapped around her waist, and Yemi kept the ride as gentle as she could so as not to disturb her. When they did stop to give their backs a break, it was the middle of the day, and Yemi stole fitful naps against tree trunks or across Nova’s lap if she was lucky.
She dreamed of her mother’s stone face: the way it angled to the side, looking for her, and heard her reverberating screams inside the stone shell. She dreamed of Ursla’s smoky smile and cigar cherry winking at her like an angry eye on the horizon at sunset.
Beverre was a township in a valley some miles from the coast but near the border. That was a problem. Border towns had an increased military presence, and everyone was looking for the three of them. Cutter left Yemi and Nova to make camp on the more secluded side ofa hill while he ventured into town to run recon and find the address where they were to leave the amblers.
He returned as the sun was setting, the world awash in purples and oranges. The gates of Beverre were marked by a towering alabaster statue of a Mer king with a trident. He was bald, the rolling waves tattooed on his skull vaguely outlined. His prominent brow gave way to deep, hooded eyes and a stern expression. Lanyards of sun-bleached shells draped over his broad and chiseled torso. Yemi recognized him as her great-grandfather. At its base, a small cadre of uniformed soldiers inspected carts traveling the road. Cutter steered clear of them, moving along the tree line on a northern ridge on the Beverre side of the gates. The inert amblers lay splay-legged in heaps on the grass.
He handed her a newspaper. Dahlia Drake had declared the royal animus of her rule before the blood had even dried on the palace floors. Hers would be the first Year of the Harpy.
So like a bird to choose a bird,Yemi thought. And then she turned to the full-page spread. They were circulating the picture she’d taken with the dancer in the streets, cropped to just her face so she’d be easy to identify.
“Great,” she said.
“It is, as long as we’re not spotted,” Cutter replied. “There’s a camp just north between the tree line and the border. The second shift for the soldiers down at the gates.”
“Do you know them?” Nova asked. She sat up from where she’d been reclining on their pile of coats.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see faces, but there are four of them,” he said, regret souring in his voice. “I’m loath to kill anyone in uniform, particularly anyone who might fight for us on the turnaround. But one way or another, we have to get through that camp.”
Nova nodded solemnly. “I don’t imagine the Drakes would send anyone of questionable loyalty to be the last stop before the border.”
“Neither do I.”
Yemi idly folded the paper and wondered about the royal army.Would they fight for the crown, whoever held it? Her father had always taught her to develop her relationship with the soldiers, but who knew now if those efforts had been worth anything? They hadn’t even gotten a firm answer on how far the Drakes’ influence had penetrated their ranks. If Ursla had helped the Drakes take the throne, would she have corrupted the soldiers as well? What had Dahlia given up in return? Yemi herself had so little left to give—what else could the witch take from her?
“What do you think our odds are?” Yemi asked, dusting herself off and squinting toward where the sun was setting over the hills.
