With the sea route patrolled far more rigorously by the watch than ever before, Brielle opts for the land route.Bumped along stony roads in stuffy carriages smelling of horse hair, she, Dreska and Inesh play rounds of cards and practise the forming of witch words on the tongue.
‘Lucerne,’Dreska whispers and the candle she’s cupping in her palm begins to glow. The wick ignites in a spurt of flame and she smiles, satisfied.
‘Now, Inesh, you put it out,’ Brielle says, crossing her arms. They’ve been through this exercise every day,the words forcandlelightandextinguishin witch now inked into their veins, just as all the witch words she and Lowri know have been.
Inesh bends towards the flame and says, ‘Tace.’
The candle snuffs out, a thin trail of smoke threading its way upwards before disappearing entirely.
Brielle is more aware than ever of the murmurings on the road, of the sidelong looks in taverns and inns, the additional guards surrounding merchants and their wares. The continent is on edge and she would bet coin on it being the ripple effect of what was discussed at court during the Trials, and the events of the final Trial itself, where a girl called a storm to bring lightning down on a pack of wyvern.
They practise like this as the terrain becomes mountainous across Skylan, whiling away the hours, before the road begins to level out as they reach the port of Hafenged. Brielle leads them between tightly packed buildings, past heaps of huge luggage cases and runners carrying messages and orders up the narrow, stepped streets that weave like veins down to the cold waters of the Straits. Everywhere, she senses eyes on them. But it’s more than the press of curiosity. This feels personal.
It’s not until they secure passage aboard a fishing vessel, slippery with the scars of scales despite being scrubbed, that Brielle finally allows her shoulders to drop. As the sea swallows up Hafenged, she finds herself fully occupied with the crossing. And the rollingstomachs of Dreska and Inesh, who have never endured a crossing in their lives.
‘It’s eight hours, isn’t it?’ Dreska says drowsily as Inesh clings to a bowl, turning greener by the minute.
‘Less now, I promise,’ Brielle says before turning away and whispering a feverish witch word. She senses the drain on her magic instantly – weather spellwork is taxing, especially on a solo witch. But she needs the sails to fill with more than a flutter of wind – she needs her fledglings in the Spines safe and well. Brielle clings to the railings, spots crowding her vision. She blinks thickly through them, knowing that she’s used too much, too quickly. She thumps down beside Dreska and Inesh on the deck as the sails fill with the wind she called, giving the vessel a brief surge of strength in the chop.
Her efforts shave off three hours and when they reach a quay with stony buildings rising up behind she hurries Inesh and Dreska off as quickly as possible, the growing dusk casting a flinty chill over the small town in which they’ve docked. The fishermen tie up. With their wares sold in Hafenged, they have their partners and children to return to now and a warm welcome awaiting them.
Meanwhile, Brielle guides her fledglings to an inn she knows a little, remembering the first time she was here. It was midwinter, the cold like a razor, ice packing the streets, a sharp chill to the air that turned her nose pink, sending shivers dancing along her ribs. And dark. Almost constant, sunless dark. She remembers there were torches everywhere, lit and spitting with fat, thewarmth gliding over her cheekbones as she knocked the snow off her boots and entered the inn.
Now, she looks at the swinging sign of the inn, remembering it all as if it was yesterday. Her quest for vengeance, to slay the wyvern horde that killed her birth mother further north. She sighs, her breath hanging as fog before her eyes. The Drage Inn is looking substantially less shabby than on her last visit. As though, since then, coin had rolled into the pockets of the owner, splashing over every corner.
‘They overthrew their rulers,’ she murmurs, reaching for the door handle.
‘What did you say?’ Dreska asks, teeth still clacking from the voyage.
Brielle looks her over, then eyes Inesh. ‘We’ll find a warm welcome here, I’ll wager. Your stomachs will settle with a little food and drink.’
She pushes open the door, stepping into the bar beyond. And finds three witches, all with bows drawn, arrows pointing straight at her chest. She stills, assessing them quickly, positioning herself smoothly in front of Dreska and Inesh. The witch in the middle smiles humourlessly.
‘A hunter from Arnhem and two fledgling witches,’ the one on the right says calmly. ‘The fisherfolk were right. Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t kill you all where you stand.’
the sea calls my namethat night. I walk down to the shore at first light, give in and sink beneath the waves. The sea is calm, but not content. As I pull myself through the water, running my fingers through seaweed and over the grit of the seabed, I detect a coiling, a tenseness. But I cannot sense anything lurking, or any boats or ships other than our own nearby. As I leave the waves, emerging on to the rocks below the castle to stretch out my limbs in the early sunlight, I give the inky waves a final glance. I wish I could stay longer and float, adrift for a while. But I know that if I stop, if I take even a breath, all this might not be here on my return. Tomorrow is for the sea.
Today is for the isles.
Eli has already risen, gone to meet with Joby and Mer to discuss the state of their ships. When I get down to the kitchen, I find the remnants of his breakfast, and Amma busy around the huge wooden table, replenishing breakfast loaves and butter, passing out cooked eggs andsliced apples. There are people from Rosevear here, and some of them are helping Amma. They smile in greeting and I sit among them, eating breakfast, drinking a mug of milky tea. Agnes walks in, sits down beside me and bumps my shoulder. This small moment, this gesture, means everything. For the space of a breath, I forget why we’re here, what’s happened to us, that we’re a whole people displaced. We could almost be at her home, drinking tea in her room of finds and treasures, her cheeks dusted with flour after a morning spent at her father’s bakery, helping to knead the bread for the day’s baking.
Then it all rushes in.
‘Are you ready to train?’ I ask her.
‘Define train,’ she says, reaching for a hunk of bread and the salted butter, scraping it on before smearing some bramble jam on top.
‘We need to inspire them,’ I murmur, ducking my head close to hers. ‘So many women fought for their lives that night on Rosevear, but it was in desperation and fear. We need to be better prepared. We’ve never had the chance to learn, and we have to now. All of us. I want them to feel ready for it not just to be terror that spurs them on, but hope.’
Agnes nods as she finishes chewing. ‘Leave it with me.’
When I step out into the practice yard, shielding my eyes from the sunlight, I bump into Caden, standing with his arms folded. He smiles and my heart thumpshard in my chest. For a moment, it overwhelms me. In the bleakest moments during the Trials, I wondered if I’d ever be back here again. Somehow, this time in the training yard stayed with me, a place I wanted to return to. To become stronger, more resilient.
To become a weapon I alone choose to wield, on both land and sea.
Caden nods towards the rack of wooden practice swords and I smile back at him. ‘Admit it, you missed this,’ I tease.
His smile widens further, face splitting into a grin. ‘All right. I missed this. I missed beating you.’
