Brielle nods to her fledglings. ‘Well?’
Inesh glances at Dreska then steps forward. Fey hands her a blade, one piercing and silver, engraved with swirls. Inesh’s gaze lands on Brielle and Brielle sees all thosethorns, that wildness that she first glimpsed after saving her from existence as a wraith. Brielle nods, encouraging her. Inesh nods back, stepping forward, and when the blade is against the wyvern’s throat she doesn’t hesitate. With a sharp cut, Inesh ends the wyvern’s life and Figgi catches the blood spraying out beneath in a wide bottle.
‘First blood,’ Fey says, approval saturating her tone. ‘I believe, Brielle, that Inesh here is a hunter. In fact … judging by the flight of that arrow, I would say Dreska is as well.’
Nairis takes a small vial of wyvern blood, offering one first to Dreska, then to Inesh and Brielle. Inesh holds it up to the light, eyeing it curiously. ‘Each has different properties, do they not?’
Brielle grins. ‘That’s right. You can learn about that and more from Lowri. I believe … well. You may be the first ever fledglings to be both hunterandwitch.’
Fey nods and turns to Brielle. ‘Not once did you or your fledglings baulk. You accepted our ways; you rode drakeback. We will aid you. We will fight with you. And … all three of you will leave here on the back of a drake. You must train, and quickly. We will leave for the isles together when you have mastered flight.’
port graine is more watchfulthan Port Trenn. I hide my hair and face under the brim of a wide hat, tucking the tendrils under. My shirt and breeches conceal my shape well enough and with Eli opting for a wool jumper rather than the black jacket, which usually means he cuts such a striking figure, we blend into the poorest and quietest of the ports in Arnhem. Leicenan accents slice apart Arnhemian words until sometimes they lose the meaning entirely. But with a gruff word or two we pass among the fisherfolk, the crews and the merchants undetected, all under the eyes of the ever-present watch.
‘The Wayfarer is our best bet,’ Eli says quietly as we pass a crew just arrived on a trade ship from Morgana. They’ve all got the lean look of scarecrows, of sleepless, wind-tousled nights, and half, or even quarter rations, to see out a long journey. As we turn the corner on to the next street, a brawl breaks out and the watch are on them in moments, hauling the one throwing punches away. Eli moves to grab my hand, but stops himself. Wehave to look and act like them: two members of a crew stopping off at this port.
The Wayfarer Inn is tucked away near the road that leads to Highborn, to the north of the port. Offering room and lodgings above, and rough fare in the pub below, it’s a crossroads, a meeting place, where travellers gather and trade in whispers, to which we intend to listen. If any ships are getting ready to sail for the isles, there may well be information imparted by loose tongues here. In Port Trenn, Merryam reasons, the ruling council wouldn’t be able to conceal their intentions easily – Hail Harbour is not a port for warships – but in Port Graine, they have long stationed ships of their armada here. It’s an open secret between merchants that if you want to pick up a hand or two for the trade route to Morgana there will be people hanging around in Port Graine, hoping to earn a few coin. The watch captains know this too. It’s where they may find strays to man a warship.
As I duck beneath the lintel, the scent of smoke and damp wool mingled with cooking smells and hops hits me. There is no cheer, only the grumbles of those who have stuck like barnacles to this port town, who see life pass them by and yet still spend their days fastened to a bar stool. There is a group of the watch, scarlet jackets slung over the backs of their chairs in one corner by the window, and I turn up my collar, noting in the same moment the wanted posters plastered on the walls. It’s not hard to find my own likeness staring back at me. Or Eli’s. We are wanted, and the reward for our capture isenough coin to set up any man or woman for a life of plenty.
We order a round of hard bread and chunks of pale, tangy cheese and tankards of rough beer, and find a rickety table within earshot of both the watch and a few young men who have the look of crew: salt-stained clothes, skin aged to leather by the elements and sharp chips for eyes, full of hunger. One of them, tall and lanky, holds a clay pipe, chugging on it like Old Jonie, his keen eyes assessing us before losing interest and sweeping back to the creased hand of cards he holds. He and his companions take it in turns to place cards in the middle of their table, betting with a few coppers and cheap tin pieces.
The watch, however, are ordering rounds of drinks, rowdy in the way that those who believe themselves superior generally do. I cringe away, but Eli just breaks off pieces of the bread, unfazed, his features hidden in shadow. I nibble at a chunk of cheese, willing my heart to stop thumping so hard in my chest. We’re chancing our luck far too much for my liking, sitting here.
In the end, it’s not the watch that divulge too much. It’s the crew, playing cards at the next table, who eventually spill the information we’re looking for.
‘Merchants getting slack with their wages, are they, Todd?’ one says to the tall, lanky one. ‘Or is it another one of your excuses?’
‘You lose, you cough up. Them’s the rules,’ the other one says, voice pouring out thick and slow, like oil. ‘Merchant wages or no. Them’s the bloody rules.’
Todd tamps down his pipe. ‘Did I say I wouldn’t pay? Mayhap I have a new position. A better one than aboard that creaky old scrapheap you two call a ship.’
‘Trade ships are honest work,’ the first one spits. ‘More honest than the likes of you.’
‘What work you talking about, Todd?’ the other says, eyes narrowing. ‘Another one of your fancies?’
‘Like that girl he was soft on,’ the other says, creasing up into wheezing laughter. ‘What was she called, Eliza, or Lisbet …’
‘Lilibeth,’ Todd says, lighting his pipe. ‘And this ain’t no fancy. ’Tis truth. I’m off there now, in fact. Learning the ropes, so to speak. Beautiful ship, a beauty. New crew, well paid, well fed.’
‘No such thing,’ the first says, dismissing Todd with a wave of his hand. ‘You pay up by tomorrow, or I’ll sell your debt to the Pentecosts. You won’t want them rattling your door.’
I shudder involuntarily. The Pentecosts are a band of racketeers, smugglers, that even the watch won’t bother with. Bryn always stayed clear of their haunts in Port Trenn when he visited to glean information for us. I’ve heard that they’re more than trouble. If they mark you, or if you cross them, you’re dead.
‘No need,’ Todd says, proudly drawing out a silver coin and tossing it to his companions before rising. ‘You two fight over that. You’ll see no more of me.’
Eli marks his progress to the door with watchful eyes that he then slides to meet mine. He raises his eyebrowsand we get up too, careful to avoid the gazes of the watch. They’ve grown quieter, I noticed, since Todd began his boasting, too keenly aware of all of us sitting nearby. I want to leave this place, to return home to Ennor. But we need to know who’s employing Todd, and who is handing out silver in exchange for work.
We follow him at a distance, tracing his steps to the edge of Port Graine, to the end of the port where the ship builders have their yards, far from the merchant vessels docked and ready for their next shipment.
Todd disappears from view, ducking inside one of the offices skirting the dock. But we no longer need to follow him. He’s led us right to the heart of what we feared.
‘There are so many,’ I breathe, counting the tall ships, all gleaming and new. Men are in the rigging, fitting new sails; others in the offices, swarming around the sides. All shouting to one another, calling orders … and, everywhere, the watch. A sea of scarlet. ‘Even if they don’t intend to use this fleet to surround the isles …’
‘They are preparing for war,’ Eli says quietly in agreement. ‘This isn’t a defensive fleet. Perhaps we will be their first conquest, but there can be no doubt. They’re preparing to invade the continent.’
eli calls together another meetof the thirteen, or at least all of us currently on Ennor, and he and Mira tell us about what they discovered in Port Graine. The fleet, no,armadaof warships preparing to set sail.
‘They’ll be ready in a matter of days,’ Eli says with deceptive calm. ‘It’s my hope that the ruling council wouldn’t direct themallto our shores.’
