The stairwell to the king’s chambers, I thought, the stairwell to his watchtower, that watchtower that opened up onto that larger section of bluff top and the terrace with its low wall.
I ran past the benches and desks where the lords of Tintar sat, past the two tables and chairs, each seating four on either side of the steps that led up to the throne that sat in the middle of that shark’s jaw that was the size of a house. I stepped high, lifting my burning legs and teal skirts over the melon-sized teeth. As Alric had said, there was a black wooden door, hidden behind the brilliant white of the shark bones before it. Praying it was not locked, I opened it with success just as the doors at the other end of the throne room squawked again, opened by Thrush, calling my name.
Much like the stairwell next to our room, it went upward to a landing on each of the ten levels of the keep, the uppermost being the bluff top on which Hinnom’s watchtower sat. My legs were on fire after the chase through the keep to the throne room and each stair was like a knife’s stab to the thighs and my rear end, but I kept pounding the steps beneath my feet, trying to put my screaming lungs out of my mind. I knew I could, if I kept going, run along the bluffs until I reached a path that led to the beaches and perhaps escape him on the shoreline. Though it seemed a farfetched idea, I reasoned that this had to be what the fates were leading me towards. No guards were on any landing I passed. When I heard a noise, I stopped. Below me, the sound of a door shutting gave me a surge of terror. I was only three flights above him.
I be here, said the goddess.Keep going.
And I did. I could run up seven more stories until I saw the sea, felt the moss and rock beneath my boots and then I could run the bluff to freedom. Something inside me told me the bluffs were my way out even if I could not yet envision what that escape would look like.
Thrush yelled my name below me and I kept running upwards.
And then I heard speech in my ears, not the voice of my first husband or of my goddess, but of a young man’s, his words full of emotion and determination.
My left hand will deliver them into my grasp and render my love inescapable and my right hand will command them, showing my lover and this whole godsdamned country who I am. Who could reject the master of the stone drakes?
Why did Gareth Pope’s ghost whisper in my ears as I ran for my life? What does this mean? I asked my goddess.
Do not stop. Listen, but do not stop.
I reached the top landing in a blur of physical irritation and breathlessness. Two guards in Tintarian black stood on either side of the watchtower doors, at attention, as I exploded from the stairwell, having heard my graceless approach.
“You cannot be up here—” one said.
Over him, I gasped, “I am Edith Angler, wife of Captain Alric Angler. Of the Procurers and youwilllet me pass through those doors.”
The two men looked at each other.
I took that split second and lurched for the handles, wrenching them open, stumbling out into the blinding sunlight of the stone courtyard. Hand over my eyes, I blinked, adjusting them to the luminous mid-morning after a dimly lit stairwell.
99. Rock
My eyes moved faster than my mind, taking in what they saw. The low-walled terrace held a small crowd of twenty some, nearly all of them in Tintarian armor, all of them men save Thalia, her cerulean flowing around her. Next to her stood Cian, Yro and Bamber, each in their respective element’s colors. Hinnom and Peregrine, in the polished Tintarian black, wore breastplates with bronze filigree over the shark’s tooth sigil. Jeremanthy and what appeared to be ten other older soldiers, infantry officers I assumed, stood with my husband, Thatcher, Perch and Fletch. They had all turned to look at me, their eyes having been on the horizon.
I looked then to a sparkling Sister Sea, her sublime skyline no longer just punctuated by the imperial drake rocks but by ship after ship, bearing down on Tintar, all headed for that opening in the bluff rock, Pikestully’s main port that then led into the city center where thousands of people were evacuating.
Why look at a map when you could see one in real life below you from these bluffs?
“Edith,” cried Alric, a look of such sadness on his face. “Why are you here?”
I pointed at Cian. I could not breathe. I could not speak, but my hand stayed out.
“Oh, you bastard,” snarled Thalia in Cian’s direction. “It’s you isn’t it? The rat.”
“Thalia,” protested an astounded Cian. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He conspires with Perpatane,” I gasped out. “With my former husband.” I stood straighter, left hand on the watchtower wall next to me, my belly cramping. “Ormond Thrush. He is a nobleman of Perpatane and close with the king, influential in his court.”
“Edie,” Cian said, appearing to be still flustered by my accusations. “You cannot think this of me. We are both children of Mother Earth. You know me. I do not know this Thrush—”
Before he could finish, the watchtower doors slammed open. Thrush stepped through, his sword outstretched, dripping in blood. I thought he must have slain the guards and their scuffle had been masked by the crash of ocean waves and the shouting outside.
Thrush had always been a fit man. He liked to ride and fence. Yet, his muscled chest now heaved with his chasing me. He pointed his sword at me. “Edie. You will never run from me again. This is the last time.”
“You will not touch her!” shouted Alric, drawing his own sword and breaking away from the crowd at the end of the small courtyard, his brows drawn, mouth tight.
Behind him, Fletch, Perch and Thatcher followed, their hands on their hilts.
And then, beneath us all, the bluff rock vibrated, causing everyone to stumble, everyone save Cian, his right hand extended before him, long fingers curling into a fist. Abruptly, the section of low wall nearest me and Thrush shifted and grew in height so that it came up to where our chests would be, and it moved between us and them, caging in the rest of those on the bluff top, my husband and his friends rushing towards me, stopped by a thick, violent smack of stone into their armor. Cian stood to one side, looking at the prison of stone he had erected, separating him from his fellow leaders.
