Otherwise.
I twist in the sheets, my hands clenching the material. It doesn’t matter how Osian feels about me. He’s still the most important person in my world, and I have to get him out.
“We’ve got cold porridge and warm porridge. Which would you like?” A tall woman with braided brown hair holds out two near identical bowls of slop. The only difference is that one steams in the cool morning air, while the other looks like it’s been sitting in a frigid bath all night, congealed at the edges.
I take a brief look over the gathered crowd nearby. Some are still moving through the serving line, others already stand aside with bowls in hand, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The air carries a damp mix of wet wool, unwashed bodies, and smoke that has worked its way into the keep’s stones. It feels less like a stronghold and more like something left to rot.
I turn back toward her. “I’ll take warm, please. Got any honey?”
She barks a loud laugh. “No honey in these parts, love. Be blessed you got the keep on a deathless night.”
I take the bowl from her, warmth seeping into my fingers, and shuffle a little further down the line, hoping she’ll keep pace with me for a moment longer. “These screams. Have you heard them?”
“’Course, we all have.”
“Are they trying to say anything or…?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “Not that I know of, but I’ll offer you a deal. Today’s plan works out all right, and you do what you agreed to do, then we’ll talk. I’ll tell you all about the dead souls that haunt this kingdom.”
I arch a brow. “Is that an oath?”
She chuckles again. “Words are fickle these days, but sure. It’s an oath. Ask for me when you get back. Name’s Arianell.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” I nod and back away from the table. “Thanks for the porridge.”
She smiles, and I turn, wandering closer to the fire still blazing in the center of the clearing. Heat licks at the chill in my bones. In the morning light, the huts have lost some of their menace. Thatched roofs sag unevenly, and the wooden sides are flecked with age and soot. The ruins look tired rather than threatening, like even stone can grow weary of holding itself together. Evidence of fire scars the ground in a ring of blackened earth. Not even a single sprig of grass has dared to grow.
Rhian strides over, peering at my bowl. “Warm, huh? Figures.”
Hers, of course, shows no sign of steaming. I’m sure it’s an insult of some kind, but instead of rising to the bait, I point at the ground. “What happened here?”
“Firebirds,” she says with a small smile. “They attacked this place several hundred years ago, and the evidence still stands. It was them against the Order. The firebirds won.”
I twist toward her. “I’ve never heard this story. How do you know this?”
“There are a few tombs and underground stores hidden along the coast, from back when the Order didn’t avoid it like they believe the land is steeped in plague.” She shrugs, glancing out toward the ruined walls. “We track them down, dig up what wecan. One had a stack of scrolls that recorded a time no one knows much about. Two hundred years after the original Culling Day. Three hundred years back from now. Everyone knows there was a period of unrest, but not much about the details.”
I nod. It’s one of those things everyone accepts is gone. There are a few of those—scraps of time where the records just…stop.
“So the Order hid the records, since it made them look bad,” I say. “Why not just burn them?”
“I’m not sure. The records didn’t tell us everything. We don’t know why they fought, for example. Or for how long. Or what happened after the firebirds drove them from this fortress.” Her voice hardens. “Or even why the Order took command of it in the first place.”
The tone of her voice prickles something along the back of my neck. “But you have a theory.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “I wouldn’t be the Penderyn if I didn’t.”
“The stars?” I ask.
She nods. “I think they were doing what they are now—trying to funnel their power again. And the firebirds stopped them.”
“That’s why you’ve set up here. You think there’s something special in the bones of the earth.”
“A little of that, a little of this.” She gestures with her spoon toward the towering keep. “Mostly, it’s because if they attack us here, we have a retreat.”
She doesn’t say it outright, but I read between the lines. The tombs she mentioned. The underground stores. There must be a tunnel leading from the keep. If they were ever outnumbered, they’d have a way out.
“Mind telling me where it is?” I ask.
