Gwen went to the window, whose shutters were still open. Whoever had thrown the stone had been long gone before they’d arrived, and the street below was deserted. The map of the town, with its large ‘THOU ART HERE’ lettering, stood up from the square like a gravestone with an epitaph in the chilly winter sun.
‘Maybe we should go,’ she murmured.
‘What?’ Isobelle’s voice was sharp, and when Gwen turned around, the other girl was staring at her as though she’d proposed taking wing and flying back to Darkhaven. ‘You’re going to cave to Grimshaw?’
‘Grimshaw?’ Orson repeated the name, eyes widening with confusion.
Isobelle blinked. ‘Oh, yes – Master Grimshaw’s arrived to try to force us to go back to Darkhaven. He’s downstairs, and you’ll need to go tell him what’s been happening and why we can’t leave yet. Try to, you know, be manly and sympathetic to his ego.’
Gwen cut off Orson’s further protests of confusion, and looked across the room at Isobelle. ‘I’m not talking about caving to Grimshaw – I’m saying maybe weshouldgo.’
‘But these peopleneedus. They needyou.’
‘Do they?’ Gwen was still wearing her leather breastplate, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword. She forced herself to let go of it, taking a deep breath that filled her nostrils with the briny, earthy smell of the sea monster’s blood that had splashed onto her trousers. ‘Theyseem to think I’m the jinx who brought these misfortunes upon them. How do we know they’re wrong?’
Isobelle moved from Sylvie to stand with Gwen at the window. ‘You stop that right now,’ she said, her voice tense, gaze intent, fixed on Gwen as though the others weren’t there. ‘You didn’t make Bingleton into a necromancer. You didn’t bring the sea monster back from the dead. You didn’t cast spells on the town. None of this is your fault.’
Gwen glanced back at the deserted street, avoiding Isobelle’s eyes. ‘Tabitha said magic follows the logic of stories. Who’s to say I’m not cursed?’
Isobelle didn’t answer. When the silence stretched out, Gwen looked back at her and was shocked to see tears in Isobelle’s eyes. Galvanised, Gwen reached out and took her hand.
‘I’m sorry – you’re right. I’m just … I’m just tired from the fight, and wallowing a bit. Of course we’re not going anywhere.’ Gwen heaved a breath, forcing her tight ribcage to open, and then let it out audibly.
Jane cleared her throat. ‘Maybe weshouldtalk about …’
But Sylvie shot her a look that stopped her mid-sentence. All three girls wore expressions that made Gwen wonder if, perhaps, this was not the first time one of them had proposed leaving. It was just the first time they’d done it in front of Gwen and Isobelle.
Gwen’s heart ached, for how frightened must they all be to want to go, even if it meant leaving Isobelle? Her eyes went back to the gash on Sylvie’s forehead, now covered by a neat bandage. ‘Sylvie, are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’ve got the devil of a headache,’ Sylvie admitted. ‘I think we should take our mind off things while we can.’
Until the sea monster comes back.
The unspoken words hung in the air. Isobelle was still quiet, her eyes distant, with a tiny dimple in her lip that told Gwen she was chewing on it. Gwen couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, why her words had impacted her so acutely – surely Isobelle was used to Gwen’s occasional bouts of pessimism by now. In the past, she’d seemed to quite enjoy talking Gwen out of them.
Gwen stepped closer, drawing Isobelle’s hand up to her breastbone to cradle it against her – a gesture that would’ve been infinitely more romantic if she wasn’t still wearing a breastplate – and addressed the others. ‘Isobelle suggested we go to the hot springs this afternoon … and I, for one, would welcome a soak.’
‘What about Grimshaw?’ asked Jane nervously. ‘If he finds out we’ve left to soak in a hot spring of all things …’
‘I can keep him occupied,’ Orson said confidently. ‘Give me ten minutes, then go down the back stairs.’
‘Are you up to it, Sylvie?’ asked Isobelle.
‘It’s a perfect idea,’ Sylvie said with a sigh, getting to her feet. She wobbled slightly, prompting Orson to makea comically hasty lurch to try to support her, until she swatted him away. ‘You ladies change, and we’ll all go together.’
By the time they all met around the back of the inn, Gwen’s muscles had stiffened up. She had a hard time concealing the slight limp in her walk as they set out for the hot springs. No one else commented on it, though.
Isobelle and Sylvie led the way, discussing possible plans for rescuing Tabitha once the necromancer was weaker. Sylvie and Orson had been going over strategies together before the rock incident; no doubt Orson was facing a terrible internal struggle, knowing the young witch was a captive, afraid and alone.
Gwen and Isobelle followed, and Isobelle was once again cheerful and chatty, though some of her cheer was tinged with an irritation she didn’t bother to hide any time she glanced at Sylvie and saw the blossoming bruise emerging from her hairline.
Jane and Hilde brought up the rear, and they weren’t speaking at all. They walked arm in arm, and Gwen thought perhaps Jane looked even more worried than Hilde.
For now, there was nothing to be done except rest up for the next battle. Gwen tried to clear her thoughts, chasing them out one by one as they reached the hot springs. Gargery was there, but disinclined towards conversation, gesturing them in without a word before vanishing backinside his caretaker’s cottage. Gwen retrieved a swimming costume herself – she got a green one this time – and had just turned towards one of the changing alcoves when a strange metallic clanging echoed through the air.
Everyone halted, heads turning, ears cocked.
Then Gwen’s eyes met Isobelle’s as she recognised the sound.
