‘Well,’ she said, bundling laundry into a canvas sack. ‘You’ve been busy.’
Isobelle gave a sound somewhere between a laugh, a hiccup and a sob.
‘Haven’t we?’ she agreed. ‘But despite everything we’ve done, midwinter is nearly here, the necromancer still has Tabitha, and no matter how many times Gwen kills that beast, it never seems to get any weaker, which surely means we’re not weakening him, either.’
Olivia looked up from the sack, into which she’d stuffed one of Gwen’s tunics. ‘Gwen’s not killing anything.’
‘Excuse you,’ rasped Gwen. ‘I’ve killed it a dozen times at least. And every damn time, he brings it back.’
‘That’s not possible.’ Olivia turned to face them. ‘There’s no such thing as necromancy. Death is a veil from beyond which there is no return. At least, not unless you do something about it quickly,’ she added, nodding at Gwen.
Isobelle shook her head. ‘Olivia, we’ve seen it. Look at the clothes you’re holding – they’re soaked in the creature’s blood. There was so much of it. There’s been so much, every time. There’s no way the creature could have survived.’
Now it was Olivia’s turn to shake her head. ‘This isn’t blood. It’s ink. Come on, girl, anyone who’s ever done a load of laundry at that time of the month would know this isn’t blood.’
‘How am I supposed to know what sea monster blood looks like?’ protested Gwen, eyes flashing.
Before Olivia could rise to that challenge, Isobelle cut in, her mind reeling. ‘Ink?’
‘Ink,’ Olivia repeated calmly. ‘Certain sea creatures eject a sort of ink into the water when frightened that deters predators.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
‘What?’ said Gwen.
‘It’s only been retreating, probably on your sorcerer’s command,’ Olivia repeated. ‘Did you ever see its dead body float to the surface?’
‘No,’ Isobelle managed. ‘It sinks.’
‘Does it?’ Olivia pressed. ‘Or does it swim down deep?’
Gwen’s face was pale, the lines of her face sharp in the firelight. ‘You mean, I haven’t even killed it once? All of it has been for nothing?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Olivia quietly. ‘If you’d killed it, it would be dead. It wouldn’t come back. The only thing resurrected tonight was you, Gwen.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Isobelle managed.
‘I work for an Order that protects the world from magic, Isobelle,’ Olivia said, with that hint of crispness that always told Isobelle it was time to accept her wisdom. ‘Not even witches can bring something back from the dead.’
‘Then what on earth is happening here?’ Isobelle whispered.
She gripped Gwen’s cold hand, closed her eyes, and tried tothink. Isobelle could read a room on the smallest of cues. She could put together disparate pieces of information and watch castle politics unfold before her like a map.
This place, everything that was happening here, was just another chessboard to play, and she’d seen plenty of moves over the last few weeks. So what did they add up to?
There was the fear creeping through the town – the way it had turned the people against them, even beginning to affect her loyal friends. The hex bag in Gwen’s pocket. The sea monster that returned again and again, just as the dragon of Gwen’s nightmares did.
These were things she knew were true. And perhaps … perhaps it was no more complex than that. Everything they knew forsurehad only one thing in common.
Isobelle opened her eyes. ‘He’s using fear,’ she said, her voice clear. ‘Lord Bingleton. Using fear to control the town, to control the monster – driving it to the harbour,then driving it away to make it look like Gwen killed it. He’s masquerading as a necromancer.’
‘Tabitha said he can resurrect things from your mind,’ Gwen murmured, clutching her blankets around her and shivering; her face was still whiter than usual, lips tinted blue. ‘But perhaps what she was seeing were … visions? Nightmares he conjured?’
‘We do know the town has become afraid,’ Isobelle said. ‘That we’ve become afraid. We know he’s wielding fear like a weapon.’
‘Some witches have affinities,’ Olivia offered. ‘The same way an artist has a talent for colour, there are green witches, hedge witches … maybe this one has a particular skill for manipulating fear.’
‘But why do any of it?’ Isobelle groaned.
