‘Tell me,’ I order.
She looks surprised. ‘Well, all right. But this stays between us.’
I mime sealing my lips shut and tossing the key over my shoulder. But any remnants of bravado are swept downstream as Spinner’s next words sink in.
‘Sheen’s entire family died from the sweating sickness.’
I open my mouth, then close it again.
‘He was only fourteen, and he was all alone. I think …’ She hesitates. ‘I think it haunts him – being the one left behind.’
The butterflies scatter, their wings withering like dead flower petals as they fall through the pit in my stomach.
Words dart across my mind, cutting and cruel.
I can’t imagine you know how to love anyone.
I’d spoken in anger, furious that he’d berated me for following Blaze’s voice deep into the Greenwood, unable to understand his cold criticism, his grim rationality. But I donow. It’s little wonder he never fell for the dryads’ tricks. There’s nobody left to call his name.
All those times I mocked him for being so sour, so morose, when all the while …
You don’t know anything about me, Harglade.
The guilt is almost painful. A well-deserved gut-punch.
‘He and I, we grew up together,’ Spinner says. ‘He might not always be a barrel of laughs, but he’s as loyal as they come. You’ll see.’
I just nod, not trusting myself to speak.
By mid-afternoon the sprawling meadow has melted away and we find ourselves back among the trees. Thankfully, this forest is nothing like the Greenwood. Birds trill merrily, perched on ivy-wrapped branches, and the sun shines brightly through the canopy above.
Only a couple of provinces lie between us and the Waterlands border. If all goes to plan, and we manage to stow ourselves away on a boat or barge, we should reach the Lagoon in a matter of days. My heart leaps at the thought of being reunited with my sister. I picture her there, waiting for me, the Eye round her neck.
As usual, Sheen is striding a little way ahead, his shoulder blades protruding through the thin material of his shirt.
I’m still reeling from what I learned of his family. I want to tell him how sorry I am, how much I wish I could take back every taunting gibe I threw his way.
The silence stretching between us is so heavy it’s almost tangible. Even Spinner’s constant stream of chatter can’t make a dent in it. I wonder if Sheen keeping his distance hasmore to do with not wanting to hurt his friend than a desire to stay away from me.
At that moment, he slows to a stop, scanning our surroundings.
‘What is it?’ Spinner calls, looping an arm through mine.
His voice is quiet, but I detect a slight hint of triumph in it. ‘We’re here.’
‘And where ishere, exactly?’ I say, frowning. ‘Because I know my sight’s impaired and all, but this doesn’t exactly look like the Aquatori Court to me.’
Spinner only grins, her eyes alight with excitement.
‘What’re you up to?’ I ask. ‘What’s going on?’
They share a look. Neither answers me. I’m about to demand an explanation when something coppery-red and bushy-tailed streaks through the undergrowth, darting right between my legs. I yelp in surprise and jump about a foot in the air.
‘This way,’ says Sheen, pointing through a copse of trees.
Warily, I edge closer. In the clearing beyond sits a small thatched cottage. The crooked windows are made from stained glass and the chimney belches smoke. There’s a tiny outhouse, and a swing set dangling from a tree branch overhanging the Creek, where a handsome chestnut-coloured horse is munching his way through a patch of reeds.
‘What is this place?’ I murmur, utterly bewildered.
