Esmelie made ahmmnoise.
‘It were up by the city walls. Some kind of … goblin, I think.’ She shivered, remembering the stooped, sinewy body and snubbed, distorted face. ‘It were swinging about at the top of the wall, trying to catch a pigeon.’
The lack of the Hidden People was one of the only things Maylie liked about Tormale. She did not know if there were fewer of them around or if they were just harder to spot in all the commotion. Either way, if she did happen upon a creature in the city, she left it alone, swiftly turning her head away.
‘You should eat up,’ said Maylie, nodding at her sister’s plate. ‘You need to build your strength back.’
Esmelie shook her head and put down her fork. ‘I feel unwell,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll lie down for a while.’
Maylie’s spirits plummeted. ‘But—’
‘Ravie might be back later.’ Esmelie’s voice sounded dull and detached.
Maylie watched her sister crawl under the blanket of the lumpy bed in the corner of the room.
‘I should rest so I’m ready for him,’ added Esmelie, closing her eyes. ‘He’s been gone a few days, but he’ll be back tonight. I know he will.’
Maylie bent her head and silently finished the eggs.
Maylie
Fifteen winters old
THE NEWS CAMEto Maylie a few days later, while she was standing by the townhouse second-floor window, beating a rug. As soon as she heard it, she knew something was terribly wrong.
She stilled, puffs of dust floating on to the busy street outside. The doors to Ms Delaphio’s private sitting room were flung open beside her, to freshen the thick, dense air, and the chatter of the two old women inside echoed down the corridor.
‘A girl from Tormale, you say?’ said Ms Delaphio.
‘That’s right,’ replied Ms Pilla. ‘Just announced before I arrived.’
Looking over her shoulder, Maylie could see the two ladies seated at the tea table, their voluptuous dresses wilting around them and their grey temples dampening with sweat. It was unseasonably hot for the first day of spring.
‘You always expect the girls to come from a mountain hut,’muttered Ms Delaphio, her teacup clattering in her saucer. ‘Not somewhere civilized. Not somewhere decent.’
‘To be honest, my husband says there’re more Mountain folk in the towns and city than left in the mountains, these days!’ scoffed Ms Pilla.
Both women laughed.
‘Besides,’ added Ms Pilla, taking a sip of sweet milk. ‘The girl’s from the Pits.’
‘I see,’ replied Ms Delaphio, as if that explained everything.
Maylie did not feel the carpet beater slip from her fingers and she did not hear the dull thud as it hit the carpet. She was dimly aware that the old women were still talking – something about street closures for the Maiden Sacrifice ceremony later – but her ears were filled with the ancient language of the Hidden People:
Sorrow lies ahead. A great tragedy.
Maylie had thought of the warning often since she left the mountains. But surely they had borne enough sadness. Surely that prophecy must have been fulfilled. Now, though, the creature’s words reared to the forefront of her mind. She felt its threat with searing clarity, dread rushing over her in a hot, burning surge.
She turned and ran.
Without hesitation, she raced along the corridor and down the staircase, chased by gasps from the passing housemaids and Piepe’s roar of outrage, before bursting through the main entrance on to the street outside.
Sorrow lies ahead. A great tragedy.
She sprinted down the avenue, pushing past people, who spat and shouted, and spooking wagon-horses, which shied and whinnied. But she did not care. She needed to get to their shack in the Pits. She needed to see that Esmelie was safe and well, lying in thebed where Maylie had left her. After all, there were many Mountain girls in the Pits. A number would be eighteen winters old.
And yet she ran.
