As I press my face to the warmth of his chest, my first ever tears begin to fall.
An hour later, our arms are coated in octopus ink.
We’re dressed alike, in breeches and button-ups that I’ve spelled to be black as midnight, just as I did our dresses the night of Niklas’s murder. On top, we wear the sea-worn coats popular at the docks, pilfered and doctored from what Katrine had available in her trunks. With any luck, they’ll give us the ability to hide in plain sight.
Our rucksacks are packed with more ink and gemstones, plus weapons of a more traditional kind—knives, matches, guns, and ammunition.
Will has taught me how to load the pistol I took from the guard, though the risk was too great to show me how to shoot it. I don’t plan on using it, but if I have to, I hope it works.
We say our good-byes to Katrine, and then it’s time. As a team, we exit the safe house into the denim light, clouds hanging low.
“Meet you at the checkpoint,” Sofie says, green eyes lit with determination and certainty as Agnata stands at her side, much less talented at hiding the nerves within her.
Will and I nod, and then Sofie and Agnata turn for Lille Bjerg Pass. Shoulders brushing, Will and I turn for the sea.
When the other girls are gone, I slip Niklas’s ring out of my pocket and onto my right hand. Sofie may not like it, but even though it’s no longer needed to return to the sea, I need this ring as a reminder of the past. Of Alia. Her sacrifices. Why I’m still here. And what I’m about to do. I’ll take the risk of being a target of guards for all that.
The miles pass quickly as we walk along where the pasture meets the shoreline, up and up until there’s a drop as tall as the spires of Øldenburg Castle between us and the ocean below. Our route is longer and less direct than the one Sofie and Agnata are taking through the mountains, but we should arrive at the same time, their path more technical with the changing terrain, while we skirt the edge of the mountain range.
When I confirmed I would participate, we’d decided to hedge our bets and split up, as the four of us together would be much easier to detect. Slipping through the waking town and down to the docks in pairs would be safer.
The miles pass quickly. Will and I are able to walk in silence together without it stretching the space between us into something awkward. I like the quiet moments with him, where we can be in our own heads, existing but together. Like the night before, his eyes drift into the middle distance. Practicing the script, the moves, the spells. It makes me smile more than it should.
“Don’t fret, William Jensen. Your rebellion is perfectly choreographed.”
His eyes come back to the here and now. “Choreography is one thing. Execution is quite another.”
My vision snags on Niklas’s ring.Don’t I know it.
For the first time this trip, Will’s fingers find mine as he cuts in front of me to lead us to a set of grown-over switchbacks trailing down the cliff to the beach below. As he traces our path along the spine of the shore, I realize this slip of beach will take us past the channel into the Øldenburg Castle cove, with its marble balcony and memories.
We’re not to go in there, of course. No, we need to hop from one rock face with its hairline beach to the other, and then work our way around to the little lagoon where I first changed. Then up the switchbacks, through the woods, past the tiny vacant house and onto the sea lane with a direct shot to the docks and, by proximity, the warehouse.
When we’ve hit solid beach again, Will squeezes my fingers and drops my hand. And it’s a funny thing, because I know if we survive this, it’ll be mine to hold again. Thesilence and steps return, until we’re past the castle, marble balcony skeletal in the low light. Past the sheer rock faces. And sloshing through the little shallow lagoon.
When we get to the beach, I force Will to pause long enough that I can dry us both.“Purr klœdi.”
Finished, I straighten the buttons on Will’s coat. “Wet footprints are a dead giveaway.”
We push up the switchbacks, top the cliff, and put our heads down as we enter the woods, the eyes of Øldenburg Castle looming down. They can’t see us. I know they can’t. But my stomach twists under their watch, Niklas’s ring tight on my finger. I slip my sleeve down over my hand.
Yes. I’m the one who buried your king and ended your line. Get a good look, because I’m not finished yet.
I stop him on the edge of the woods, just in sight of the abandoned cabin. “Will, whatever happens today... don’t lose faith in your abilities and start sprouting flowers.”
Will laughs. “Good pep talk.”
“I’m serious, and I’m saying this now. Just hear me—you’re strong, William Jensen, and whatever comes—remember that.”
He’ll need that strength if we survive long enough to see Father come. If we have a war on two fronts and no end in sight.
Will’s eyes don’t break from mine. “I will, Runa.”
Satisfied, I draw in a deep breath and drop his hand to raise my hood over my too-short hair.
The streets are alive with the weekday buzz. A few brave ships ready for a day on the water, the promise of catch as lucrative as the idea of sea mines is prohibitive. We wade through, chins to our chests, trying very hard to blend in to the ebb and flow. Our disguises are good, fitting right in, but as the warehouse looms into view over the top of a row of shops, each lingering set of eyes sends my heart hammering helter-skelter against my ribs.
Almost there.
