And then I hear the snap of a branch.
Someone is laughing nearby, two pairs of footsteps approaching the grove.
“Oh!” says the young Orsa leader when she spots us.
She says something to us we don’t understand that I imagine is an apology for having the same idea. The young man with her gestures to let us have the space, but Ronan waves his hands at them.
“No, you stay. We’ll go back.Downatak. Tell Taran—you know what, never mind. He’ll figure it out.”
We embarrassedly head back to the camp, filling the others in on the Orsa and their music. “Fuck, I left my lute,” realizes Ronan.
I pat my pockets. “And my flute.”
“Wait here. I’ll go back for them. I’m ready to see that solo performance.”
My heart soars when he winks at me as he goes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the morning, the Orsa are gone before we wake.
We follow a trail from their camp back to the road that connects Pyka and Kalla. It’s a road I’ve traveled many times, but not in the five years since the war ended and this part of our lands was given to the Orsa.
Little has changed in that time. The Orsa have few horses, so they don’t keep the road as smooth as we did, but it’s clear enough for us to travel on foot with only the occasional interruption from a fallen tree.
As we approach Pyka, the land opens up into a sweeping vista down to the sea. The hills here are green and slick with rain, the wind blowing freely through the grass, cutting swirling paths through it. A large village sits at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by fallow fields before the land climbs again to the cliffs of the castle.
If the Vaylanian Palace looks like a sandcastle sculpted by ancient hands, Castle Pyka looks like it was hammered out of the cliffs by force with a chisel and a mallet. It rises dark and foreboding over the sea, the walls jutting right up to the edge of the cliffs, the towers stark grey against a pale blue sky.
I feel the rain-soaked stone beneath my feet from a mile away: the grooves worn into the common paths, the sharp edges of the parapets, where I spent my lonely younger days climbing and balancing, always just on the precipice of a fall but somehow keeping my feet.
Our banners are gone. The green and blue heraldry of House Verran has been removed and not replaced. It gives the castle the eerie feeling of being abandoned, halfway to ruin.
And yet, it’s teeming with life. The village is swarming with Orsa and their livestock: sheep, cattle, unruly chickens. I’ve never known the Orsa to raise animals, but they’ve taken to it well, although there are far more of them in the streets with us than I’d expected. On one occasion, I turn my head to look at who has moved into the baker’s house and nearly run headfirst into a bull.
A woman yells at me in Orsan.
“Watch out,” Taran translates.
“Sorry,” I say, and Taran translates that as well.
The group has split to try to pass undetected. Ronan (disguised as Soren), Taran, Octavia, and I will secure passage on a boat, then we’ll have Seth and Larus join us on their griffins once we’re at sea. I’m concerned that if our captain sees the griffins coming, they’ll attack, but Octavia assures me that many captains will turn a blind eye if the price is right. And with any luck, we may be able to secure a boat of our own. Among all of us, there’s no shortage of coin.
We make our way to the docks down in a cove near a black sand beach. Taran greets the various captains, negotiating on our behalf. He’s the right person for this job, and not just because he’s the only one of us that speaks the language. He’s unflappable under pressure, his voice never raising even as Ronan scoffs, reading an insult in the emotions of a grizzled older captain.
“Good news and bad news,” says Taran as we near the end of the docks. “The bad news is none of the boats here are willing to take us, especially not with the griffins, although the woman back there said she would be fine if they flew alongside.”
“That’s good enough,” says Ronan. “How much?”
“It’s not that simple. She isn’t due to leave for another month, and there’s a chance the ice will have set in by then, and then she won’t be leaving until spring.”
“What’s the good news?” I ask since that seems like only bad news.
“The good news is there were new ships being built to help Ronan break the blockade. If we’re willing to put in a week’s labor, we can purchase one of those for a very reasonable price.”
“What’s another week?” says Ronan. I know he’s dying to get out of Selara so we can find support abroad, but a week in Pyka could be worthwhile. We decided it’s too risky for Ronan to reveal himself publicly here, but there’s a chance Taran can secure us an audience with Karis Brennzeter, the leader of the Koraka tribe. If she’s willing to let us use Pyka to land a foreign army, it will save us from having to deal with Felix’s blockade.
“There are still two more captains I can ask, but I agree that it’s our best offer so far,” says Taran. “I’ll go back and—oh,kronor.” He stops midsentence and freezes, fingers stretching for his blade.
