The logs I’m pulling catch on another stone. I pause to let Malkin work them loose.
Gods, if I knew nothing else about the witches, the Bluff’s barren landscape would be enough to make me hate them. Decades ago this whole place went dead, and layer by layer the winds and storms have stripped the lifeless soil away to leave only rock. Well, rock and mud, which hides between the stones like bits of soft tissue clinging to a skeleton’s bones.
There’s a shadow emerging on the horizon of the ocean, past the castle.
“Got it,” Malkin says.
I stay frozen, staring at the shape on the horizon. So far away from shore it looks stationary.
I know the outline, even as smudged by fog and mist and obscured by sea spines as it is. The shadow is a ship, and from how big it looks even at a distance, it’s not a little boat like the one we scavenged. It’s not even one of the long, low transports that skim between the towns, carrying our wounded and bringing food and letters to the last line of the barrier, before safety ends and the Wild Seas begin.
No, this is a Hellion of the imperial navy. And if it’s close enough for me to see it, that means it’s far, far north of the southern front where it belongs.
Did the War-Father finally come to bring his daughter home?
The wooden sledge clatters behind me as I break into a run.
5
I arrive out of breath, Malkin hundreds of yards behind me. The Governor’s lapdog, a wiry man named Skeinn, emerges from the castle as I draw the makeshift rope harness back over my head. My chest aches from how hard the rope tugged every time the wood caught behind me.
“He’s been waiting on you,” Skeinn says, as if the Governor weren’t the one who sent me on a full lap of the Bluff in the first place. “Get upstairs.”
The Observatory, where the Governor spends most of his time, is the castle’s fifth floor. I emerge from the dank stairwell to find the Governor pacing along the room’s seaward side. The walls are made of wide windows, interrupted by stone pillars, providing him a way to monitor the entire isle and the sea.
His head snaps towards me. The Governor’s wet, weepy eyes are set in once-pale skin that has burned so often it’s turned to freckled beige leather. His hair has begun to thin but he continues to comb it over the middle of his scalp.
“Lady knight,” he says. It’s been nearly two years since he calledme that with anything but mockery in his voice. And technically, he shouldn’t call me that at all. I’ve been stripped of rank, even if wrongly.
“Governor,” I say slowly.
Behind him, through the windows, is the warship. The sight leaves me breathless. The Hellion is close enough now that I can make out the smudge of blood-red sails instead of just hazy gray. The Governor has a spyglass in his hands, allowing him far more detail than my naked eye. I wish I could take a look.
I judge it will be another two hours before it arrives at the Bluff.
“How many ships have six masts?” he asks, as he fiddles with the device. My throat tightens.
It’s truly happening. Two years of waiting. I’d begun to wonder if the War-Father had forgotten me.
“Just one.” The words come out a whisper. The War-Father’s ship. Rancor. Three masts for sailing. And three spears, for three knights to key into the ship at once. She’s a true Hell-beast, the terror of our enemies.
If the Witch King had attacked Rancor instead of my Rampage, maybe we could have brought him down. As always the thought fills my mouth with the sour taste of failure. Harfor is dead because of me.
But with Rancor here to free me, the revenge I’ve been yearning for will finally be at hand. I can go after him at long last and make him pay for my slaughtered crew. I want the bastard to die in pain.
The Governor sets the spyglass upright on the windowsill and turns to face me.
“Do you still possess the Exalted’s letter? I should like to…refreshmy memory.”
I reach up and work the cap off the leather necklace pendant. It’s hard not to smile as I draw out the thin scroll of algae-fiber paper. The Governor’s hand shakes as he reaches for the letter.
He and I both know everything is about to change. The Governor’s eyes stare down at the letter in his hands, stamped withthe War-Father’s seal but written by a scribe. I’ve read it so many times I can recite it from memory.
You know my authority ends where civilization begins. Should I usurp the council to free my prized knight and ward, they will accuse me of witch-blindness. But I do not release you from your service. Give me time to prove your innocence. I will restore you to War’s Glory when I may. Remain obedient and follow the will of the council until that day.
The Governor keeps staring at the scrap of paper in his hands. At my trial, the council put me under his command. Soon, this dreary castle will be nothing but a memory.
He finishes reading the letter and rolls it slowly back up, before handing it to me as if it has the weight of a stone.
