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Shortly after midday, Nathaniel stopped just outside the sitting room, bag in hand. “I’m going now,” he said. His eyes were fixed to the wall, as if he were addressing it instead of us.
When Kate did not respond, he picked up his satchel and moved for the door, his broad shoulders sagging just a little bit lower than usual.
Kate closed her book and rose from the table. “Wait,” she said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Be careful.”
His expression softened. “I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded and put her hand on her belly. “We’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Nathaniel’s departure left Kate feeling drained; I felt comfortable letting her stay in the house alone only after she promised to try to sleep. She’d extracted a similar promise from me, too, but I had no intention of keeping it. I tried to convince myself that maybe it was better this way. Maybe with Zan gone, I could go back to worrying about my own problems instead of being constantly distracted by his.
The first thing I needed to take care of was the Founder’s blood relic. Toris had tipped his hand when my threat to destroy it caused him to retreat. I’d insinuated that I’d spelled the relic and hidden it, and that’s what I decided to spend my time accomplishing. Better late than never, after all.
I thought of a half dozen places to hide it, but none of them felt right—?that one was too close to home; wouldn’t want Toris to track it back to Nathaniel and Kate. That one was too open; it could be too easily glimpsed by a passerby. Burying it wouldn’t work, because what if an animal found it? Keeping it on my person at all times seemed like a good option . . . except that if Toris ever searched me and found it, I’d be dead on the spot.
Over and over, the thought that kept coming back to me was: Aren.
She had frightened Toris in the Ebonwilde. Her tower was protected by bloodleaf; no self-preserving individual would cross it willingly. And as my fluency in magic grew, so did my awareness of its currents. At the exact center of the city, the tower acted almost like an anchor to the ley lines rerouted into the wall. I was drawn to it.
The flooded canal passage had mostly drained in the days since High Gate fell, leaving behind a thick layer of mud and debris. I slogged through it, falling a few times, and ascended the tower stairs soaked and feeling sorry for myself.
It didn’t take long to find a brick loose enough to remove and replace with the vial concealed behind it; indeed, it seemed as if the structure was still standing only because of luck or magic, or a combination of both. The brick I chose was on the pedestal just below Aren’s left heel. I could have used a brick in the front, but it seemed somehow unfair to make her watch over the blood of the brother who’d killed her. I didn’t spell it, either; I was tired, and my hands hurt—?they were never without a new cut, no matter how quickly I healed—?and I felt certain that if I did, it would somehow go awry, just like everything else.
Just as I was rising from my knees to brush the dirt and chips of mortar off my dress, I heard the sound of trumpets in the distance. I leaned out from the tower battlement in time to see the king’s hunting party exiting through Forest Gate, blue Achlevan pennants streaming. It was a collection of lords and ladies dressed in costumes nearly as fine—?and absurd—?as the masquerade. A half dozen sleek hounds ran alongside the parade, barking for joy and nipping at the horses’ heels. I caught sight of Lisette and Conrad’s matching golden heads just as they disappeared under the gate. Behind them, about three riders back, rode Nathaniel and Zan.
I wanted to be angry, but standing there so far above the rest of the world, watching Zan blindly following the whims of his worthless king, I felt only sorry. For him, for the city he was neglecting, and for myself, because he cared so little for my good opinion when I would have moved mountains to earn his. Until this, at least.
I was retreating from the tower’s edge when I saw it: a tiny scrap of red, fluttering in the breeze, bright against the wilted, brown garden. It wasn’t smart to go gallivanting across the castle grounds in the middle of the day, but once I’d seen it, I couldn’t stop myself. I flew down the stairs and raced across the bloodleaf to where I’d spotted that flash of red.
Sure enough, it was a ribbon tied to the hand of an impish garden figurine. Red for north.
I untied the ribbon and walked a few paces toward the fjord but had to stop at the terrace ledge. Leaning over, I peeked down and saw a rock, mostly hidden by rotted bushes, that had been laid on top of something white. A small paper box. I opened it quickly and was stunned to pull out Conrad’s figurine, carefully twisted into the shape of a swan.
I searched my pockets, but I already knew I had nothing left to give him; nevertheless, the thought of stopping our game was intolerable. As much as I wanted to keep this token from him, I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep standing out in the wide open, either. So I turned the pieces one, two, three more times, until the animal I was holding was not a graceful swan but a noble stag. I traded the red ribbon for the one I’d come wearing—?lavender—?and left it under the rock. Then I moved east and hid the box under the overhang of one terrace stone and another.
All the way home, I let my hair fly free as I cradled that red ribbon as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Because to me it was.
24
The next morning I found Kate in the rocking chair next to her bedroom window, humming a sad, pretty lullaby in time to the in-and-out motions of her needle as she rocked. She paused to hold up her project—?a lovely little dress—?to admire. “Not bad,” she said. To her belly, she added, “What do you think, my girl?”
I knocked softly on the door frame to let her know I was there. “With all the flower dresses you’ve made, what will your baby wear if it’s a boy?”
“Flower dresses, of course,” Kate said, smiling widely. “A baby doesn’t care what it wears, and I’ve put too much work into them not to use them. Besides, I’d never want my boy to grow up thinking he couldn’t love flowers.” She poi
nted her needle at me. “But still . . . she’s a girl, and until she’s born, no one will be able to tell me otherwise.”
“What does Nathaniel think of the prospect?”
Her smile dimmed. “I haven’t told him.”
Carefully, I asked, “How bad is it, really?”
“Bad. I made Dedrick’s costume—?how could I not? It was a simple design, and he paid quite a lot for it. But Nathaniel was here when he came by to get it before the ball. It didn’t go well.”
“And now he’s off chasing bunnies in the forest with Domhnall.”
