“Fine?” Leon repeats, suspicious. He looks around at his soldiers, like he’s checking he heard right.
“Yes, fine. I can’t fight you and all your soldiers combined, so if you won’t let me go to Otscold, what choice do I have?” I let some of the frustration creep into my voice, some of the fear and dejection I feel beneath my anger—just enough to make it believable that I’m giving in under duress.
Except he doesn’t buy it. Leon’s eyes narrow.
“I know you, princess. You’re brewing something up. But you’d better give it up now.” He gestures to Hyllus and Eryx. “Have her stay in one of the cabins, and watch the doors. She’s not to leave.”
That’s it. Lock me up, just like the others. Tell me it’s for my own good.
But what Leon doesn’t realize is that I’ve changed since Gallawing. He helped me learn I am strong, that I am powerful enough to fight back. And I’ll find a way to do it now if it kills me.
They shut me in the cabin I’d been sharing with Phaia and Damia. Eryx seems as grumpy as ever, but Hyllus throws me an apologetic look as he closes the door. It’s still dark through the small porthole window, an incendi lamp illuminating the cabin.
Of course, I could burn my way out of here with my sun beams, but I don’t want to take the boat down with me. Besides, I don’t like my chances swimming to shore in the dark. I need a better plan.
I peer out through the porthole, wondering how long it will be until the sun’s up. There’s no telling how close the cleavers are to Otscold. Every hour counts.
I’m coming, Tira.
I unlatch the porthole and ease it open. I reckon with some wriggling I could ease my way through here—but where would I go from there?
I wait, counting the minutes in a torturous game of patience. Eventually, there’s enough of an orange glow on the horizon that I can at least see the riverbank, moving in an unending stream of long grasses and fields beyond. I pray to Ralus, to his queen Lusteris, to all the gods, seeing as each of them has a place in the celestial kingdom and can guide my fate.
Finally, they answer. I see a bend in the river where the waterway narrows, and on the curve there’s a break in the reeds lining the shore. There, jutting out into the water, is a small jetty with a rowboat tethered to it.
I’ve never orbited anything that big before, but I don’t need to lift the whole thing into the air, just pull it toward me across the water. I think I can do it. I have to.
I focus, finding my power within me, reminding myself what the dryad in Hallowbane told me: I have deep wells of power. I’m strong enough to do this. I just need to think of what’s pulling me the most—and in this moment, it’s my friends in Otscold.
It’s certainly more effort than floating some cards. But eventually, I get the boat to move, bobbing further out into the water until its rope is straining.
I wipe my sweating brow and take a deep breath. I know I’ll have to throw even more power behind it to get that rope to snap, but it gets easier as the smugglers’ riverboat gets closer to the jetty. I wait until we’re as close to it as I think we’ll get, and I hurl a wall of magic at the rowboat, yanking it toward me. The rope strains and creaks, then recoils with a satisfying snap, sending the little boat adrift.
After that, it’s easy to guide it up to the riverboat, position it beneath the porthole, and keep it there, moving alongside the larger vessel. The sun is truly rising now, and I’ll need to hurry. I can’t risk one of the smugglers spotting me as I row to shore.
I dart around the cabin, grabbing my traveling cloak and searching through Phaia and Damia’s things. With a mental apology, I steal a full water flask from Phaia and a bag of coins from Damia’s pack. Then I ease myself out of the porthole.
The thud as I drop down is louder than I’d like, but I waste no time grabbing the oars at the bottom of the boat and starting to row back toward the jetty. Where there’s a jetty, there’ll be a house—and probably more civilization beyond—somewhere I can get a horse; I can’t waste time walking to Otscold.
Orbiting the boat took a lot of power, and I feel the strain of it in my muscles as I start to move the oars, swinging them back and down through the water. Luckily, it’s a clear day. As the sun’s light finally hits me, I tilt my head back to soak up its rays, letting them give me strength for the task ahead.
Chapter28
Morgana
Otscold is quiet for this time of day. Too quiet.
I arrived here quicker than I expected. The sturdy pony I could afford with Damia’s gold didn’t look like it would get me anywhere fast, but the animal was tireless. I rode through the morning into the afternoon and saw the village on the horizon by four o’clock.
The place should be pretty busy right now, with field hands heading home before supper and children skipping out of the schoolhouse. But as I move deeper into the little hamlet, I barely see a soul.
Of course, I’m trying to make sure not a soul seesme, but I’m good at that. Sneaking around all those years means that I know the back streets and shortcuts of the village. It’s knowledge I rely on now as I creep toward the square that holds the sanctuary.
For all its holy significance, it’s not a majestic sight. In a small community like Otscold, the building used for prayers and rituals on holy days is just a squat, stone structure with an entrance at either end.
I’ve never been inside, but it’s the spot in Otscold that’s most associated with the Temple. Technically, it’s supposed to be a place to worshipallthe gods. But several decades ago, the scythe of Ethira got carved over the front door, just like it did in most places in the land.
If there’s going to be a purge, that’s where it will happen.
