“Are you so sure, my friend?” Carter squeezes my shoulder. “Carrenwell family ties run deep.”
“Only one way to know for certain.”
I pat Carter on the back and enter the manor, happy at last to have something Harlow wants.
36
HARLOW
We emerge from the Drained Wood to a crowd of fifty hunters. They’re cloaked in the late afternoon shadow of Lunameade’s city walls, but they have weapons drawn for a fight. They lower them as soon as they see that we’re human.
Behind the hunters, a group of engineers and nearly one hundred men are working on the North Hold Gate. A series of pulleys and ropes is constructed around the massive doors. One door is being pushed onto an extra-long carriage flatbed. The other door still stands, but barely.
Seeing the North Hold Gate riddled with claw marks turns my blood cold.
There are always some marks. The doors get replaced every few months. All the gates in the city are a standard size so the smiths in town can remove the damaged ones, melt and reform them, and be ready to replace the next damaged door. The Drained hit the north and south entrances much more frequently, so those gates get replaced almost twice as often as the others.
Personally, I’ve never seen so much damage on one set of gates.
Henry tightens his arm around my waist, as if he senses my tension.
“State your names,” the man at the front of the group of hunters says.
“Harlow Carrenwell, Gaven Pomeroy, Henry Havenwood, Carter Peliet, and Bryce Kennison,” I call.
We already had the full attention of the contingent of hunters, but at the sound of my name, several of the engineers turn to look as well. It would be wise of them to work faster, considering how little daylight is left and the fact that they still have to remove one door and get both new doors installed.
“Make way,” the lead hunter says.
His men form two lines on either side of the gateway. We ride through the half-replaced gates, ignoring the looks from the men around the wall.
The ride through the Drained Wood was uneventful, but now my heart is racing and my palms are clammy as we ride around the side of North Hold Gatehouse. The manor’s dark stone walls cast clawed shadows over the road in front of us.
Aidia. Aidia. Aidia. Her name pounds through my head in time with my pulse. I just need to see her.
One of Henry’s hands comes off the reins and presses to my chest.
I want to squirm away. I don’t want his comfort. I loathe that he even knows I’m anxious, but the ride took most of the day and I spent the entire time tense, not nearly as worried about the Drained in the woods as I am about the ones that shredded the gates.
I relax into him anyway, my heart rate slowing at the contact. It’s frustrating that I’ve spent my entire life holding people at arm’s length for their own safety, and now the one chance I have at casual intimacy is this maddening man, who is the last obstacle between me and Aidia and freedom. What a Divine-damned joke.
As we round the front of North Hold, the glare from the sun flashes off of the windows, and I wonder if my sister is watching me from somewhere safe inside.
Henry slows the horses as we near the front entrance of the house. A huge crowd looms ahead of us, arching around the front steps, and there, atop the stairs, stands Rafe Mattingly, arms lifted and voice raised like a king holding court.
I search for Aidia, but there’s no sign of her. It’s not a surprise that she’s not beside Rafe like a dutiful wife. She has often resisted his publicity stunts, but given how she looked before I left, I know the more likely reason is the state of her face and her unwillingness to glamour away his violence. I respect her conviction, but I hate it right now. Herabsence fills me with a cold, impotent terror because I see her bruised, hopeless face every time I close my eyes. I feel her flinching away when I try to hug her. I just want to see her eyes to know that she can hold on a little longer. I’m so close to getting us to the freedom we’ve dreamed about for years.
My parents and Able are on the top step behind Rafe. Most people can’t read the subtle expressions hidden within Harrick Carrenwell’s scowls, but I can. I have to make a quick study of him; I can read his supreme displeasure, just like I can read the mad, swirling blue cloud of his aura like a fierce stormfront moving in.
My mother stands beside him. She’s fabulously outfitted in a dark purple fur-lined coat. Her black hair is pulled back in a severe chignon, and her deep violet eyes are fixed in a look of calm sympathy.
Able is not so well-mastered. He stares holes into the back of Rafe’s head. My oldest brother has always been quick-tempered, with a dark blue aura that spits off little firework sparks when he’s angry, but now those sparks are full-blown explosions. Anyone close with any semblance of magic is sure to feel it.
Fortunately, the crowd seems to be full of those with no Divine blessings, and Rafe seems wholly unbothered, perhaps even a touch delighted by their dismay.
The people are entranced by his impassioned speaking.
“These times test all of our faith, and this failure is mine alone. Don’t blame our leaders. They have done everything they can—have used the power you’ve bought them with your blood—to keep our city safe and secure. The threats outside our walls grow stronger daily and their commitment is unwavering. It is I who has let you all down. As the man you chose to be a voice and advocate for you at the magical tables of Lunameade, I have done my best as mayor to balance what is best for all of you with what is necessary to protect this great city. That’s why I made sure that the blood tithe would never be paid by retired guardsmen.”
