CHAPTER SEVEN

Where exactly are we going?” I said after a while. It seemed a safe time to inquire—we were walking rather than running, and Miranda had even pulled a few apples out of her bag to eat. They hadn’t taken too much of a knocking during our flight, and were still sweet and crisp. For the moment, the danger had passed.

“The Gather.”

“But I thought the rulers of the Gather were the ones after you?” I said, confused.

“It’s a large city. And we’ll need supplies before we embark on any sort of rescue operation. I know some people who will help us.”

“What sort of supplies do we need?” It occurred to me suddenly that when I’d met Miranda, she hadn’t had anything with her.

“The usual,” Miranda said. “Food, weapons. A few magical trinkets.”

Magic. Despite everything I had just witnessed, I still had difficulty wrapping my mind around its existence.

I thought of my father. Of how long he had denied this knowledge to me—lied to me. And then I thought of my last glimpse of him, sprinting after me as I stepped into the Silence. The forest had kept him out. I wondered if he had waited there at the border, if he had tried to find another way in.

What if I never see him again? The thought caught me by surprise, ripping into my anger and exposing something else underneath—something rough and sorrowful.

I did my best to shove those feelings back down. I didn’t want to feel them. I couldn’t. If I allowed it, they might drown me.

Ahead of me, Miranda slowed, then stopped. She stared down at the ground, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” As I caught up to her, I saw a line that looked as though it had been drawn in charcoal cutting across the path.

She shook her head. “We’re not on the right path.”

“It’s not safe?”

“No, it’s safe. It’s just leading somewhere I’d rather not go.”

“Where?”

She bit her lip. “There’s a community of people who have left the Gather—they are no friend to the tyrant. This path leads to their camp. But… I’m not well liked there.”

If these people were enemies of the tyrant, and Miranda was trying to wake the princess who would liberate the forest from the Gather’s rule, then what reason could they have for not liking her?

“Is there somewhere else we can go?” I asked.

Miranda looked up at the sky—what little of it we could see through the trees. “It’s getting late,” she said, clearly torn. “We shouldn’t be out in the Silence after dark. There’s no telling what might show up.”

“Then we should go to this place. Even if the people aren’t the most welcoming.”

She nodded. “You’re right. But you need to be prepared. The Gather is a complicated place, and so is this camp. You’ll see some terrible things here.”

“It can’t be more terrible than what we’ve already seen,” I said, trying to convince myself.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You’re very brave,” she said, and the strangest thing was, she seemed to mean it.

Brave? I wasn’t so certain of that. I’d spent most of my life being afraid. But Miranda made me believe that perhaps there was room in the Silence for a new Lena. A braver Lena.

“Anyway,” she continued. “What I’m trying to say is that nothing here is exactly as it seems. So stick close to me and don’t listen to what anyone else might try to tell you. You can’t trust that they’re telling the truth.”

I nodded. She’d led me this far.

So we stepped over the line and followed the path through the dimming light.

It wasn’t more than half an hour before we came to another line in the path, this one deeper and darker, as though it had been burned straight into the earth. Here Miranda hesitated once more. “This is it,” she said. “Are you ready?”

I checked my gloves and nodded. Miranda stepped carefully over the line.

“Halt!”

I peered into the darkness, but there was no one there. Miranda held up her hands to show they were empty. I did the same.

“I come to seek shelter,” she called.

“What shelter?” came the voice again.

“The shelter of those foresworn, for I have traveled more than seven days and nights to find this place,” Miranda said, her words lilting like an incantation.

There was a pause. I wondered how many were watching us, unheard and unseen. And whether they might have weapons. My fingers twitched with nerves.

“Come,” said the disembodied voice.

Miranda walked forward. The air shimmered around her—and then she disappeared.

What?

“Come on.” Miranda’s voice floated back to me.

I braced myself and took a step. The air suddenly felt solid and impenetrable, as though I’d dropped into a vat of mud. I leaned forward, straining to move my arms, legs, anything—and then I was falling.

I scarcely had time to be afraid before my body jerked to a halt, my head snapping back. Something had caught me—something that felt unnervingly alive.

The darkness lifted, and I gasped.

I’d fallen into a wide pit so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. The only things saving me from the fall were hands—disembodied hands that appeared to be made of clay. They grasped me by the arms and legs, suspending my body in midair. I recoiled, but the hands held me fast.

“Be still,” Miranda said. I turned my head and saw her suspended on the other side of the trench, though she looked significantly more at ease than I felt. “Don’t worry. They won’t leave us down here for long.”

“Who won’t?” I said, fighting to control my breathing. The sides of the trench were closing in around me. No matter that these hands were made of clay—the sensation of being restrained like this was unbearable. But if they let me go, I would fall. Falling would be worse.

As if on cue, there came a sharp whistle from above. The hands rotated our bodies slowly until we were upright, though that was little comfort. I looked up to see someone lean over the top of the pit and peer down at us—a man with close-cropped white hair.

“What’s your business?” he said. So he had been the one speaking to us.

“We ask for shelter for one night,” Miranda said, sounding shockingly calm. “And some travel rations.”

“Shelter?” A new voice spoke, and an older woman’s head appeared next to the man’s. “What needs has Miranda, pet of the Gather, that she must seek them here among the outcasts?”

Miranda’s face fell. “Rin,” she said flatly. “I didn’t know you had come here.”

Rin raised her voice. “This girl is a liar and a thief. I don’t know who shared with her the words to gain admission to Haven, but she should not have been allowed within these walls. She is working for the king.”

What? I looked at Miranda, alarmed.

“I have been cast out,” Miranda said. “Surely even you are aware of that.”

“Only because of Calanthe.”

Miranda flinched at the name, then collected herself. “I displeased them. The Wolves almost caught me only a few days ago. You can inspect my wounds yourself, if you don’t believe me. They would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped. Would they have done so, if I were still a loyal servant of the Gather?”

Rin turned to the gatekeeper. “Cast her out now, Tadrik,” she said. “She’ll only bring harm upon us.”

The hands tightened their grips, and I hissed in pain.

“I swear to you I mean no harm to Haven’s inhabitants,” Miranda said quickly. “We only need a place to stay for one night. What can I say to convince you that I’m telling the truth?”

Rin’s gaze slid over me. “Nothing,” she said.

Nothing? The hands loosened their grips, and I felt my arms begin to slip. “There must be something!” I cried, sweat dripping down the back of my shirt. “We are not servants of the Gather—I swear it!”

Tadrik turned to Rin and murmured something to her. At last she nodded. He turned back to us. “A blood oath has served us before in such circumstances.”

“Fine,” I said. Whatever would get us out of this pit, I would do it.

“No!” Miranda said sharply. “She cannot take the oath.”

“Why not?” Tadrik said.

“She has a blood condition,” Miranda replied. “I will take the oath for both of us.”

“Ah.” His expression softened. “Very well, then.”

Their heads disappeared from view, leaving only gray sky above us.

“Are they coming back?” I asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” Miranda said, though I got the feeling she was less than confident in her answer.

And then the hands moved, lifting our bodies toward the sky. They spilled us out of the trench onto solid ground, then released their grips. I pushed myself to my feet and staggered away, shuddering.

From the path I had seen only a veil of darkness. Now, on the other side, I could see a number of squat houses sitting in the shadow of a small hill.

Miranda clambered up beside me. In front of us stood the gatekeeper, leaning on a staff. Next to him stood Rin, who had one arm in a sling. She glared at Miranda, but the man waved us forward.

“Fine,” Rin said to him. “If you’re so set on accepting a viper into our midst, who am I to stop you?” She stalked angrily away.

Tadrik produced a needle from his pocket. “Come forward.”

Miranda stepped in front of me and knelt before him, holding out her hand, and I suddenly realized why she had offered to take the oath instead of me.

The gatekeeper pricked her finger with a needle, drawing one drop of blood that rose and floated in the air. “Do you swear on behalf of yourself and your companion that you do not intend to harm Haven or its inhabitants?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear not to harm Haven or any of its inhabitants for the duration of your stay or thereafter?”

“I do… so long as they do not harm me first. You cannot expect me not to defend myself if attacked.”

Tadrik frowned. “No qualifications.”

Miranda sighed. “Fine. I do.”

The gatekeeper gestured with his hand, and the blood turned silvery, flowing around Miranda’s wrist and settling against her skin. Now it looked like a bracelet. “Then be bound, by your own word and blood. May your blood be devoured if you break this oath, if you betray the location of this place to any servants of the Gather, now or forevermore.”

Miranda jerked her hand back as if stung. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”

He looked at her impassively. “If you truly mean us no harm, if you are who you say you are, it will be no great trial to you.”

For a moment I thought Miranda might strike him. Instead she schooled her face into a neutral expression. “Very well.”

“Then you may stay here until noon tomorrow, but no longer.”

“How generous of you,” Miranda said bitingly. She stood up and turned to me. “Let’s go.”

She led the way past the houses. As we approached the hill, I realized that there was a tunnel carved into its side. Next to the entrance was a stack of lanterns. When we reached the opening, Miranda picked one up and lit it. Together we entered the tunnel.

For a while the only sounds were our footsteps. At first the walls were dry, but over time, they turned mossy and damp. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of water trickling. Once the light from outside had completely faded, I turned to Miranda.

“Why did the gatekeeper react like that when you said I had a blood condition?”

Miranda laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. “I forget how much you don’t know.” She paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “The Gather was founded by blood mages because they are looked down upon elsewhere.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with being a blood mage?”

“No, it’s just that… Look, a blood mage is someone born with magic in their blood—like me. When we draw blood, we’re able to access our magic. But every use of magic is draining. Once our natural stores are spent, we must wait for them to regenerate. In order to get around that, some mages choose to store their magic in other humans—even humans with no magic of their own.”

“Which means a blood mage could access more power than they’d be able to alone,” I said slowly.

“Exactly. It’s an extra reservoir of power. The trouble is, when someone is forced to carry more magic than their bodies are naturally meant to hold, the magic starts to… erode them. They become very sick. Eventually, they die.”

“That’s horrible!”

“I agree. It’s called blood plague, but some think it’s more polite to say ‘blood condition.’ It’s why those who rule the Gather are so evil—they use those below them just to store their power. Suck them dry, then throw them away once they break.”

“So you just told the gatekeeper that I have blood plague?”

She shrugged. “It’s common enough. And there aren’t many visible signs at the beginning.”

“I see,” I said, everything she’d told me swirling through my mind. Miranda had said the rulers of the Gather were tyrants—now I understood why one might go to considerable lengths to take them down. Though I couldn’t ignore what Rin had said, about Miranda being the pet of the Gather. And I wanted to know who Calanthe was and what had happened to her. But I wasn’t sure how to ask Miranda about any of these things.

I wished I had her confidence. Even after our encounter with the Wolves, she hadn’t been shaken. She’d known how to find a path and taken us to Haven even though she knew she might not be welcome. She had a plan, and the strength to see it through. And here I was, unable to form a simple question.

So instead we walked in silence. My clothes were more damp than fully wet now, though that didn’t make them any more comfortable. Slowly my mind began to drift to thoughts of a warm bed and hot food.

---

I heard Haven before I saw it. The trickling sounds grew into a steady stream and then a dull roar. Soon the tunnel widened, and then finally opened into a cavern so large I couldn’t take in its full expanse in one look. At its far end, almost directly opposite us, a waterfall fed a pool at its base. Makeshift shelters hugged the cavern walls closer to us, lit by lanterns set on roughly cut ledges. A fire pit commanded the center of the chamber. It seemed we’d arrived at mealtime, as dozens of people milled around a cauldron suspended over the fire.

“Stay close to me, and be careful,” Miranda said.

As we approached, I saw that many of these people walked with their shoulders hunched as if against a strong wind. Bone-rattling coughs reverberated throughout the crowd. More than a few of them limped, and there were strange marks on their faces, as though someone had spilled black ink upon their skin. As I looked closer, I realized that the marks moved, swirling across their cheeks like living creatures.

“Is that the blood plague?” I whispered, mindful of the fact that someone familiar with the Gather would likely not need to ask such a question.

“Yes,” Miranda said shortly. “Try not to stare if you can help it. Like I said, it’s common here.”

We made our way to an unoccupied shelter made of canvas stretched over mismatched wooden poles that leaned against the cavern wall. It was dry enough, but that was the best that could be said for it. There was nothing inside except a small stack of musty-smelling blankets in the corner, neatly folded.

“Stay here,” Miranda said, setting down her bag. “I’ll get us some food.”

I waited as Miranda cut through the crowd to the cauldron. She retrieved two bowls and walked back to me, her limp more pronounced than before.

I accepted the bowl carefully—it was full of clear broth with doughy dumplings floating on top.

Miranda sat down gingerly and started eating.

“Is your leg all right?” I asked.

She grimaced. “Not really.”

“Could a healer help?” I myself had never been to a healer. Not when I’d gotten an angry rash from playing in the weeds, nor when I’d broken my leg falling out of a tree. My parents had always patched me up as best they could—and I’d survived, as best I could. But Miranda didn’t have such restrictions.

“Not necessary,” she said, her face pinched.

“Do you think they would refuse to help you? Because of… Calanthe?” I said cautiously.

“What about Calanthe?” she snapped.

I was surprised by the bite in her tone. “Rin mentioned her when we arrived. Were you lying, about being against the rulers of the Gather? Because Rin seemed to think you were a loyal servant to the king,” I said, finally giving voice to my questions.

Miranda leaned forward, letting her hair fall over her face. “I wish you hadn’t heard that,” she said softly.

“Why?” I asked, my suspicions growing.

“Because I don’t want to talk about it,” she said fiercely. “Because I don’t owe you details about my life.”

“I—I’m sorry,” I said. “I just don’t know what to believe. I thought—”

“You don’t think that being chased by Wolves is enough to prove that I’m not on their side?” she said, cutting me off.

If this had been any other day, a conversation with any other person, I would have ducked my head and made my excuses, made myself as small as I could, hoping to disappear.

But this was today, and I had ventured into the Silence and killed a Wolf. Much as I was drawn to Miranda, it was dawning on me that I didn’t know her very well at all.

“What I am saying,” I said carefully, “is that perhaps there is another explanation for what happened with the Wolves. It could have been a ruse, to make it seem like you were on my side, not theirs.”

Miranda scoffed. “Oh really, lady of suspicion?” She threw her spoon into her bowl and crossed her arms, glaring at me. “Then answer me this: If that was the plan, how did the Wolves know it? I was in your house from the time we met until the time we left. And need I remind you that they attacked me before we met? Do you truly believe you are so special that I’d go to such lengths, just to snatch you away?”

Put like that, my doubts seemed ludicrous.

But Miranda had gotten to the edge of the Silence before me.

And there had been no witnesses to the first attack.

“I only have your word to trust,” I said, pushing back. “Nothing else.”

Slowly Miranda’s expression softened. “Look. I hate talking about Calanthe, but I’ll tell you. If that’s the only way you’ll believe me.”