Bluebell, her war band and her giants kept to the low roads as they made their way back across Thyrsland. Even on the low roads, though, there was traffic, there was the necessity for fresh horses, or for a meal at a small alehouse. The giants had miraculous abilities to hide: slipping into the woods or behind rocks, but also some trick of the air and light Withowind used.
Now, as they sat by a stream, resting the horses for the final descent towards Æcstede, Bluebell watched as Withowind showed Ash the trick. They had assembled on the other side of the stream so she was too far away to hear their words, but Withowind and the other giants clearly adored Ash. With warm patience they surrounded her, Withowind explaining something minutely. Ash, whose powers seemed not only restored but amplified, moved the wind with a roll of her wrists.
Bluebell chewed on a slice of dried apple. The sun was out from behind the morning fog, glittering on the backs of the leaves lifted by the wind. Her soldiers spoke in low voices to each other, some stripped down and washing in the stream so they could greet loved ones smelling sweet and fresh. Bluebell didn’t care about smelling sweet and fresh. After the battle, if she was still alive, she would have a bath in her bowerhouse with Snowy.
A pang.
She resisted the urge to lay her arm across her belly, across what might be the last trace of her husband. She would not think about the child growing inside her. She hardly believed it was true: she was not sick, though perhaps her appetite was thin; and now she had thought to count, she knew her monthly bleed was late. The current disaster meant she had not cared to keep track. As for her body, she felt as strong and sure-footed as ever. Nothing had changed.
As these thoughts played out, across the stream, the giants began to laugh. Bluebell returned her attention to them, wondering where Ash was. She glanced around. Six giants, twelve soldiers, no Ash.
Or …
She was still there, among the giants. How had Bluebell not seen her?
Then she wasn’t again. Bluebell stood, all her muscles flexed. She peered at the place where Ash was and … she was back.
Bluebell laughed. Ash looked so proud of herself, flashing in and out of visibility. Only she wasn’t ever entirely invisible; it was as though a shallow fog descended over that small sector of Bluebell’s vision. If she knew what to look for, she could see through it. This was how the giants did it, and now Ash could do it too.
Sal was at her side then, a half-smile on his lips. ‘Imagine if she could make our whole army disappear.’
‘I had thought the same, though I suspect not. I mean, she is still there. I can see her if I try to see her.’
They watched together for a few moments, then Sal turned to her. ‘We are a few hours from Æcstede and should arrive while there is yet afternoon light. What is your plan for keeping the giants hidden once there?’
‘I have no plan,’ Bluebell said. ‘We will march into Æcstede with them fully visible behind me.’
Sal raised an eyebrow.
‘Sal, I have been away too long. I need to show my people that it was worth it. Imagine how their hopes will lift when they see that not only am I returned, but also that I have with me a war band of giants.’
‘Willow may find out,’ Sal said.
‘I hope she does and I hope she shits herself,’ Bluebell snapped, then softened. ‘At most she will have a night to think of a plan, and neither Willow nor Hakon have good brains for war strategy.’ She smiled to herself, imagining Willow failing the giants’ test. As for Hakon, his chief weapons were ugliness and fear. The giants would not be afraid of him.
‘The woman I met seemed as though she could stare down giants without fear,’ Sal muttered, and Bluebell turned to face him.
‘Are you afraid of Willow?’
‘I saw what she did.’
Bluebell did not bother to contain her patience. ‘She killed cruelly? Is that the first time you have seen cruelty, Sal?’
His chin jutted out slightly. ‘They were my friends.’
‘Salgar son of Dunstan,’ she said, ‘you may curl in a ball and cry for the lifetime of bad dreams my sister granted you only after this battle is fought. Do you understand?’ She had seen this before: men who had seen a thousand vile deaths suddenly unable to witness another. But she could not lose Sal now. He had to be made to keep going.
He nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Round everyone up,’ she commanded. ‘Giants and the little undermagician too. I want them on full display. Leave our pots and pans and blankets behind. I want shining mail and everyone in a sash, and our banner flying high and bright. When the soldiers, the citizens and all the refugees see us, they will gasp. Maximum awe. Make sure everyone knows.’
Sal hurried off to start organising the band. Bluebell watched them begin to move, fear and excitement infusing their bodies. She thought of that field of refugees she had seen in that horrifying moment she had emerged from being trapped in the forest by Rathcruick.
Where were you? Where were you?
‘Here we fucking are,’ Bluebell said to herself. She was on fire to show them.
Every noise near the door, every footstep passing in the narrow corridor outside the living quarters in which Rose and Linden were staying, made all Rose’s senses sing with alert. Wengest would come. He would try to take Linden. She would have to stop him.
But mostly, it was Ivy going in and out, her rough companion she had met in the woods, or Nettie playing with Ivy’s children.
So when the door cracked open, she pulled Linden close to her hip and waited with her breath trapped in her lungs.
Then every muscle and fibre unbunched and she was in Heath’s arms. The smell of him – woodsmoke and skin – overwhelmed her. There was drizzle in his beard and on his cloak.
‘I did not expect you for days,’ she said.
‘Rowan found us a very fast route,’ he said with a humourless laugh. ‘Hello, Linden.’
Linden barely looked up from where he crouched once more on the floor, organising Goldie’s rocks in order of size.
‘There is much to tell you,’ Rose said.
Heath nodded. ‘On both sides. But for now, are you well? How I have missed you.’ His arms went around her waist again.
She pressed her cheek against his chest. The embroidery on his shirt imprinted on her skin. ‘I am not well. Wengest has discovered us. I do not know what he plans.’
‘I have seen him,’ Heath said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. ‘He was forgiving but insists that I return to Druimach after the battle.’
‘With me and Linden?’
‘He did not say.’
She stepped back, searching his face with her gaze. ‘Heath, would you forgive me anything?’
‘What a thing to ask, Rose. Of course. Have you something to tell me?’
Rose shook her head.
‘Whatever it is, or will be, it must wait. An important battle will soon take place and no king nor queen will answer questions about which child belongs where. First, blood must be spilled. Lives must be lost. Love waits on war.’
‘You have come with the Ærfolc?’
‘I have come with my new queen, Rowan,’ he said, a wry twist to his lips.
Pride and fear fought in her breast. ‘I do not understand how this came to pass,’ Rose said. ‘Sighere said the tribes followed her to Renward?’
‘Competence inspires nobody, Rose,’ he said bitterly. ‘A prophecy, a set of antlers that belonged to her grandfather, her ability to bring us here through a magical crossing …’ He shrugged. ‘I had no chance to hold on to power.’
Rose touched his face, unsure what to say. He was angry with Rowan, that much was clear. It was not a time for Rose to admit any pride in her daughter. ‘Will she be safe?’ she asked instead.
‘In that she has an army of a hundred willing to die for her, yes,’ he replied. Then, seeming to realise that she needed reassurance, added, ‘I will not let any harm come to her. She will come along soon enough herself to set your mind at rest, I imagine.’ He let her go and stood in front of Linden. ‘And as for this fellow … I have missed you, young sir.’
Linden looked up with a slight lift of his lips.
Rose fought the familiar feeling that happiness was always given to her temporarily, conditionally. She turned and reached for Heath, holding him as tightly as she could. He sensed her uncertainty and planted his feet firmly, stroked her hair and didn’t break the embrace.
The problem was there was never anywhere to sit. When Ivy needed a break, more often than not she simply returned to the shelter of the row of hazels that delineated the edge of the field, waited a few minutes, then returned to work.
This is where she stood, arms and back aching, gazing out over the field of refugees. She hated the work. Hated it. She’d started by carrying buckets of water to and from the stream – hence the aching muscles – but the soft skin of her palms had torn up so she had asked for a different job. Now she and Goldie were responsible for weaving between the hundreds of little encampments, handing out bread and dried fruit. Most of them wanted to talk, to complain, to seek comfort and reassurance from her. She did her best, but it drained her dry. By the end of the second day, she felt she was little more than a husk. Her own broken heart, her own need for comfort and reassurance, was endlessly deferred. On arrival back at the alderman’s house, her boys had leapt on top of her, needing cuddles and stories and bedtime tuck-ins. She fell asleep before they did, then woke to a new day – a slightly wetter one – to do it all again.
So now she stood – one arm protectively around Goldie, her fingers in the girl’s hair – hollow-eyed and bone-tired, wishing she could run back to town.
Well, she could if she wanted to, if it wasn’t for Vex.
No and Wander had departed at the end of the first day. Vex had agreed to meet them in a week or so. Vex felt she could help here among the refugees, especially with the mothers who did not know where their husbands were. Vex’s goodness shamed Ivy into staying. The idea that Vex should look over and see her gone and silently judge her was beyond contemplation. She stayed, determined to do good, sure that everyone who did good in the world also hated it but did it anyway, because it was right.
Vex spied her from across the field and trudged over to join her. The older woman often took her breaks at the same time as Ivy.
‘Little Goldie, Princess Stupid, how goes it?’ she said as she approached. This is what Vex had decided to continue to call her, and Ivy didn’t mind but she rather wished Vex wouldn’t do it while the people of Blicstowe were listening.
Ivy waited until Vex stood next to her, beaming her simple smile.
‘I am tired,’ Ivy confessed, ‘but I keep going.’
Vex gestured expansively towards the field. ‘They love you,’ she said. ‘They are always telling me that to have one of the princesses of Blicstowe here means the world to them. That they haven’t been forgotten.’
‘Really?’ Ivy was puzzled by this. She’d assumed her reluctance, her permanent distractedness, was evident to everyone. It was a little easier, now, to straighten her spine. ‘Well, then. I was never popular in Sæcaster. Perhaps I should have left ages ago.’
Vex tilted her head and squinted. ‘Is that what Crispin told you?’
Ivy nodded slowly. ‘Yes. That nobody liked me.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I have done some … stupid things.’
Vex sniffed dismissively. ‘Haven’t we all.’ She shifted her hips, settling into a new stance. ‘You know, you should return to Sæcaster and you should kick him out and you should take back what’s yours.’
Vex had said this or some version of this before. Ivy went mute every time. Take back what was hers? Sæcaster had never been hers. She had been forced into marriage so young, to a man who already had one foot in his grave. While she’d thought to keep it for her children, Ivy was no longer sure if that would be best for them. But she didn’t want to tell Vex that Crispin was welcome to the freezing northern shore fort, because Vex would think her weak. Spoiled. Ivy could decide never to return and she’d still live in luxury.
Well. If Bluebell won back Blicstowe she would.
A commotion stirred up near the carts, which were parked along the edge of the field. People began to shout and cheer. Ivy turned. She felt Goldie’s body tense, and gave her a squeeze.
‘They are happy noises,’ she said. ‘Do not worry.’
‘What’s going on?’ Vex asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Ivy released Goldie and took a few steps towards the carts. Now more people were gathering, craning to see the top of the woodland road, where it descended through rocks to the town. Ivy was too short to see, so Vex patted her shoulder and said, ‘Here, climb on my back.’
Ivy would never have done so, but Vex had suddenly bent in front of her, so Ivy locked her arms around Vex’s throat and Vex stood. Now she could see over the other heads.
Her heart lifted. Bluebell, a small band of soldiers – and six giants in full war gear. They were the most beautiful, fierce and noble creatures Ivy had ever seen. Fearsome helms and ringing mail, all of them faithfully following Bluebell towards Æcstede. The cheers and cries intensified. People gasped and shouted to each other, ‘Giants! She has brought giants!’
‘What is it?’ Vex asked. ‘Can you see?’
‘It’s my big sister,’ Ivy said, and swelled with pride.