37 
Skip was the king’s daughter. It was dizzying and mystifying and a little bit sickening. What would Skip think? That horrible man was her father. He thought she was dead – wanted her dead. She wasn’t an orphan from the slum tunnels. She was an outcast, a princess in hiding, even from herself.
Ottilie shook her head, trying to clear it. They were going to save Scoot. It was all that mattered right now. All she could focus on.
They burst into the infirmary to find the partitions pulled back. Skip and Leo were there, sparkling clean and covered in bandages. Gully and Ned were not. They must have been sent back to their bedchambers.
There was a strange air in the room. Something was wrong. The patchies were hovering back. The other beds were empty. Skip had tears running down her face. Ottilie’s chest tightened as she hurried across the room. She tipped her head, terrified of what she might see.
The patch over Scoot’s heart was white.
‘No,’ said Preddy.
Ottilie would not, could not, accept it. It didn’t feel real. It wasn’t real. There could still be time. A scrap of him might remain. She shoved the jar of water into Skip’s hand. ‘Pour it,’ she said. It was all she could manage.
‘What? Why?’ Tears dripped off Skip’s chin.
‘Please, Isla, just pour it over him,’ said Preddy.
Skip’s hand shook as she tipped the water over the perfect white statue.
Ottilie held her breath. The water scattered into rivulets, streaming off the stone and soaking the sheet. She watched it seep, waiting for magic. But it already felt wrong, like jumping off the ground and hoping to fly. It was too ordinary. Just water on fabric. A spilled drink. Washing left out in the rain.
It hadn’t worked.
It was their last chance and it hadn’t worked. Maybe they were too late, or maybe she had been wrong about the healing spring. Maybe the good deed had been done too long ago, or maybe they’d gone to the wrong spot. Maybe the water was just water.
Ottilie’s legs buckled and she found herself on the ground, leaning against the bed. Preddy slid down beside her, sheet-white and shaking.
‘Get up,’ said Leo.
‘Shut up, Leo,’ Ottilie snapped.
‘No. Ott, get up!’
There was something in the tone of his voice – something that made her jump to her feet. Ottilie looked at Scoot and coughed out a strange sort of squeak.
It was like ice melting.
It thawed from his heart outwards, creeping and seeping until he was him again, wearing the same clothing he’d had on all those months ago, still bloodstained and battle-worn, still torn from claws and teeth.
No-one wanted to touch him. They all stepped back.
Scoot took a huge, gasping breath.
Feeling dazed, Ottilie tried to grab onto Preddy, but he crossed behind her, over to Skip, and kissed the very top of her head.
Leo made an amused grunt and Ottilie laughed shakily, completely overwhelmed with joy.
‘What’s so funny?’ said a croaky voice.
Ottilie whipped around. Scoot’s eyes were open and he’d propped himself up on his elbows. She flew to his side, settling a hair’s breadth away, still scared to touch him.
His eyes roved over her matted hair, mud-spattered clothes and innumerable scrapes and bruises. His gaze flicked from Leo’s bandages to Ramona’s smile and finally settled on Preddy, who was scarlet in the face as he stepped awkwardly away from Skip.
Scoot cracked a sleepy smile and said, ‘What have I missed?’
No-one said a word. Ottilie didn’t even know where to begin.
Finally, Skip broke the silence. ‘I’m really sorry, Scoot,’ she said. ‘Very glad you’re not a statue anymore. But before we get into that, can someone please explain what I just did?’
The room was quiet. Skip held out the jar and jiggled it. ‘What was that stuff?’
A single precious drop fell to the floor. They all watched it land, unable to explain.
Ottilie looked back up at Skip, and her breath caught. She knew now why Seika Sol had looked so familiar. The youngest of the twelve witches in that circle looked just like Skip. How had she not put it together before? Varrio, too – there had been something familiar about his eyes, the only gentle feature of his wolfish face. Skip’s father’s face.
‘I’m magic, right?’ said Skip. ‘I’m a witch? How did you all know before me? Where’s Maeve? I have questions.’
Ramona stepped forward. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
Still holding the empty jar, Skip glanced between Ottilie and Preddy with suspicion, and finally followed Ramona out the door. Leo made to go with them, but Ottilie yanked him back.
‘I want to know,’ he protested.
Ottilie waited for them to leave before saying, ‘Skip’s the king’s daughter. Ramona and Captain Lyre faked her death.’
‘And Captain Lyre is actually Wolter Sol, the king’s cousin,’ added Preddy in a whisper.
‘And that water was from where Seika Sol led the fendevil over the Dawn Cliffs nine hundred years ago,’ said Ottilie. ‘It’s got healing magic.’
Leo looked as though his head was about to explode. ‘Skip is Isla Sol? The princess who got trampled by a horse?’
‘Only she didn’t,’ said Preddy.
‘She’s the heir to the throne,’ said Ottilie.
Leo was shaking his head. ‘She’s not. It goes to the closest male relative. There’s never been an Usklerian queen.’
‘Try telling Skip that,’ said Preddy with a smile.
‘Scuse me,’ said Scoot.
‘Umm …’ He waved his arms. ‘What?’
They told him everything as best they could – everything that had happened since the battle at Richter – and when they were done, silence fell again.
Scoot took a deep breath. ‘Can everyone stop staring at me with watery eyes!’
Leo snorted, but Preddy and Ottilie kept staring.
‘I think I need some air,’ said Scoot.
They helped him from his bed. He was stiff, he said, but otherwise fine. ‘Just feels like I overslept. Or under-slept. I dunno. Those things always feel the same.’
His knees and ankles kept giving way, so Ottilie and Preddy, so different in height, became lopsided crutches for him. ‘That’s better,’ he said, as they stepped out into the lavender field. ‘I hate that place.’
Skip and Ramona must have spread the word about Scoot’s recovery, because Ned and Gully came hurrying over, followed soon after by Alba and Montie. Even Maeve, who had never got on well with Scoot, joined them in owl form – landing on Gully’s shoulder, to his utter delight.
They wandered the fields, warmed by laughter and sunshine. But in a beat, everything changed.
Scoot stiffened.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ottilie’s words came out slurred. She looked around, her vision fogging.
Montie swayed. Preddy grabbed her arm to steady her. Alba fell to her knees and Scoot tripped down beside her. Leo lunged, but he was too late to catch him. Alba flopped over and her eyes slid shut.
The world spun. Ottilie saw other people falling in the distance. Had they all been poisoned? But Scoot had just woken up. He hadn’t eaten anything. Neither had she, come to think of it.
Preddy lowered Montie to the ground. Ottilie stumbled, and Ned caught her. She was on the edge of an abyss. Her body was shutting down as a blanket of darkness settled over the world.
‘She’s breathing.’ Leo sounded very far away.
‘It’s like they’re sleeping,’ said Gully.
Ottilie blinked.
‘The rings,’ she heard Ned say. ‘The people wearing rings are falling asleep.’
Ottilie forced her eyes open. She was on the ground. Beside her, she could vaguely make out Scoot struggling to stay upright.
‘Ottilie?’ It was Gully’s voice in her ear. ‘I’m going to take it off. You ready?’
She tried to nod, but couldn’t manage it. Slowly Gully removed the ring from her thumb.
The slumber whooshed out of her. She blinked and could see again. A vague sickness crept in. There were no dredretches near, but, without her ring, their massive presence in the Narroway was enough to weaken her. She could ward it off when they were at a distance. She was capable of at least that.
Alba was near. Ottilie tried to shake her awake, but she wouldn’t budge. ‘Sorry, Alba,’ she muttered, and quickly slipped her ring off. But it was no good – she slept on.
Preddy tried Montie’s, but the same thing happened. They wouldn’t wake.
‘Once it gets you, you can’t wake up!’ said Ottilie. ‘Quick, get Scoot’s!’
Scoot’s eyelids were sliding open and slipping shut, over and over. He was fighting it hard. Leo got his ring off just in time, and Scoot sat up with a start. ‘Whoa!’ he said, clutching his head. ‘Twice in one day.’
‘What’s happening?’ Gully stood up to look around.
Maeve flew behind a lavender bush and then leapt out as herself, whipping off her ring and looking around nervously to see if anyone had noticed the transformation. But no-one was paying them any attention. Anyone who wasn’t on the ground was pacing frantically, or trying to wake the sleepers.
‘That’ll be all the fledges out,’ said Leo, looking back towards the main building.
‘And at least a third of the second tiers,’ said Gully.
‘And all the wranglers,’ said Ottilie, but even as she said it she realised … ‘And the king’s entire army!’
‘And every guard on the border to the Usklers,’ said Ned.
A wave of panic rushed in. ‘Whistler’s followers will cut through them while they sleep,’ said Ottilie.
‘Maybe they’ll just pass through,’ said Gully. ‘To join Whistler.’
But Ottilie knew better. Bill had said their plan was to attack the king’s army, not pass by them.
‘We have to stop her,’ said Ottilie, her stomach turning.
‘Ottilie!’ Bill came hurrying over, not bothering to hide. There was a little red bird clinging to one of his horns. Bill looked terrified beyond words. He fixed his eyes on Maeve. They must have been talking inside their heads. Maeve’s eyes stretched wide.
‘Look,’ she said, grabbing Ottilie’s hand and reaching for Bill’s.
Ottilie felt someone take her other hand, but she wasn’t sure who, because she had swooped up into the air. Flying high above Richter, through skies of clearest blue, she had, quite literally, a bird’s eye view of the western border wall – the one that divided the Narroway from the Laklands.
At first, she thought it was a row of pale grey flags. But as she circled lower she could see at least twenty bone singers along the parapets, their robes whipping in the wind, eyes glowing.
Gracie Moravec was standing a little way back from the wall, astride the white wyler. Beyond, Ottilie got her first glimpse of the Laklands. It was green for a stretch, then brown, then a deadly wilting black as far as the eye could see. From that blackness, a mass of dredretches rolled like a wave, surging towards the Narroway – towards the gates that were wide open at the base of the border wall.