HE GATHERING CHAMBER WAS SO CRAMMED that Urchin wondered how the smaller creatures could keep breathing. Every ledge, seat, and windowsill was occupied. Squirrels even sat on lamp brackets, and the new gallery was so crammed that Urchin, wearing a deep red cloak and carrying a sword, couldn’t help glancing up at it in case it collapsed altogether. If that happened, a band of hedgehogs, the crews of the Whitewings ships, Scatter, Apple, Damson, and several small moles would land on the otters. Rosemary and holly, twined with gold ribbons and bright with berries, hung from the walls, and garlands stretched from the ceilings. Cloaks were bright, caps and bonnets were proud with ribbons and greenery, and Apple had trimmed her hat with feathers given by the Whitewings swans. Choirs sang. Everyone sang. And when Padra, as senior captain, and Fir, in a new embroidered tunic, proclaimed Crispin king, the cheering echoed and thundered as if the Chamber could not contain it.
The Heartstone was placed in its box so that Needle could carry it to Fir. Crispin had chosen Needle to do that, as she had looked for it for so long. On Crispin’s paw it shone as peacefully as if it had come home, and never wanted to move again. Urchin knew what that felt like.
Scatter was there, looking very tiny, wedged between two large squirrels. Her eyes shone as she watched the ceremony. She wore a small and elegant hat, which Urchin guessed might have been a present from Thripple. Thripple was like that.
Enthroned, Crispin sat upright and alone—but Padra stood to one side and Lugg on the other, with Arran behind them. The otters wore their turquoise blue and silver robes, Lugg wore deepest red, and Crispin was clothed in a mantle of green, so worked with golden leaves and spiderwebs and tiny animals that Needle could hardly take her eyes from it.
In old, gnarled paws, Fir lifted the crown high. Animals craned their necks to see it, whispering to each other of the craftsmanship. Oak leaves and acorns were woven into a wreath and, small but clear in the workmanship, worked in white shell, were stars and a swan. A shiver ran through Urchin. Stars and a swan. He had been there.
Prayers were said. Crispin made his promises to the islanders, and heads were bowed as the animals made their promises to him. And Urchin, joining in, with his paw on his sword, remembered that this was the young squirrel who had picked him up from the shore on the morning of his birth. He glanced over his shoulder at the Threading of another flame-red squirrel.
It’s all right now, Lady Whisper, thought Urchin. He’ll be all right.
As Fir pressed the crown over Crispin’s ears, it was as if a sigh of joy and relief ran through the Gathering Chamber. With a billowing of cloaks, every animal knelt. And a sweet, clear voice sang from the gallery like an enchantment.
Here we bring Crispin,
Swanrider Crispin,
Sing for the king to the mist and the tide…
It was Sepia. Urchin looked for Cedar and caught her eye.
“Thank you!” he whispered, and she smiled back.
When the procession had left the Chamber, Urchin followed Padra and Crispin to the anteroom. Tables were set up in the Gathering Chamber for the feast. Even in the depth of winter the Chamber had become misted and hot, and Urchin went to open a window, welcoming the cold fresh air. It was snowing again, and it would lie till tomorrow.
There was one thing still to do. Urchin, helping Padra and Crispin with their robes, told them what it was.
“The sword the ambassadors offered you?” said Crispin. “It’s still in the Throne Room. Do you want it?”
“No,” said Urchin earnestly. “No, I don’t want it. It was meant to trick me, and it was used against you. But I don’t want it lying around, either, and as it’s mine I think I should do something about it. All that’s happened, Whitewings and everything, it isn’t properly finished until this is done. And I’d like a witness, please.”
Later that evening, while Sepia and Needle danced at the party, a small boat rocked its way across the dark waves toward the mists. When it was as far out as it needed to be, Padra shipped the oars.
Urchin held up the sword in the moonlight. Its exquisite workmanship was as beautiful as ever, but its pattern of twists and knots seemed to tell him of deceit and imprisonment and the trickery of silver. Pushing back his cloak, balancing himself carefully so he could throw hard, he flung the sword forward toward the mists. For a moment it twisted and flashed, and there was a gentle splash as it hit the water.
An overwhelming sense of peace fell on Urchin. It filled him and made him warm, like the feeling of being loved. Softly, as he had said it in his prison cell on Whitewings, he whispered, “Good night.”
Then he took his place beside Padra, and side by side, they rowed back to Mistmantle.