11 
Before Ottilie had come to the Narroway, five huntsmen had been named champion of their tier. Only one of them wore Fiory colours – Leo – and Ottilie was determined to have his signature on her petition.
‘Have you written it yet? I’ll sign it,’ said Gully.
He and Ottilie were bathing their horses after a gruelling riding lesson with Wrangler Ritgrivvian. It was an uncommonly warm autumn day. The afternoon sun lit the world with a fierce brilliance that did not match Ottilie’s mood. In fact, all the squinting and sweating only increased the weight on her chest. Everything, she felt, was very difficult right now.
She had been feeling unstable ever since the wyler attack, and especially since Conductor Edderfed’s speech. They were all on edge, more so than when the yickers had crept into Floodwood. Everyone was nervous, and everyone feared another breach.
But it was more than the wylers and the Withering Wood on Ottilie’s mind. Scoot, still refusing to talk to her, had kept his distance and charged off the moment the bells had rung out, leaving his mount caked in sweat.
‘No,’ she said, turning back to Gully, ‘it’s not written.’ She was planning to ask Alba to help write it. ‘And thank you, but you’re a fledge, and my brother. I really need elites, and I need Leo. His name will matter the most to them,’ she said.
As soon as she spoke, Ottilie realised her words might be hurtful. She studied Gully’s face, but he was nodding. He agreed with her.
Ottilie wished it were different. She wished that she were taken seriously as a huntsman. She resolved to work even harder. She would aim to get as close to becoming the fledgling champion as she could, and when she reached the third tier she would be one of the select elite. She was just going to have to make it happen. Then she would never need Leo’s help again.
Scoot’s accusation was still weighing on her. ‘Gully, Scoot said I’ve been hanging around Leo and Ned more than him and Preddy.’
Gully just blinked at her, as if to say, what about it?
‘He thinks I’m better friends with them now.’ She didn’t know how to put it. ‘But I’m not. I mean, I don’t mean to be.’
Gully shrugged. ‘You’re friends with everyone.’
Ottilie jumped. Billow had nudged her in the back and started rubbing his face against her shoulderblades. She laughed and pushed him off.
Wrangler Ritgrivvian called over to them, ‘If you have some time, you can walk them in the sun – to help them dry off.’
Gully had to run in to change for a hunt, but Ottilie didn’t have to patrol until later in the afternoon so she led both horses out across the grounds. Thankfully, Billow and Inch, Gully’s little grey gelding, got on well enough and it was a peaceful stroll – just what she needed to calm her mind.
She hadn’t even spoken to Leo since he’d refused to sign. She was so angry – this was their one chance. She and Skip were sure that if the directorate turned it down, they would not do so gently. There was a strong possibility they would be punished for daring to ask – that was why they needed to get it right.
How could Leo not understand how important this was? Ottilie shook out her shoulders. They would be patrolling soon, and she had to rise above it. Quarrels and grudges didn’t have any place beyond the boundary walls. It was too dangerous.
Ottilie had lost track of her feet, wandering through the clover fields, Billow and Inch trailing serenely behind. They passed by the apiary and she wondered if the bees would bother the horses, but they seemed unruffled.
Ahead, Ned was on the path to the boundary wall. Ottilie experienced a strange swooping sensation as, spotting her, he doubled back. Feeling jittery, she moved in closer to Billow, pressing against his warm neck. What was wrong with her? She’d talked to Ned alone before – though, come to think of it, it was rare. When he’d found her in the lower grounds with Maestro, she’d been too grumpy to notice. But now, she found that she really noticed. What would they talk about without Gully or Leo? She suddenly couldn’t remember any words.
Ned smiled at the horses. She remembered that he had spent his fledge year with the mounts but was placed with the footmen after his order trials.
‘Don’t let Leonard see you bonding,’ he said, reaching to greet Billow.
To her great relief, Ottilie thought of a response. ‘Do you miss them?’ she asked, wondering if the same would happen to her. What if she was made a footman or a mount? She recoiled at the thought. She was a flyer. She had to be a flyer.
‘Yes. But it’s more fun on foot, closer to the action.’ He flashed a grin. ‘Is your brother around? We’re supposed to be out the opal gate in a minute.’ He tilted his head at the path through the herb gardens. Out of sight, there was a gate down the slope from Opal Tarn, the glittering mountain lake cradled between the peaks beyond the fort.
‘He ran up to change. He should be here soon.’ Calmed by his ease, Ottilie realised what a blessing it was to catch Ned without Leo. She seized the opportunity. ‘Ned, I’m going to ask the dir–’
‘I’ll sign.’ Noting her confusion, he added, ‘Gully told me.’
She was taken aback. ‘I … thank you.’
He shrugged. ‘I agree with you. Girls should be allowed to train here. There’s no reason I can understand why they shouldn’t … I’ve thought about that a lot, ever since you first came here.’
A strange expression took hold of his face, something like guilt.
‘It was just normal, the way things were,’ he said. ‘But when I saw you, I realised it didn’t make any sense. But I should have realised that already. My aunt protected me and my brother from crocodiles and worse back home. Then I came here, and everything’s so regimented – you have to focus on the dredretches, and soon enough you just stop asking questions.’
Ned’s phrasing stuck in her head. ‘What do you mean since I first came here?’
‘Well, maybe not since you first came here,’ said Ned, with a slight smile. ‘But your trial, with the jivvies, definitely since then. I felt so stupid for not even thinking about it before – of course girls should hunt too.’ His eyes glinted with amusement as her mouth fell open.
‘You knew? From when? From the very beginning? How?’
Ottilie couldn’t believe it. She had suspected that some people knew. She’d always felt that Maeve Moth sensed something amiss – although, that never made much sense, because surely if Maeve had known she would have given Ottilie up in an instant – but Ned, she had never had an inkling. He had never treated her any differently from the other fledges, never looked at her funny or …
‘Do you remember when we brought you in and another fledge knocked you down in front of a shepherd?’ said Ned.
She remembered the great black dog snarling in her face, and Ned pulling her by the elbow, out of its way. ‘You knew then?’
‘That was the closest I ever got to you,’ he said. Ottilie thought his cheeks darkened a little. ‘I thought it then,’ he continued quickly. ‘But I wasn’t sure until I got Gully as my fledge.’
‘He told you?’ Ottilie didn’t want to believe it. He wouldn’t have, surely.
Ned laughed. ‘No. He never told me, but he’s not very subtle.’
‘But you never told anyone … Leo didn’t know … or I would have been in trouble much sooner.’
‘You know, I think maybe Wrangler Morse guessed, but no, Leo had no idea. He’s too self-centred, and you did a pretty good job of keeping your distance from everyone else.
‘This place, Leo included … arrogance can be blinding, I think. None of them would have guessed you were an imposter because they wouldn’t want to believe a girl from the Swamp Hollows could fool them. And do well, too – you were ranked so high for so long. You should never have made it as far as you did. They didn’t want to see it.’
Ottilie watched Billow and Inch grazing happily, her mind buzzing along with the bees. ‘Ned, I need him to sign it,’ she said. ‘Could you talk to him? Will you tell him that you’re going to sign?’
Ned didn’t hesitate. ‘I will. You can give it to me if you want. I’ll talk to the other elites – get you some signatures.’
She felt a twinge of annoyance. Ned was being so helpful, so understanding. If only he was the champion and not Leo, things would be so much simpler.
Thankfully, Scoot was absent from the dining room when Ottilie arrived for a late lunch. She settled at a table in the corner on her own. Alba shot Ottilie a smile and nodded to suggest she’d be over in a minute. Thick braids bouncing, she disappeared with a stack of plates piled high in her arms.
Across the room, Gracie Moravec caught Ottilie’s eye. Still recovering from the wyler bite, her usually golden skin was ashen. Ottilie was reminded of Bill, her old friend, the strange creature from the caves above the Brakkerswamp.
She wondered where he was now and slumped a little in her seat. She had always intended to return to the Swamp Hollows eventually, but if she stayed at Fiory until she was eighteen, would Bill still be there?
‘She doesn’t look well, does she,’ said Alba, sliding into the chair opposite her.
Ottilie’s head snapped up.
‘Wyler venom is really bad,’ Alba added. ‘Should put an end to the rumours though …’
‘What rumours?’ Ottilie leaned closer, grateful for the distraction.
‘People talk about Gracie. There’s a rumour that she’s –’ She leaned in and mouthed, ‘A witch.’
‘What?’ Ottilie had her own suspicions, but hearing that others felt the same was not welcome news. Skip called both Gracie and Maeve witches all the time, but Ottilie had thought it was just name-calling. ‘Why do people say that?’
‘Just a lot of little things,’ said Alba. ‘But there was something that happened a couple of years ago. She and a girl called Yosha Moses both jumped from a really high branch of an Uskler pine. Yosha hit her head and was badly hurt. They had to send her away. But Gracie – she came out of it without any bumps or bruises that I could see.’
‘That’s horrible,’ said Ottilie, trying her best not to picture the scene. ‘But that doesn’t mean she’s a witch. She was probably just lucky.’
She didn’t want it to be real. She imagined the figure lurking in the shadows, lifting the hood to reveal Gracie Moravec, smiling her false little smile. But then, Gracie was a victim of the attack. She couldn’t have let that wyler in; it didn’t make sense.
‘I know, that’s what I think,’ said Alba. ‘Looking at how sick she is, I doubt people will be saying that anymore. And, apart from all the horrible stuff, witches were known for healing, so it doesn’t fit. I don’t really think anyone actually believed it, anyway. They’re just being nasty.’
‘Why did they do it, that girl and Gracie? Why did they jump?’ asked Ottilie, feeling sick.
‘Well, that’s another awful rumour,’ said Alba, frowning. ‘It was supposed to be more of a dare. Some people say Gracie talked Yosha into it, or used some sort of a spell to make her do it. But it’s just silly gossip – people getting carried away. No-one seriously believes there are any witches left.’
Ottilie looked over at Gracie. Did she really believe Gracie was capable of hurting someone? The pranks in the sculkie quarters were one thing, but convincing a girl to risk her life … No matter how uncomfortable she was around Gracie, Ottilie couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. Her eyes fell on the bandaged arm. ‘Actually’ – she turned back to Alba – ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the wyler attack.’ She explained what she and Skip intended to do.
As Ottilie spoke, Alba paled.
‘Didn’t you go through enough of that already, Ottilie? Remember when they found you out and they locked you in the burrows with … with all the …’
‘I remember,’ she said, thinking of the dank burrows, and the flares sparking and trilling in the darkness. ‘But it can’t go on like this, Alba. It’s getting worse here, everyone’s saying it. Girls should be allowed to hunt dredretches too. They should be allowed to help. Wouldn’t you want to?’
Alba didn’t even hesitate before shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I’m not the sort of person who … Isla’s different from me. She wants to … that’s fine.’
‘But if they got into the fort again,’ pressed Ottilie, ‘you would want to be able to protect yourself. Surely?’
‘Yes. Of course – that. But not … hunting. I’m not … it’s not me. I’m good at other things. I can write it for you, though. I know what to put in.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘There are women from history who dressed up as men to join armies, just like you. And Seika Devil-Slayer, the princess who defeated the fendevil –’
‘Who defeated the what?’
‘Oh, Ottilie, you must know about it! You’re from the Brakkerswamp.’ Alba leaned across the table, eager to share.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Well, it was centuries and centuries ago, before the Roving Empire invaded, before everything … It’s legend now,’ said Alba. ‘Didn’t you ever hear about the monster that terrorised the west? They say it was like a giant firedrake with breath of blue flame that could melt iron.’
‘Sure, I know about firedrakes but –’
‘There was one in particular,’ said Alba. ‘Only it wasn’t really a firedrake. They say it was twice the size and it seemed wrong somehow. Looking back, the scholars think it was a dredretch, but people at the time thought dredretches were a myth, so they never put two and two together. They called it the fendevil because it lurked in the western wetlands.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Ottilie. ‘And a girl defeated it?’ Her confidence grew. This was going to work!
‘Seika Devil-Slayer – well, her proper name was Seika Sol. She was an ancient Usklerian king’s daughter,’ said Alba. ‘She lured it westward all the way to the Narroway and over the Dawn Cliffs. The Sol River carried it through to the ocean and it never came back. That’s why they named it the Sol River, it had some other name before.’
‘Lured it over a cliff?’ said Ottilie. ‘But how? And she wouldn’t have had a ring. How did she survive?’
‘I don’t know. It all happened so long ago. And stories get so mixed up over time.’
‘Where do our rings come from?’ Ottilie had never thought to ask before.
‘Whistler,’ said Alba. ‘She makes them.’
‘The head bone singer?’ Ottilie supposed that made some sort of sense. But what were those strange things the bone singers could do? What mysterious magic did they wield? Were they mystics? They had to be, she supposed. But she’d always thought mystics were just glorified priests.
‘Speaking of Whistler, will you help me with something?’ said Alba with a mischievous smile.
‘Anything,’ said Ottilie.
Alba glanced around and leaned in. ‘I want to get into the Bone Tower,’ she whispered. ‘To Whistler’s library.’
Ottilie frowned. ‘But haven’t you been there before? I thought that’s where you found the story about the hex.’
‘No, this is Whistler’s private tower,’ said Alba. ‘We could get in a lot of trouble, but I bet there’s all sorts of amazing volumes up there! There might even be something that answers all our questions – about the hex on the king, and why the dredretches are here. I’ve tried to get in, but it’s too difficult on my own. Will you help me?’
‘Of course.’ This was perfect! Ottilie was desperate to find out something, anything, that might explain why things were suddenly so much worse. She felt certain that finding out more about this mysterious witch would point them in the direction of who let the wyler inside.
‘We’ll have to be really careful.’ Alba lowered her voice so much it almost cut out. ‘But I have an idea how to get there unseen.’
Of course she did. Alba had admitted to sneaking books out of private libraries for years, and had managed to visit Ottilie in the burrows undetected. Her insides squirmed at the memory. If they were caught trying to break into the Bone Tower, would it be back to the burrows? Or worse?
They would have to risk it. The Hunt never told them anything. They were full of vague explanations and downright lies. If they wanted to find out anything about the witch and the dredretches, they were going to have to uncover it on their own.