27 
The wylers had been a diversion. That was Ottilie’s guess. Something to keep the huntsmen occupied. Ottilie was sure that in that trance Gracie could see through their eyes. She must have guided them through, snuck them in somewhere – Ottilie still wasn’t exactly sure how or where.
The rest of the pack must have been waiting beyond the boundary wall, ready to aid in her escape. But why had she wanted to escape? And why had she given herself up? It had to be about Maeve. She really had wanted to rescue her friend.
She’d known it would be too difficult inside Fiory, so she waited until the wagons were on the move, until they were far enough from the fort that they could not quickly call for aid.
Ottilie wanted to speak to Maeve. There were things that needed explaining. She was still convinced that Maeve was a witch, although, considering the fact that she had refused to go with Gracie, she was also inclined to believe that Maeve was innocent. But Ottilie wanted answers. Clear answers.
After a thorough questioning from Captain Lyre, the only one bold enough to enter the wagon, Maeve was waiting under heavy guard while the directorate held council. When it was done, Voilies strolled across the grounds, clearly in no hurry to free her.
‘What are you doing here, Colter?’ he asked, looking down his nose.
Ottilie was standing just far enough from the wagon to keep the nine guards happy. ‘Waiting for you to let her go.’
Voilies huffed and clucked as he unlatched the back. ‘You’re free to leave, Miss Moth,’ he said, as if forced to speak the words against his will.
The huntsmen dispersed and Wrangler Voilies leaned in, as if reaching into a snake pit. Roughly, he unlocked the iron manacles. ‘We’re watching you,’ he said, dangerously. Turning back to Ottilie, he added, ‘All of you.’
Maeve looked unsteady on her feet. Ottilie offered her hand, but she ignored it.
‘Are you here for a thank you?’ said Maeve.
‘No,’ said Ottilie, unsurprised by her coldness. ‘I want you to explain everything to me. I rode out there to help you. I deserve that.’
‘You rode out there because you’re a good person. It had nothing to do with me.’ Maeve’s eyes were wild. She looked like a dog that had just been beaten. Ottilie remembered the feeling. But she’d had people to comfort her. Maeve had no-one. ‘I owe you nothing.’
‘Maeve!’ Scoot came limping towards them, fury twisting his face.
Ottilie stepped carefully between them. ‘It wasn’t her, Scoot, it was Gracie.’
‘Preddy told me. I don’t care what you all say!’ he snarled. ‘I want to know … I want to understand!’ His cheeks were still wet with tears.
‘I was just going to talk to her,’ said Ottilie, gently. ‘Come with us.’
Maeve’s eyes darted around. She looked truly terrified.
‘I know a safe place,’ said Ottilie. She led them down to the lower grounds.
‘We shouldn’t be seen sneaking off together,’ said Maeve, as they approached the stone stairway.
‘They won’t see us – most of the wranglers are scared of the wingerslinks,’ said Ottilie.
They wandered down the aisles of the wingerslink sanctuary to the sounds of inquisitive sniffing and the occasional cautionary growl, which seemed to be directed at Scoot. They stopped by some barrels of salted eel and chests full of dried marsh crab. Scoot dropped down on a chest, as far from the pens as possible. He was fidgeting violently and his jaw was twitching.
Maeve hovered uneasily. She was still wearing her dress from the day before and was painted with layers of dried mud. Ottilie could see little trails through the dirt on her cheeks, shallow creek beds forged by tears.
‘You should have a drink,’ said Ottilie, pumping the lever above the nearby water trough.
Maeve hurried over and cupped her hands, drinking and splashing her face, before settling down on a crate and staring at her toes.
A dark wingerslink lifted her head and regarded them with sleepy green eyes.
‘What is Gracie? What happened to her?’ said Ottilie. She wanted to get straight to it.
‘I don’t know,’ said Maeve, still staring at her toes. ‘When the wyler got into the sculkie chambers’ – Maeve took a deep breath – ‘and Gracie got bitten … I saw it happen. I saw what she did.’
‘What do you mean, you saw what she did?’ said Scoot, his eyes unforgiving.
‘She held out her arm to it,’ said Maeve. ‘She just held it out. She let it bite her.’
Ottilie frowned. So it had been intentional? Had Gracie allowed the wyler to bite her to make herself look the innocent victim? Perhaps, being a witch, she knew she could survive it and allowed herself to get sick enough to avoid suspicion. The thought made Ottilie’s stomach churn.
‘I didn’t know why. I still don’t,’ continued Maeve. ‘I asked her about it but she just laughed it off. And she was really sick at first, from the venom, but then she got better, and she was acting different. She would disappear, I worried that … that she was the one letting them in. I had no idea that she could control them like that.
‘She never said anything about being a witch – I don’t know if she really is … I think I would have been able to tell – I think she just said that so they would let me go.’
Ottilie was sure that Gracie was a witch. It was the only thing that made sense. Gracie was behind everything. Ottilie just didn’t know all the details yet.
‘So she was telling the truth?’ she asked. ‘You did go out past the walls to try to stop her? You thought she was out there setting the wylers on huntsmen?’ She remembered Opal Tarn, glinting in the sun, and Bayo, drowning in a storm of orange fur, and her vision reeled. She twisted her fingers together, wishing Gully was somewhere near.
‘No … that’s not why I was there,’ said Maeve, her voice shaking.
‘Then what were you doing out there?’ demanded Scoot.
Maeve got to her feet, terror in her eyes.
Ottilie jumped up and drew her cutlass and Scoot followed straight after. Something was moving above, in the dark wingerslinks’ pen. Someone was in the rafters, listening to them.
‘Who’s there?’ Ottilie demanded.
Someone crawled forwards across a beam and slowly, deftly, lowered themselves to the ground.
Ottilie’s mouth fell open. It wasn’t a person.
He looked confused and a little worried. His eyes flicked between Maeve and Scoot and then he removed the old leather sack from over his shoulder and held it out to her.
‘I have your hair,’ said Bill.