41

Victory

Ottilie stared at the ceiling. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, covering the severed tip of her ear, which had been cleaned and stitched up by the patchies. Gully was beside her, curled into a ball. He had barely moved from that position over the last two days. Preddy was sitting by the window, staring at the closed shutters, and Ned was on the floor at the end of the bed, knees bent, his head resting on his arms.

Scoot was in the infirmary. No-one knew what to do; the healers were flummoxed. Only magic would save him, Ottilie knew. Maeve had vowed to try, but she was still getting her bearings, with no-one to teach her.

Ottilie refused to believe that he was gone. She would find a way. If Maeve couldn’t do it, she would make Whistler fix him. Somehow. Some day.

Whistler and Gracie had disappeared and so, it seemed, had most of the bone singers. The few that remained at Fiory insisted on their innocence, but were locked up in the burrows for the time being. The directorate wanted information from them. Ottilie, too, wanted to understand more about them. There was so much she wanted to know. And she would find out soon enough, she didn’t doubt that. The battle of Fort Richter was not the end.

Richter was already in the process of restoration. Things were settling, but everything was different. They knew now. Word had spread. Everyone knew that the rule of innocence was a lie. They didn’t have to do this anymore; the king’s army could do it. That was the logic. But no-one offered it. Conductor Edderfed didn’t suggest it when he welcomed them back and congratulated them on their victory. Because he knew, they all knew, that no-one would take up the offer to leave. No-one who had lived through that battle, who got a taste of what Whistler had in store for the Usklers, could walk away now. No-one who had stood around the funeral pyres and mourned their fallen brothers and sisters wanted to be anywhere else. They wanted to be in the thick of it, on the frontlines. They wanted justice to be served. They wanted Whistler vanquished and Gracie Moravec to pay for her crimes.

The king could send his soldiers – Ottilie assumed he would – but they were trained to fight men, and out of practice at even that. The huntsmen knew how to handle dredretches. They were still the best hope for the Usklers.

Leo entered the room without knocking, and without looking at her. Ever since they had returned, whenever Ottilie’s tears fell, his were triggered within seconds. And since the battle her eyes were rarely dry. So he had developed a habit of staring at her good ear and nowhere else.

Ottilie was glad of it. She couldn’t look into his face without drowning in memories of the funerals. She remembered the pyre flames reflected in his eyes and the unfamiliar look of uncertainty, of fear. Leo usually shone with confidence, so sure of everything. Now that it was gone, Ottilie realised it was this quality that had helped make her feel safe in this dangerous world. As they said goodbye to the fallen, Leo had looked like a lost little boy, and Ottilie’s rock had crumbled to dust.

She remembered Preddy with his arm across Gully’s shoulders, so racked with grief he was barely able to stand. She had felt it herself. There was a hollowness, as if she had no bones anymore, only flesh and no way to prop it up, just strangled breath, trapped inside. Alba’s face had been buried in her mother’s arms. Skip was statuesque and dry-eyed, moving only to twitch when Captain Lyre spoke each name.

Ottilie could still see the smoke spiralling up from the pyre, and the bright flames dancing beneath. She saw it when the lights dimmed, when she closed her eyes, sometimes just when she breathed.

Leo moved out of the doorway to sit beside Ned at the end of her bed, and there they waited.

The door banged open. Skip was standing there, her eyes alight. ‘Why is it so dark in here?’

‘We were waiting to hear –’ said Ottilie.

Skip snorted, as if unable to muster a real laugh. ‘Why do you need to do that in the dark?’

There was a scrape of flint and Skip lit the lantern by the doorway. Ottilie pulled herself off the bed and lit another. Everyone was staring at Skip.

‘What did they say?’ said Gully, unfurling his limbs.

‘They gathered us all. Everyone here who’s not already a huntsman. Custodians, shovelies, even the adults – the cooks, wagoners, blacksmiths … Captain Lyre did the talking. He said we here in the Narroway are the first defence, all of us, that the huntsmen will be Whistler’s downfall, and that regardless of Usklerian law, and the names on the wall, anyone in the Narroway who wants to bring Whistler down will be trained to help do it.’

Leo turned to Ottilie, lantern light flickering in his eyes and a small smile on his face. She met his gaze and felt her own face lift. This little thing, which should have been so easy but had been so hard, this tiny step that had grown to the size of a mountain … they were going to train the girls. They were going to let them fight! There would be no more hiding, sneaking or lying. This was too important. Defeating Whistler was the only thing that mattered, and they had to do it together.

‘He’s not hurt,’ said Maeve.

Ottilie whirled around. Maeve was walking up the empty corridor behind her, not far from where she had pulled Ottilie and Scoot into the cupboard, months ago. Her chest hurt to think of Scoot hammering on the door.

‘Bill?’ said Ottilie, breathlessly.

‘I tried calling out to him in my head,’ said Maeve, ‘like he does with other birds sometimes, and I found him.’

‘You talked to him?’

Maeve shook her head sadly. ‘Just a sense, that he’s not hurt, and he’s not too frightened. I think they’re looking after him. They must need him for something.’

‘Like what?’ said Ottilie, her voice rough.

‘I couldn’t make the connection strong enough to get more. I’m still learning – trying to teach myself. I can choose to turn now, but it still happens when I’m sleeping, and the other things, the witch stuff, I can sort of squash it, but I can’t make anything happen on purpose. I’ve tried, for Scoot … and I wanted to at the battle, but I was most use as a bird,’ said Maeve, the memories dimming her bright eyes.

‘What is that thing Whistler can turn into?’ Ottilie asked, remembering the monstrous bird clinging to the turrets. ‘Gracie said she’s a fiorn, like you, but that thing is a monster.’

‘Do you know, I’ve been thinking about it,’ said Maeve. ‘I think, when she started meddling with dredretches, she corrupted herself, corrupted her form. I don’t think she chooses to become that thing. I think she wishes she could still be a bird.’

‘How do you know?’ said Ottilie.

‘Because, really, everyone wants to be good, don’t they? They must … Even Gracie, she still saved me, remember? Even after the binding she still came to rescue me and gave me a choice.

‘And Whistler, it’s hard to explain, but turning – apart from being really scary – it feels so right, like you’ve found a part of yourself that was missing. I think she hates herself. Hates what she’s become. I’ve felt that before, not on the same scale, but I’ve felt it. You can get to a point where you hate yourself so much, you think there’s no turning back. She’s old, Whistler. I read up on her after Bill said her name. I asked Alba for the book. Fennix Sol is the daughter of Viago the Vanquisher.’

Ottilie nodded. Gracie had told her that.

‘That makes her King Varrio’s aunt,’ said Maeve. ‘Clearly, she’s found a way to look younger. But that’s what I mean. She’s been around a long time, and she’s obsessed with this game with the king and, by the sounds of it, he’s not going to give up his power for anything. Between them, they’re going to turn the kingdom to ash.’

What was it, Ottilie wondered – why did she hate him so much? Ottilie had no love for the king herself. Villain though she was, Whistler didn’t seem like she was lying about his character. The existence of the Narroway Hunt proved him a selfish coward. Gracie had said all of this was about vengeance: vengeance not for Whistler, but for someone else. But who?

‘We’re going to stop it,’ said Ottilie. ‘We’re going to rescue Bill and we’re going to end this.’ She twisted the ring on her thumb.

Something had happened two days ago. Every ring-wearer had felt something, everyone but Ottilie. Her friends described an icy prickling on the skin beneath the ring. Sitting in the infirmary beside Scoot, she had looked over to see Alba cringe and scratch at her thumb. Across the room, the patchies had done the same. Alba had removed her ring to examine it under the light. Ottilie could still hear her tiny gasp as she beheld the new words scratched on the inside.

Ottilie had pulled hers off immediately, seeing as always: sleeper comes for none.

But Alba’s ring and, it appeared, everyone else’s now read: pay for what you’ve done.