TANWEN
Before any of us had a chance to say anything, Diggy disappeared inside her dwelling.
I could see it now, among the tree trunks, sprawled along the edges of the clearing, cleverly concealed by fronds and branches and the tangled underbrush.
It was the Corsyth, island style.
“Diggy?” a stunned Mor called after her.
Her head reappeared. “Why are you here?”
“I came for you.”
The rest of her body emerged. She had set down the basket somewhere. “Let me rephrase,” she said, every word sharp as a blade. “Why are you here now?”
“I . . .”
“Exactly.” She shook her head and stormed past him, sparing me a glance. “You’re pretty,” she said. Then she kept walking.
Kawan and Diggy fell into step together, heading toward the beach, speaking in the island tongue.
Mor stared after her, flabbergasted and dripping wet. “Diggy, wait!”
She stopped so suddenly, Mor and I both almost crashed into her. “You’re late.”
Mor’s voice faltered. “Aye, I know.”
“Four years too late.”
“Yes, that’s true. Diggy, I want to apologize.”
“You . . .” She laughed, mirthless and full of disbelief. “You want to . . . apologize? Well. Thanks. I’ll take your apology and turn back time with it.”
“Diggy, please let me—”
Diggy whirled, drew a knife from one of the straps around her legs, and hurled it end-over-end toward us. It thunked into the tree just to the left of Mor’s head. I supposed she missed on purpose.
At least, I hoped.
“No, Mor, I will not let you do anything. You have nerve showing up here.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, that must be it, then. You waited until you thought I was dead, then you came for me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No! You’re done speaking now.” She pulled another knife and threw it. It, too, narrowly missed Mor and thunked into the tree right next to the other.
She had definitely missed on purpose. This girl could split huskbeetle eyelashes with her blades.
“You have to let me explain,” Mor said, and a note of desperation crept into his voice. “These last four years have been full of hardship, I’m sure. But I’m here now. We’re both alive, and that has to be a miracle.”
Diggy was still for a long moment, regarding Mor. She grabbed another knife and threw it with a flourish. “You don’t know what happened.”
Mor took a deep breath. “I know it must have been bad if you left a headstone on the other island.”
“Aye. You could say that.”
Mor took a tentative step toward her. “You’re right. I don’t know. I only know everything I’ve feared. But you’re here, and it’s like a gift.”
“A gift,” Diggy repeated. She threw another knife.
“Diggy, I don’t know what’s happened to you. And I won’t until you tell me.”
She turned to face him, that strange, unhappy look on her face again. “Yes,” she said finally. “I shall tell you now.”
Mor waited.
“They made me a slave in the palace. You know that part?” she asked.
Mor nodded. “Yes. In the palace kitchens.”
“Ah, you did know where I was. I wondered.” She glared at him. “Because you never came!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I was afraid.”
“Yes. Poor Mor. I was a child. And my big brother never came.”
“I’m sorry, Diggy.”
Diggy shrugged off his words. “She beat me—the kitchen maid in charge of us all. She had a terrible temper. But I waited for you anyway. A whole year, I waited. But then I realized you weren’t coming, and it was time to leave. I had help escaping. The others in the kitchens saw how she beat me. Ginia the chef wanted to help. Everyone knew who my father was, so they helped me escape to the sea. To one of Gareth’s merchant vessels. It’s what our family does, isn’t it?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “I was such a valuable slave. I was only fourteen years old, but I knew how to cook and sail. And that’s not all.” Diggy threw another knife.
Mor’s face stiffened.
“Do you know why they bring girls on ships, brother? Father never did that, so maybe you don’t know.” She threw her last knife. She had made a perfect circle of them on the trunk.
She strode to her knives and wrested them from the tree.
“Diggy.” Mor approached her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you? I am too. Sorry for my life, sorry I ever trusted anyone, sorry I was so happy to escape the palace kitchens at first. Aye, they beat me there, but that was better—better than the visitors to my cabin each night on the ship.”
She clenched the knives.
“They come alone if they’re sober. But in twos and threes and fives when they’re drunk.”
The horror of Diggy’s words hung in the air. A strand of black silk curled from my palm unbidden. It looped toward Mor—a strand of grief and pain. I waved it away before it reached him.
Diggy stared at her knives. “For a while, I still hoped. Still waited for someone to come fight for me. But really, it was too late. I became less than human. Less than nothing.”
“But that’s not true,” Mor protested.
“Isn’t it, though? What am I?” She looked toward the tree. “Do you see, Mor? There’s not enough soul left inside me to forgive anyone.”
“Diggy . . .” Mor’s face was ashen. “Digwyn, please don’t say that.” He reached a hand toward her. “I need you.”
“We all need things we’ll never get.” She threw a knife.
And then she laughed. A hollow, joyless sound that dissolved into sobs. She turned to Mor, and the children of Lidere looked at each other, tears streaming down both their faces.
The sky darkened, and thunder rumbled. A moment later, a flash storm dumped warm, tropical water on us.
Diggy tilted her head back, and rain splashed her face. She laughed hollowly again. “And now you’ve come. Welcome to my island, brother. Welcome at long, dreadful last.”
I looked helplessly at the broken shards of Mor’s long-lost sister, and I wondered. Could she be put back together again?