river of reedcloth, Lesyl knelt, considering the collection—useful crafts like scarves and stockings alongside mysterious patches that blazed just for color. “Leave whatever can be spared,” Tabor Jan had said. She folded the reedcloth, gathering the colors until the whole span was bundled like a bedroll.
Cal-raven would never spare these
. She tried to bind the roll with leather straps, but her hands trembled, and the knots collapsed.
Softly she hummed a memory—a summer’s evening on Deep Lake’s glassy surface with her father’s hands on the oars and her mother’s lips to a claywhistle. She could barely hear her own melody, for the tunnel roared with the tumult of change. But she sang anyway. The song slowed her breathing and stilled her frantic heartbeat until she could bind the straps fast.
“Have you seen Wynn this morning?” It was one of the triplets, dressed as an owl. “We can’t find him anywhere.”
Lesyl folded the girl’s cold fingers into her own. “No one’s found him yet, Madi. I’m sorry.”
“I’m Luci,” sighed the girl. “Madi’s asking other folks. A horse went missing, you know.”
“Yes. We think he fled after the king’s departure.”
“He didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“Luci.” Lesyl took the girl by the shoulders. “Wynn meant well. So did you. We all make mistakes with good intentions.”
“What if the king’s dragged him off to punish him?”
She laughed bitterly. “The king has more important things to do.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No.” She heard the resentment in her own voice. “He told me nothing. But he’ll do what he thinks is best.”
“Then what about Wynn? What if those things that killed the grudgers—”
“No,” Lesyl answered forcefully. “We’ve lost seven to that monster. No one else.”
“Madi thinks he ran way.” Luci folded her arms like a disgruntled schoolteacher. “We hate boys.”
Lesyl gathered the girl into her arms. The bones behind Luci’s shoulders were so small, like the bones of a bird before its wings find feathers.
“Wynn shouldn’t have run away,” said the girl. “What good is he to the rest of us if he heads out into the wild without telling us where he’s going?”
Lesyl realized she was squeezing the air right out of the girl and released her. “Here. I’ve wrapped my string-weave in cloth. Take it. But, Luci, it’s my most precious instrument. Not a scratch or a broken string. Do you understand? Go to your sisters. Stay close to the grownups. And don’t step on any cracks.”
As Luci ran off, Lesyl stood and strapped a heavy pack over her shoulders—a bundle of musical instruments. Then she tucked the roll of reedcloth beneath her arm and lifted a bag of Auralia’s sculptures, garments, and inventions.
Cal-raven would thank her. “Her colors will gleam like jewels in a crown, from the gates of New Abascar right up to the palace,” he had said, lying beside her. For one fleeting night they had watched Auralia’s colors cast dancing light across the ceiling. He had touched her left hand with his right. At first she thought it was accidental. But then his fingertips traced her knuckles, drew a circle on the back of her hand and another on her wrist, his touch as gentle as a first kiss.
He’s tracing a marriage tattoo
, she had realized.
He’s pondering the question
.
Stifling the memory, she departed the chamber, troubled by new cracks that had spread on the walls behind the gallery. She wanted to remember what they had made of this place, not how it had gone wrong. She wouldcarry the details close and weave them into music for a day when the people were ready to lift these heavy memories again.
Shouts racked the corridor. Defenders repeated Tabor Jan’s commands. Wear boots, not shoes, if you have them. Bring flasks of water from Barnashum’s reservoir. Keep families together. List the names of those who shared your caves, and give every name to the counters who wait on
Cal-raven would never spare these
. She tried to bind the roll with leather straps, but her hands trembled, and the knots collapsed.
Softly she hummed a memory—a summer’s evening on Deep Lake’s glassy surface with her father’s hands on the oars and her mother’s lips to a claywhistle. She could barely hear her own melody, for the tunnel roared with the tumult of change. But she sang anyway. The song slowed her breathing and stilled her frantic heartbeat until she could bind the straps fast.
“Have you seen Wynn this morning?” It was one of the triplets, dressed as an owl. “We can’t find him anywhere.”
Lesyl folded the girl’s cold fingers into her own. “No one’s found him yet, Madi. I’m sorry.”
“I’m Luci,” sighed the girl. “Madi’s asking other folks. A horse went missing, you know.”
“Yes. We think he fled after the king’s departure.”
“He didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“Luci.” Lesyl took the girl by the shoulders. “Wynn meant well. So did you. We all make mistakes with good intentions.”
“What if the king’s dragged him off to punish him?”
She laughed bitterly. “The king has more important things to do.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No.” She heard the resentment in her own voice. “He told me nothing. But he’ll do what he thinks is best.”
“Then what about Wynn? What if those things that killed the grudgers—”
“No,” Lesyl answered forcefully. “We’ve lost seven to that monster. No one else.”
“Madi thinks he ran way.” Luci folded her arms like a disgruntled schoolteacher. “We hate boys.”
Lesyl gathered the girl into her arms. The bones behind Luci’s shoulders were so small, like the bones of a bird before its wings find feathers.
“Wynn shouldn’t have run away,” said the girl. “What good is he to the rest of us if he heads out into the wild without telling us where he’s going?”
Lesyl realized she was squeezing the air right out of the girl and released her. “Here. I’ve wrapped my string-weave in cloth. Take it. But, Luci, it’s my most precious instrument. Not a scratch or a broken string. Do you understand? Go to your sisters. Stay close to the grownups. And don’t step on any cracks.”
As Luci ran off, Lesyl stood and strapped a heavy pack over her shoulders—a bundle of musical instruments. Then she tucked the roll of reedcloth beneath her arm and lifted a bag of Auralia’s sculptures, garments, and inventions.
Cal-raven would thank her. “Her colors will gleam like jewels in a crown, from the gates of New Abascar right up to the palace,” he had said, lying beside her. For one fleeting night they had watched Auralia’s colors cast dancing light across the ceiling. He had touched her left hand with his right. At first she thought it was accidental. But then his fingertips traced her knuckles, drew a circle on the back of her hand and another on her wrist, his touch as gentle as a first kiss.
He’s tracing a marriage tattoo
, she had realized.
He’s pondering the question
.
Stifling the memory, she departed the chamber, troubled by new cracks that had spread on the walls behind the gallery. She wanted to remember what they had made of this place, not how it had gone wrong. She wouldcarry the details close and weave them into music for a day when the people were ready to lift these heavy memories again.
Shouts racked the corridor. Defenders repeated Tabor Jan’s commands. Wear boots, not shoes, if you have them. Bring flasks of water from Barnashum’s reservoir. Keep families together. List the names of those who shared your caves, and give every name to the counters who wait on
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