to throw them off your trail.”
Tania looked anxiously up at him. “Don’t put yourself or your family in danger,” she said.
He smiled, wiping the sweat off his brow and throwing the rope down to Connor. “Have no fear for me, my lady,” he said. “I have kept the inn here for fifteen hundred years and more; I have learned how to deal with bothersome folk.”
Rathina and Connor leaned over the gunwales and pushed hard at the side of the wharf. The Blessèd Queen edged out into the canal. Black water widened between Tania and the innkeeper.
“Look after yourself,” she called.
“And you, my lady,” he called back, lifting his lantern so the slender beam of light shone out bright as a star toward them. “Sail to good fortune! Farewell!”
The current of the retreating tide was surprisingly strong, and the boat was carried quickly along. The slim lantern beam winked out and Elias was swallowed in the night.
Connor got busy inspecting the furled sail and checking the rigging. Rathina was at the stern, the tiller under her arm as she watched the banks flow past.
“What can I do?” asked Tania.
“There is a wooden staff in the keel,” Rathina said. “If we come too close to the banks, use it to fend us off. It is hard to steer with no sail, and I can do little till we are out of this millrace.”
The pole was almost as high as Tania was tall. She found the rocking of the boat tricky, and she needed to hold on to something as she moved about. She settled herself on a small triangular seat at the prow, the pole upright in her hands.
The night was windless and still. She shivered although the cloak was warm about her shoulders. She glanced back at Hymnal on its humpbacked hill. It was black against the dark clouds. Few lights were showing and nothing moved. But somewhere up there the horsemen of Caer Liel were hunting for them.
Who led them here? Hollin the Healer, perhaps? He hates me enough to want me dead. What if he’s the one using the Dark Eye of Auger?
It made sense to her that the man from Alba might be guiding Aldritch’s soldiers. He didn’t simply detest her. From the way he had behaved the last time they’d met, it was clear he had a genuine terror of her.
Half-thing, he called her. She-witch.
But something about the idea of Hollin using the Dark Arts nagged at her. I thought his magic was all pretense—a lot of hooey, with magic pebbles and incantations.
Could it be?
Connor’s voice snapped her back into reality. “Tania!” he spat. “Get the staff ready.”
They had come out of the mouth of the canal and were now in the main body of the River Styr, caught by crosscurrents that were turning the sloop around and pushing her toward the bank.
The river had changed since they’d last seen it on their way to Hymnal. It was high and wide now, its waters lapping at the grassy bank.
Tania twisted herself around, heaving the staff out over the prow, ready to fend the boat away from the looming bank. But at the last moment the eddies let go of the vessel and sent it seaward. They had escaped Hymnal undetected. A sense of relief and elation swept over her.
“Now let us hope for a good east wind!” called Rathina.
Connor was standing behind Tania, although she had been too busy hefting the staff to notice his approach. “Not much hope of that unless the weather changes,” he said, looking up into the roof of cloud. “There’s not a breath of air.” He rested his hand for a moment on Tania’s shoulder then made his way back to the mast.
Zara could have whistled us up a wind , she thought disconsolately. Or Eden . . .
Or Eden.
She thought of her oldest sister with her solemn face and melancholy eyes and with her fall of prematurely white hair. Tania closed her eyes, holding that image in her mind, picturing Eden’s face.
“Eden?” she mouthed the name, less than a whisper. “If you can hear me, send us a wind. Please—send a wind.”
She felt something. The tiniest
Tania looked anxiously up at him. “Don’t put yourself or your family in danger,” she said.
He smiled, wiping the sweat off his brow and throwing the rope down to Connor. “Have no fear for me, my lady,” he said. “I have kept the inn here for fifteen hundred years and more; I have learned how to deal with bothersome folk.”
Rathina and Connor leaned over the gunwales and pushed hard at the side of the wharf. The Blessèd Queen edged out into the canal. Black water widened between Tania and the innkeeper.
“Look after yourself,” she called.
“And you, my lady,” he called back, lifting his lantern so the slender beam of light shone out bright as a star toward them. “Sail to good fortune! Farewell!”
The current of the retreating tide was surprisingly strong, and the boat was carried quickly along. The slim lantern beam winked out and Elias was swallowed in the night.
Connor got busy inspecting the furled sail and checking the rigging. Rathina was at the stern, the tiller under her arm as she watched the banks flow past.
“What can I do?” asked Tania.
“There is a wooden staff in the keel,” Rathina said. “If we come too close to the banks, use it to fend us off. It is hard to steer with no sail, and I can do little till we are out of this millrace.”
The pole was almost as high as Tania was tall. She found the rocking of the boat tricky, and she needed to hold on to something as she moved about. She settled herself on a small triangular seat at the prow, the pole upright in her hands.
The night was windless and still. She shivered although the cloak was warm about her shoulders. She glanced back at Hymnal on its humpbacked hill. It was black against the dark clouds. Few lights were showing and nothing moved. But somewhere up there the horsemen of Caer Liel were hunting for them.
Who led them here? Hollin the Healer, perhaps? He hates me enough to want me dead. What if he’s the one using the Dark Eye of Auger?
It made sense to her that the man from Alba might be guiding Aldritch’s soldiers. He didn’t simply detest her. From the way he had behaved the last time they’d met, it was clear he had a genuine terror of her.
Half-thing, he called her. She-witch.
But something about the idea of Hollin using the Dark Arts nagged at her. I thought his magic was all pretense—a lot of hooey, with magic pebbles and incantations.
Could it be?
Connor’s voice snapped her back into reality. “Tania!” he spat. “Get the staff ready.”
They had come out of the mouth of the canal and were now in the main body of the River Styr, caught by crosscurrents that were turning the sloop around and pushing her toward the bank.
The river had changed since they’d last seen it on their way to Hymnal. It was high and wide now, its waters lapping at the grassy bank.
Tania twisted herself around, heaving the staff out over the prow, ready to fend the boat away from the looming bank. But at the last moment the eddies let go of the vessel and sent it seaward. They had escaped Hymnal undetected. A sense of relief and elation swept over her.
“Now let us hope for a good east wind!” called Rathina.
Connor was standing behind Tania, although she had been too busy hefting the staff to notice his approach. “Not much hope of that unless the weather changes,” he said, looking up into the roof of cloud. “There’s not a breath of air.” He rested his hand for a moment on Tania’s shoulder then made his way back to the mast.
Zara could have whistled us up a wind , she thought disconsolately. Or Eden . . .
Or Eden.
She thought of her oldest sister with her solemn face and melancholy eyes and with her fall of prematurely white hair. Tania closed her eyes, holding that image in her mind, picturing Eden’s face.
“Eden?” she mouthed the name, less than a whisper. “If you can hear me, send us a wind. Please—send a wind.”
She felt something. The tiniest
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