Читать книгу Coldmarch - Daniel Cohen A. - Страница 19

‘In your opinion,’ I said, putting the vial marked ‘Gales breath’ back in its potion slot, ‘what are the most important ones to know?’

Leroi crossed his arms, something the Head Tinkerer did quite often. ‘All of them.’

‘No, I know that,’ I said, turning away from the cabinet full of solutions and giving him a smile. ‘But I mean the most important specifically for inventing.’

Leroi gave me an incredulous look, raising an eyebrow.

I selected the next vial, marked ‘Crushed Marjoram’, and tapped at the bright green powder, a colour I’d only ever seen in Noble eyes. ‘I know it’s important to recognize them all, but we can’t really use everything for inventing. So what I meant is, what are the things in this cabinet to focus on for our line of work?’

Leroi sat back on his chair and crossed one leg over the other, giving a ponderous scratching of his goatee, looking around the Tavor tinkershop. ‘What is it that you think we do, Spout?’

‘Make things,’ I said with a shrug. ‘With metal, and gears, and Cold Charges.’

‘And that’s it?’

I shrugged. ‘Obviously not, but you know what I mean.’

‘Course I do. But just because you’re Jadan don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s ever been the case.’

Leroi spread his rough facial hair down at the corners of his moustache. I expected him at least to smile at my joke, but his eyes had become distant and heavy. ‘I imagine that’s true.’

I nodded, taking out the next vial, with was filled with preserved newtworms from the Hotland Delta. I shook the glass, wondering how much better Jadankind would be if, like these slimy creatures, we didn’t need Cold to survive. I wondered how much Leroi had already experimented with these life forms, trying to discover their secrets.

‘What you have to remember,’ Leroi said, ‘is that you will never be finished learning. You will never have only certain things to focus on.’

I put the newtworm vial back. ‘What do you mean?’

Leroi sighed, taking his hand away from his face and wiggling his fingers. ‘Art. Inventing is art. The hands of Creation itself. Sometimes you work for the hand of the Crier, sometimes for—’ He stopped himself, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, you don’t need to hear that nonsense. What I mean is, your life isn’t going to be like the Builders or the Patch Jadans or even the Domestics, with certain quotas to fill or tasks to be completed. Inventing is not like other lines of work. There’s no cap, no finishing. Inventors don’t get to specialize in paint, or words, or music, or clay, we work with all of reality itself. Creation to destruction. You need to know everything, and you can never know everything. You need to know that Golemstone reacts violently with Milk of the Dunai. You need to know at what pressure Glassland Black will shatter, and at what temperature it will melt. You need to know how many ounces of Halia’s elixir will dissolve diamonds, or how many drops will make a grown man scream. You need to know your metals and poisons and your powders and your mathematics and your poems, dammit, you need to know what the world needs, Micah, what Jadans need, and Nobles, too, and what this desecrated, Sun-damned, piece of—’

Cool water splashed my face, snapping me awake. My mouth instinctively gaped, collecting all the water it could. I sputtered and choked as it washed down my throat, but it felt wonderful against my burning tongue. Everything was still out of focus, and I blinked wildly, trying to figure out where I was.

‘There. He’s alive,’ a voice announced. ‘Now we get this over with.’

‘Give him some time, man.’

A throaty grumble.

‘Spout.’

A snap of fingers in my ears, then pressure on my chest, rubbing back and forth.

‘We can have him ride Picka. She’s small, but strong enough for your little friend. If the Khat’s hounds are on the scent, we need to move.’ Another grumble. ‘Can’t believe you got me into this.’

I finally heard Shilah’s voice: ‘Spout.’

‘Do you know if the baby Sobek bites can have lasting effects?’ Cam asked.

‘How should I know?’ the gruff voice asked. ‘If you’re smart, you avoid the damned things.’

I blinked again, wiping the water off my face, and three bodies came into focus above. Shilah and Cam were pressed against each other, vying for the spot closest to my side. Cam smiled, giving me a rather sheepish wave. He still hadn’t changed out of the loose fluttering robe and blouse and looked like a green cloud. Shilah was straight-faced and standing tall, but her hand was resting gently on my ankle.

My arm was now covered in a waxy cotton, soaked red all the way through. I imagined Split the Pedlar wasn’t nearly as proficient with needle and gut as my father, whose stitches almost never leaked.

I felt a wave of nausea, and my body spasmed under the weight of falling memories. I whimpered once, but disguised the next sound by sitting up and coughing, keeping my eyes averted. I pressed down hard over the cloth on my wrist and doubled the pain shooting up my arm. This flushed my mind of anything other than pure physical agony.

‘Don’t do that, kid!’ Split demanded. ‘You’ll ruin the stitches! You think this house is made of needle and gut?’

I didn’t listen, pressing even harder, digging my fingernails through the cloth. It was working. After a few more fake coughs my composure returned.

The first thing that I noticed was that the shack was rather dull for a Pedlar. The bare walls were decorated with splinters and flecked paint, and the empty shelves were stocked only with dust. The bed was a simple boilweed mattress, with no sleeping sheet. This was unlike the lavish silk accommodations I imagined all High Nobles slept on. A healing box sat open on the counter – recently rifled through – but I couldn’t see any food in the kitchen.

The one oddity that struck me was the wooden Khatclock in the corner, smaller than Mama Jana’s, but equipped with the same time-locked hands hanging over the Closed Eye face.

Hands that pointed North.

I gave the broken clock a nod, as it told me we were at least in the right place. ‘Are you still a Pedlar?’

Split grunted. ‘Hmm? What’s that?’

‘It’s pretty empty in here.’ I worked my jaw and lifted my face enough finally to get a good look at the man. ‘Did you sell everything you own?’

He crossed his hairy arms, tapping his thumbs against his soft chest. The stout man had the look of someone who could have once picked up his camel, but was now more likely to pick up a plate of cheese. Fair and flabby skin hung loose around his neck, and his belly protruded over his waist. A receding hairline tugged back the top of his head, which was bald and burned red from exposure. Beady eyes were sunken in beside his crooked nose, and his waxen face was chiselled with a deep frown. He wore a hollow sort of sadness I’d seen only once before.

‘I peddle big piles of “you’re alive thanks to me”,’ Split grumbled. ‘So stop asking dumb questions that don’t matter, and get off your ass and let’s get going.’

I had a feeling my friends had yet to show him the Coldmaker.

Cam scowled. ‘Spout is alive because Shilah got so much of the venom out. You even said so yourself.’

Shilah’s cheeks flushed just a little bit darker.

Split waved a dismissive hand. ‘I said she helped. Your sweaty friend here would be a blathering pile of useless meat if not for me. Now let’s cut the chat and get my section of the March over with, before the hounds eat all of our faces off.’

‘Lovely,’ Cam said. ‘Now hold still, Spout, let me check that burn.’

He leaned in and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck. Forehead to forehead, he whispered so low that only I could hear. ‘Don’t use your real name.’

I pondered for an instant and then nodded, deciding it was probably wise. ‘It’s fine,’ I said at normal volume. ‘It doesn’t hurt any more.’

Cam stood up and gave Shilah a secretive wink.

‘I thought you said there was no such thing as the Coldmarch,’ I said to Split, testing the waters.

Split went red. ‘Listen, kid. I don’t know what you think you know, but you basically just left the womb. Maybe you were a really good errand boy in the city, finding colourful parasols on sale in the Market Quarters for ungrateful Nobles’ – he did a fancy twiddle with his fingers and then pointed to Cam – ‘or rushing towels to his bare-butt relatives in their baths, but you’ve never been outside Paphos. This is the Drylands, boy, this is where stupid young Jadans step on baby Sobek lizards, and then they die.’

Cam looked as if he was about to melt under the heat of his own fury, but I found myself drawn to Split, especially after seeing the Droughtweed pit cut into the middle of his floor. The ashes within the charred grey leaves were still smouldering. A small part of me wished just a bit of the smoke would waft my way and help ease both the burning in my throat and the stabbing in my wrist.

Split followed my eyes, his face getting even darker. ‘You going to judge the High Noble who just saved your life? You know what, I don’t care if you knew the sacred words, or that you were picked by Mama Jana, I don’t have to—’

I waved him off with a bleak smile. ‘I’m not judging. You and I are kin. Broken kin.’

Split huffed, but his face softened a bit. Tiny red lines cut the whites of his eyes, and his fingers absently scratched at his thigh. I never got so dependent that I scratched, but I knew plenty who did.

‘How’s your arm, Spout?’ Shilah asked, cutting in and gently holding the back of my hand.

‘I’m okay,’ I lied, the whole left side of my body throbbing. ‘Is the Coldmake—’

Shilah shook her head, cutting me off. ‘Yes. The World Crier has been watching over us.’

‘World Crier,’ Split said with a huff, and then clapped his hands. ‘Yeah, there’s a chuckle. Now let’s get this over with. And I hope you know I’m only in charge of taking you to the next stop on the March. Did Mama Jana tell you that? The flock always get passed to another Shepherd at Gilly’s, so I’m not responsible for you once we get there.’ Then he grumbled under his breath. ‘Just letting you know now, there ain’t going to be any other Shepherds left. But that’s your problem, not mine.’

‘You’re still a Shepherd,’ Cam pointed out.

Split kept scratching, the other thigh this time. ‘You forced my hand.’

I brought my wounded wrist against my chest and pointed to the Coldmaker bag in the corner, looking at Cam. ‘I assume you waited to show him our supplies?’

‘You sure he needs to know about our supplies?’ Shilah asked pointedly.

Cam nodded. ‘Up to Spout. It’s his miracle.’

Shilah tensed up at the declaration, her face turning sour.

Split looked about as confused as you could get, his thick face going red. ‘What miracle you blathering about? Miracle that you’re alive? That’s not a miracle. That’s a decrease in my healing supplies. Which Mama Jana is going to pay for, by the way.’

‘He should know about it,’ I said to my friends, deciding to take the gamble. Our secret was too powerful to hide anyway. I wanted the world to know. I wanted every Jadan and every Noble to know the truth that would set us all free.

Cam hesitated before reaching into the bag, and then he tossed me one of the Abbs.

‘S’that gold?’ Split said, finally a hint of interest in his face. ‘You know it’s customary to give something of value to your Shepherd.’

The Ice was going to make one of two things happen. Either the Pedlar would slit our throats and take the machine for himself, or he’d sober up with hope. Once this man had dedicated his life to saving Jadans. Maybe I could return the favour.

Shilah’s brow furrowed, her hand running along the end of her braid. ‘That so? Mama Jana didn’t mention that.’

‘Well, I imagine you never been on the Coldmarch before,’ Split said, looking away, his fingers scratching harder at his leg. ‘And also you’re not allowed to look at me, girl. Not for the whole trip. That’s got to be part of the deal.’

Shilah raised an eyebrow.

‘May I have a cup of water, please?’ I asked Split with a blank face, even though my heart was pounding.

‘More water?’ Split asked, glancing at the Khatclock. ‘You think I’m made of Wisps?’

‘You did destroy our supplies with an arrow,’ Cam said. ‘And you’re a High Noble. Which, as we both know, comes with a weekly stipend from the Pyramid. So technically yes, you are made of Wisps.’

‘Just water, please, Split,’ I said, shooting Cam a disapproving look. ‘No Cold.’

Split went still and then grumbled something about a well behind the shack. Grabbing a bucket coiled with rope, he barrelled through the front door and kicked it closed behind him.

I went to open my mouth, but Shilah cut me off. ‘You sure you want to show him what our machine can do?’ She pointed to the nook in the centre of the floor, a haze of smoke still rising. ‘You can’t trust Droughtweed.’

‘You still have that knife?’ I asked.

Shilah tapped her thigh.

‘I trust you to keep us safe,’ I said. I tried to stand up, but I was still a little woozy. ‘Keep it close.’

Cam came over and helped me to my feet. ‘What do you think of the name Mordechiah?’

Maybe it was the lingering Sobek poison, but I couldn’t follow. ‘Mordechiah?’

‘For your fake name,’ Cam said, peeking through the healing box on the table. ‘It still starts with an “M” so it’ll be easy to remember.’

The old me would have laughed, but all of a sudden the pain in my wrist was extraordinary.

‘No!’ I spat, my stomach stewing with something thick and sour. ‘No.’

Cam’s head dropped. ‘Sorry, I just—’

‘No,’ I said, holding up my wrist. ‘It’s just really painful. And I think I’ll stick with Spout.’

‘Spout’s a nickname, though,’ Cam said, lifting his eyes just a bit. ‘What if he asks your real name?’

‘Clearly Split is a nickname too,’ Shilah said. ‘But I think that kind of stuff must have been common on the Coldmarch. Fake names and disguises.’

Cam shrugged, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks. ‘So you think Split’s going to faint when he sees the Ice?’

‘Maybe,’ I said, looking around again at the bareness of the shack, nursing my wrist against my chest. ‘What do you think he used to peddle?’

Shilah was over by the Khatclock now, tapping at the glass. ‘Probably Droughtweed. Lots of profit in addiction.’

Cam gestured around at the bare walls and decrepit ceiling. ‘This shack doesn’t exactly scream Cold.’

Shilah continued to tap on the face of the Khatclock, the glass nearly silent against the calloused pads of her fingers. ‘You think this leads to some secret tunnel as well?’

‘Just think,’ Cam said with a smirk, pocketing a vial of groan salve. ‘When Spout figures out how to fly, we won’t need tunnels. We can just fly Jadans to Langria. We’ll call it the Coldfly.’

I gave him a warm smile. ‘The Coldfly.’

Shilah gave a light snort, reaching for the latch on the glass face.

Just then Split burst in, boiling water sloshing over the rim of his bucket. ‘Hands off that clock, girl!’

Shilah didn’t startle, but she slowly took her hand away and folded her arms across her chest. ‘My name’s Shilah. Not girl.’

Split’s face went blank as he turned away. ‘Fine. Whatever. I don’t want you to leave your scent on the glass.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘Because of the hounds.’

Shilah bared her teeth, giving a low growl.

I knew she was joking, but Split looked poised to pick up the crossbow.

‘Split,’ I said. ‘I’ll just take the whole bucket of water if you don’t mind.’

Split looked to Cam, who was still lingering by the healing box, the Pedlar’s eyes narrowing. ‘You going to pay me back for all this Cold I’m wasting on your Jadans?’

‘You can’t waste Cold on Jadans,’ Cam said with a scowl, crossing his arms over his blouse. ‘And by the way, you should prepare yourself for quite the opposite.’

Split shook his head with disdain, even the stubble on his cheeks looked a bit darker. ‘You get bit by a Sobek too, boy? Crawled in your ear and nibbled on your brain?’

I gestured for the bucket.

The Pedlar grumbled, thrusting it over. The steaming water sloshed onto my foot, but since the underground water always ran cooler than in the boiling rivers, it didn’t raise blisters.

‘Close your eyes,’ Split demanded. ‘All of you.’

‘Sorry?’ Cam asked. ‘I thought that was just Shilah who wasn’t allowed to look at you during the March.’

Split was redder than any alder paint now. ‘I don’t want you to know where my Cold is hidden, boy! In case the Vicaress catches you and tortures you. Damn the damned Khat, he doesn’t need my Cold. A man should always die with a few secrets.’

‘Like I said, I don’t need Cold,’ I said, letting the anticipation build. ‘I have what I need.’

Split sighed, rubbing his temples. ‘A mad flock. And I thought two boys was going to be obstacle enough.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Cam asked.

Split huffed, wiping away a little leftover grey ash from under his nose. ‘You obviously don’t know much about the Coldmarch, Tavor.’

‘Never mind that.’ I asked the Pedlar as seriously as I could, ‘What do you believe?’

Split’s beady eyes narrowed even further. ‘In regards to?’

‘Everything,’ I said simply.

‘A mad flock,’ Split muttered again, rubbing the sides of his head.

‘We’re the best flock you’ve ever had,’ Cam said, still indignant.

Shilah tapped at the Khatclock glass once more.

‘Don’t do that!’ Split chided.

Shilah turned around with a glare. There was a plan in her eyes.

I waved my friends off, needing them to be still. This was going to be the first time a stranger witnessed what my machine could do.

‘What do you believe?’ I asked Split softly again, holding my palm over the bucket, the Abb ready to fall in the water. I didn’t relish the idea of wasting a full golden bead, but the Pedlar’s trust and obedience was equally as important.

‘About the World Cried?’ I continued. ‘About the Khatdom? About the Jadans? You don’t call us slaves, not like most High Nobles. What do you believe?’

Split paused, gathering a huge breath in his ruddy face. Everything inside the shack went quiet enough that I could hear Picka braying gently outside in the stable, knocking her hooves against the trough.

‘You really want to know?’ Split asked quietly.

I nodded.

The pause was so heavy that I thought the floor might crack. When he finally looked at me, it was with something emptier than anger. His eyes stirred in the realms of loss, which was all too familiar.

I wanted to dig my fingers back into my wrist, but I had to keep the Abb steady.

‘I believe that we’re alone,’ Split said quietly, his cheeks trembling. ‘That no one is watching. I believe that everyone consumes this World Crier crap all the time, and they drop down on their knees to get their doses, and they say “give me more, please, let me have the truth”. But you know why everything around us, the whole damned world, is all still sand and shit? You know why when people say Great Drought I say my great pale ass? There was no ‘chosen’, no ‘unworthy’. It’s all Sun-damned coincidence. There’s no such thing as the World Crier, or if there was, then he died long ago and left us on our own. You know what I believe?’ He paused, looking into the steaming waters in the bucket. ‘I believe we’re alone as can be.’

I let the gold bead fall.

The bucket creaked and screamed at the rapid change from water to Ice, the seams splitting loose and cracking in half. The scorching water completely changed in the blink of an eye, pushing hard enough to break the metal entirely apart. This wasn’t just a few Drafts in the bottom of a barrel, or a Shiver in the wind. This was a complete and utter shift in reality. This was snuffing out the Sun. This was taking the Vicaress’s fiery blade and turning it around so she could be Cleansed.

This was sanctuary.

The solid block of Ice was both shield and weapon. I had a feeling I could stick it in the heart of Paphos and it would never yield, even after being gnawed on by the Sun, hacked at by taskmasters, stabbed by the Vicaress, and prayed away by the Priests.

Split’s face went slack, his eyes processing the impossible. His fingers had stopped scratching at his leg, and were now sweeping through the air in front of his face, as if he were trying to swat away the devastation of a mirage.

I picked up a piece of the metal scrap that had exploded from the bucket, which still lingered with the touch of Ice, and pressed the flat of it against my injured wrist. The pain and throbbing ceased immediately against the impossible Cold.

‘Meshua,’ Split whispered, and then stumbled backwards, smacking into his counter, his body jerking stiff. ‘Meshua.’

I gave up the scrap, the residual Cold quickly becoming too much. A gorgeous mist drifted from the top of the Ice, white and lovely. The Inventor in me wanted to grab an empty bottle from the healing box and see if I could bottle the stuff, thinking it might be useful in its own right.

Split’s face had gone so pale I could almost see the bones underneath. His eyes were flashing with something that looked unsettlingly like worry. ‘Damn it to dust and rot. After all these Sun-damned years.’ His expression grew murderous and sorrowful at the same time, his hands clenching into fists so tight I thought his knuckles might dissolve to powder. ‘It can’t be Meshua.’ He clenched his teeth and his face trembled, as if he were about to hiss. His breathing quickly grew stunted, his breath shallow and infrequent. His hand went over his chest, pain registering in his face.

I hoped the lingering Droughtweed wasn’t reacting with the shock in some unforeseen way. Abb had taught me some rudimentary healing techniques, but nothing extensive, and I wouldn’t know how to deal with a failing heart.

‘It’s not possible,’ the Pedlar said between his teeth. ‘Can’t be real. Not now. Not after all this time.’

‘Split,’ I said, staying behind the Ice. ‘It’s okay. It’s safe.’

‘Man or woman?’ he said, pallid face somehow seething red.

‘Sorry?’ I asked carefully.

‘Is Meshua a man or a woman, you little brat?’ he barked, far removed from any semblance of patience. His eyes kept flicking to the Droughtweed pit in the floor. ‘You must know, since they gave you the Ice.’

Mist from the Ice rode up the front of my shirt and it took everything in me not to swoon from the spectacular sensation. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Split sucked in a breath, his clenched hand rubbing the spot over his heart, as if he were attempting to loosen his lungs up for air. His movements were frantic, and the muscles in his shoulders strained.

Shilah walked over to Split and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s okay. We all felt the same way the first time—’

He swatted her away, not meeting her eyes. ‘Don’t touch me. Back up, girl!’

‘Whoa,’ Cam said, holding up his hands. ‘Take it easy, Pedlar. She’s only trying to help.’

‘Dammit! Meshua! Man’ – Split’s breath had constricted to a wheezing now – ‘or woman?’

‘What is Me-sh-ua?’ I asked, enunciating each syllable. I recognized it from the sacred words Abb had sung to me, but he had never revealed what the prayer actually meant.

Split pointed at the Ice, his finger shaking. ‘The Crier’s child. Meshua. The one who made that.’

I paused, not following. ‘I made that.’

‘Yeah, Spout made that,’ Cam affirmed, snapping his fingers at Split. ‘Weren’t you watching?’

Shilah crossed her arms over her chest and gave Cam a dark look.

Split kept rubbing his heart, his knuckles frantic now.

‘Yes, I know that, Tavor moron,’ Split chided. ‘But the Jadan who shed that golden tear. The Crier’s child. Meshua. Simple question. Man. Or woman? The Book of the March isn’t clear.’

Cam stepped closer, holding his palms up innocently. ‘I think you’re mistaken, my friend.’

Split grabbed his crossbow from the ground, and all three of us stiffened. Before Shilah could extract her knife, an arrow was once again threatening my face. Split’s hands were shaking so badly I had no idea if the arrow would end up in my eye or chin, but he kept looking at the Droughtweed pit, so I knew his aim would not be true.

‘Are you with the Vicaress?’ Split seethed. ‘Or did you steal the golden tear?’

Cam went to step in front of me, but I kept him at an arm’s distance. As long as the arrow wasn’t pointed at my friends, I felt perfectly calm.

‘I didn’t steal anything,’ I said. ‘I found the secret that’s going to set us all free. All of us. Jadans and Nobles alike.’

‘You found it?’ Split asked, aghast.

I nodded, looking at Shilah. ‘With help, of course.’

‘Did they—’ Split nearly choked on the words. ‘Was it— Did they put it in the ground?’

I wasn’t shocked to hear the suggestion about ‘putting it in the ground’, but I was most certainly intrigued. There had always been Old Man Gum’s endless prattles about ‘they put it in the ground’ when I was young and living in the barracks. And then the Crier had said something similar in my vision when I’d been put under the Thoth’s wool hat. Leroi had only agreed to let me stay in the tinkershop after hearing the phrase. It must mean something. I pointed to the Coldmaker bag, to the chiselled bronze Eye peeking out from the canvas. ‘No. It was put in my mind. And my heart. And my hands.’

Split’s face broke, and he turned the crossbow around, holding the tip of the arrow against his own throat. The metal pressed into the soft flesh and scratched against grey stubble. The Pedlar’s hands were no longer shaking, which somehow seemed worse.

No one moved.

‘I was loyal,’ Split sobbed, a tear racing down his cheek. ‘I risked everything, and this is how I get repaid! I believed for so long! And the Crier takes everything from me. Then ten years later sends salvation like it’s nothing! Like it’s Sun-damned NOTHING! Meshua was all supposed to be a lie, I could handle a lie, because if it’s real …’ His thumb crept closer to the arrow release. ‘If Meshua is actually here. If you are here with the golden tears, standing in the same place where …’

My jaw had gone slack, completely at a loss for what to do. Mist from the block of Ice swirled upwards, curling around Split’s fingers, which I prayed wouldn’t flinch. If the Pedlar pulled the trigger, the Coldmarch was over.

Shilah raced to the Pedlar without fear, inching her hand in between the arrow and his throat. It wouldn’t stop the weapon if Split chose to squeeze, but her confidence was as good as a steel barrier.

‘You’re part of this,’ Shilah said softly, curling her palm around the tip of the arrow, almost enough to make a fist. ‘We need you, Split.’

Split gulped as his eyes slipped sideways and fell again on the Droughtweed pit.

‘Tell Meshua to go burn forever,’ Split exhaled, his thumb shaking so badly it was now tapping the release. ‘Didn’t save anyone.’

Shilah slowly removed Split’s hand from the trigger. ‘You can save us. Help bring the machine to Langria. Be a part of this.’

The Pedlar’s face cycled through a dozen emotions, and finally he let out a long sigh and dropped to his knees, the crossbow skittering across the floor. Shilah was quick to pick the weapon up and take the arrow off the shaft, giving me a calm nod, almost as if she did this sort of thing every day. The knife never even left her thigh.

Saving my admiration for later, I reached over the Ice and put a hand on the Pedlar’s shoulder, my whole arm tingling.

‘She’s right,’ I said. ‘We need you, Split.’

‘Show mercy, and tell me it’s a trick,’ Split said, his eyes closed tightly, refusing to look at the Ice. ‘Is it expected that I forgive everything? Just like that?’

‘It’s real,’ I said. ‘And I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

‘You have the miracle,’ Split said, face still scrunched tightly. ‘The golden tears of the World Crier’s child. And you don’t know Meshua.’

‘I don’t know. But we need to keep the Coldmaker safe. Now can you get us to Langria before the hounds track us down?’

Split opened his eyes and pressed his palms on the ground as flat as he could, the mist that had settled against the floor slipping through his fingers. Then he looked up at me, boring into my eyes. Anger had slipped away, and of all the things plaguing his face, regret now ringed his eyes the most.

‘Don’t you understand?’ he asked, pointing a finger at the block of Ice. ‘This is the miracle; this is Langria. And it’s not just hounds that they’re going to send.’