Ravenous (16 page)

NEITHER OF US FOUND ANYTHING SUBSTANTIAL YESTERDAY. DALEN WAS
intrigued that the hiding place in the mansion held sentimental value for Ensel—and by the tapestry depicting the Sonzeeki.

“So they knew about the creature all along, possibly for centuries. Maybe there was once an entire pack of them beneath the cliffs, all sustained and pacified by the cornucopia.”

I shrug and continue preparing for today's excursion, not wanting to revisit anything to do with that disgusting creature.

“I wonder how he got the cornucopia away from it,” Dalen muses.

“Does it matter?” I say, with more irritation than I
intend. “He did, and now the Sonzeeki wants to destroy the city, and I'll let it so I can use the cornucopia to save my brother. Would you like to drive that point home a little more?” Guilt has become my constant companion, always needling into my sides. Worry, too. What if we ask King Oliver for help in exchange for the cornucopia, and Bryre's army can't stop the witch?

Besides, I know exactly how Ensel did it—with the help of his potions. But something still holds me back from telling Dalen about them. He might make me stop using them, and they still might prove useful in my hunt for the cornucopia. When this is all over, I'll come clean.

Dalen pales. “I'm sorry, Greta, I didn't think—”

I sigh. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you.” My hands tighten around the strap of my satchel. Now that I know what Belladoma meant to my mother, it doesn't sit right with me to do nothing. Even if Bryre won't aid us, my conscience may force me to try to help—after I free Hans. “I make no claim to be a good person, and I know I can't save everyone. I'll leave that task to King Oliver and Bryre. But I can try to save Hans, and that's what I'll do.”

Dalen nods thoughtfully as we leave the barn and part ways. The hiding place he visited yesterday was as empty as mine. The map led him on a merry dance through the forest, skirting the river, and down into a deep ravine. He had to dig beneath a huge boulder marked with an elemental symbol until he found the case where the cornucopia once rested. All that remained were a few bits of straw, nothing more.

Hopefully today will prove more fruitful. If not, I have no doubt the witch will make good on her threat to kidnap another child from Belladoma.

The map doesn't lead me into the tunnels this afternoon, but it does take me into town. I keep to the alleys and near crowds of people when I can. Ren and King Oliver could be here, or worse, Vincali and his minions.

I'd prefer not to encounter any of them.

My cloak weighs me down, but it also hides my satchel and the map I peek at periodically. If I need it, I have the invisibility potion with me, and could use it again. The silencing spell faded off my shoes by morning, but the temptation to use it again niggles at the back of my mind.

The path takes me through the main square, filled with local shopkeepers and those who can spend the meager savings they have left. I've seen no traders from the big traveling markets here at all. The people are probably too poor to afford their prices. Why sell below cost to a starving city, when plenty of other places will buy at full price? No, the market here looks like it's homegrown.

Everywhere I go, I'm met by hollow faces and rotting buildings barely holding together. I pass the bakery I snuck into a few days earlier, and a fragile-looking child stands outside it, peering in the dirty windows at the baguettes on the counter. His eyes are wide and wanting, and seeing him there makes my heart hurt. I switch to the other side of the street, heading for a parklike area on the map. But I can't help a quick glance back.

The baker is out on the street, stooping down to the
little boy. The boy shakes, probably terrified he'll get in trouble for staring too long. But the baker puts a small bun in his hands, and the boy's eyes widen further, now shiny with unshed tears. I swallow hard and walk away.

I know full well the baker can't afford to give away his wares. And yet . . .

I close my eyes as water begins to rush in my ears and take a deep, steadying breath. Then I continue on.

But the picture of the baker slipping the beggar boy a morsel of bread haunts me all the way to the park entrance. They lost friends and family too. The only females I've seen are babes in arms or adults. How long did Ensel torment these people that they ran out of an entire generation of daughters and had to resort to taking Bryre's instead?

The map instructs me to go directly into the center of the park. Pools of stagnating water from the last flood linger in random dips in the earth. The trees are wasted and sallow, and no greenery adorns them now. Stale brown leaves cling to the branches in patches and litter the ground below.

I wander through the park, trying not to follow the path the map sets out in a straight line. No need to draw attention. I almost wish I'd lagged behind and taken the time to coat my cloak in the invisibility potion before I set out. Then I could plow through without the need to worry about someone following. The
X
on the map is over a building, but I don't know what it's doing in the park.

I crest a hill and understand. At the top is a large public building—more stonework—in the shape of a gazebo, but larger and with columns on the outside surrounding an
inner chamber. I bet the hiding place is somewhere inside.

As I draw near the gazebo, the fine lines cracking the foundation appear more stark, opening into shadowed crevices. Part of one wall has crumbled, littering the ground with pebbles. A handful of people linger outside, murmuring quietly and eyeing the coastline. The palace can be seen easily from here, and the deep blue ocean beyond.

For a moment, it almost seems peaceful in this city.

I step into the gazebo, hesitating outside the door to the inner chamber long enough to see the imprint of another element—air. Inside the chamber are several curved benches attached to the walls. Broken pieces of ceiling speckle them, and mildew slicks the walls with a sheen of shadows. It is chillier than I expected. The interior is one large room, with no windows, only two doors, one on either side. I inspect every inch of the place for another air symbol, but to no avail. The floor doesn't have any markings, just cracks and a large circle in the center. I collapse onto one of the benches and it creaks. I groan and pull out my map, studying it again to see where I went wrong. One of the sores on my forearm—there seem to be a few now—catches on the edge of my bag and I wince. The fact that they're spreading is unsettling, but it's the least of my problems.

What did I miss? The path leads directly here. Maybe I overlooked something outside. I leave the cold interior of the gazebo and return to the sunlight. Circling the perimeter, all I find are more cracks and mildew, and a few weeds pushing their way up through the cracks.

An awful thought grips me. What if the clue I need
was marked on a piece of the gazebo that rotted away? That air symbol could be anywhere amid the rubble. Or gone entirely.

I search through the pieces near me just in case. As far as I can tell, they all seem to be plain granite, with no special marks at all.

Maybe perspective would help. I march down the hill about halfway, then turn and face the gazebo.

And gasp.

The gazebo itself is the clue. It's shaped like the air elemental symbol—a triangle with an extra line at the bottom. A decorative strip of granite in this case, but present nonetheless. This is definitely the right place, and somehow the shape is the key.

The other triangle pointed down, and the hiding place was located in the floor. If that's a pattern, then the hiding place here should be . . . the roof.

I groan again. I can't just climb up the gazebo and see if something is hidden at the top in broad daylight. I'll have to wait until tonight . . . or use that invisibility potion again. Hans doesn't have the luxury of time—I'll take my chances with the potion.

I hurry back inside the gazebo and lay my cloak flat in the center of the floor, then sprinkle some of the green potion over it. I sit back on my heels and give it a moment to shimmer and fade. Then I sweep the cloak around my shoulders, pulling it up over my head along with a strange sense of satisfaction.

Back outside, I consider the columns, debating which is
the least likely to crumble under my weight. I was always good at climbing trees; that will come in handy now. I choose the column on the side with the fewest people nearby. Even though no one can see me, I check around me again just in case. Then I take hold of the column, pushing up with my feet and pulling with my arms.

Soon I reach the slanting roof. I slowly climb upward, holding my cloak close to my face so the wind doesn't blow it away. It's colder up here, and the wind is fierce and feisty. Maybe it doesn't want to give up what it holds. I crawl to reduce the pull of the wind and make it easier to keep the cloak close. Shingles and stones shift under my knees, my nerves jangling with every hint of movement. What if I fall off the roof, wounded, and no one can find me because I'm cloaked by magic?

I choke down the bitter terror and finally reach the apex of the roof. I throw myself on the spire at the top, and grab hold. My reward is the small imprint of a triangle with an extra line at the bottom carved into the side. I press it in, and the spire flips open, revealing a space inside.

Empty.

This can't be right. This search was much more difficult than the last. Didn't I earn the cornucopia?

But this isn't something I can earn, it isn't anything logical. I'm seeking the random last place Ensel chose to hide his precious stolen treasure. All I can do is guess blindly.

I pull myself together, then slide back down the roof and clamber down the column.

I head for the barn, anxiety hovering around me like
a cloud of bees, and comfort myself with the fact that we are halfway through. Perhaps Dalen has already found the cornucopia.

All the while, I'm trying to ignore the gnawing fear that Ensel never had a chance to return the cornucopia to a safe hiding place after all.

BY THE TIME I REACH THE BARN, IT'S POURING. I SHRUG OFF MY CLOAK
when I open the door, and shove it in my satchel so Dalen won't see.

“Greta?” Dalen calls. I tuck the vials of potion I didn't use into their box hidden in the moldering hay.

“I'm here,” I call back, and meet him outside the stall. “Did you find it?” His expression tells me all I need to know. “Me neither.”

“I found the hiding place, but it was empty like the one yesterday. I had to hide from a group of city refugees. I listened to them for quite a while, actually. They didn't seem as callous as I expected from your descriptions.”

I brush past him back to my stall. “I didn't say they were
all that way. Just that they didn't do anything to help when Ensel held us captive. They let him sacrifice us to save their own skins.” My doubt about the Belladomans resurfaces. Could they have stopped Ensel even if they'd tried? Perhaps the blame I've placed on them for months isn't as well earned as I thought.

“The family fleeing Belladoma was afraid their baby daughter would be taken by the mercenaries. They've heard rumors the mercenaries plan to use the townspeople's children again to pacify the Sonzeeki. They were fleeing for their lives.”

“Of course they were. Those mercenaries are vicious. Better to leave Belladoma as far behind as possible.”

“Have you encountered any of them?”

The image of the baker and the beggar boy flashes to my mind. “I try not to.”

“Haven't you seen their kindness to each other? They pull together in the worst of situations.”

I whirl around. “Don't talk to me about their kindness.”

“I understand,” Dalen says, “why you need them to be terrible people. But sometimes people don't fit the molds we make for them.”

I pale, and my knees weaken. I brace myself against the wall with my arm. “You don't understand what happened to me,” I say. The generosity of the baker haunts me, but all I can hear is the sound of tentacles slapping rock.

“You're right. I can't know what you went through. All I'm saying is that you don't understand what happened to
them, either. If Hans were in danger, would you do anything less?”

I know what he says is true—I'm willing to do exactly what I hate them for doing—but if King Oliver won't help, I don't see any way around it. Maybe they didn't either.

Maybe we're a lot more alike than I want to admit.

But I don't know what else to do. It makes me feel more helpless than I ever have before. So I do what I have always done: channel those feelings into determination.

I face Dalen grimly, water still dripping into my eyes from my wet hair. “I'm going to ask Bryre for help once we have the cornucopia. But what if they still don't believe me? What if they say no? Do you think I should let Hans die? Give myself up? And your village?” My voice rises, approaching hysterical.

He places a warm hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. “No,” he says, “I don't. You're in a terrible situation with your brother. Every choice you make hurts someone. Even feeding the Belladomans with the cornucopia would hurt the Sonzeeki if the cornucopia was its main food source, as you suspect. I wouldn't do any differently in your shoes. I just think you need perspective. They're not horrible people.”

I clench my fist around the wood frame of the stall door until splinters dig into my palms and fingers. Dalen is exactly right. It's an impossible situation. I hope our plan works, but if it doesn't, I'm responsible for the result, no matter who gets hurt. The worst part is that I don't want
anyone to get hurt, not even the Belladomans.

I grab my satchel from the hay. Before Dalen can say a word, I duck under his arm and back out the door.

I quake outside the barn, feeling as though something inside me has come unhinged. I can't go back, but it's cold and pouring. I don't bother putting on my cloak because it's still magicked, and soaked anyway. Maybe one of the Belladomans will use their famous kindness to take me in for the night.

I head back toward town. A tunnel entrance lies not far from here; I can hide there for the night. Then when I'm better rested and less upset, I can seek out the next hiding place.

Dalen's words chase me, leaving me restless and uneasy. I can't stop thinking about what he said, or about the hollow faces I see when I wander the streets of Belladoma. I won't be able to sleep, but perhaps I can walk it off.

Hoooo.

I jump and give the nearby bushes a closer examination. A pair of beady eyes regards me. “You're back!” Stump only tilts his head in the shadows in response. The last time he was here, it may have been to warn us. What could he want now?

Stump drops to all fours and ambles toward me, sitting back on his haunches when he reaches my feet. A chill prickles over my arms as I realize he holds something in his beak. He twists his head in an impossible manner, and when I hold my hand out, he releases a piece of cloth into my palm.

It is a small chunk of fabric, with a hemmed edge that looks like it was bitten off a cloak. Specifically a royal blue cloak with gold filigree edging.

My heart slams into my ribs. Only one person wears a cloak like that. The king of Bryre.

If King Oliver is in trouble, Ren no doubt is too. And trouble can only mean Vincali is involved.

I have to do something. Fast.

I tear my cloak from the satchel. I still can't see it, but it feels like it's dried a bit. I wonder how long it will last. Hopefully long enough. I throw it around my shoulders and pull it over my head.

“Can you show me where they are?” I ask Stump, praying he's as smart as he seems.

He twists his head all the way around.
Hooooooo
.

“That better be a yes.”

He scampers down an alley and I follow, feeling foolish that I'm relying on such an odd creature. But he has proved true before.

I scratch at the sores on my arm, then pull my sleeve over them, hoping the itch will stop. After we've gone several blocks, sticking to the shadows, we turn into another alley that leads to an abandoned threshing house where they used to separate grain after a harvest. I've seen it before in my travels around the city. With the local crops all but ruined by the salt water, it's fallen into disuse.

Except tonight, there is torchlight slipping out the windows, and the sound of angry men's voices shatters the darkness. On the road ahead lies a lump of fabric. The edges
glimmer in the moonlight, and I would bet anything that it's the king's discarded cloak. He'd never leave it there so carelessly.

Which means he was definitely brought here by force. He and Ren must be inside. If anything happens to them, I'll have only one course left: to give the cornucopia to the witch.

My cloak curls around me like a shadow as I run toward the threshing house, keeping it close about my face. This time Stump does not follow.

Arguing voices echo through the building. Old, half-rotted wooden boards creak under my feet, and I consider using the silencing potion too. But magic still leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I'm too nervous to try two kinds at once. The last thing I need is to spontaneously combust during a rescue attempt.

Shadows shiver as I tiptoe closer to the door of the granary. That's where the voices are coming from and must be where they hold Ren and King Oliver. Torchlight spills out onto the threshing floor. My feet tread on mildewing bits of old wheat. I pause outside the doorway and listen, holding my breath and reminding myself that my cloak conceals me. I will not be afraid.

Something smashes in the granary, making me jump. My hood slips down my neck, but I pull it back over my head. I peek around the doorway to see what I'm up against.

Ren and King Oliver are each tied to a pole supporting the rafters of the granary. What smashed was Vincali's fist into a grain barrel, long and hollow. The mercenary
leader paces before my friends in his billowing black shirt, revealing hints of red light from his chest. I blink, confused, until he stops and the light settles into an amulet that hangs from his neck. It's plain as far as necklaces go, just a large red stone, probably the size of my fist, with no additional adornment. But inside the stone, it looks like fire flares and ebbs. Like a blazing coal is suspended around his neck, yet not burning his skin.

I'd bet there's magic in that. Did he steal it from Ensel or is that one of the spoils from the wizard's cottage?

“I don't believe you're here to help. We've seen your page boy skulking around parts of the city he has no business being near, and getting far too close to the castle. You're after something, aren't you?”

“That's ridiculous,” King Oliver says. “We came to offer our aid, and this is how you repay us.”

I told them this would happen, so many weeks ago. I warned them helping the Belladomans wouldn't lead to anything good. I've never regretted being right more in my life.

I imagine Ren and King Oliver are regretting it right about now too.

“If you tell me what you seek, I might be lenient, old man.”

“The only thing we hoped to gain from our visit to Belladoma was a potential ally by helping your city in its time of need.”

“Lying is very unkingly behavior, don't you agree, Rasco?” Vincali says to his captain, a stocky, dark-haired man, a few feet behind him.

“Oh yes, not kingly at all, I'd say,” Rasco agrees.

Gripping my knife in my sweaty hand beneath my cloak, I step into the doorway. Vincali can't see me, but I'm terrified nonetheless. I take another step while he confers with his captain on the other side of the large, long room. Then another. Step by step, I make my way around the back of the granary, hugging the walls, until I can see the knots that tie Ren and the king to the posts.

It's painfully slow work, but twenty steps later, I'm positioned directly behind Ren. One quick slice and his bonds slip free. I repeat the motion with the king, but they both have the presence of mind not to exclaim or say a word. I watch them exchange a glance, and understand. They're waiting for the right opportunity to run. They just need Vincali's back to be turned.

Now that can be arranged.

On the far side of the granary is a huge stack of old barrels, just like the one Vincali punched. I work my way over to them, faster this time, and my luck holds. When I reach the end, I maneuver into place behind the barrels, as Vincali turns back to Ren and King Oliver.

“It would be a shame to make you wait to meet your fate, and seeing as our slimy friend is almost risen and hoping for a morsel, I'm loath to make him wait. Off you—”

Vincali doesn't finish his sentence because I launch my body into the barrels with all my might. They crash into the pair, smashing Rasco over the head, but missing Vincali by an inch. Rasco stumbles toward the wall for support,
looking dazed, but Vincali has nothing but murder in his eyes.

“Who's there?” he says, his gaze rippling over me. He can't see me under the cloak, but I've given myself away. To my relief, King Oliver and Ren yank their hands from the poles and flee out the door in the confusion. I sigh in relief, then I slap my cloaked hands over my mouth, which turns out to be a bad idea too.

Vincali's eyes snap to the point of the sound, and he steps forward. I jump to the left, toward the door, but he focuses on where I was moments ago. Then to my surprise, he removes the amulet from his neck and holds it out in his palm like he's warding something off.

Light and piercing heat explode from the stone, and I leap to the side to get away. Flames lick the barrels. What is that thing? Magic, definitely. And not magic I ever want to be on the receiving end of.

Though perhaps I was before. A memory of our flight through the forest from the mercenaries at the inn comes to mind, and with it the smell of smoke and fire on our heels.

I run.

Shouts ring out behind me and another lancing flame crashes into the wall as I pass. The hem of my cloak is on fire. It gave me away. There's no time to stop and stamp it out, and I tear through the threshold and out into the street. The fire, white hot, sweeps up the cloak, consuming it far faster than I would've expected—

Oh no. The magic in the cloak. It may be reacting to
the magic in the flames. Without another thought I throw off the cloak and hang it from a passing beam in an alley as I race back to the tunnels to hide. Boots pound the road behind me. I hit the wall and press the right bricks, then slip into the passage, just as flames reach the edge of the alley. The door closes, and I slide down the wall, gasping and quivering.

Vincali is definitely going to be a problem.