The Doorway and the Deep (17 page)

Lottie wondered how she hadn't noticed before now. The splotches of color on Nash's skin were visible in the lamplight. There was a fierce red mark across his jaw, a green bruise on his neck, and two blue handprints across his collarbone. Oliver had hurt him badly.

“What's wrong with him?” Eliot whispered to Lottie.

“He's in a lot of pain,” she said.

“You said Iolanthe gave the order,” Dorian said to Nash. “Just to you?”

Nash shook his head. “It's Starkling who wants the Heir of Fiske dead. He put Iolanthe in charge of killing her, once and for all. Iolanthe's the one who sent out the assassins.”

“Assassins?” Lottie said, her voice bending on the word.

Eliot squeezed her hand, but it did no good. Lottie couldn't feel anything properly.

At last, Nash faced Lottie. His yellow eyes were overflowing with tears. He really did look sorry, but the thought of that knife gleaming in the moonlight made Lottie's stomach turn anew.

“I didn't know the Heir of Fiske would be so young,” he said. “Like the rest of them, I hardly believed you existed. It seemed such an impossible thing. So fantastical. It was something I only believed as a tyke, back when me and all the other orphan kids pretended
we
were Heirs of Fiske. Like we could give Barghest orders, tell folks what to do.”

“You were an orphan?” said Lottie.

“Oh, don't listen to him,” said Fife. “He's just trying to get you sympathetic so Dorian won't off him.”

“But why would you pretend to be
me
?” Lottie asked Nash, ignoring Fife.

“Why wouldn't we?” said Nash. “Our village was crammed with a bunch of loons, still convinced a Fiske would show up and demolish the Southerly Court. But we kids at the orphanage had no idea who our parents were. For all I knew, the make-believe could've been true.”

“Honestly,” said Adelaide. “As though
you
could ever be a Fiske, with a face like
that
.”

“No,” Lottie said softly. “No, I understand what he's saying. Making up stories you want to be true. I understand that.”

She studied Nash, scruffy and dirty-faced—a character she would never have dreamed of meeting back when she'd lived within the confines of Thirsby Square. It wasn't that she'd forgiven this sprite for trying to kill her just moments ago. It wasn't that she trusted him at all. But she
did
understand. She understood that even if Nash was a traitor and an assassin, he might not be so very different from her.

It happened then, with no warning.

Lottie lurched forward and cried out, clutching at her chest. She heard Eliot call her name, felt his hands on her back, but she fiercely shrugged him off.

“I can't breathe,” she wheezed.

Her ribs felt like kindling set alight. A tightening sensation wound around her throat. She knew this pain. It was familiar, but she hadn't felt it in more than a month.

“Get her some water,” Eliot said. “Give her space!”

Lottie shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No, no. I don't need that. It's—”

She lunged for Nash and caught him by one of his bound hands. Startled, he tried to pull away, but Lottie only clung harder.

“No!” she said. “This is how it works.”

She shut her eyes. She blocked out the blurred sights around her. She knew this feeling all too well, and she greeted it like she would an old acquaintance. The tightening sensation no longer felt chaotic and uncontrolled. It deepened and stilled, then bent to Lottie's will. This sensation, too, she recognized. She'd felt it once before, by Eliot's bedside in the Barmy Badger.

Lottie grabbed Nash's other hand and held it through Fife's gauze binding.

“Don't move,” she said, but she felt so far away from her voice that she wasn't sure if it was a whisper or a shout.

The pain moved within her, from her chest up into her shoulders, then down through her arms and into her shaking hands. Then it cooled, seeping from her fingertips into Nash's skin. Lottie's eyes flew open. She looked hard at Nash and watched as, slowly, the bright splotches of color on his jaw and neck faded away to faint imprints. The colored bruises evaporated from his chest next, turning to shadows of what they'd been before.

Once she was sure she'd passed along everything from her hands to Nash's, Lottie broke their hold and slumped forward with a gasp.

“Lottie!”

Eliot was at her side.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Lottie nodded. “I—I did it.” She looked at Nash, who was still and expressionless. “I
did
it.”

“It's true,” Nash whispered. “Your keen. It's
true
.”

“Watch her!” cried Adelaide. “Dorian, she looks faint.”

Lottie sank, her back slamming against the boat's edge. She felt weak all over, like she'd just run for a day and a night. Her breathing still hadn't sorted out to a proper rhythm.

“Oberon, Lottie,” said Fife. “What'd you go and do that for? He's the bad guy, remember?”

“Lay off her, Fife,” said Adelaide. “Didn't you just see what she did?”

“It wasn't like I
meant
to,” Lottie said, pressing her palms against her closed eyelids. “Not at first. It just—happened. I
felt
it, and I knew what I had to do.”

When she looked up, she found Dorian giving her a wary look.

“And to think,” he said, “those blasted wisps have been hoarding you this whole time.”

Nash had begun to cry yet again. Reeve muttered something from the back of the boat about “an embarrassment to the Northerly way of life.”

“I didn't want to kill her,” Nash was saying. “I didn't know she was so nice a girl. I didn't
know
!”

“If you want to make up for it,” said Dorian, “then tell us what you do know. Surely the pain isn't too much for you now.”

Nash nodded hastily. “Iolanthe sent messengers into Wandlebury Wood. She offered a reward to any who would kill the Heir of Fiske.” He looked at Lottie, and then away. “Far more money than I could ever earn on a sailor's pay. I had my little brother to think about. And I—”

“I'm not asking about your brother,” said Dorian. “What do you know about
her
?”

“W-well, Iolanthe may be working for Starkling, but she has her own set of plans, a way of setting things right for all sprites. Many Southerlies aren't happy with Starkling. There are rumors he's not even a true sprite at all, but an impostor from another world. Many say that Iolanthe is better qualified for the throne.”

“You're talking about a coup,” Dorian said lowly. “But rumors that loud have surely reached Starkling himself.”

“Only
rumors
,” said Nash. “Iolanthe has proved nothing but faithful to the king. She used to be the captain of the Southerly Guard, you know. And in all those years, she obeyed his every order. Now Starkling wants the Heir of Fiske gone, so Iolanthe has taken it upon herself to see it done. And that's all I know, Ingle, I swear on a piskie's wings. It's all I know.”

“Worthless,” growled Reeve. “That's what you are.”

“I
swear
,” said Nash, his voice rising to a whine. “I swear it, Ingle! And you wouldn't gain a thing by cutting me up in front of these poor children, traumatizing 'em for life.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Fife. “I'd be quite content to watch Dorian dice you up.”

“Hush, Fife,” said Oliver. “You don't mean that.”

“You can stop your begging,” Dorian told Nash. “I'm not going to touch you. I'm taking you to the Northerly Court with the rest of us. I'll let Rebel Gem decide what to do with a traitor.”

“W-what?” Nash's shoulders shook. “No.
No
, you can't do that!”

“Then which is it?” sneered Reeve. “Death now, or later?”

“You don't understand,” said Nash. “My little brother, he lives at court. It'd kill him to see me denounced that way—me, his only kin.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” said Dorian. “What's a suitable punishment for a treacherous dog like you?”

Nash was very quiet. Then, meekly, he said, “Just let me off at the next dock?”

Reeve roared with laughter. “Now I've heard it all! I've ruddy heard it
all
.”

Dorian shook his head at Nash, disgusted.

“You'll go north,” he said. “And as far as I'm concerned, this is your position for the rest of our trip—with your own knife at your throat.”

“But you need me,” Nash said. “You've got no lookout without me.”

“We'll manage,” said Dorian. “Meantime, I'm not taking my eyes off you.”

“Lottie?” whispered Eliot. “Everything all right?”

For the past minute, Lottie had been struggling to watch what was going on, to listen to Dorian and Nash's talk. But the heaviness that had claimed her eyelids earlier had returned, more forceful than ever. She felt drained all over from the healing she'd transferred to Nash.

“Eliot,” she said, reaching for him. “I just need a little rest.”

Eliot wrapped an arm around Lottie, then fit himself beside her, so close that their knees and shoulders were touching.

“I'm here,” he said.

“That's good,” said Lottie, her words breaking into a yawn. She tucked her head against Eliot's shoulder, and he rested his on her tangled hair.

She could hear Nash and Dorian still talking, but she no longer had the strength to translate the sounds into words. Still, her mind was whirring with thought.

She had done it. She had
healed
someone. Mr. Wilfer had told her it would take weeks, even months more before she was ready to use her keen. He'd said she still had to focus on clearing her mind. But Lottie's mind hadn't been anywhere close to clear when she'd healed Nash. She hadn't used Mr. Wilfer's training. She'd done things on her own terms.

Maybe Mr. Wilfer had been wrong. Maybe Lottie was more powerful than he thought. She had to be pretty valuable if Starkling had sent out a whole band of assassins to kill her. And though Lottie knew that thought should have made her tremble with fear, it instead filled her with excitement. She was important in this world. She
wasn't
useless. Maybe, she thought as she drifted to sleep, she'd just begun to discover how useful she really could be.

Lottie was cold, much colder than she'd been when she'd fallen asleep. Even under her periwinkle coat and the new light of sun, she felt goosebumps on her arms. She sat up, blinking against the sunlight, which shone off floating mounds of white in the passing water.

Ice.

They were sailing past
ice
.

The River Lissome rippled past them, spotted with chunks of white sludge. Lottie's breaths emerged as clouds. The air felt fresher in her lungs, but thinner, too. The thick evergreens that lined the riverbanks seemed particularly green. The blue of the sky seemed bluer. And cutting into that bright blue, above the tree line, were the peaks of mountains that had looked very distant before and now seemed close enough for Lottie to reach, pluck, and hold in her hand—an assortment of dark, snow-capped triangles. She
wondered just how far they'd traveled during the night and realized they must have sailed not just farther north but farther
up
, into a higher altitude. Lottie felt around clumsily at the blanket on her shoulders and discovered that Eliot was no longer by her side.

“Lottie!”

Eliot waved to her from the other side of the boat. He was sitting between Adelaide and Oliver, eating a wedge of cheese. Fife sat in a hover, arms crossed, watching Nash, who had been moved to the middle of the boat. True to his word, Dorian still sat by the prisoner's side, knife in hand. At the back of the boat, Reeve steered them on. Lottie marveled at his endurance. She wondered if learning to stay awake for hours on end, all while using one's keen, was part of the strenuous sharpening Adelaide had mentioned.

“How're you feeling now?” asked Adelaide, joining Lottie where she sat. She offered her a clay tumbler of water and a handful of dried berries.

“Better, I think,” Lottie said, taking the water and gulping it down at once. “How long was I asleep?”

“It's nearly sunset,” said Adelaide. “You slept the day through. Rather remarkable, given all the jostles and bumps we've had. Reeve says that's because of the ice in the water. And the boys have been talking so loud. I
told
them a hundred times to keep their voices down, but . . . 
well
.”

Adelaide looked over at Fife, who soon felt the gaze of both girls on him. He stuck his tongue out at them.

“At last,” he said. “The Heir of Fiske graces us with consciousness.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure she'd forgiven Fife for his behavior earlier.