Witch Fall (16 page)

Lilette turned in a slow circle as Geth and Jolin dropped down. “Any food?” Lilette asked.

Han found a crowbar, then pried open a crate and reached inside. He pulled out handfuls of what looked like twisted ropes of fine, shining hair. “Looks like they’d just loaded their cargo—raw silk.”

Lilette found one with bits of fruit peeking out. “Over here.” There were barrels of water too. “How many of us made it out?”

Jolin peered hungrily between the gaps of the crate. “Twenty witches. Thirty-two guardians.”

Lilette hesitated as Geth pried another crate open—this one held rice. “How many were lost?”

Jolin’s face fell. “Too many.”

They moved among the crates, trying to estimate if they had enough food for over forty people. “If we’re careful, we should make it,” Geth finally surmised.

Motioning for them to follow her, Jolin strode through the injured to the stern, where there was a screened-off partition—probably where the captain slept. She gathered a rolled-up map and a small chest. “I have some calculations to make when the stars come out in about an hour. I’ll be topsides if you need me.”

“Geth—” she tipped her head toward the drafting table “—bring that, if you will.” But she paused at the doorway and nodded toward a group of guardians who were pulling apart some planking. “What are they doing?”

Lilette grunted. “Making a new rudder.”

“Oh. Well, then. I suppose as long as they don’t take any important pieces.” She departed, Geth lugging the table behind her.

That left Lilette alone with Han. He eased himself onto the floor and carefully removed his shin guard and boot. The material beneath was dark and unnaturally heavy. He pulled up his pant leg, exposing a nasty gash in his calf.

Lilette took a step toward him. “When did that happen?”

“Chen gave it to me.”

She knelt before Han, inspecting the wound without touching it. “Can you move it?”

One side of his mouth crooked up. “I’ve been running on it for half the night.”

She shot him a glare. “Didn’t that hurt?”

He shook his head. “That always comes later.”

“I’m going for help,” she said, pushing herself up.

Han reached up and gripped her arm. “Just bring supplies.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure I’m the best—”

“Have you met our physicker? I can handle myself.”

That made sense, and it wasn’t like Lilette hadn’t dealt with wounds before. She stepped back into the hold, weaving her way among the injured. She asked about supplies. Someone had found an apothecary kit. She managed to procure a needle, pig-intestine thread, and a bucket of cold seawater.

Kneeling before Han, Lilette rolled his trouser leg over his knee, cringing at the feel of cold, sticky blood beneath her fingers. “You’re lucky. It’s with the grain of the muscle instead of against it. You’ll still have use of your leg. As long as rot doesn’t set in.”

She felt him watching her. “Have you done this often?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Fa and I could never afford the physicker.” She met Han’s searching gaze. “This is going to hurt. Do you need someone to hold you down?”

“No.”

She poured seawater onto his wound, washing away clots of blood. Through the seeping was an unnaturally dark strip. She picked out a piece of his trousers and separated the cut with the pads of her fingers, washing and cleaning it out as she went.

Han winced and tensed up beneath her, but he never made a sound. When she’d finished, she glanced up to find him watching her, his face soft.

A blush wound up her neck as she washed the blood from her hands with more seawater. Careful not to look at him again, she called for someone to help her press the sides of his flesh together while she stitched.

When she finally finished, she wrapped the wound with strips of boiled cotton, then mopped up the blood and water, wringing the filth into a bucket. She wiped imaginary blood of her hands and studied Han as he lay on the floor with his eyes closed. His scar was on this side. A lock of hair had fallen across his face, and she had to resist the sudden urge to smooth it back. She looked quickly away and began unstrapping her stolen armor and setting it in a neat pile.

Last, she felt the weight of Chen’s pendant. She began to remove it, but Han reached toward the pendant before his hand fell back to his side. “That’s the token of the imperial house.”

“It was his.”

Han’s gaze met hers. “Wear it. Promise me.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Just promise me.”

She wanted to say no, but he’d already lost so much. She could give him this. She let the pendant fall back against her chest. “All right.” She settled down beside him. “What will you do? You don’t have to be a soldier anymore.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Will you come with us?”

Han opened his eyes to study her, and his gaze felt like the lick of flames against her skin. “You might need me yet.”

Lilette wrung her hands as something warm and soft built in her middle. “I . . .” Her words grew thick and heavy in her throat. “Thank you. For what you did.”

“Lilette . . .” He hesitated. “What did you mean when you said you were saved for this—just before you knocked me out?”

She cast him a sheepish glance. “My mother came to me when I lay dying. She said I had to save as many as I could. I knew that if I didn’t free the witches, they would destroy Harshen, and somehow that would put into motion events that would destroy the world.”

He blinked at her. “So now that you freed the witches, Harshen is safe?”

She let out a long breath. “Yes.”

Han was silent a moment. “I never forgot you.”

The delicious warmth in Lilette’s middle spread outward.

He closed his eyes again. “You climbed into the cherry tree. I could barely see you through the blossoms.”

“My first day in the garden behind the palace.” Sometimes she forgot that all her memories of Rinnish were not tainted by ashes and burning.

She had climbed down and Han had shown her the fountain. They’d sat on the edge, their feet dangling in the water, while the flashing goldfish nibbled on their toes, and pink petals stuck to her wet legs. “You were teaching me to speak Harshen.”

“You were lonely with no one to talk to.”

She studied him, trying to make his face match the face of the kind little boy. “Why did you warn my parents?”

“You were my friend,” he said simply.

She lay beside him, feeling the gentle swaying of the boat. Once her muscles relaxed, she could no longer move. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving me. Again.”

That day I realized something was different about Lilette. Her song wasn’t just strong, her witch sense wasn’t just accurate. Something else was happening. ~Jolin

A hand on Lilette’s shoulder shook her awake. Jolin crouched beside her. Han was nowhere to be seen. Lilette pushed the hair out of her face and sat up. Inside the hold, the heat of midday had made her tunic and trousers stick to her body. Her whole being ached, her heart worst of all, for her sister was gone.

Jolin gave her an orange and a cup of water. Eyes closed, Lilette held the fruit against her lips. She heard the tearing and smelled the orange rind as Jolin peeled her own breakfast. Lilette started into hers.

“We’ll begin where we left off,” Jolin said. “You’re a fast learner.”

Lilette took a bite of tangy sweetness. “I don’t need lessons in the Creators’ language—I remember it.”

“When did that happen?”

Memories assaulted Lilette again. Her sister twirling in the air, tears streaming down her face as Chen and the emperor forced her to kill. Lilette frowned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Thankfully, Jolin let it go. She taught Lilette witch songs until it grew unbearably hot below decks. By then, Lilette’s headache was better, so they went topsides. She held her hair up to let the breeze reach her neck while she looked for Han, but he was nowhere to be seen.

For lunch, they ate rice cooked on bolted-down braziers, and chewed on salt fish. There were mangoes, so sweet Lilette groaned with pleasure at her first bite. She sucked every last morsel off the pit before throwing it overboard.

By midafternoon, her head throbbed again and her thoughts were fuzzy. She held her hands over her ears. “Stop! My head can’t fit anymore.”

Jolin smiled to herself and Lilette realized that had been her goal—to fill Lilette’s thoughts with something besides heartache over leaving her sister. She and Jolin took a nap curled under the shade of one of the masts.

When Lilette woke, the sun wasn’t quite so hot, and a woman stood over them. She was a bit older than most of the keepers on board, and pale as a snail’s belly.

Jolin quickly sat up. “Lilette, this is Nassa.”

The woman sat down beside Lilette without so much as a glance at Jolin. “The famed Lilette. Your song was rumored to be strong enough to guarantee your place as Head of Light one day.”

Lilette remembered singing for strangers—thousands of them. As a child of seven, she longed to play with her sister, dig in the garden behind their tree, or go swimming with her father. But there were always lessons and performances.

Shaking herself out of her memories, Lilette noticed the tension between her friend and Nassa. “Jolin?” she said hesitantly.

Geth moved toward them. “It’s time,” he said to Jolin.

She stood and brushed off her dress. “Geth agreed to let me stop at one of the smallest islands to gather the seeds I lost in Rinnish. I’ll see you later.”

Lilette watched her climb onto a small boat, a dozen guardians going with her. “Such a keen mind,” Nassa said. “Such a shame it is wasted.”

Lilette’s gaze narrowed. “Jolin’s mind hasn’t been wasted.”

Nassa tsked. “Well, not completely. She’s brilliant with potions, but she cannot sing for her concoctions or even her garden. She has to have a keeper on hand to help her. That’s why she’ll never be Head of Plants, no matter how many breakthroughs she has.”

Lilette watched as the boat was lowered. “I thought Plants was chosen because of proficiency with potions.”

“Certainly, but a Head must be a full keeper, and Jolin will never move beyond an apprentice.”

Before Lilette could respond, Nassa went on. “Let’s test your song then.” She held out a small seed between her forefinger and thumb.

Lilette hesitated before reaching out her hand. Nassa dropped the seed into her palm. She opened a little bag, spilled black soil across Lilette’s palm, and drizzled it with a bit of water.

The water seeped through the soil, pooling in her palm. Something within her seemed to wake, stirring to the sounds of the wind and water. She sang softly.

Take in light,

Take in air.

Spread thy roots,

Thy leaves grow fair.

A shoot of green poked through the soil. Roots spread across Lilette’s palm, soaking up the water. Two leaves appeared, and a flower grew between them.

Nassa gaped at the plant. “You only sang once!”

Enthralled with the power coursing through her, Lilette didn’t immediately register the shock in Nassa’s voice. But at the wary look on the older woman’s face, the thrill seeped away like water through rocks.

“Sing it into seed. We’ll need the pesnit if someone develops a fever.”

Lilette sang again and the pretty flower aged, the leaves going a darker, older green before turning brown around the edges. She sang again and the flower curled up like a dead spider. A shriveled petal drifted down to the dirt on her palm.

Nassa caught the falling seeds in her hand and let out a breath. “Well, that’s a more normal reaction. It usually takes three songs to achieve results—it’s why we have guardians. We are powerful, but we’re not fast. We balance each other.” She held open a small leather bag. “Put the soil back. We can reuse it.”

Lilette scraped the soil into the bag and brushed her hands together to dust off the remnants. Nassa tightened the drawstrings. “Well then, I’d estimate you between a level six and seven—very strong, and you’ll certainly be a solid seven by the time we finish your voice lessons.”

They practiced singing for hours, long after Jolin had returned and disappeared below decks, until Lilette could no longer hit the high notes and her throat felt tight and dry. After announcing that the lesson was over, Nassa studied Lilette with a calculating gleam in her eyes. “We’ll have to start you as a witchling, but you’ll advance quickly to an apprentice. Practice your scales every morning. I’ll join you after the midday meal and we’ll work some more on your pitch, power, and delivery.” She didn’t give Lilette time to ask questions. She simply stood, brushed off the back of her dress, and walked away.

Lilette’s skin was beginning to burn in the relentless sun. She reluctantly moved down to the stuffy hold, where she spotted Jolin separating hundreds of seeds into squares of cloth spread out in front of her. She looked miserable. She didn’t glance up as Lilette dropped down beside her and wrapped her arms around her knees. Lilette wiped the sweat on her forehead with the back of her arm and asked, “Is it this hot in Grove City?”

Jolin dropped a few more seeds into a piece of cloth. “Keepers control the weather, so it’s pretty much perfect. It rains every night, with a gentle breeze and pleasant sunshine every day.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

When Jolin didn’t respond, Lilette took a deep breath and ventured, “I’m sorry about what Nassa said.”

“She’s a leech. She knows you could easily become one of the most powerful women on Haven, and she’ll use you to further her own plans.”

Lilette watched Jolin painstakingly sort a few seeds the size of a grain of sand. “I don’t like her.”

“Neither do I, but she’s the best at what she does.” Jolin’s voice held more than a touch of bitterness.

“She’s wrong. You’re not a waste.” 

“I know,” Jolin said softly. “But it . . .”

“Hurts that others see you that way,” Lilette finished.

Jolin turned away. “It isn’t fair,” she said so quietly Lilette could barely hear her over the sounds of the waves against the hull. “I should be Head of Plants—I deserve it. But without the song, I’m nothing.”

Lilette took her time answering. “If the witches cannot recognize you for the brilliant woman you are—if they’re blinded by power—then they are fools.”

Jolin wiped at her eyes. “It doesn’t help when a woman as beautiful as you has a voice like that, while mine is as plain as my face.” She blanched as if she couldn’t believe she’d been so blunt.

“I’m not perfect, and neither are you,” Lilette replied, barely containing her sudden anger. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

Jolin grunted. “Beauty and power go hand in hand. Just be glad you’re on the powerful end of things.”

Lilette chuckled darkly. “Because being beautiful has made my life better?” She ran her hands through her hair and lifted it off her sweating neck. “People use me—nothing more.”

Jolin gathered the corners of the squares of cloth and tied them up with a strip of twine. “Better than to be ignored and pitied.”

Lilette leapt to her feet and strode toward the ladder.

“Lilette . . .” Jolin began.

She whirled around. “You think I don’t know what it’s like for people to never see past your face, to see what’s inside? I know, Jolin, probably better than you do.”

Lilette stormed back topsides, not even realizing what she was looking for until she found him. Han stood at the bow, leaning forward with his weight on his elbows. She moved beside him, mimicking his position. He eyed her sideways before looking back out at the water.

The ship was pulling away from the island. Some of Lilette’s tension drained away, replaced by sadness. Han’s entire demeanor had changed, as if the sight of his homeland fading away had bled the hope right out of him.

They were leaving Harshen, leaving Sash. The circle could only hold for another day and a half at most. “Now what?” Lilette said. “Will Chen . . . will he hurt my sister and the others?”

Han pressed his lips into a tight line. “They’re the only protection he has against the witches. There’s no going back.”

“No,” Lilette said.

A shudder rolled through Han, and he looked out to sea again. “The emperor was not a good man, but he was my father, and my actions resulted in his death.” His voice remained steady, but anguish simmered beneath his words. “And my brother . . .”

To save her life, Han had lost everything. Lilette took a deep breath. “No, you did not betray anyone. Sometimes love and honor conflict, and you chose honor. You were loyal to your country . . . and to me.” She couldn’t fathom why. She’d been nothing but trouble for him.

His gaze finally met hers, and she saw the boy he’d once been—the boy who’d had kindness beaten out of him. But it was still there—still at the core of him.

“We should be enemies,” he finally said. “But we never have been.”

She leaned in and rested her temple on the point of his shoulder, as she had when t
hey were children. “No. Never.”