Chantress (27 page)

For a too-long moment, I stood and stared at it, rooted to the spot, forgetting to breathe. And then, summoning all my power, I came back to myself. But I could feel that my magic was fading.

Shouts and yells broke out. A Warder’s pike shot out at me.

“A head! D’you see it? A head and hands, by God!”

“It’s another Chantress!”

“Capture her!”

They were after me.

Seeing no other chance of escape, I dove into the melee of Warders, going down on my hands and knees. I emerged by the door and found Nat in front of me, still bound and gagged and limp on the stone floor. Six men seized him and shoved him through the opening.

Then they saw me.

“What the—?”

“Your life if she escapes!” came the cry from behind.

Brutal hands snagged and squeezed me, and I felt my magic break. I was completely visible now. There was no time to sing another song; the gag went on before I could even draw breath. Rope sliced into my arms, binding them together, and the Warders slit my sleeve to see the Chantress mark.

A cheer went up as they held a torch to it. “That’ll mean gold for us, my lads!”

After trussing my legs, they tossed me into the dark hole like so much kindling. I hit the floor, and everything went black.

I woke to darkness and the sound of something rustling in the rancid straw. My godmother, Penebrygg, Nat? Or maybe something else . . .

Rats?

My stomach tightened. I would not let them find me on the floor, utterly at their mercy. Wrenching my tied-up arms and legs as best I could, I rolled until I was half sitting, half leaning against a wall. But the ropes around me were still tight as wire.

Well, if the ropes wouldn’t yield, what about the gag? I rubbed it against the rough rock wall, trying to work it loose. But I only scraped my cheek raw.

The rustling grew louder. Something was coming toward me, so close I could hear its breathing soft in the air next to me. I jerked my bound legs, hoping to frighten it away.

“It’s me,” Nat whispered.

His voice was astonishment enough, but then his hand brushed
against my cloak, searching for the gag. I had a moment to think,
He’s free,
and then I flinched as the gag rope bit deeper into my cheek.

“Easy now,” he said, and the gag slipped away. His fingers went to the knots around my wrists, though he avoided touching my skin. Was that because he knew it was chafed and sore—or because he was still determined not to come too close, even in these desperate circumstances?

“How did you get free?” I whispered.

“Tricks of the trade,” he said softly. “Bracing my muscles, knowing the knots they use. And a bit of luck. They weren’t quite as careful with me as they should have been. Maybe the bandage threw them off.”

“Your hand,” I said, remembering. “They can’t have done it any good.”

“It still works. That’s all that matters. And if it made them underestimate me, then I should count myself lucky it happened.” He gave my wrists a last tug. “There. That should do it.”

As the rope slid off, he went to the bands around my legs.

I stretched my numb arms and shook out my lifeless fingers. “How are the others?”

“I’ve already undone Penebrygg’s knots,” Nat said. “But he’s still out cold. There’s a lump big as an egg on his head, and I don’t like the way he’s breathing.”

The rope fell away from my legs, and I flexed my prickling feet. “And my godmother?”

Nat said nothing.

“You haven’t freed her yet?” I asked.

When he still didn’t answer, I frowned. There was no love lost between them, I knew, but—

“She’s gone,” Nat said.

“Gone?” It took a moment for his meaning to hit me. “You mean . . . dead?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“No.” My voice cracked.

“Don’t let them hear you,” he warned in a voice barely louder than breathing.

Heartsick, I murmured, “What happened?”

“She panicked when we came up to the Feeding Room and buckled against the Warders. In the struggle, her gag got loose, and she shrieked.”

I remembered the sound of that scream. I buried my head in my arms.

“They thought she was singing,” said Nat. “They panicked and bashed her over the head. You could hear the bone crack. I think she was gone even before they threw her in here.”

“She’s here?”

“Lucy, don’t—”

But I was scrabbling around in the dark already. I found the edge of her gown, and then her sleeve. “Lady Helaine?”

No response. But it was only when I touched her cold, lifeless hand that I accepted Nat was right: She was gone. All the fire in her—all her rage and ambition and passion—had winked out.

It seemed an age before Nat spoke. “Lucy? We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“To get you to the grimoire.”

Overwhelmed by loss, I almost spilled out the truth then and there: that I could only claim the grimoire, not destroy it. But something kept the words back. Perhaps it was the cold weight of Lady Helaine’s hand, or perhaps just the fear of Nat’s reaction. For Nat would be angry; of that I was certain. He would think I’d deceived him. And he would be even angrier if he knew that I had reached the point where I was willing to make the grimoire mine.

It was not desire that prompted me but desperation. Every other plan had failed. Scargrave was about to kill us all—and who knew how many others besides. Lady Helaine had been right: There was only one way forward, and I had to take it.

Releasing her hand, I turned to Nat. “I’ll conceal myself again. I can sing softly, and these walls are thick—”

“No,” he said. “They’ll hear you. There are airholes—”

“If they hear me, so much the better; we won’t have to open the doors ourselves. When they come to see what’s wrong, I’ll slip out and go to the grimoire.”

“Past two prison doors and two more iron gates, with the whole place packed with Warders?” Nat’s voice was rich with skepticism. “You’d never make it. They’re on the lookout for an invisible Chantress now. They’d take you down the moment they saw a single glimmer.”

“I have to try,” I insisted.

“It’s not worth the risk. Not when there’s another way.”

“There’s another way?”

“Yes,” Nat said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

He was right. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Go through the Raven Pit? Are you mad?”

“It’s the only other way out,” Nat said. “Remember the maps?”

In the darkness, I recalled the line of three rooms he’d sketched out for me: the Feeding Room, the Pit, and Scargrave’s Chamber, where the grimoire was anchored in the wall.

“There’s a door in here that opens into the Pit,” Nat said, “and on the other side of the Pit, there’s another door that leads to Scargrave’s Chamber. And the beauty of going this way is that there are no guards.”

“Because they have the Shadowgrims instead,” I reminded him. “And that’s much, much worse.”

“They won’t wake until sunset, and that must be a good hour away. Maybe two.”

I considered this. “What about the eggs?”

“They haven’t hatched yet,” Nat said. “I quizzed Sir Barnaby, and he said he’d stake his life on it.”

“But he’s only going by rumors.”

“He has better sources than that,” Nat said. “He’s our spymaster.”

“But what if you’re wrong about the time, and it’s later than you think? What if we get caught in the Pit at sunset?”

“If it’s that late, then our goose is cooked—whether we’re in the Pit or not. But we have time. I’m sure of it. I heard the clocks chiming as they brought us in.”

I shook my head. “It’s a mad plan.”

“It’s our best plan.”

“That too,” I conceded with a sigh. “All right, then. Where is this door?”

† † †

It turned out Nat knew exactly where the door was. Not only because his memory for maps was superb but because he’d come across it while he was untying Penebrygg.

“Two paces forward and one to the left,” he directed me.

He went first. A moment later, I heard a quiet scratching. “It’s not the easiest lock, but I think I can pick it.”

“With what?”

“Pins and things. I keep them in a jacket seam, and they missed them in the search. Probably because they were in such a hurry to tie me up. Check on Penebrygg, will you?”

I had just found my way to him when I heard the lock click.

“There it goes,” Nat whispered. “How is he?”

“Still not moving,” I reported. “Maybe you should stay with him.” Though I did not relish the idea of going on alone, I felt honor-bound to make the suggestion.

“And let you face the dangers alone?” Nat sounded almost angry at the notion. “Now, that really
would
be mad.”

“But—”

“No.” The anger left his voice, leaving only warmth. “We go together. And that’s that. Penebrygg would say the same if he could.”

We go together.
His words made me feel less alone in that black midnight of a cell. For the first time in hours, I smiled.

And when you claim the grimoire? What will he say then?

I pushed the thought away, but my smile went with it.

† † †

After we made Penebrygg as comfortable as we could, Nat tugged at the door. I almost lost my nerve as it swung wide. Would the ravens crowd in?

The only thing that rushed toward us, however, was an ashy stench that made me gag.

“Moonbriar fruit,” Nat told me. “Lots of it, to judge by the smell. They must still be feeding it to the ravens. Maybe they’re having more trouble getting viable eggs than we thought.”

Cheered by this possibility, we felt our way forward into a narrow, stone-lined passage. Ten feet or so later, with the stench growing ever stronger, this ended at another door.

“Locked.” Nat fiddled at the keyhole. “I can’t get it to open.”

“What’s wrong?” I knelt by the door. At the keyhole, I was astonished to find the faint but smoldering smell of magic, almost veiled by the foul odors coming from the pit. I tried to call to mind what my godmother had taught me about such smells.

“There’s magic at work here,” I said. “A charm to protect the ravens, I think.”

“Scargrave’s doing,” Nat said.

“But you said he can’t do magic.”

“Not himself, no. But before he executes magic workers, he tries to pull their secrets out of them. And sometimes he persuades them to work a charm or two before they die.”

I didn’t want to think about the nature of those deaths. Instead, I focused on the lock. “Lady Helaine taught me a song that should break it. Will anyone hear me?”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Nat said.

We were a long way from the Warders by now, but to be on the safe side, Nat closed the door behind us. In the choking air, I struggled to sing the right unlocking spell.

When the lock clanked, I wrenched at the handle. It turned with a squawk, but the door didn’t budge. “Maybe it’s stuck.”

As I tried the handle again, Nat heaved himself at the door.

It gave way suddenly and completely, sending us sprawling over the threshold. Then it swung shut again with an ominous click.

Flat on the stone floor, I was nearly overcome by the smell of the place: not merely ashes now but festering fumes like clotted
smoke. Then I heard a sound in the darkness that made my heart go still: the whirr of ravens’ wings.

“Lucy? Are you all right?”

Something was wrong; I could feel it in the air, which was growing warmer by the moment.

“Light,” I said shakily. “I need to see.” But when I tried to kindle a flame, my voice trembled too much to hold the tune.

“Why isn’t it working?” Nat asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I think the Shadowgrims might be waking—”

“They can’t be. Believe me, we’d know it if they were.”

Mewling clicks in the darkness nipped my mind like flames . . . and suddenly I knew the truth.

“The new ravens,” I breathed. “They’ve hatched—and they’re trying to feed on me. I can feel them. Their voices—can’t you hear them?”

Nat listened for a moment. “No.”

“Then maybe I really am going mad—”

“No,” he said swiftly. “Don’t say that.”

The tiny voices strengthened. I could hear the words now.
We are small. We must grow. We must feed by night and day . . .

“Lucy?”

I shuddered in the rising heat. “Oldville was right,” I gasped. “The rules are different for hatchlings. And . . . and I think there are more of them than we ever imagined.”

Searing and greedy as fire, their ravenous voices assaulted me:
We are hungry—oh, so hungry. And the magic in you feeds us . . .

“Lucy, whatever they’re saying, remember: They can’t reach
you.” Nat’s voice was sure and calm. “Neither the grown ones nor the hatchlings. Sir Barnaby says there’s a grille that walls them in, and that must be right. Otherwise, the birds would have flown out when we opened the door.”

I understood that he was trying to drive the hot, painful whispers away. But they were too ferocious to be hemmed in by reason.

“So you’re safe, you see,” Nat continued steadily. “They can’t get to you. And we’re going to walk right past them to the next room, to the grimoire. And then you’ll be able to put an end to them forever.”

An end to the Shadowgrims:
For a brief moment, I felt brave again, coolly confident. But then I remembered that my song was for claiming, not destroying. With the next breath, the heat and fear were back, worse than ever. I could not move. I could not breathe.

“Lucy! Lucy, listen to me!”

I could not hear the rest. Only the feverish whispers reached my ears, powerful as an incantation. They robbed me of movement and filled me with dread.

Our parents fed on your mother. We will feed on you.

Something tugged my hand, pulled against my neck. I wanted to scream, but I was too deep in the ravens’ hold to make a sound.

Yes, we will feed on you . . .

“Lucy. It’s me.”

I could hardly hear the voice, it was so distant. But then Nat took my hand. A shock went through me as our fingers touched. My heart beat like a hammer, and I struggled again for breath.