It was happening all over again. Ethos was off alone without notice, no thought at all to the rest of them. Peter quietly cursed his name as they rushed stormlike into Harken, same as he had that night in Oldden, the city burning and crumbling around him. The only difference now was the blame. Alyce had calmly explained the situation; how Ethos, in a troublesome spot, had been forced to involve Anouk and her crew. It was reasonable, damn him. Justified, even.
But still— Peter supposed he was angry by design. Curse all and the rest of it.
A ditch came up fast; Peter swerved, gripping a little too hard on the reins. The wagon tipped behind him. The girls took tumbles and oaths within. "Sorry about that," he called back. "We're almost there. Keep your heads down."
The ships had landed far ahead, vanished into the wilderness. The larger of the two had taken some hits. He'd lost sight of Anouk long ago. "Stay the course," Alyce said, suddenly on the seat beside him and holding a musty old hat to her head— one of his dad's. "It's a straight shot."
"I told you to stay down," he muttered, eyeing the cap. "What's a straight shot?"
"He's luring the Oldden battalion in by grouping the tono all in one place," she said. "My guess is he's come up with a plan to trap them while getting his people out."
"A faction will still be left with the blackhound."
"That's where your dad comes in. He and the Battlefrosts are going to clear out the Heed."
Peter fell silent. After a moment, he said, "I thought you couldn't hear him anymore."
She knew he meant Ethos. "I hear what he wants me to hear."
"But it only works the one way, right?"
"It's hard for him to hear anything."
Peter quickly looked sidelong at her. "Why?"
She was busy watching the forest expand ahead. "He keeps worsening," she said. "Could be he'll go pop one day, explode into a gazillion pieces, take us all out."
Godlingery; he didn't understand a word of it. He doubted he ever would. Rather than try, he stole a glimpse behind him. "What about her?" he asked. "You think she bought it?"
"Who, Una?" Alyce followed his eyes. "Hard to say," she said, returning forward. "Either way, it's hard to grieve over someone you hardly remember."
Peter glowered at the trees. "Just stick to the story. It's in the books."
" 'Stick to the story,' " she echoed. "Una was a bitch, Peter. Don't skirt the truth on her account."
"Oi." He sent her a glare. "Don't talk about her like that."
"She was. You know she was. She was a bitch and she died and now she's much nicer." Alyce met his glare and matched it. Hers was full of contempt. "I saw what she was like, back before Ethos put up the wall," she said. "Una was a snake, Peter. You'd know that if your head was right."
There were shadows in her eyes, and anger. "What did you see?"
Alyce's face blanked in surprise; she clearly hadn't thought he'd ask. "Nothing," she said, and she glanced away. "Didn't sit right, is all."
"Look at me, Alyce."
She did, unwillingly. "What?"
"I don't like you keeping things from me."
Alyce peered over her shoulder. Una was sitting against the rear panel, rummaging through her bag, none the wiser. "He doesn't hate her," she grumbled. "I know it's not his fault, but it bugs me. He should hate her. I'd have killed her."
Peter cleared his throat. Alyce glanced; she still looked grumpy, but not indisposed. "If you want to spill, spill," he said. "You've got about two minutes before we hit the tree line."
Alyce's expressions sometimes seemed beyond her years. This was one of those times. "It started after Farwell," she said. "She was careless— angry, maybe. I think she was used to being in charge. She exploited you to get her way, made you hurt him sometimes."
To that, Peter scowled. "I know."
"Aren't you bothered?"
"I'm never bothered."
"You're always bothered." Her confusion hardened into a glare. "He doesn't think you remember the details," she went on. "You should have a proper talk with him."
"Aye, I'll consider it when we're not under attack."
Hostage, henchman… he couldn't think of a word that blended the two. Peter took a very small bit of comfort in the fact that he hadn't been in control of himself. Had he noticed that something was off at the time? Maybe. Maybe not. Looking back, it seemed so obvious. All the signs were there. Ethos had practically spelled it out for him.
It was difficult to look at him now. Not because of the guilt, exactly, but because he served as a reminder of the whole ordeal. Peter had never seen him so torn. His outright refusal to fight back was curiously flattering; as someone who neither hated nor loved, it was something of a compliment to be protected by him. Similarly, it was insulting, and embarrassing to have burdened him so.
Alyce's voice brought him back. "He's already forgiven you."
"Get in the wagon," he instructed, curtly. "None of this matters right now."
In that moment, the forest finally met the prairie. They recklessly hurtled into the darkness, wagon rocking, its wheels bashing against hidden divots. Alyce caught his dad's musty hat before it could fly clear off her head. "Don't slow down yet," she said, words blown away with the wind. "They're near the boundary, down by the water. Watch out for the rise."
"Inside," he repeated. "The last thing I need is for you get thrown."
Alyce was more than happy to go; trees were lunging from every direction, reaching down to run them through or have out one of their eyes. There was fire ahead— a glimmer, hinting at activity. Peter wrenched at the reins, turning down a wider route to circumvent a wintry bog.
Distant explosions lit up the night sky. The sound spooked the horse, inciting a frantic scramble for safety; Peter fought back with all his might, sucking in mists of gnats, feet tightly wedged in the driver frame. Leather burned ribbons into his palms.
But they were already upon the rise, kids in an uncontrollable sled; briefly airborne, the landing beyond snapped all four wheels of the Thompson family wagon at once, and the force of it sent them sliding through snow, pulling along all horse and cargo.
Silence. The fall of snow was eerie, hanging lifeless in the air.
Peter found himself in the dirt, buried in all the muck and the grime and staring down a black pair of gumboots; recognizing them as issued Olddenwear, and of course in no mood to be disadvantaged, Peter quickly seized the man's ankles and brought him down at once with a yank.
Everything jumped back into motion. A second soldier lunged at him. Peter rolled and kicked out his legs, inadvertently subjecting himself to the weight of an overlarge man in full combat gear. A beam of light tore a hole through a third.
The last had been Una's doing. She'd crawled from the wreckage and stopped the third dead, hand outstretched, fingers splayed. The bangles were weightless at her wrist, dancing with energy.
Peter didn't have time to dwell; the second soldier was fumbling for a sidearm. Thankfully, Alyce appeared overhead and clubbed the man with a piece of wheel, bleeding from a cut on her brow but standing tall and breathing heavy. Her untamed hair was as wild as she was, haloing her in a snarly brown mane. She threw down the wheel piece and kicked him once for good measure.
Peter stood, brushing off snow. The horse had vanished. To Una, he asked, "What was that light?"
Una looked at her hands, and then at the man she'd taken down. Her attack had blown out most of his torso. Savage. She met Peter's eyes in confusion. "I just reached out to stop him."
Alyce was already jerking her gear out of the wagon. She whistled, waving them on. "This way," she said, boots sliding through snow. "We're close."
Una took off after her. "What is?"
"The hollow."
Peter could hear the voices now— dozens of them, all speaking at once, and a chase up the incline quickly yielded a crowd gathered beyond the pines. They'd assembled at the foot of an unreal camphor tree, the incomprehensible size of which wasn't unlike the loathsome Throat. The hollow, so called. An elliptical entrance was formed at its base, and there were streams of tawny-skinned tono survivors filing into it, two-by-two. A handful of huntsmen were at the rear, warding off a growing number of Oldden soldiers who had yet to strike. But Peter could tell which side would win out.
Peter stopped Alyce as she tried to advance. "Where's Ethos?"
She glanced at him. Knowing he'd disapprove, she answered, "He's not here."
A fresh line of soldiers emerged from the trees; they were corralling the hollow, led by spearmen, backed by bowmen, closing in. The clearing grew silent.
Michael Ozwell emerged. He surveyed tono. "Who speaks for you?"
"I do." It was an older one-armed villager, his long hair shot in blacks and whites. "You can call me Pathos," he greeted. "And you are?"
"Commander Michael Ozwell. The king has sentenced this entire settlement to death for its actions against Oldden." Michael didn't look like an eager party, but he didn't stumble over the words. As he turned to leave, he paused to include, "Resistance is discouraged."
"What happened to Oldden wasn't our doing."
The skin tightened around Michael's eyes. "I'm not in the business of arguing."
"No. Just in butchering." Pathos was firm, unwavering even against so many. "There are women and children among us," he said. "Would you kill them all in the name of your justice?"
Michael just shook his head. "This conversation is over," he said. "Do yourselves a favor and die with dignity." His gaze moved away to scan his men. "On my mark."
It was happening too fast. Peter could hear his pulse in his ears. But Una was suddenly crossing the clearing, shoulders thrown back, fearless. "You, there," she barked. "Stand down. Michael, was it? Yes, hello. You're to stop immediately."
Shock couldn't even begin to describe Michael's reaction. He gestured his men down and faced her square. "Princess," he said, in disbelief. "You're alive."
"Under authority of the king," she seethed, slowing before him. "The king."
He seemed to understand what she was getting at. Slowly, he replied, "King Eadric, princess."
"These people are under my protection," she said. "Make whatever calls you must, but no one else here dies today. Tell him that."
Murmuring, among the men. "He won't stand for it."
Una glanced at the thickets, at Peter. She called for him and said, "Come here."
Peter took another oath. He grudgingly stepped into the clearing, as unenthused about approaching as he was about all the eyes on him. Alyce was a comforting presence at his side, especially once the gap had gone. She stood close, closer than Una, together facing the men come to kill them. Peter swallowed and held his own and hoped to hell that he looked convincing.
But Michael wasn't interested in Peter. He was interested in Alyce, and he quietly said her name in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Does Eadric know?"
"Eadric needs to be stopped this time," she replied, sounding cold despite them obviously knowing one another. "He's using the disaster in Oldden as justification for killing these people."
Michael blinked down at her, puzzled. "Why would he do that?"
Beside her, Peter admitted, "It's complicated."
"Then kindly uncomplicate it." Michael glanced between them before eventually settling back on Alyce. "You're asking me to go against an order," he said. "As glad as I am that you're all in one piece, it doesn't change the fact that I'm sworn."
Una sighed. "Eadric has lost his mind," she said. "He's convinced himself that the tono extinction is requisite to kill their god."
Michael blankly stared at her. "What?"
"Requisite." Impatiently, she explained, "It means required."
"Look around," Peter cut in. "These people are few and starving, threat to none."
Michael shook his head again. "You can't trust it," he insisted. "The one I saw was on his last legs, completely black, and there were— " He made an unpleasant gesture. "There were bones just— just torn through his skin, and it was like he couldn't even feel it." His fallen eyes returned to the tono. "Few and starving," he echoed, fear and anger coating the words. "Tell it to somebody else. A dying one infiltrated the Keep and killed a king and a councilman. They're dangerous."
Crows were suddenly everywhere, baying from the branches. It was like they'd emerged from the shadows themselves. The uneasy battalion stirred. Una stepped in; she seized Michael's arm, glare afire with furious grit. "I'm of age and the rightful heir," she said. "This eradication is over."
Startled, Michael replied, "I can't authorize that."
"You can and you will. Call off your men immediately."
Blackness swallowed his warm, brown eyes, and he violently shoved her away from him. His gaze passed over Peter and Alyce, lingering on the last. "Good evening."
Alyce took a step forward. "Eadric."
Eadric turned on the battalion and shouted, "Bowmen, ready!"
"Stop it!" Alyce quickly rushed to him, little hands pulling him back by his clothes. "Eadric, wait!" she cried. "It doesn't have to be like this!"
Eadric ignored her. His final directive: "Loose!"
The bowmen were prompt— incendiary rounds. The side of the hollow exploded on impact. Fire brightened the dismal clearing. Peter unthinkingly lunged at Eadric; they landed hard, Alyce with them, struggling and damn near blind.
Oldden soldiers leveled their pikes. Huntsman edged away, on guard. All seemed lost.
A gust of wind blew everything back. The fire flickered, but didn't extinguish. When Peter could finally see again, a newcomer stood in their midst. "Fools!" Kacha bellowed, glaring about. "Is this how far the tono have fallen? Fight! Or I'll not mourn your passing into the next world!"
The huntsmen shouted, wordless and bold. Opposing sides clashed. Peter lost his grip in the chaos, lost his sight of Alyce and Una, Eadric and Kacha and Pathos and all. He somehow scrambled out of the snow, dealing blows and receiving others, deafened.
Peter spotted Kacha first. Her cloudlike hair bounced and swayed with her sinuous movements, dodging, shifting, lunging, whirling— a gesture unleashed a burst of energy like that of Una's, tearing through countless rows of men, and a second gesture launched others far. She paused only once to swipe at the air; it put out the fire in one fell swoop.
The earth rumbled and shifted beneath them, soil rising as if to breathe. Soldiers and huntsmen alike stood fast, eyes low, darting, uncertain, and at once a great gnarled barrier grew, encircling both the clearing and hollow. It fashioned itself in hardly a moment, twisted of pines and oaks and maples, elms and hemlocks and all standing sort. A sycamore ruptured the ground to the east and felled to block off fleeing soldiers. They were surrounded.
Peter tripped up as the battalion scattered; they were clearing space for something, he realized. He ended up in the heart of it, where Ethos was crouched with his hands in the snow, guarded by a bloodied Anouk who didn't look the least bit alarmed. Her cutlass emitted a fine wintry glow, imbuing her eyes with viridian light. Kacha and Una quickly joined her, dirty and tired and worthy of praise.
The burnt side of the hollow collapsed, releasing a plume of the tono within. They fled in pairs, able and wounded, and vanished beyond the arboreal cage. It was only when Alyce reappeared breathless from the elliptical hollow entryway that Peter identified it as part of the plan; Ethos and Alyce had swung it themselves, planned ahead to counter the threat. He hated it, how weak he felt. How little he'd done. It was all he could do to keep up with the current.
Eadric hadn't gone far. He was near, in fact, watching the scene with everyone else. "I won't lie," he mused, unsmiling. "I wasn't quite expecting that."
Una started at him and stopped. Her power was a coiled viper. "You're no king," she said. "These men, this land— they're mine by right."
"Don't be dramatic, princess. It's temporary."
His answer surprised her. "You won't fight me for it?"
"You must be joking. I have no intention of making myself a target." Eadric rubbed at his eyes, as if they'd exhausted him. "The crown isn't synonymous with power," he said, and he looked at Una, still serious. "I give men like your father a place to sit and suddenly they think they're untouchable. It's pathetic. For all intents and purposes, I am king, and I have been since the beginning."
Her fingers twitched. She held her tongue. "Tell your men to throw down their weapons."
Again, there was uneasy murmuring in the crowd. Her presence there had clearly created a conflict of interest among those still loyal to Gladius. Derisively, Eadric asked, "Why should I?"
He needn't have asked. A fresh swell of light fell over the pit, and all eyes present went high and wide. Tono browns and Battlefrost blues were stationed all around them, armed to the teeth on the leafy ramparts. Anouk laughed, grinning crooked. "He with the high ground," she sang. "I'll be."
Peter spotted his dad up there, dirty and wielding a bolt, but unhurt. They shared a fleeting glance from afar. "Drop your weapons," Peter said, to the battalion. Louder, he barked, "This fight is over."
Incredibly, the battalion listened. One by one, the men dropped their arms and waited for their next directive. Eadric's amusement was gone; his eyes were filled with dark impatience, fixed on Peter when a grunt broke the silence— Ethos, struggling to stand.
Peter's stomach turned at the sight of him. He was injured, badly, staining the snow with bloody footprints. Anouk caught him when he staggered a little. It looked like he'd reached for her. "Easy," she chuckled, taking his wrist, going low to support his weight. "Stubborn seacalf."
"Shut up," he mumbled, arm resignedly slung round her neck. "Stop calling me names."
Eadric watched on, unreadable. To Ethos, he asked, "Who was it?"
Ethos glanced at the wound he'd suffered; it was filthy and packed with mud, moss creeping. "It wasn't her," he said, eyes slowly rising. "I'll live."
"That's good. Was it one of mine?"
"No. It was mine."
"Dead?"
"Yeah."
Satisfied, Eadric peered around him, at Kacha. He flashed a wily smile. "I didn't think you'd join them," he called. "It's quite the risk you're taking."
Kacha glowered. "Is Hans alive?" she demanded. "The truth."
"He's alive." This, from Ethos. He was still staring hard. "It's Sutter who's dead," he said, and he waited for Eadric's gaze to return. "Am I right?"
The wily smile dissolved to the last. "You don't want to do this hereHe H."
"I'm sorry this isn't the paradise you thought it would be," Ethos said. "I'm sorry you lost your friends. I'm sorry you're still paying for the things you did when you didn't know better."
Eadric bristled. He seemed irritated, maybe by the pity. "Before they literally threw you out of Wyndemere, these people stuffed you in a shitty old granary and tried their best to pretend you weren't there," he said. "For an entire decade. Do you remember?"
"You know I don't."
"Well, I do." Eadric fell silent, just for a second. "Appropriation of personal data," he said, some private reference. "Not even data as damaged as yours is too far gone to be recovered, Ethos. I'm proof of that. I possess an intact account of your history."
Ethos was slow to respond. "And?"
"And it's like you were born the day Kacha found you."
The air warmed. "I was five or something. I'd obviously had a childhood."
"You're wrong. You're just something that looks like a kid we all knew."
Ethos made a small, abrupt movement, not quite a lurch. His glare quickly turned on Anouk. She'd stopped him from lunging, Peter realized, held him back by the arm on her neck and subtly by the waist of his pants. "Cool it," she murmured. "The battle's won."
His teeth flashed. "Don't get in my way."
Anouk held his eyes, searching a bit, and she must have seen something telling. She made a big show of putting her hands in the air and said, "Far be it from me."
Ethos watched her back off. His eyes slid to Kacha. "You must know the truth."
Kacha stood by, drained by the fight. "He was the soot between our toes," she said. "He was what rallied us." She gestured at Ethos, as if in defeat. "I don't know what this is."
"But Alma can bring the dead back to life."
"Not like this. Not when they have no body to return to."
"Then who am I?" he asked, voice catching. "Am I someone else?"
Wounded by his confusion, she approached and took his hands in hers. "You're you," she said, soft, like an echo. "You're perfect just as you are."
"That's not an answer, Kacha."
She shook her head, just once. "I'd be lying if I said I was sure. I'm sorry."
"You're the one in control," Eadric cut in, wellnigh forgotten, a snake in the grass. "Take charge and be done with it. You're prolonging the inevitable."
Ethos didn't glance, but he said, "You're not allowed to interrupt this."
"Eadric." Peter pushed his way to the front, loath to draw everyone's attention. "What happened to Ellena?" he demanded. "Did she abdicate?"
Eadric blinked, surprised by the seemingly random disruption. But then he smiled again. "She died yesterday morning," he said. "She admitted to orchestrating her mother and husband's deaths. I had her hanged in the city square." He made a face, like he'd forgotten. "She's probably still there, actually."
Ethos fully turned on him. "You're bluffing."
"Try not to look so torn up," Eadric retorted. "I did you a favor. She's the reason everyone knows what you did. She even hired men to kill you."
"But it wasn't your place. It was needless cruelty."
Eadric studied him. "Exactly how much do you actually care?"
Ethos returned the look, eyes clouded over and strange. "You think I'm pretending?"
"I said it before, after Farwell. No?" Eadric indicated their surroundings. "Here you are," he said, another private reference. "Alone and presumably lonely, clinging so desperately to your disguise that you all but burst an eye in the process."
"It's not a disguise."
"And for what?" Eadric jerked a thumb at Peter and Una. "For them? Please. She's a duplicitous self-seeking brat and he's an insipid prairie bumpkin."
Ethos met Peter's eyes— just barely. He quickly looked at the ground. "It's not a disguise."
Eadric took up his shoulder, and his gaze jumped up in surprise. "Just do as I say," the old hellborn instructed, as if murder were a simple matter. "You're hurt. I can help."
"You think I'm a monster. You just said as much."
" 'Takes one to know one.' "
"Those are my words."
"Precisely. You know what we are."
Ethos was quiet. His eyes were searching. "I can't do what you want."
"I push you because I know that you can." Eadric's expression was one of encouragement. "Think about it," he pressed. "All the lives you've taken. A veritable slaughter— and unintended. Just imagine what you could do if you put in some effort for once in your life."
Ethos glared. He shook Eadric off and pointed away. "I want you gone."
Eadric darkened, and his glower was fearsome. "Tono trash," he said. "How long are you going to force me to make all the hard decisions for you?"
"You cross lines that I never will."
"Your pathetic den mother might have said otherwise."
The murmur of crows went silent. Ethos abruptly punched him in the face, hard enough to send him tripping backward into the snow. Eadric seemed startled, more so by the immediate follow-through; a second blow landed before he could rise, and Ethos nearly fell from his own momentum.
Alyce grabbed his arm to stop him. "Don't!" she cried. "It's Michael!"
Ethos shoved her back, but stopped himself short before striking again. He looked like he wanted to land another. "This isn't over," he swore. "I know who you are now."
"I see it, too," Eadric laughed. "In your eyes. No wonder you only fit in with animals."
Ethos flinched, and then unleashed a chain of savage attacks. The gruesome sound of it filled the night, and the earth began rising and falling again as if with the heavy breathing of a vast subterranean beast. Alyce stood by, in horror.
Somebody barked an order: the one-armed man, Pathos. At once the tono huntsmen gathered and struggled to tear Ethos away. Eadric wasn't even there anymore, but Ethos didn't seem to notice. Maybe he didn't care. He fought them off with all his might.
The bloody circle of snow was expanding. Kacha appeared and elbowed her way forward into the swarm. "Move," she shouted, within. "Move, I said! Ethos, look at me."
Ethos snarled, "I'll kill him!"
"Look at me!" Kacha commanded. "It won't work otherwise!"
He must have finally listened, because the breathing earth went blissfully still. The crows resumed their murmuring. His bare feet calmed and slumped in the snow.
One of the men whispered, "Is he dead?"
"It's a matter of time. Help me with him."
Someone nudged Peter, breaking his daze. It was Anouk, her steely glare on the scene. "You need to do something about these soldiers," she advised. "Tell them to sit with their backs to the barrier until we can come up with a plan."
Peter sneered at her. "Why don't you do it?"
She sneered back. "I'm not the one making bacon with the princess."
Reminded, Peter glanced around. Una wasn't far, but her hooded gaze was trained on Ethos, and it wasn't a reassuring expression. She met Peter's eyes like she'd felt him looking. She barked at the men like she'd heard him. "Find some wall to sit against," she told the crowd, loud enough for her voice to carry. "Get comfortable. It's going to be a dirty night."