Chapter Twenty-Two

“We should take turns bathing,” I said, loosening the buckles around Buttercup’s saddle and letting my bags drop to the ground with a thud . A thin drizzle fell from the sky, giving everything a rusty hue. “This is a good spot for it. The water’s deep and the J?rne is clean.”

The men had already broken into their groups, setting up tents, untying pots, and pulling down sacks of the coarse flour they made into bread.

Streams crisscrossed the grass like troll fingers, jagged and broken, creating squiggles in the dirt.

“Funny thing,” I continued. “I actually made a few pouches of lavender bath tea. Does anyone want to try?”

Bath teas were one of my favorite vanity potions, though out here, I’d had to get creative with the ingredients and method. Normally, I would have used orange peels and cotton pouches, but I didn’t have any of that, so I’d ended up tearing linen bandages into strips and knotting everything into a pretty package complete with a few sprigs of wispy lavender.

The goal was to give Signey an extra step in her hygiene ritual, buying me a few more minutes to check her tent, but because I couldn’t single her out, I’d made bath teas for everyone.

“Great idea,” Kaspar said, grabbing a sachet and working the knot.

“You don’t want to—” I started.

Salt and lavender spilled out.

“Was this the salt for our food?” he asked.

“Um, maybe.”

He grinned. “It smells delightful. Thanks, Isabel.”

The men cycled through baths, walking through the camp with shirts slung over their shoulders and furs wrapped around their waists. A few gave me full-toothed grins and flexed their muscles, but none of them used reykr, which I suppose, meant the ragwort had done its job.

I brewed my pot of ginger tea and treated them on a blanket of bear furs under the open stars. If anyone asked, I said the sky was bright and I found the drizzle refreshing, but the real reason I was here was because I wanted to keep an eye on Signey.

She leaned against a boulder, tossing her knife into the grass over and over with a dull thud, thud, thud . When she left to take a bath, I’d need to act quickly to search for the key.

“Any changes to your digestion?” I asked, bringing my attention back to the man I was treating. “Bloating? Diarrhea?”

He grunted and handed me his water skin.

Thud, thud, thud went Signey’s knife.

I planned to use a bar of soap to make an imprint of the key, then I’d take the soap bar to a blacksmith and have him pour me a new one. Even the smallest towns usually had a smith. We just…had to go through a town. We’d passed several outlying villages, brightly colored houses and crumbling walls, but we’d never gone through. Was Erik avoiding them? If so, why? What did that mean about traveling through St. Kilda or Esbern?

Bo came back from the river, his cheeks a ruddy red, dark hair plastered against his forehead, shirt slung over his scrawny back. “Who’s next?”

Signey tossed the knife into the grass with a final thud . “Me.”

I scrambled after her. “Don’t forget your bath tea.”

She frowned at the sachet. “Why would I want this?”

The drizzle pattered the bearskin. I took a steadying breath. “The minerals and salt will help with any muscle soreness. It’s also good for bug bites, scrapes. You know, that sort of stuff. You just need to find a slower part of the river, tie it to a tree or a rock, and give it at least ten minutes.” I wasn’t sure how well the bath teas would work in a stream, but she didn’t need to know that. I forced a cheery smile. “Fifteen is best.”

Fifteen minutes was the longest a person could stay in the freezing stream. Realistically, I had ten. Maybe less.

She snatched the sachet from my hand and stalked toward the river.

I glanced at the man I’d been treating. “I think I forgot something.”

The man frowned at his water skin. “It’s empty!”

“I know. I’ll—stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I hurried through the camp, past horses and smoke, men playing cards, reading books, making dinner, the air thick with the smoky smell of meats. The cook fire flashed gold among the grasses.

“Isabel,” Tyr called, a fan of playing cards in one hand, a pile of coins at his feet.

I tried to dart past, but he dropped the cards and jumped up. “I have this weird red spot on my neck, see?” He tugged the collar of his shirt. “I was wondering if you could give me something to help. Itches like hell.”

“Bug bite. I’ll bring you chamomile. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait,” a tawny-haired man said. “I have this weird rash right—” He planted his foot and pulled his trouser leg to reveal an ankle crisscrossed with coarse hair. “Here.”

I brushed past him. “Allergic reaction. Probably some sort of grass. Wear longer stockings.”

Tents billowed, the world flecked, thin and foggy, bringing out the greens and grays. A rainy sort of cold curled up my spine and settled in my bones.

Slip in and out of Signey’s tent. Find the key. Get far enough away that I wouldn’t draw her suspicion. I could do this. I could—

I rounded the corner—

And ran straight into Erik.

He’d donned his blue jacket, his hair ruffled from the wind. Rainwater clung to his lips, his lashes, making him stormy as ever. His eyes flashed. “Isabel.”

Shit .

“What’s going on with the baths?” he asked.

“Nothing’s going on with the baths.” I tried to skirt around him.

He blocked my path. “Something is definitely going on with the baths.”

“Weird. Well, let me know what you find out.” I made another attempt to pass him.

He stuck out a hand. “You orchestrated this. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“Orchestrated what?”

His jaw tensed. “The baths.”

“Are you telling me you don’t bathe? That’s gross, and probably unhealthy. Come see me when you get a rash.”

“I’m telling you—” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Why are you making them take baths?”

“I’m not making them do anything.”

He gave me a doubtful look. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure four people just asked if I was going to try this .” He whipped one of my sachets from his jacket pocket.

I blinked. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Stop lying.”

“Fine. It’s bath tea.”

“It’s lavender!”

“And now the camp will smell much, much better. You’re welcome.” I made a third attempt to skirt around him and got about two steps before he fell into step behind me.

Rainwater pooled around rocks and bushes, glittering like bath bubbles. A petrel swooped.

“Why are you following me?”

He shrugged. “I’m seeing what you do. Where you go.”

I skidded around a puddle. “I’m going back to my tent.”

“Except you’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“Your tent’s back that way.” He thrust a thumb in the opposite direction. “Which begs the question, what’s the purpose behind the baths?”

“Guys?” Bo said.

“I told you. There is no purpose.”

Erik stepped in front of me and crossed his arms. This close, his height blocked the rest of the camp. His voice fell to a dangerous murmur. “Oh, there is definitely a purpose.”

My heart hammered. My gaze dropped to his scary mouth, his lips, supple and full and—

“Guys!”

We whirled.

Bo had changed into a clean tunic—deep green—and had combed his still-wet hair to one side so that it showed off his wide forehead and delicate cheekbones. “Bandits. How dangerous are they usually?”

I placed a hand on my chest and tried to still my pounding heart. “I don’t know.”

Bo’s brow furrowed. He squinted at the horizon, and I saw it, too, that butter-yellow speck. “Because I think they’re following us.”

“Could be someone else,” Erik said, stepping back.

Bo shook his head. “They were talking about us when I shadow walked. It’s them.”

The wind lifted the hairs off the back of my neck. I bundled my sweater tighter.

Bandits. Following us.

Over by the campfire, a few men scrambled away from Signey, who made her way through the camp, wet hair dripping down her back, a fur skin wrapped around her middle. Our eyes locked, then hers slid to the side.

To a tent.

Her tent.

Which I’d stopped right in front of.

“Well, I think dinner’s ready,” I said, looping my arm through Bo’s and pulling him away. “Do you want to check?”

Dinner was indeed ready—roasted rabbit with dark and buttery bread they left on the griddle until the bottoms became black.

As we ate, I expected the Volds’ hardness to return, the gruff edges and rugged parts.

It didn’t.

Instead, they told stories.

Stories about home and honor, about hearts they won and stole and plundered, about those they left behind on wild shores and in winding mountains. They talked about ships and saddles and reykr, about Lothgar and his two hounds with snapping maws and a hankering for hares, about how they used to dare each other to stick their fingers between the bars of the cage.

Even Signey lost her frown.

Smoke chugged toward the star-streaked sky. Grease winked their fingers gold, and I noticed Erik was missing the tip of his—the skin rounded just above the topmost joint. He rubbed his thumb over it sometimes, a half-hearted habit he did whenever he laughed.

I hadn’t noticed that before.

I’d failed to find the key, but I was learning about them. They were opening up around me.

Just listen, Stefan would say.

He was right. This should be good, I should be happy. Just listen, and maybe I’ll hear something useful.

But as I sat on the edge of the rock, the stone cool beneath my fingertips, the wind whistling through the grasses, I felt like a wraith hovering at the edges, watching through the glass.

I didn’t want to be one of them, was glad I wasn’t one of them, but…

I used to laugh like that with Hans and Katrina. We used to stuff our pockets with pastries and run off to my family’s apothecary or the bluffs, or we’d take a fishing boat and row and row until our arms gave out or the tide ripped in or until we were sure Katrina’s mother would be frantic. But Katrina and I hadn’t spoken— really spoken —since the funeral, and I wasn’t sure we could fall back into those patterns, the grooves of life before—

Hans.

On the beach.

Hans.

On the pyre.

Before I burned the paper.

Before I couldn’t say goodbye.

And Hans.

Dark curls, warm smile, who seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, who never laughed at me, but sat with me, and talked with me, and now the dark and gnawing thing clenched at my heart. It smoothed the hair off my forehead and whispered—

You should have been there.

That day in laundry? You pushed him away.

He shouldn’t have loved you.

You weren’t enough.

You will never be enough.

If I couldn’t do this—find the weapon—Hans would be gone and his death wouldn’t matter. He would be nothing, nothing, nothing, and we were small and we were sand and we were screaming into the void, and I missed him, and there was a hole in my chest that ate and ate and ate. I swallowed the tears that pricked the back of my throat and glanced at the sky.

Stars.

White and hot and burning and so, so far. Glimmers of light. Thousands of them.

The fire snapped, showering sparks that lifted in the wind.

“Erik,” Kaspar snorted. “Oh, oh, oh, do you remember the sheep in Meya’s bed?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Erik’s mouth as he rubbed his nubbed finger.

I pushed myself up.

“Where are you going?” Bo asked. Firelight glinted off his face.

Anywhere. Away. “A bath.”

I didn’t think any of them would bother me with reykr, but I still wandered so far from the Volds that their fire vanished behind the rolling hills.

I still needed to figure out how to steer them to Esbern so I could pick up whatever information the minister had sent me about Karlsborn Castle. I needed to find the key, open the box. To befriend them. To be nice.

But I didn’t feel nice.

I stripped off my stockings, my shoes, then waded out into the shallow stream. In Karlsborn Castle, we bathed by crouching over three-legged stools with a sponge, a bucket, a bar of lavender-scented soap. Freezing air would pipe our skin and gooseflesh would prickle our arms. Baths were never comfortable, always cold.

But this water wasn’t just cold, it was freezing. Made from storms and snow, so clear it glittered like foil over river rocks, the gentle hiss of it, white-tipped, unending, cutting through the valley like the belly of a snake.

It reflected the stars.

I picked my way to the middle, feet sliding over the stones, the wind whistling over my bare arms. It wasn’t deep, the ink-pot water swirling around my thighs at the highest point.

Still.

I gathered a breath and let my legs be swept out from under me.

I plunged.

Everything went cold, then warm, then bright, an explosion of white that threw itself, heady, against my skin. Awake. Alive. The exhilarating buzz that tingles through your head and heart until it consumes you.

I came up for a breath and pushed the sopping hair out of my face. It ran in sluices down my spine, cold locks that stuck to my skin the same way skin sticks to ice.

“Enjoying yourself?” The words came out of nowhere.

I jumped.

Signey sat on a boulder, white-blonde hair damp around her shoulders, a knife caught between her fingers. She twisted it, made the beveled edge wink.

And here I was, all of me, naked. Every inch exposed—the scars and ruddy skin. Shame coursed through me, hot and red. I pressed my arms against my chest and crouched.

Signey barred her teeth and tipped her chin toward the sky. “I followed you, you know. As soon as you left. Used reykr. Did you know I can hold for twenty-eight people at once?” Her thumb stroked the blade of the knife the same way one might stroke the cheek of a lover. “It wasn’t hard to hold for you.”

My heartbeat thudded through my hands. She could kill me, probably would kill me. Right here, right now. And I’d end up like Hans, only no one would find me because we were too far away from Karlsborn Castle, so I’d bloat and rot, be picked at by birds.

The wind howled, flattening the grass in giant sweeps. Water continued to drip down my back.

Signey flipped the knife between her fingers and grinned—actually grinned. Moonlight played off her lips, her teeth, made them white against the hollow of her mouth. “You know,” she continued, “most men from House Rythja can’t even hold for six. But me?”

She disappeared, a wreath of black, a rush of smoke and skin, sleet falling past a window. Then she materialized, another fall, another rush, this one crow feathers that squalled up from the ground like a flurry of bats. Blonde hair. Fur vest. Knife.

“Twenty-eight.”

My toes had gone numb, and I pressed my arms tighter against my chest.

I needed to distract her, to get a head start. I’d be running into camp naked, but at least I’d be alive.

I inched my foot through the river thrush, feeling for a loose rock. I’d have to be quick. Pick it up and throw it.

Cold mud. Sand and grit, the flutey reeds of grass stems. A rush of water. And there… A rock. Pocked and heavy. I ran my toes across it, feeling its curves and edges. Big. It needed to be big. I nudged it. It rolled, the weight splashing my ankle.

Overhead, the stars glittered like a carpet, so bright, so hot.

I bit my lip, prepared to squat—

Then she was inches from my face, her lips peeled into a snarl. She shoved me, and I fell into the water with a slosh. My palms scraped the riverbed, my thigh banged a rock.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re watching me, but if I catch you near my things again, I will carve out your heart and leave your body to rot.” She leveled her knife. “Do you understand?”

Ice water poured around me. My heart pounded through my hands. My body screamed, Run, run, run.

Moonlight banded her cheeks, her teeth, and that’s when I saw the cord nestled between her open tunic, falling between her breasts. The way into the metal box, the thing that I needed to steal.

Everything furled, fell away, and it was only me and Signey and the key.

She was wearing it.