35. Hawthorn Wakes Up and There Is Snow on the Ground

35. Hawthorn Wakes Up and There Is Snow on the Ground

Hawthorn woke up. She was not entirely sure where she was, only that the space was dim and cold, and that Frin was nearby, asleep in a shaft of pallid light. They were somewhere in Black Tower, but competing versions of her memory made it unclear where exactly.

She was Hawthorn now, though. The Hawthorn. If she clung to that, she might be able to put the other pieces back together. Trying made her head hurt.

Stiffly, she rose and walked around to stretch out. The room was long and narrow. She had been lying at one end with her back to a locked iron door, the tiny window of which was barred. At the other was a round window in a deep embrasure, low enough in the wall to see through, but too small to climb out of. It looked over the center of the palace: none of Black Tower was visible, but in the distance she spotted the gash of the South Passage and the tiny finger of Grey. Blanketing everything was a thick layer of snow. The sky was blue and clear, the sun high enough to tell her it was midmorning.

Her stomach rumbled. How long had it been since she last ate? There was no way of knowing, but she had eaten so little for days before that it made no difference.

She still had her pack and her books. Frin still had his vial of Thistle honey. Everything seemed to be intact. Had the Willow Lady discovered the deception and locked them in here? Somehow, Hawthorn doubted the Lady would have let them both live if she knew. They were locked away for some other reason. Frin might know. If he did not, Hawthorn doubted it would be pleasant waiting to find out.

Should she wake Frin up? He had been through so much, the poor boy. Pestering him with questions would be thoughtless. She sat beside Frin and leaned against the wall. Since it was so cold, she pulled him closer to keep him warm, and dozed off herself.

Much later, she awakened again when Frin stirred. The boy blinked and groaned and sat up. His hands felt automatically for the onyx vial, and he relaxed as soon as he had made sure it was still there.

"Good to see you up," he said with a yawn. "I was wondering if you'd ever wake."

"What happened?" said Hawthorn. "When did it snow?"

"There was a blizzard. I ain't never seen weather so bad. It must've lasted two or three days at least. I hope the orchards are still safe."

Grey must be practically buried. The food had been low already; anyone still in the house and cloisters could be starving. The Beast is coming, Hawthorn thought. I've already failed. Next there will be tremors. Then the sun will stand still. Then the earth of the West Passage will burst open and it will come. We have no time.

As if her thoughts had summoned it, a shudder ran through Black Tower. The piers swayed like the women in grey dancing, and kept swaying long after the tremor ended. Hawthorn huddled against the wall. Frin's fingers clenched as if he could find purchase and security in the smooth floor, but he did not seem surprised.

"That's been happening for a while," he said. "You slept through the others."

"We have to get out of here," said Hawthorn, bracing herself as the swaying slowed. "There might be time—if I can get to Grey Tower and retrieve the steel—" But the enormity of the task squashed the rest of her words, and she sighed.

"I can call for help," said Frin. "At least I can try." He took out the red box. "We'll get a message to the beekeepers."

"Will they storm the tower?" said Hawthorn dryly. "Will they ride to our rescue on the hives?"

"No," said Frin shortly. "But if you want the steel so badly, they might be able to bring it here. We are beekeepers. We take care of our own. Meanwhile, you and I can try to get out."

Hawthorn was about to speak, but thought better of it. "Go ahead," she said, sagging against the stones behind her. "Though I don't know what good it will do."

Frin opened the box. The bee shook herself awake and looked at him with bright, alert eyes.

"Tell One Robin that Frin and Hawthorn are imprisoned in Black Tower," he said. "Someone must go to Grey and get the Guardian's steel. It must be brought here."

The bee circled his palm three times, rubbed her head with her forelegs, and buzzed away out the window. She was quickly lost in the winter-blue sky. When Frin turned back to Hawthorn, she had drawn her knees up to her chest and was resting her forehead on them.

What was a squire for? Frin had never been sure, and still wasn't. But they certainly wouldn't let their knight give in to despair.

"There is a way out," he said.

"Is there," said Hawthorn, her voice flat and muffled by her knees.

"I can climb out the window," said Frin. "For one thing."

She looked up. Why had she not considered that? Frin was much smaller than she was, and the window was unobstructed.

"And if I can climb out the window, I can climb in another," said Frin. "The problem is I don't know where I'll end up. Do you still have the map?"

Hawthorn paused in the act of getting it out. "Why haven't you left already?"

"I'm your squire," said Frin. "And I may not know the right meaning of the word, or be of any use otherwise, but I know it means I don't leave you."

Despite everything, Hawthorn found herself grinning.