36. An Escape Is Made and Birds Are Seen

36. An Escape Is Made and Birds Are Seen

From the map, old and much altered as it was, Hawthorn determined they were in the southwest pier of Black Tower. If Frin climbed out the window, he should be able to reenter by a balcony in a chamber called Wasp's Eye. From there, he would simply have to go up some stairs to reach the corridor of cells. Then he could let out Hawthorn, and the two of them could exit the pier by one of the little posterns at its base.

"However," said Hawthorn, attempting with little success to refold the map, "there is the possibility that we're in one of the spines. That would make it much more dangerous."

Frin went to the window. Its embrasure gave him a place to prop himself while he peered out. The air nipped at his face, and for a moment he reeled, seeing the ground hundreds of feet below, with nothing at all between.

"We are," he said calmly. "We're in the tip of a spine."

Hawthorn laced her fingers and eyebrows together. "You don't have to do this, Frin."

" Someone has to," said Frin. "It's better than waiting for the Lady to decide what to do with us."

When Hawthorn had swooned, the Lady had been furious. She saw Hawthorn as an agent of Obsidian or Ebony or both; she issued a dozen contradicting verdicts on their fate in as many seconds. Finally her courtiers were able to calm her and guide her to her bedchamber, where she would wait for the honey to take effect, and One Sparrow had ordered Frin and Hawthorn imprisoned until the Lady made up her mind.

It was only a matter of time until the Lady realized she had been given ordinary honey. Delusional though she was, even she would soon notice the lack of changes in her body. When she did, death was the best Frin and Hawthorn could hope for.

Frin left the window and sat on the edge of the embrasure. Hawthorn, as she often did when worried, was clutching at the amulet around her neck. Frin had never asked about it, and hesitated to do so now.

"I don't want to see anything happen to you," she said. "You're only here because of me. I'm supposed to protect people, and here I am, trapped."

"Well," said Frin, "if I fall, you won't see it."

A bitter frost of a smile touched Hawthorn's lips. "I suppose not." She brought her knees back up to her chest. "What if you took Thistle honey?"

Frin shook his head emphatically. "It ain't for me."

"Then why did they give it to you?"

"As a talisman. Maybe a bargaining chip. But it's not for me. It's too precious for that."

Hawthorn sighed. "Not even as a last resort? Perhaps to get out of this cell?"

"Not even for that," said Frin. "I'd better get going. Don't worry about me. I was always good at climbing."

Hawthorn bit her lip. "All right." She undid the clasp of her necklace and held out the amulet to him. "Take it. I made it for the old Hawthorn. I'd like to think that if—if something happens—you'll have it with you."

Frin accepted it and clasped it around his neck. It nestled against the onyx vial with a soft clink. After a deep breath, he went back to the window and began his climb.

Outside, there was a slight rim all around the window. It was enough for him to stand on and get his bearings. He was on the end of a long spine jutting out from a pier. If he got his fingers and toes into the cracks between the cold stones, he could reach the top of the spine and inch toward the main mass of the pier. This high up, the wind roared around him, tugging at his clothes and nearly peeling him off the tower, but years of climbing trees had strengthened his hands and feet, and he was able to cling on—barely.

Hawthorn poked her head out to see him ascend. There were only three or four feet between the top of the window and the roof of the spine, but even so, it was torture watching him, particularly when an especially strong gust almost blew him off. At last his feet disappeared over the edge of the roof and she sighed gratefully.

His head popped back out and he grinned at her. "That was the hard part," he said.

"Just get going," she answered, tart and irritated with relief.

And he did. The spine was perhaps twenty feet long, one of at least a dozen jutting from the outer southwest pier. In diameter, the pier itself was ten or twelve times that; the inner pier was even larger, and the main mass of the tower far, far larger still. The sheer size of Black Tower made Frin dizzy. Seen from the ground, it was of course impressive, and their trip through its interior had given them a taste of its height and breadth, but sitting on its edges and looking out over it, the entire structure was deliriously, impossibly big. He almost could not breathe.

Frin pulled himself along, hand over hand. Cornices banded the pier's upper half; if he could reach one, he could sidle along it to another window. But closer to the pier, the wind eddied unpredictably. It buffeted him first one way, then the other. The chill coming off the stones numbed his hands. If he could just get out of the wind—

Another gust scrabbled at his clothes. His hands slipped. He slid down the roof, his feet swung out into empty space—and his belt snagged on a protruding stone, just long enough for him to get his grip back. His shoulders burned in protest as he leveraged himself up, toes scratching at the spine for purchase, but he made it back up to the ridge and lay there panting.

The wind died down, leaving Frin's ears full of a roaring hollowness. This opportunity had to be taken. He looked up. The stark wall of the pier lay before him. Just a few feet more.

As he began to crawl again, a sound disturbed him. It was impossible to place at first, just a kind of clatter. Then, within moments, it grew nearer, louder, and mixed with piercing cries. He looked to his right.

Swirling toward him around the mass of Black Tower were thousands of birds. Crows, sparrows, hawks, vultures from the canyon, gulls from Red. They moved as if summoned, their bright eyes pointed toward the distant crown of Grey, noticing nothing else. They slammed into Black as if it wasn't there, pelting it like hail.

In another moment they stormed around him. Soft feathers and sharp talons raked him. Instinctively, he threw up his arms to shield his eyes, and then the roof grated under him, and he fell into empty space. For one long, long second he stared straight into the red eye of a bearded vulture. Then it was gone, and all the birds were out of Black and hurtling toward the heart of the palace.

And Frin plummeted.