White Hart (19 page)

“Sasha will—”

“—be long gone with Gwen by now,” I say.

“Not with Gwen,” Cas says with a hollow chuckle. “I know that horse, and she won’t go with anyone but me.”

The thought of Sasha trying to escape on a reluctant horse actually makes me laugh. “You’re right. She wouldn’t leave without you.”

“I wish I’d had a moment to say good-bye,” Cas says softly. “I suppose we all need moments that never happen. A moment to fall in love. A moment to feel alive. I wanted one to free Ellen, but it never happened.”

The tent goes quiet and still. Cas rests his head against the thick wooden post he’s tied to.

“We have to make moments,” I say eventually. “We can’t wait for them.”

It’s something that my father would have said if he were here. It sounds strange coming from my lips. I don’t remember him ever saying anything like it, and yet here it is, spoken by me.

The words give me a strength I thought I’d lost. Energy spreads through my body like warmth. It spurs me into action, and I start by rubbing the ropes against the wood of the tent, ignoring the burn and the splinters digging into my arm.

Cas watches me. “The ropes are too thick,” he says. “I’ve been trying.”

“Don’t give up.” I flash him a look, feeling the ferocity of my own stare. I’m abuzz with new hope. “We can get out of here. We have to make it happen.”

The corners of Cas’s mouth twitch, and his eyes come alive again. The dim candlelight picks out the sparks of new energy about him. He begins to move his arms.

It’s hard work. Sweat drips down my forehead, sweat that I can’t wipe away. The tent closes in on me, and a sense of suffocation sweeps over me.

We have to stop when members of the Ibena enter the tent. Some wish to pay their respects to the ‘saviour’. Others come to check on us and make sure that we haven’t tried to escape. I notice Finn regarding my sweaty face on more than one occasion. He can tell we’re up to something, but each time he checks, we’re still fully tied up. Cas is right about the rope. It is so thick it would take hours, maybe days, to chafe away, and even then, we could be caught at any time. My speech about moments grows smaller every second, but there is nothing else we can do.

“They’ll kill me too,” Cas says. “They won’t want me around afterwards.” His skin has paled to a sweaty white. Ugly blisters mar the skin on his hands and wrists where he has struggled with the ropes.

“You don’t know that. We could still get out of here.”

He sucks in a long breath. “You’re right. Do you know why?”

I shake my head.

“Because you’re going to save my life again. You’ve saved me three times already, and I know you can do it again. I have faith in you.”

“I think this place is getting to you,” I reply. “There’s nothing about me to have faith in.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true. I don’t have faith in much in this world. I’ve never believed in anything I can’t see. It used to frustrate my family, especially Father. As royals, we’re meant to be the gift from the gods, created in their image to lead the people. Our blood is chosen by them. But I never believed that, because I never truly believed in them. I see you, though, and I know how resourceful you are and how you seem to make the impossible happen. You’ll get us out of this mess. I know you will.”

Now is the time to tell him. I’ve kept the secret for too long, and it’s made a mess of everything. Keeping this secret caused my father’s death, and it continues to keep Cas from me. “I-I’m the craft-born.”

Cas turns to me, and for a moment, his face is slack and pale. My body remains rigid as I wait for him to react. My chest rises and falls with every breath. Time seems to stand still.

He bursts out laughing. “Good one, Mae. I needed something to cheer me up.” Rolls of laughter travel up his body. “You’re the craft-born, ha! How ridiculous. Thank you for lightening the mood.”

His words spear through me like a sword. It’s different to when I found my father—that was like a hole opening up inside and widening with every passing minute. This is a dagger to the heart. He will never love me. It’s clear now. A single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I’d thought, for a single second, that this person knew me, knew my very soul. I realise now that he never knew me at all.

I
fall asleep wondering if being craft-born is the only thing I have going for me, and if I’m so average and plain that people around me won’t even believe I could have such power. The small face of the prophetess haunts my dreams. She taunts me—now speaking in the common tongue—that I am not worthy of my abilities. It should not be me. It should be Ellen. Then Ellen becomes the sacrifice, with her oval eyes filled with tears. I see her writhing in agony as Finn cuts her wrists and neck. Blood splutters from her. She tries to speak, but nothing more than a gurgle comes out.

When I wake, Finn is crouched next to me. I think of him wielding a bloodied knife from my dream and struggle against my ropes.

“Calm,
Valta
. I am not here to harm you,” he says. He lifts his hands, and I see there is no knife. “Here, I brought food.” He gestures to a wooden bowl filled with a sticky white goo.

I regard it dubiously. “What is that?”

“Sap from the
falag
tree. It tastes good, how you say... sweet?”

I nod. “Let’s try this fala stuff then.”

“
Falag
,” Finn corrects. He scoops some of the white goo out of the bowl with his hand.

“You want me to eat it from your hand? What? You don’t have spoons here?”

“What is spoon?” Finn’s face seems so blank and confused that I can’t help but laugh.

“Never mind.” I lean forward and take a small bite, trying to avoid touching his skin with my mouth. It seems weird eating out of someone’s hand, as if I’m a dog. But at least he is right; the sap is very sweet and surprisingly tasty. My stomach rumbles as I eat, making me realise just how hungry I am. Before long, I’m licking Finn’s fingers for more. He doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. Perhaps all Ibenas feed each other.

“When is the full moon?” I ask after the meal is over.

“In two sun-cycles,” he says. I don’t know if it’s my own wishful thinking, but there seems to be a hint of sadness in his voice and the way he stares down at the bowl in his hand. Maybe Finn is my way out.

“How old is your prophetess?” I ask.

“She is as old as the prophets before her. She is the reincarnation of the illustrious
Profeta
from many years ago.”

“She’s a little girl,” I say. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Are you going to take the life of a human being because a little girl told you to?”

“I will get food for your friend.” Finn rises to his feet and leaves the tent without looking back.

I get to work on my ropes, ignoring the burning pain. They are beginning to fray, but it’s moving much slower than my skin is chafing away. I sigh and lean back against the furs. There has to be a better way.

It isn’t Finn who returns to feed Cas; it’s an older man. He shakes Cas awake and then proceeds to shovel the sap into his mouth. Cas has barely a few seconds to register what is happening. He looks so startled and confused that I want to laugh, but then I remember the sound of him laughing at me the night before, and the desire fades away.

After the hunter leaves, we continue trying to fray the ropes. I twist my body around, trying to get a better view. Another part of my hope dies when I realise just how little I’ve managed to achieve. I try balling my hands into fists and forcing them through the ropes. I try relaxing every part of my body and wiggling. Nothing works. The knots are too tight. Cas attempts to knock the wood of the tent over, but he isn’t strong enough. I beg him to stop when I see the tightness in his lips and the way his face contorts in pain at every attempt.

After that, the day goes by in a blur. Women come into the tent and apply more paint to my skin. They braid my hair by wetting it and using wide-toothed wooden combs. Later in the day, Finn checks on me. The first thing he does is kneel by my shoulders and examine the ropes. When he sees the wounds on my wrists, he sucks in air like a hiss.

“You have been trying to escape,” he says. “You should not try. Will not work and you hurt yourself.” His voice is low and terse. He washes the wounds on my wrist but makes no attempt to be gentle. He won’t look at me, either. After a few moments, he says, “Why did you say those things,
Valta
?”

“What do you mean?” I match Finn’s whisper so that Cas won’t overhear us.

“Why did you say such things about
Profeta
? It made me think about things I have not thought about before. Before you came,
Valta
, I was happy. When you came, I was happy because we would be saved. Now I am sad. Sad like when my father died. I feel... What did you call it? Sorry for you.”

“That’s because you’re a good person, Finn. We call it empathy. It means to put yourself in another person’s position and learn to feel what they feel. You’re doing that now. You’re realising that I don’t want to die.”

“If you don’t die... my community...” He shakes his head. “Why did you do this to me?” His arms flail as his temper flares. “You make me want to betray my family here. We are starving.”

“Killing me is not the answer. I can help you when I am alive, but I cannot help you if I am dead. Talk to your people, Finn. Make them see what they are doing.”

He leaves the tent.

“What was all that about?” Cas asks.

“I think it might be our way out of this mess,” I say.

*

T
he next day Finn brings the prophetess into the tent, along with three other Ibenas. There is not so much as a smile between them. The
Profeta
kneels in front of me, her tiny body taking up hardly any of the space in the tent. She is a tiny slip of a girl, and my heart aches to see she has so much responsibility at such a young age. If I had the lives of a community resting on my shoulders, I would probably go crazy too.

Finn translates as she begins to speak. “You live a lie,
Valta
. You want to be something that you are not. There is power inside you, and yet you deny it. You’re avoiding using it now. But you will use it soon.” She leans forward, and I smell the fermenting breath between us. It hangs like smoke on a still day. “You want to live longer in this world, but you have no right to. Why should you live for the sake of others? What will you do with your life if you live?”

The girl lifts her chin expectantly. She awaits my reply.

I swallow. She stares at me with such ferocity that I have trouble meeting her eyes. I decide to be honest, to tell her about my mission. Then they will see that I am more than the craft-born, that I have an important quest to achieve. “I want to avenge my father’s death.” Finn translates. He turns my words into a shout. “I want to bring justice to the people who murdered him. I want to see even more of the world and I want to live an adventure.”

“These are selfish reasons for living,” the girl says through Finn. “You want to live in order to kill, and then for your own entertainment. I see nothing here worth saving. You have failed to show me why your life should be saved at the expense of others.” She stands and bends over me.

Finn finishes his translation and lowers his head. He folds his arms across his chest, hiding the red marks placed there two days ago. After the prophetess and the others leave he says one sentence to me. “You have let me down,
Valta
.”

I’ve never felt so low. The girl was right. I do want to live for selfish reasons. I came into the Woods with one goal—to kill those who killed my father. And yet, here I am now, tied to a tent, completely vulnerable and powerless, with death just around the corner, and all I can think about is how unworthy that sounds.
You want to live in order to kill.

Would my father be proud of me? Would he encourage me to seek revenge against my enemies?

“Mae,” Cas says softly. “Don’t listen to them. You are not a selfish person.”

But I am. I must be because I’ve sat here waiting for the Ibena to execute us both, and I haven’t even tried to use my craft to get us out of it. The reason why? I don’t want Cas to see. Every other time, I’ve waited until he cannot see me before trying to use it. Now I can’t do it without Cas seeing, and I won’t do it. Not after his reaction. No, I couldn’t—it would bring me so much embarrassment and shame. To reveal that I am the craft-born, after he found it so hilarious? To have to be married to Cas and know that he loves someone else and was forced into being with me? I couldn’t.

“Mae?” he says again.

My heart is beating fast with pent-up emotions below the surface. When I turn to face him, I realise that my chest has tightened and my breath is ragged. Every muscle in my body is tense.

“Calm down,” he says slowly. “We’re going to get through this. Deep breaths.”

I take in air and exhale slowly. My legs tremble.

“You’re just panicking,” Cas continues. “If you take deep breaths and try to relax, you’ll calm yourself. Look at me, Mae. Look into my eyes. I wouldn’t lie to you. I know you’re still going to get us out of this.”

“No, I’m not. It’s too much.” I lean forward and put my head between my knees. “We’re going to die.”

“We’re not. I’ve thought that so many times while we’ve been in this forest, and yet I’m still alive.”

The sound of footsteps approaching causes me to lift my head. Finn steps through the tent. His face is set into a grimace, with thin lips and narrowed eyes. I let him down in front of his community. I’m a failure to him, a waste of a life.

“The execution is prepared for tonight,” he says.

My face goes slack, and the trembling in my legs stops. Every muscle goes still. I search Finn’s expression for any indication that he will change his mind. There is none. He leaves, and I rest my head against the tent. This is it.

*

“‘E
xecution’ is a strange word, don’t you think?” Cas says. “Before it was ‘sacrifice’. You were to
sacrifice
yourself for them because you’re the chosen one.”