[Sin Eater's Daughter 3] The Scarecrow Queen

by Melinda Salisbury

  I must fall asleep, because I’m woken by pounding at the door, and shouting. I open my eyes and sit up in the same moment, blinking through the haze in the room. My mouth is suddenly as dry as a bone. This is it.

  “Open the bloody door!” one of the guards – maybe Thurn – screams. “Open the door, you silly cow, unless you want to burn to death.”

  I realize then that the haze in the room isn’t from sleep but from smoke, but even then I don’t put it together, looking to my own fireplace in confusion, expecting to see it ablaze, or the candles guttering. I even glance at the floor to see if the rushes are alight, if maybe Merek missed an ember of coal and it’s caught. But no . . . that was hours ago—

  The door slams against its hinges as someone on the other side tries to force it open, and I fly out of bed, pulling the chair away, standing back as the door swings open and the two guards fall into the room. Behind them smoke begins to pour in, filling the space, and I look at the guards.

  “Move,” Thurn says, and I do, racing barefoot down the steps in the dark, gripping the rope rail and moving so fast it takes the skin from my palm. The boots of the men thunder behind me and they burst into the corridor seconds after I do, almost trampling me.

  “Fire!” The cries come from everywhere; the smoke is thicker down here, choking, and a new kind of panic bursts in my chest. Thurn grabs my arm roughly and starts to run, dragging me with him. The stones are hard and cold and I try, impossibly, to hold my breath. My eyes sting, and from nowhere I remember the fire I started at Chanse Unwin’s house. We fly through a door and I almost fall when the ground becomes a stair, saved only by the guard’s grip on my arm. I gasp as cool night air, still smoke-flavoured, fills my lungs, and begin to immediately shiver. Thurn continues to pull me to where a crowd stands, servants and guards, and as we round the walls I see the source of the fire: the north tower, the Tower of Victory – the tower Aurek claimed for his own.

  Flames burst from the windows, lighting up the scene, as smoke mushrooms into the sky, black against the indigo night. Noises echo off the stone walls, glass smashing, the sounds of wood screaming as it tightens and warps in the heat. At the base of the tower shadows are moving like ants, rushing towards it, throwing buckets of water that mostly go nowhere near the fire; the little water that does reach high enough evaporates into steam immediately.

  A cloak is flung around my shoulders, fur-lined and smelling of sweat and wine. I look around to thank whoever gave it to me and see I’m surrounded by a few dozen people, the remains of the staff at the castle, all of them watching the tower silently. I scan each of their faces. I only know Thurn beside me; Crayne has vanished. And I can’t see Aurek, or my brother, my mother or Merek in the crowd.

  Merek. Was this his doing – a distraction for his escape? I turn to the guard. “What happened?”

  He doesn’t reply, staring at the castle, and I turn back too. The blaze is travelling; I see them glow in new windows now, spreading from the tower along the corridors.

  “All hands to aid!” someone booms in the distance, and a few of the people assembled glance at each other. But no one makes to move, turning back to watch the flames licking the sky.

  “All hands!” The owner of the voice looms into view, a burly, huge red-eyed man, black soot smeared across his cheeks, a gold band on his arm. “You.” He points into the crowd. “And you. All you men. Get to the chain at the well and help them.” The men he’s pointed at pause, and then begin to walk away, but they make no effort to hurry. “You two.” The man gestures to my guard. “What are you waiting for? Get to it.”

  “The captain of the guard ordered us to stay with his sister,” Thurn says.

  “The captain of the guard just gave orders that every able man needs to work on putting out the fire,” the man barks. “No exceptions.”

  “I’ll wait for his word on that.”

  “Oh, will you, now? What’s your name?” the man barks.

  When Thurn remains silent, I speak up. “He’s called Thurn,” I say, crying out as Thurn squeezes my arm.

  “Well, Master Thurn. You get to the chain and help stop the castle burning to the ground, or I’ll tell the king you refused to help. I’ll tell him you preferred to stay with the women and watch as his home went up in flames. Let’s see what he thinks of that.”

  The air between the men becomes taut with anger, and finally Thurn lets go of my arm. “You’ll pay for that, you little bitch,” he hisses in my ear as he passes me. “Crayne,” he bellows at his colleague, calling him to heel. Then: “Stay right there,” he spits at me. “Woman,” he calls to a hooded figure facing the fire. “Watch her.”

  The woman shrugs her agreement. As soon as Thurn and Crayne have jogged out of sight, she turns her back on me. I peer around, searching the crowd for Merek.

  Then I see something else. Not Merek. Something even better, and my legs turn to water as I understand what I’m looking at.

  A halo of white, seemingly bobbing along, until it vanishes around a corner.

  Silas.

  Silas Kolby, clad head to toe in black, being led away from the castle by a figure similarly clothed. For a wild moment I think it’s Merek with him, and I’m elated, my body poised to run after them. Then I turn to the left to see a parade of people, also in black robes, being led in the opposite direction by a larger escort, each one with their hands behind their backs. All of the alchemists, then, that Aurek has kidnapped, being moved from the castle.

  Of course. Aurek must think this is an attack by the Rising Dawn, directly on him. He’ll want to be sure they can’t rescue the alchemists.

  I don’t hesitate; I wait only until the group of alchemists has vanished into the pitch black, cast a brief glance at the woman who was supposed to keep an eye on me, and stumble after Silas. I keep my treads as light as possible, following the figures to the stables, watching as they enter one of them. I creep over and edge around the side of the one they’re inside, and wait, listening intently. There is no sound, though; neither Silas nor his jailer speaks. I only hear the distant shouts from the castle. I’m about to move when I hear the squeak of hinges and I freeze, holding my breath at the sound of a barrel sliding into a lock. Then footsteps, fast, as though jogging, becoming fainter as they move further away.

  By the time I’ve summoned enough courage to move back to the front, I can’t see anyone, only the glowing outline of the tower where the flames illuminate it.

  I take a deep breath and pull back the bolt on the stable door before creeping inside.

  I find Silas in the third stall along, bound to a hook on the wall. Whoever brought Silas here has left a torch in a bracket, and the kindness of not leaving him in the dark surprises me. The hood has fallen, or been shaken from his head; his hair has grown so it sticks out around him like a dandelion clock. His back is to me; even from behind I can see he’s gloved, and he turns sharply as I gasp. Above the gag between his teeth, his eyes widen.

  For one beat of my heart I can’t move, can’t believe he’s here, that he’s standing up, that he’s still strong enough to have hate in his eyes, hate that vanishes when he sees me.

  Then I’m on him, throwing my arms and legs around him. He staggers, and we both fall back into a pile of sweetly rotting hay.

  “Sorry, Silas, I’m sorry.” I clamber off him and pull the gag from his mouth.

  He laughs and then groans. “Untie me?”

  His voice paralyses me for a moment, as husky and secretive as ever. I’d imagined it, over and over, but my rememberings were so much less than the actual sound of him speaking. I reach down and tug the knots at his wrist until the rope falls away, and the moment his arms are free they’re around me and I’m pulled against his slim body. My own arms snake up around his neck and I press into him. He kisses the top of my head, again and again, showering my hair with kisses.

  “I didn’t know if you were really here,” he says, his covered fingers moving to my face, stroking it, as I do the same
to him, brushing his hair back when it falls in his eyes. “I asked every day if you were here, and they wouldn’t say. I didn’t want you to be here.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Can you run? Are you hurt?”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my eye. I sit back, take his hands, and pull off the gloves.

  It’s both worse and better than I could have hoped for. Aurek had made me believe the Nigredo was so advanced that Silas was all but bed-bound, but in reality it’s still just his hands. Every finger is black now, both thumbs, and the palms and backs of his hands too. I push the cuffs of his tunic back and see that it’s spread along his arm, coming to a stop a few inches below the inside crease of his elbow, a mimic of the gloves he wore to hide it. I bend and kiss the skin where dark meets light, on both arms, and look up to find him watching me, his head tilted, and my heart stutters.

  “I thought it would be worse,” I say, swallowing the catch in my throat.

  He shakes his head, taking my hands in his. The cursed skin feels cool against mine, calming me. “He can’t afford to go too far, can he? He needs me healthy. What about you? How are you?”

  “Just fine. Aurek doesn’t bother with me,” I lie. “Come on, you’re leaving now.”

  “Then let’s – wait. I’m leaving? What about you?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. My mother is here. Lief brought her.”

  “Lief wouldn’t let anything happen to her, would he?”

  “I’m scared Aurek will take out his anger on her.”

  “Why would he? You just said he doesn’t bother. . .” He stops, looking at me. “So that was a lie, then? He’s very bothered, I take it?”

  “Silas, we don’t have time for this. . .”

  “I’ll go with you. I won’t without you. It’s that simple. Last time I let you out of my sight you got yourself captured.”

  “You got captured too,” I protest.

  “The time before you got your spine broken,” he continues. “I’ve learned my lesson, Errin Vastel. As if – as if – I’d go and leave you here.” He pulls away and crosses his arms. “Choose. We go.” He emphasizes the togetherness of the statement. “Or we stay.”

  I gape at him, at his lovely, uncompromising face. Lief wouldn’t let anything happen to Mama. Whatever else he is, he’s not that far gone. “Fine. We go.”

  He reaches for my hand, hauling me up with him.

  I’m not even all that surprised when the door gives a telltale squeak, then slams against the wall of the stable, driving us apart.

  Aurek stands in the doorway, his teeth bared, murder in his eyes.

  “Oh, you’ve done it now, sweetling.”

  Chapter 12

  I fly at Aurek, barrelling into him, knocking us both to the ground. Though he takes the force of the impact, grunting in pain as my shoulder smashes into his chest, he manages to grab my wrists and flip us over, so I’m beneath him. I kick and punch and spit, thrashing under his weight. I bite his arm when it comes within reach and he roars, lashing his fist into the side of my head, whiting out my vision momentarily. I feel a crushing pressure on my chest, and when my vision clears I see Aurek is kneeling on me, his head bent, his hands moving at his waist. Over his shoulder, Silas is coming towards us with a pitchfork in his hand.

  “Run!” I scream at him as I smash my forehead into Aurek’s lowered head, feeling his teeth scrape my skin. “Go.”

  Then there is something cold at my throat and Silas freezes, releasing the pitchfork the moment before Aurek says, “Drop it, nephew.”

  It clangs loudly in the wooden building and I feel wetness dripping down my neck. Then the pain comes, sharp and hot. The knife Aurek holds cuts into me, and when I swallow, the motion drives it a little deeper.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” Aurek says, moving off me, keeping the knife pressed firmly against my throat.

  Silas does immediately, his eyes on mine the whole time.

  “Please don’t hurt her.”

  Aurek hauls me up, moving behind me, keeping the knife against my pulse, as the blood slides behind the collar of my nightdress. “I’m going to kill her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his mouth brushing my hair. “So rid yourself of any illusions you have that your cooperation might save her. It won’t. All it will determine is how fast she dies.”

  Ice-white terror roots me to the spot, my skin crawling as wave after wave of horror, at his words, at his touch, rolls over me.

  “Please,” Silas says.

  Aurek laughs, and licks my ear. “No.”

  There is noise behind us – footsteps, multiple pairs; men, with swords and torches of their own. They come to a stop just out of the line of my vision, but I see their shadows, long across the floor. “Bind my nephew and take him somewhere secure. Actually secure this time.” Aurek turns. “Where is Lief?”

  “I don’t know, Your Grace,” a male voice replies.

  “Really?” Aurek moves, swinging me around after him like a doll. I catch the briefest glimpse of Silas being bound by three men, his arms pulled behind his back. But his eyes are on me.

  “So,” Aurek continues. “Someone sets my castle on fire, and my most trusted lieutenant brings my philtresmith to hide in this most secure of locations, the stables, where he’s conveniently found by his sister. I smell a rat, Errin, and it’s not the one from your room. That was part of the plan, I take it? Make me paranoid?”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  He jabs me in the side of the head with the handle of the knife before I can finish and Silas bellows, trying to tear himself from where two guards are now restraining him.

  “Do you know what I think?” Aurek says as the guards drag Silas past me, out of the barn. I watch him for as long as I can, and then Aurek’s fingers are digging into my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “I think the Rising Dawn is you. And whatever ragtag bunch of miscreants here you’ve convinced to help you. Quite possibly your brother too, because you’d need someone on the outside. But I will find out. I told you, back in the heretics’ bone temple, that the only way to stop an infestation is to scotch the nest.”

  He says nothing else, spinning me around and clasping my hands behind me. “Get me rope,” he spits at one of his men, and within moments my hands are bound so tightly my fingers tingle.

  Then his hand is in my hair and he walks, pulling me along. My scalp burns as he strides back to the castle and I stumble behind him to where the crowd still stands, now watching a second tower ablaze.

  Aurek throws me on the ground before him with such force that I bite my own lip and blood floods my mouth. “Gather everyone here,” he orders his men. “My golems will deal with the blaze.”

  They don’t hesitate, rushing off towards the fire. Aurek pulls a simulacrum from his pocket, and at first I think it’s the one of me, until he scratches a command directly on to the clay. He looks up, waiting, and appears satisfied when four golems loom out of the darkness. The crowd draws in, nervously. Aurek pulls some paper from his ever-present sheaf and writes on it, tearing it into four. The golems lurch forward and he presses a piece into each of their palms. At once their movements become purposeful, and they fan out, forming a loose circle around us all.

  The guards he sent away return with smoke-stained men in tow, most of them coughing, all of them red-eyed and panting. They join the crowd, some heading towards friends, others eyeing Aurek and the golems warily. The scent of danger mingles with the smoke.

  “No one leaves. The golems are instructed to kill anyone who tries.”

  Shocked murmurs pass through the crowd, and people shift, either stepping closer to or away from their neighbours. The guards begin to protest.

  “Even you,” Aurek says in a voice that makes it clear he means it.

  “We have a problem.” He raises his voice to boom over the rush and roar of the fire. “And the problem is trust. I trusted you. All of you. But it seems I was wrong to trust her.” He jabs at me with his fo
ot. “I believe she has betrayed me, and to that end I need information. I want everyone who has served her in any way over the past ten weeks to step forward. If you have cleaned her clothes, made her meals, step forward. If you’ve guarded her, come forward. I wish to learn how deeply the vein of her treachery runs, and for that I shall require your aid. And honesty.” When no one moves, Aurek sighs. “You’ll find having my home set ablaze sours my mood somewhat. I implore you not to make me ask a second time.”

  Thurn and Crayne exchange a brief glance before Crayne steps forward, Thurn a split second after him. I scowl at them, spitting blood on to the ground. Thurn smiles with a hungry expression.

  More people step forward, no one that I recognize: a few men, two women around my mother’s age, a boy who looks around nine or ten at the most. Merek’s face is absent from the line that forms before Aurek, and I feel a glint of satisfaction that he did manage to get away.

  Until he’s pushed forward by someone behind him. “He takes her meals up,” the woman responsible for his exposure crows, and my heart plummets. He doesn’t look at me, all of his attention on Aurek as he steps in between one of the women and the little boy.

  “Have any of you aided the girl in passing messages outside of the castle?”

  They all shake their heads; Thurn says “No” loudly.

  “Has she ever asked you to?”

  Again, Thurn is the only one to answer verbally; the rest deny his question in silence.

  Aurek tilts his head as he considers them. Then he looks at me.

  “Errin, have you ever asked, forced, bribed or threatened any of these poor simple peasantfolk into supporting your cause?”

  “You know I haven’t,” I say thickly, through swelling lips.

  He shrugs. Then his hand lashes out, the knife still in it, across Thurn’s throat.