Hush

by Dylan Farrow

  “Hello, Freckles.”

  * * *

  My words are slow to obey me, and even then, I find it difficult to summon them.

  “Mads?” The name escapes in a whisper.

  He steps closer, a grimace tugging on his lips.

  “I guess this is pretty awkward.” He stops when he sees me flinch. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “How are you here?” I ask, looking between the sigil on his chest and his face several times. “Why are you here?”

  Mads sighs, maintaining the distance between us. Even in the dim light I can see the familiar warmth in his eyes, behind the conflict.

  “My family fell on hard times awhile back. My father asked High House for reprieve, but it came at a cost—my secrecy in aiding the Bards,” Mads admits, his voice soft. “It was always my job to report the goings-on in Aster to High House.”

  There is a yawning distance between us. So much has changed since the time when I thought we were two mere ordinary people.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I almost did, more times than you’ll ever know.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Mads catches his lower lip between his teeth. “I couldn’t. Only my family could know.” His voice lowers. “I suppose I just thought one day you would be…”

  His words taper off into a heavy silence. We both know how the sentence was supposed to end.

  “How much did you know?” I ask finally. “About my ma? About me?”

  “I swear, I knew nothing,” Mads says. I always thought he was a terrible liar, but now I’m not so sure. After everything I’ve been through, my trust is at a premium. “Even when they refused to give their blessing for my proposal, they wouldn’t explain further.”

  “They refused?” I frown.

  Mads’s face is embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck. “That was something I was actually planning to never share with you.” He pauses. “All my life I was told I was doing the right thing. I thought I was building a life I could be proud of. I know it’s a feeble excuse.”

  “We all thought we were doing the right thing,” I mutter. Didn’t I hide my truth from Mads all along too?

  “That doesn’t make it okay.” Mads shakes his head. “I should have been there for you. I should have listened to you. I should have helped you. Instead…” He lets out an uneasy breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I couldn’t have changed anything. But I didn’t even try, and I’m going to regret it the rest of my life.”

  “What changed your mind?” I ask, peering up at him, tears beginning to slip from my eyes.

  “I thought you had run off to the wasteland,” Mads says. “It wasn’t until Imogen told me what happened that I realized you were here.”

  I blink. “Imogen?” I ask. “How do you know Imogen?”

  “We’ve been friends for a while, ever since I started in High House’s employ,” Mads replies. “When I found out you were here, I asked her to keep an eye on you.”

  I remember what Imogen said, back during my ordeal in the labyrinth. He told me to watch out for you. To make sure you were okay.

  It was Mads.

  “She was the one who put me in touch with your friend,” Mads continues. “She’s been a huge help.”

  “My friend?”

  “Your trainer. The tall girl? With the amber eyes? I think her name was Kendra?”

  “Kennan.” I decide not to linger on the specifics of my relationship with her.

  “She told me everything. Some of it was … difficult to hear.” Mads winces. “But you started something just by refusing to believe the lies. Kennan saw it. And now so do I.”

  I frown. “See what, exactly?”

  “Everyone in Montane is watched closely. You know that,” Mads says. “Turns out, people like me who do the watching wind up destroying people like you, who dare to ask questions. I don’t ever want to be a part of anything that could hurt you.”

  Slowly, as if approaching a wounded wild animal, Mads kneels in front of me and takes my hands without hesitation. He doesn’t even look at the dark blue veins, his eyes locked on my face. The tenderness in his expression and the touch of his large, callused fingers are achingly familiar. I’ve missed him so much.

  “So, Freckles…” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Ready for a prison break?”

  * * *

  I have to admit, in all the scenarios I considered, not once did I expect Kennan and Mads to team up to break me out of High House.

  I can’t help grinning, and a memorable smile touches the corners of Mads’s lips. The last time I saw it in earnest was when we were kids, sneaking into his mother’s kitchen to steal some freshly baked cookies. Kieran fell ill the next day, and for a long while, I foolishly thought my cookie thievery was the reason why.

  The bittersweet memory fades as Mads gives my hands a gentle squeeze and stands, holding a finger up to signal me to wait. Not that I have much choice. I don’t think I can walk without assistance. The veins in my legs sear into me with every movement.

  Mads moves to the door, winking slyly at me over his shoulder. The guards don’t pay him any mind until he balls his hand into a fist and knocks the nearest one out with a single, rapid punch. The second guard barely has time to react before Mads spins around, kicking him in the gut. The impact sends him stumbling back and his head connects with the wall. Mads flinches at the sound it makes, but his attention quickly diverts back to me.

  My jaw drops. “Who are you?”

  “I’ve gotten into a scuffle or two in my time here.” Mads grimaces. “Was it impressive?”

  “Not if we get caught,” I say. He chuckles and helps me to my feet.

  “We’d better hurry, then,” Mads says.

  I shuffle beside him, biting my lip to try to ward off the pain radiating through my body. The dark veins seem to stretch the more I exert myself, constricting my every movement.

  “Mads, I’m going to be honest…” I wince as each step becomes more painful than the last, and we haven’t even reached the exit to the cell block. “I don’t know how long I can last.”

  “It’s only a bit farther,” Mads replies. “Don’t give up on me, Freckles.”

  The faith in his voice gives me enough of a boost to keep going. The prison level consists of a hall of iron-barred cells identical to mine, constructed from rough stone and lit by flickering torches. It is quiet and deserted, unlike the sanitarium. The implications of that make me queasy.

  At the end of the hall, Mads produces a ring of keys from his belt and fits one into the door.

  “So … all those hunting trips?” I ask.

  “I was here.” Mads nods tightly. “I never meant to lie to you.”

  My mind goes back to the night of the ball, when I followed Imogen. I’d dismissed my recognition of him, no longer trusting my own mind. But it was Mads. He was here, trying to watch out for me despite everything.

  “It’s all right, Mads,” I say, with a gentle squeeze on his forearm.

  He’s not entirely reassured, but doesn’t argue as the lock clicks and the door swings open.

  “I’m definitely not going to be welcome back here after this.” His mouth twists.

  “You and me both.”

  Mads shifts my arm on his shoulder and helps me forward.

  “I know the way out of the castle, but it’s going to be tough getting past everyone unnoticed.”

  The door has deposited us into a lavish hallway, a little quieter than the main castle. The windows are high up so we must be on one of the lower levels, right above the caverns.

  Mads pulls me into a shadowy alcove, behind a statue, right as a coughing fit strikes me. I barely manage to stifle it as a patrol of guards passes us. It feels like hours go by before they disappear around a corner.

  “On my mark,” Mads mouths. “Now.”

  The end of the hallway leads to a large marble staircase spiraling up into the castle. The walls are hung with banners embla
zoned with the High House sigil and the golden thread catches the light from intricate circular windows that ascend with the steps. Even the thought of climbing them feels like a death sentence.

  We duck beneath the stairs, hunched over each other as deep into the shadows as possible. The patrol from before has doubled back, but their unhurried pace suggests that my disappearance has not yet been discovered. I struggle to contain my coughs until their footsteps fade up the stairs.

  Mads rubs my back when another violent one escapes me. I can feel the veins lacing deeper into my body, burning and strangling every part of me from the inside.

  This is what happened to Kieran. The thought rises unbidden. He never let on how painful it really was. He was so brave, and I never truly understood until this very moment.

  The coughing quiets, replaced by a shiver from the fever. Mads’s strong arms come around me and I collapse against him.

  “Mads, if I don’t make it out of here—”

  “Don’t.” His voice is gentle, but tinged with fear. He tightens his hold on me. “You’re going to be fine, Freckles.”

  “You’re not afraid of getting sick?” I ask.

  “My pa always says no one arrives safely at their grave,” Mads replies. “I’ll take my chances.”

  I smile into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Thanks, Mads.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” he says. “If I were a Bard, I’d use a Telling to heal you.”

  “That’s not…”

  That’s not entirely how it works. A spoken Telling has no permanence, not like the symbols in the Book of Days or in my sewing. Or writing, I’d wager.

  My mind takes me back to the repository when Cathal pushed me aside. His rough grip on my collar. The cold emptiness in his eyes when he sneered at me. The moment his mask of kindness was discarded. The image appears unbidden in my mind, but clear as crystal.

  I do my best to banish the hurt from my heart. The broken trust. The lie that he cared about me. The look on his face when he was no longer pretending I mattered; the darkness in his voice as he threw me in a cell. This is worse than the pain of the Blot. This is a pain I will never be rid of, not fully at least, not for a long time.

  If I live that long.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if he had given me the Blot.

  “Mads…” I whisper. My eyes widen. The truth was there the whole time.

  I push back from him, raising my hands. They are even darker than before. Moving my fingers sends shock waves up my arms. I let out a low moan of pain.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?” Mads looks near panicking.

  “Touching the pages of ink didn’t give me the Blot. Cathal wrote it into me.” I shiver, only partly from the fever, remembering the notebook Cathal would write in as he sat by my bedside in the sanitarium. “I saw him do it.”

  Mads’s eyes flick between my hands and my face. I can see him warring with disbelief—and I don’t blame him. If Cathal has the power to give someone the Blot, who else has he done it to?

  I look back at my hands. Cathal’s Telling is strong and locked into reality with ink. But it’s still only a Telling … and I’m a Bard.

  “Heal.”

  My Telling is spoken in a whisper, but carries every ounce of focus and strength I can muster.

  “Heal,” I repeat fiercely.

  Slowly, the veins begin to withdraw, the pain subsiding to a dull throb. I’m not cured. I’ll need to continue countering Cathal’s written Telling, perhaps forever. And I don’t even know how long my Counter-Tellings will last. But I’ll live, which is more than I had ten minutes ago.

  Mads is staring at me with wide eyes. I grab his hand, pulling him out from under the stairs.

  “Hurry,” I say, “we don’t have much time.”

  * * *

  No one on the upper floors bats an eye at seeing a Bard and guard emerging from the lower level. Even if the Bard is somewhat disheveled and sweating nervously. At my side, Mads looks remarkably composed. But his nose is crinkled. Only I could recognize his way of hiding his worry.

  “Should we make a run for it?” he whispers.

  “Too obvious,” I say. “We need to slip out unnoticed, and we’re running out of time.”

  “Shae, we don’t have a choice.”

  The panic has spread to my throat, but mercifully, the courtyard at the entrance to High House appears deserted. Mads grips my hand tightly at my side as we rush to the gate.

  “Going somewhere?” a familiar, steady voice asks, stopping us in our tracks.

  My breath hitches when Niall steps casually in front of us, blocking the path to the gate. Mads starts to step in front of me, but I hold him back.

  “Let me pass,” I say. “I promise, I’ll leave High House and never return.”

  Niall raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

  With a nearly imperceptible Telling, he’s suddenly standing right in front of me, his gloved hand closing around my neck.

  “I thought you looked familiar,” he says. “The rogue Bard in Aster. You’re the missing daughter.”

  “Don’t touch her!” Mads growls, making to push Niall away.

  “Away.” Niall waves his hand dismissively. His Telling pushes Mads several feet back, knocking him to the ground. It gives Niall enough time to pull a blade from his boot and hold it to my neck. He shoots Mads a warning look as he scrambles up. Mads’s mouth is pressed to a thin line, his hands held up defensively.

  “Kennan didn’t kill my mother, did she?” I ask quietly.

  He lets out a harsh laugh. “Kennan didn’t have the courage to do her duty. She couldn’t handle the responsibility of our position.” Niall sneers. “Why do you think she was sent to the sanitarium? She got cold feet. She was ready to join your mother’s failed cause.” He pauses with a dangerous smile. “I don’t share those reservations. I am a Bard of High House, and I will lay down my life for Cathal.”

  The fury I had directed at Kennan returns a hundredfold, my entire body wanting to attack.

  The blade inches closer to my throat.

  Before I can think better of it, I jerk my knee up to his stomach as hard as I can. Niall doubles over and stumbles. It gives Mads enough of a window to grab his arm and wrench the knife from his grasp.

  As they grapple, I step back, anxiously looking for a weapon. The only things in my pockets are the Book of Days fragment and Kieran’s ox.

  I hold the page in front of me, frustrated at being incapable of helping. A drop of blood falls from my neck with a soft splat on the page, followed by another. Two more. Niall must have cut me with the knife, and I didn’t notice. The drops of blood make a thin line where it drips. It almost looks like the beginnings of a stick figure.

  Ravod’s horrible tale comes back to me, of what happened to his parents. What his Telling was truly capable of.

  I dip my bare finger into the blood, focusing on Niall’s face. My rage. Shaking, I complete the figure.

  And, with two swift motions, I cross it out.

  A cold gust of mountain wind sweeps through the courtyard. I look up over the edge of the page.

  Mads is midswing, but his punch doesn’t land. Niall is gone.

  Mads glances at me, confused.

  A wave of sickness threatens to knock me over. “I’ll explain later,” I rasp, horror gathering in my throat. I’ve done something terrible. I might have to do more before this is all said and done.

  But there’s no time to overthink it. I grab Mads’s wrist as we race ahead toward the gate, Telling it open. Mads pushes one waiting guard into another, causing enough confusion for us to pass through. Another quick Telling turns the metal gate red hot behind us as it slams shut, keeping our pursuers back and sealing their way forward.

  Mads and I flee haphazardly down the mountain. I can hear the shouting of guards in the distance as we finally make it to freedom.

  EPILOGUE

  Sunset casts the wasteland in an orange glow as
High House recedes into the distance behind us. I don’t realize I’m out of breath until Mads slows down and I come to a stop beside him.

  The memory of what I did to Niall flashes back to me with a swell of nausea, and I stumble almost imperceptibly. But I did what I had to do. He killed Ma with just as little regard for her life.

  I won’t become him. That will only happen when I stop caring. A part of me knows I’ll be struggling with this for a long time. Maybe the rest of my life.

  I turn to Mads, anchoring my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “We … we did it,” he gasps between breaths. He is leaning on his knees, panting. “We really did it. I don’t think I’ve run like that since…”

  “Since the great cookie caper?” I finish his sentence. The memory of stolen cookies and childish laughter warms me.

  “You remember that too, huh?” A smile lights up his face. “I suppose with experience like that, it’s no surprise we managed to pull this off.”

  I can’t help smiling back, despite the knowledge we can’t stop for long. “I’m sure your ma will be happy to have you back at home, after all this.”

  Mads’s grin falters. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” But a look gives him away. “She would be.” Mads admits with a crooked smile, “And she’ll be about as happy with me about this as she was after we stole the cookies she spent six months saving rations for.”

  “Does this mean…” I pause. “You’re not going back to Aster, are you?”

  Mads takes a deep breath, drawing himself upright. He gazes off into the distance somewhere behind me.

  “No,” he answers with a smile. “No, we’re not.”

  I frown at him. “We?”

  “Shae!” a voice calls in the distance, and I’m certain I’m hearing things. When I turn, I see what Mads has been staring at. My heart leaps with joy.

  “Fiona?”

  Kennan approaches on horseback. Surprisingly, Fiona is seated behind her, arms wound tight around Kennan’s waist. When Kennan draws closer, Fiona looks unsteady as she dismounts. It takes a second for her to find her footing before sprinting toward me. The force of Fiona’s hug nearly topples us both.