“To the best of my ability to decipher these notes,” said Hava conversationally, “the explosive eggs are made using zilfium and a byproduct of silver refining, among other things.”
“Fascinating,” said Giddon. There was nothing in the nearby debris strong enough to use as a lever to free her leg. There was no way to dig a cavity under it, because her leg rested on rock. He studied the rubble mountain at either end of the ladder, then chose the mountain that looked less formidable.
“It is fascinating,” said Hava, “seeing as the world’s richest known zilfium deposits belong to Bitterblue. Do you understand what she’s sitting on, Giddon? The value of her mountains, economically and politically—militarily—if this is what she could do with them?”
The rubble at this end seemed to be mostly rocks and wood. No metal eggs. Giddon adjusted his improvised gloves, bent his knees, and grabbed the ladder. When he tried to lift it, it shifted, ever so slightly.
“Giddon,” said Hava. “If you can’t get me out of here, promise me you’ll take these notebooks. I think they contain the plans to make the eggs.”
“Hava, love,” he said. “Get ready to move your foot. It’s going to hurt, and I might not be able to lift this thing completely clear.”
Hava looked across at him for one long moment. When a tear ran down her face, she let him see it. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
With all the strength in his body—with his legs, his back, his shoulders screaming, with his hands tearing and a roar bursting out of his throat, Giddon lifted the end of the ladder.
Shrieking from the pain, Hava pulled her foot through the tiny aperture he created.
When he saw that she was free, Giddon dropped the ladder, then bent over, coughing. Stones and dirt were falling from above, pinging onto the floor of the cave like a hailstorm.
“You okay?” he managed to say.
“Yeah. You?” Her voice was rough.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah.”
“Giddon?” she said as he made his way back to her.
“Yeah?”
She was crying, really crying, which Hava hardly ever did. But the eyes she turned up to him were glowing, with a kind of joy that seemed out of place. “You did good,” she said, and Giddon understood that she hadn’t been expecting to survive this.
Stiff, aching, he pulled his shirt and coat back on, then dropped to one knee beside her. “Did you think I was going to leave you down here, brat?” he said, lifting her into his arms.
* * *
—
It was harder to send Hava up on the sheet rope than it had been with Katu, because she was in so much pain. He strapped her into the halter, then braced himself in the opening as he had during Katu’s ascent. Every time her injured ankle jarred against the rocks, he felt it in his own body. Giddon was feeling everything in his own body. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired, sore, bruised, and cold.
Then Hava was safe on solid ground, and suddenly Giddon’s heart started pounding. It was time for his own climb back up the cliff. What if now, after all he’d done, he made a mistake? What if, with the team’s arms at their tiredest, the sheet rope at its most tattered and strained, and his own fingers bleeding and stiff with cold, he slipped, and fell? Giddon didn’t want to die. He had work to do. He had happiness to feel. He was a baby; his life had begun anew only a few days ago.
Giddon turned and pushed himself up, walked back into the cave, to distract himself from these thoughts. There was no way to get back onto solid ground without passing through his fear. He would think about the others, who believed he was strong enough to climb back. One, in particular, who wanted him back badly. What a gift, that she wanted him back that way.
Giddon took in the cave one last time. A stalactite near him reached down toward a stalagmite, the two almost meeting in the middle to form a pillar. It was cold in this cavern, stark and strange. What had Lovisa said—that Ferla’s father had used to send Ferla here for punishments? How long had Katu wasted away in here? It seemed impossible that such a place should exist, or that any person should ever discover it. Inhumane that anyone should use it to discipline children. From where he stood, he could see the broken barrels, jars, and chests that must have been stacked in the storehouse a few hours ago. How peculiar to see the results of an explosion from below. “Wow,” he said. The word echoed back to him, soft and deep.
And then he saw a few of those metal eggs, scattered near the edges of the fallen supplies. He studied them; he committed them, and the damage they’d done, to memory. He knew that he was looking at a terrible evil. And though he hadn’t responded to Hava earlier, he understood some things about what it meant. The exploding eggs were an invention that, once invented, couldn’t be un-invented. They were made from a fuel that lived in Bitterblue’s mountains. Hava possessed the plans to make them. And Bitterblue was a queen, with a kingdom to defend, surrounded by militaristic nations like Estill. What would happen to the world, once everyone knew what Benni Cavenda had made with zilfium?
Now Giddon knew he would get to the top of the cliff, because he wasn’t going to leave Bitterblue to find the answer to that question alone.
* * *
—
The climb was exhausting. His fingers were senseless nubs and his arms heavy as iron mallets, and just as useful for climbing. He loved the sheet rope. It was the world’s best friend to humanity. He wanted to bring it home, ragged and dirty as it was, and keep it in a chest at the foot of his bed. Was that strange?
Arms reached down out of nowhere and pulled him over the edge. He heard cheering. He heard himself gasping. Someone untied him and someone else wrapped a cloth around one of his bloody hands. He lay on his stomach above the cliff and hugged the ground.
Then he looked up and saw Bitterblue, still sitting against her tree, staring at him with enormous eyes.
Picking himself up, Giddon went to her.
Chapter Forty
When Nev and Davvi dragged that scraggly gray man up over the edge onto the ground beside her, Lovisa didn’t recognize him. He was a shriveled, terrible-smelling rat and she recoiled, until he looked up into her face. When he saw her, he smiled.
“Katu,” she cried.
“Lovisa,” he said, his smile growing beatific.
Abandoning her rope, Lovisa threw off her coat and gave it to him. When he seemed confused by how a coat worked, she helped him with it, stuck his hands into the sleeves and pulled it over his shoulders, and then she was hugging him, crying, unable to hide how much his gauntness upset her. She couldn’t find the white streak in his hair, then realized it was because his hair was so grimy.