Nimh doesn’t open her eyes, though she turns her head as if she wants to answer me.
“I’ll do it,” I tell her, reaching for her staff and hefting it in my hands. I hesitate for a long moment over using something so clearly ceremonial for this job. But Nimh used it to help her hike through the forest-sea, and time’s a factor. So I angle the butt of the staff toward the lock and bash at it, my mind racing.
What just happened?
Was it a virtual image? A hologram?
No, the stone piled up on either side of us is very real.
Something mechanical? Some kind of ancient defense system she triggered?
But how could—why would—the mechanism be located right where we needed it?
A distant part of my mind, observing my own scramble for logic, points out that none of these mysteries explain the intruder’s control over Nimh’s guard back at the party. How was that possible? How is any of this real?
With a final blow, the lock gives way.
The door swings open and the cat stalks forward, looking completely composed, despite the roof having fallen down around our heads. I stumble after the cat and Nimh follows. The exit leads to a dark side street that runs along the edge of the temple.
I hand back Nimh’s staff. A part of me is grateful to have her on my side—to have her power and her protection.
But another part of me—a part I can’t deny—is becoming afraid of her.
TWENTY-ONE
NIMH
The night is warm and quiet, and the streets and alleyways of the upper city are deserted. Most of my people are up at the temple. Are they captive—fearful for their futures? Are they revelers—celebrating my defeat?
Or are they prisoners—dying as they cry out for their goddess to save them?
I shudder, hunching my shoulders.
“Are you cold?” North’s voice is soft, coming from just behind my left shoulder.
“No.” I shake my head, fighting off another shiver. If it were one of my people with me, I would have used the excuse gladly. But I find I don’t want to lie to North anymore, even if it means showing human weakness. “I’m frightened.”
A sigh from North, and then, as he visibly pulls himself together: “Me too.” He looks around and tilts his head at the mouth of a narrow alley. “In there. We can hear if anyone’s following, and lose them if they are.”
We pause just beyond the lip of shadow at the alley’s entrance and stand for a time in silence. A faint breeze up above the streets stirs one of the pennants flying from a window. The Lovers have risen, but the silver rose of the moonlight leaches color in the darkness, and I cannot tell if the pennant is one of our multicolored flags of celebration or one of dull gray. In the distance I hear a shout—and then nothing.
The stillness chafes at me, my whole body twitching with the need to run, but I know North is right. Stealth is our best hope.
What kind of life has he led in his land in the clouds, that he is so accomplished at sneaking around and avoiding pursuers? How has it never occurred to me to wonder?
I raise my eyebrows in query at North, who nods. The streets are clear, and we keep moving.
We retrace the steps I took the morning I went to see Quenti, and my spine tingles with the strange sense of having done this before. Then, my need was not quite so dire. But then, I wasn’t responsible for the deaths of two members of his family.
Steps lead down to the river’s edge, where we move from stone streets onto the woven mats of the floating market walkways, abandoned in favor of the feast.
“What’s wrong with one of these?” North’s voice is some distance behind, and I halt so I can look back at him. He’s gesturing to one of the fishing boats tied up near the edge of the river.
“We need to use a riverstrider’s barge.” I tilt my head, gesturing for him to keep moving. “They are swifter and safer than any other—you and I would tire of rowing that boat long before we got far enough away.”
North abandons the boat he’d been examining and hurries to catch up with me again. “They’ve got sails or something?”
“Or something,” I echo, feeling a tattered ribbon of amusement flicker once and then fade. “Let us hope a few of them chose not to attend the feast.”
I can feel North’s eyes on me, sidelong. After a few more steps, he speaks, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness. “Nimh … you’re doing the only thing you can do. I may be new to this world, but even I can see how much your people need you.”
His words ought to be comforting, and a part of me aches that he’s even trying, given all that I kept secret from him. But the wounds are still fresh, and his touch—gentle though it is—burns.
“You cannot imagine what it feels like to be in my place,” I snap, my words sharp as knives. “You believe in nothing.”
North takes his time answering, time that lets me catch my breath. “That’s not true. And while I’ve never been through anything like this, I can imagine better than most. How heavy it is, this responsibility.”
A tiny undercurrent of curiosity tugs at me. “Why? Why can you imagine better than most?”
North tilts his head back, gazing toward the underside of the cloudlands, little more than a dark silhouette against the stars. “My grandfather … is the king of Alciel.”
I stop so abruptly that I have to prevent myself from stumbling. “King?” I echo stupidly. “There have been no kings or queens here for many centuries.” Then, my mind catching up, I continue slowly, “Kings pass on their power to their children, do they not?”
“My bloodmother is a princess, and heir to the throne.” North has stopped too, and now he looks back at me, expression faintly rueful. “So I’m, you know, royalty.”
“A … prince, isn’t that the word?” I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Like in an ancient poem?”
“I don’t know this world’s stories, but … yes, I’m a prince.” North’s face mirrors my own—his smile appears when mine does, and a few moments later, fades.
“You did not tell me this when we met,” I point out.
“In Alciel, there are people who would use my family connections against the crown. I couldn’t be sure you weren’t one of them.”
“Ah,” I say, a hint of triumph warming my voice. “So you are telling me that you did not know me yet, and did not trust me, and so kept important information secret until you could be sure it was safe?”
North gives a quick, appreciative huff of laughter. “A fair point, Divine One. Though my secrets aren’t going to get us—”
Killed.
It is true. It is my fault Daoman is dead.
And those who accompanied me on my pilgrimage.
The chill returns. I turn away, scanning the boats until I find what I’m looking for: the warm glow of lantern light in one of the barges.
My heart sinks when I identify whose it is. “Of course,” I murmur, staring at the barge. It’s the only light in the entire row of boats.
North glances between me and the barges and then back again. “What is it?”
I force my lungs to draw in a deep breath. “The barge belongs to a man named Quenti, one of the leaders of this clan. It was my mother’s clan.”