A Grace of Crowns | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #1

[01.3] The Girl Across the Sea

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Whitebill was terrorising the donkeys. It was the sound of their restless feet and whimpering that woke Isla. She would have to remember to feed the erne. The bird was a menace when starved.

Tomorrow. Sleep now.

Isla turned, feet tangling in her blankets. A gnat buzzed in her ear while outside, the donkeys continued to bray. She swatted the insect away. How she longed for her own bed and chamber, sparse as it was. At least it would be away from the cold and the nightbugs – and Noi's stupid, senile mules!

She sat up, an ache in her head. Between the high-pitched buzzing inside and the whimpering without, there was no chance for peace. How Noi and Haana tolerates it ...

Isla eyed the two unmoving bulks. Her handmaid was breathing heavily, flat on her back, Haana lay smothered in furs.

Ash and smoke filled Isla's nostrils; her salamander's familiar scent. It climbed up her arm, leaving a warm trail where its padded feet touched her skin. Once it had settled in the nook of her neck, it watched, eyes darting, tracing the movement of something Isla could not see. There was a pink blur as its tongue lashed at the air, and the buzzing ended just as abruptly.

Silence at last. Isla pet the fire element with a finger. 'What a good little thing you are.'

She repositioned her blankets, preparing to resume her slumber, when the donkeys gave another whimper. Louder, this time. Not an idle whine.

Then a crunch of boots over foliage.

She reached for Noi's boxes; found a knife under the salamander's pulsing ember. One hand on its hilt, Isla crawled towards the bow and peeked through the flaps.

Nothing.

The moon was waning, its light flitted through the canopies. She searched, but there was no trace of Whitebill amongst the boughs. Likely still off on his hunt.

Silver caught her eye, dancing under a thin stream of moonlight close to where she had tied the donkeys. Quickly the shadows shifted and the flash was gone, but Isla's attention was already drawn towards the trees, and there between the boughs she could just make a hooded figure, watching from the darkness.

'Who's there?' The question was out before she could help herself.

She ignored Noi's rousing alarm, for the shadow leapt out of hiding.

Another glint – this time coming from his hands – and the shadow was running straight for her, blade ready. Isla cried, shielding herself with her arms, flinging out her only weapon. The hooded man fell to his knees with a loud gasp.

But when Isla looked, the knife was still in her hand.

It was instead something from within her that had lunged forth for the man. Now that she was aware of it, she basked in its sensation. A heavy surge of relief; a prisoner liberated after years of confinement. She was aware of Noi, shuffling through her bags ... Haana clutching her blankets ... as though her mind had expanded beyond its physical constraints.

She felt the man's intention even before he moved. His resistance burned the very back of her head, pounding, threatening to break through. Isla squashed his will as a beetle caught between her fingers.

Noi scrambled off the wagon, large knife in hand, running for the trees, warning Isla with one knowing look. 'You stay right there!'

'What is it?' Haana was behind Isla, shy of the salamander on her shoulder.

'A spy. A thief. I don't know.'

'What did you do to him?'

'Nothing. I just startled him. He tripped and fell.' She forced herself to meet Haana's eyes.

'What will Noi do with him?'

'Whatever is necessary.'

They fell into a rigid quiet, eyes on the trees into which Noi had disappeared. Isla steadied her trembling hands. The shock had passed, her instinctive use of theurgy starting to ebb. The man squirmed against her mental hold. Her mind teetered. She had neither the discipline nor the skill to control it. He was slipping away, a pig wriggling free in the mud. Then he'd be off with my secret—

A grunt, and the man fell into nothingness. His mind dissolved into a wisp, leaving Isla grasping at air.

She gasped in relief.

'You sweat,' noted Haana.

'Noi's gone after a seasoned murderer for all we know!'

'She looks fine.'

Noi was shaking when she rejoined them. Isla caught her pocketing something long and silver into her frock.

Isla pried the bloodied knife from Noi's fingers before leaving her hunched against the canvas. She lifted her salamander to heat a cup of water. Tea always helped soothe Noi. Wise Father knows she needs one now.

She could not decide what was more disconcerting – her handmaid's unresponsive gaze, or the knowing one Haana cast into the woods; as though she could see their dead pursuer through the darkness and had been expecting nothing less.
    

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