Sky. Sarah Driver
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Название: Sky
Автор: Sarah Driver
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: The Huntress Trilogy
isbn: 9781780317649
isbn:
Could it be cos of her being so close to the Opal in my pocket? I pray to all the sea-gods that she don’t notice anything.
Kestrel mops my bleeding face with linen and keeps stitching, poking out the tip of her tongue. ‘I have fresh skirts for you, as well.’
‘I ent wearing no skirts!’ Despite the pain that’s making my eyes stream, a sudden laugh punches out of me.
‘Stay still!’ she commands. ‘Those are men’s breeches, and they are in tatters, and—’
‘They ent men’s breeches – they’re my flaming breeches.’ I screw my eyes tight and suck my teeth. ‘Can’t you patch them for me?’
She sighs. ‘Very well.’
Beast-chatter greets my ears. Men’s breeches. Ettler scuffles about inside the chute. Witches call to me, atop the Wildersea! he yodels. My neck prickles. That’s a line from the old song – the song that makes magyk when my brother sings it. Why’s this squidge chattering those words?
When the wound is stitched, daubed with ointment and dressed, the light has thinned to a greyish murk. Dawn is coming. Kestrel lifts my sleeve and starts washing the brand Stag cut into my arm. Heat spills across my cheeks, cos I didn’t know she’d spied it, and a deep shame crawls through my bones when I think how I’m marked for life with the sign of the Hunter, slashes for the hate Stag showed my Tribe.
Kestrel fixes me with a look that stops me wrenching away from her. But when the blood and grime are cleaned away, the antlers show even stronger and I curl my tongue.
She gently rubs ointment into the brand. ‘So. What’s it like out there, in the great wide?’ Yearning swells in her eyes.
I pull my arm away. ‘What d’you mean? Don’t you know?’
She shakes her head. ‘Used to. Well, I knew the sky above the Iron Valley, at least.’
Hunger to rove makes my toes itch. ‘The great wide is the best thing since cinnamon buns,’ I whisper.
Kestrel props her chin in her hand. ‘Our Protector says travel is dangerous.’
I shrug. ‘Travel’s how my Tribe live. It’s who we are.’
Kestrel gazes at me with a gentle, eager fierceness. ‘I think it might be who I am, too.’
Suddenly footsteps ring in the pipes. Kestrel jerks her head towards them, all the life falling from her cheeks. She hauls herself up and runs to the door, pressing her ear flat against it. ‘Oh no, no, no, not now!’
The steps bang along the passageway outside, growing closer to the cell with every beat. Then a rider garbed in raindrop mail barges inside and stares at Kestrel. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘Greetings, Pangolin Spearsister,’ says Kestrel breathlessly. ‘I was sent to shear the prisoner’s head and I thought, whilst I was here—’ Her voice trails off.
I stare at her. Is she lying?
‘So why does the creature still have a headful of rat’s tails?’ spits Pangolin. ‘Our blessed Protector will be displeased when she finds out you’ve been treating an outsider.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kestrel says quickly. ‘Please, do not tell anyone you found me here. Remember when I helped heal your wounds so you might still be chosen as a Spearwarrior?’
Pangolin watches her coldly. Then she blows out her cheeks and rolls her eyes. ‘I won’t tell the Protector or Lunda this time. Probably.’
‘Oh, thank you, Pangolin!’ Kestrel stoops to collect her things. The light dims as she tips the moonsprite out of the glass jar, into her pocket. Ettler plops down from the chute and scurries into her bag. Then her skirts shush against the stone as she hurries off without looking at me. My heart punches my chest once, twice, and she’s sucked into the gloom.
Pangolin’s brown eyes stare dully through her raindrop armour. ‘Looks like you’re alone again,’ she says calmly.
When I rush at her, snarling, she brings her spear up to her chest to block me and then uses it to shove me roughly onto the floor. ‘I’ll be back for you tomorrow.’ Then she turns and leaves.
Fright gnaws away my insides, leaving me with a gutful of shame. Once, I was fearless – or at least I made myself believe the lie that I was brave. Now it’s like my scars have cut so deep that all my hurt shows up on the outside, and I hate it.
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