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Authors: Sarah Prineas
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their oaths. Until they do, they are very dangerous. Not necessarily in what they do. They are oath breakers, and that means that they are dangerous in what they are .”
Ten
Fer was asleep in the Lady Tree, which swayed in the wind like a ship at sea.
With a start, she opened her eyes, and a room swooped around her; dizzy, she closed her eyes again. Oh, such a pain in her head, and the floor was awfully cold and hard. “Twig?” she croaked. “Fray?”
Then she remembered the figures in gray—the Forsworn—who had grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways. Her eyes popped open.
Fer was not in the Lady Tree. Holding her head, she sat up. Her stomach lurched at the movement. With her fingers she felt the back of her skull. A tender lump, but no blood. Too bad about cutting off all of her hair; if she’d had her braid, she might not have gotten such a bump. She looked down at herself. She still had her patchwork jacket on, at least. That was something.
She surveyed the room she was in. It was circular, about ten paces across. The floor was made of close-fitted stones. The walls were of the same gray stone with thick layers of mortar in the cracks between each one. Carefully Fer climbed to her feet, looking up. The walls stretched up to a flat ceiling—more stone—way overhead. In the ceiling was an open trapdoor that showed a flat, gray sky.
She was in a tower.
She turned in a circle. The tower only had walls; there was no door, no windows.
The Forsworn ones who’d grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways had put her here, no doubt. It was a prison. They must have lowered her down here from the opening in the ceiling, high above. “Ooookay.” She took a shaky breath. Then another. The air felt strange. Heavy, as if it was weighing her down. And it was cold with the chill of underground caves.
Fer shivered and her head ached, and she sat down with her back against the curving wall. A muffled buzzing sound came from one of her jacket pockets. She opened it up, and her bee bumbled out. It wavered around her head once, then dropped onto her sleeve. She cupped her hand around it, and it buzzed against her palm. It meant she wasn’t completely alone, anyway.
She rubbed her sore head and looked up at the trapdoor. At some point the Forsworn would have to come back, if only to lower her some food and water. Maybe they’d have a bucket on a rope. That would be her chance to escape. Dizzy, she rested her head against her knees and tried to think.
The Forsworn hated change. She was human, and she had the power to change things. The Forsworn had put her here, she guessed, because she was a danger to them.
They were right about that. Her thoughts bumped up against the memory of the Birch-Lady’s death. But she didn’t want to think about that. It led her to Rook and his latest betrayal, and she really didn’t want to think about that. Her chest still ached where she’d broken their shared thread of friendship.
After a long time, she opened her eyes. Overhead, the square of sky framed by the trapdoor had turned dark gray. Evening was coming on. She got to her feet and, keeping one hand on the wall to steady herself, made a circuit of the room. Surely her captors would come soon, to bring her some dinner.
Strange, though. She’d been here for hours, and she didn’t feel the least bit hungry. Or thirsty. Or tired.
Maybe it was because the air here was so heavy. It made her feel slow. She went around the edge of the room again. The air was as thick as honey; she practically had to trudge through it. She couldn’t hear anything from outside the tower either; the silence pressed against her ears.
As the night came on, the tower-room darkened. Fer settled down against the wall again, pulling the patch-jacket tightly around her for warmth. Her bee crawled up to her collar and nestled against her neck; it felt soft and comforting.
Sleep didn’t come. She stared out at nothing. After a while, Fer got up again and, in the
Ten
Fer was asleep in the Lady Tree, which swayed in the wind like a ship at sea.
With a start, she opened her eyes, and a room swooped around her; dizzy, she closed her eyes again. Oh, such a pain in her head, and the floor was awfully cold and hard. “Twig?” she croaked. “Fray?”
Then she remembered the figures in gray—the Forsworn—who had grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways. Her eyes popped open.
Fer was not in the Lady Tree. Holding her head, she sat up. Her stomach lurched at the movement. With her fingers she felt the back of her skull. A tender lump, but no blood. Too bad about cutting off all of her hair; if she’d had her braid, she might not have gotten such a bump. She looked down at herself. She still had her patchwork jacket on, at least. That was something.
She surveyed the room she was in. It was circular, about ten paces across. The floor was made of close-fitted stones. The walls were of the same gray stone with thick layers of mortar in the cracks between each one. Carefully Fer climbed to her feet, looking up. The walls stretched up to a flat ceiling—more stone—way overhead. In the ceiling was an open trapdoor that showed a flat, gray sky.
She was in a tower.
She turned in a circle. The tower only had walls; there was no door, no windows.
The Forsworn ones who’d grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways had put her here, no doubt. It was a prison. They must have lowered her down here from the opening in the ceiling, high above. “Ooookay.” She took a shaky breath. Then another. The air felt strange. Heavy, as if it was weighing her down. And it was cold with the chill of underground caves.
Fer shivered and her head ached, and she sat down with her back against the curving wall. A muffled buzzing sound came from one of her jacket pockets. She opened it up, and her bee bumbled out. It wavered around her head once, then dropped onto her sleeve. She cupped her hand around it, and it buzzed against her palm. It meant she wasn’t completely alone, anyway.
She rubbed her sore head and looked up at the trapdoor. At some point the Forsworn would have to come back, if only to lower her some food and water. Maybe they’d have a bucket on a rope. That would be her chance to escape. Dizzy, she rested her head against her knees and tried to think.
The Forsworn hated change. She was human, and she had the power to change things. The Forsworn had put her here, she guessed, because she was a danger to them.
They were right about that. Her thoughts bumped up against the memory of the Birch-Lady’s death. But she didn’t want to think about that. It led her to Rook and his latest betrayal, and she really didn’t want to think about that. Her chest still ached where she’d broken their shared thread of friendship.
After a long time, she opened her eyes. Overhead, the square of sky framed by the trapdoor had turned dark gray. Evening was coming on. She got to her feet and, keeping one hand on the wall to steady herself, made a circuit of the room. Surely her captors would come soon, to bring her some dinner.
Strange, though. She’d been here for hours, and she didn’t feel the least bit hungry. Or thirsty. Or tired.
Maybe it was because the air here was so heavy. It made her feel slow. She went around the edge of the room again. The air was as thick as honey; she practically had to trudge through it. She couldn’t hear anything from outside the tower either; the silence pressed against her ears.
As the night came on, the tower-room darkened. Fer settled down against the wall again, pulling the patch-jacket tightly around her for warmth. Her bee crawled up to her collar and nestled against her neck; it felt soft and comforting.
Sleep didn’t come. She stared out at nothing. After a while, Fer got up again and, in the
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