ELLA stood high on the Tenbridge, leaning out over the water. She stared into the turbulent river far below and imagined the sensation of falling — flying through the air, as light as a bird for an instant, before the icy water slammed into her body and drove the air out of her lungs.
She caught a strange look from a passing man and realising how she must look she straightened, looking away from the river and up at the rising sun, amazed that such a sad day could be so full of promise. She considered her options. She needed a letter from a priest or a noble, but she didn’t know any nobles, and Father Morton would never help her. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, he’d thought she was foolish to give up her studies and it seemed he was right.
Looking down at the Sarsen one final time, she saw the water splash against the ferry boats, knocking them against each other. She wanted to talk to someone, anyone, who knew what had happened and could give her some reason behind why her friend and only supporter had died.
Ella’s brow furrowed. Fergus — that’s what Harry had said the ferryman’s name was.
She turned and descended the bridge the way she had come, where a narrow staircase led from the foot of the bridge to the dock. By the time she reached the waterside she was out of breath, but she had met a ferryman on the way who described Fergus to her and told her where she could wait for him.
Huddled against a low wall to escape the biting wind that came off the river, Ella finally saw a thick man with a bald pate help an older couple disembark from his rocking boat. He fit the description, and she walked over before her courage failed her.
"Excuse me," Ella said.
"Where will it be, lass?" the ferryman said, holding out his hand. "Here, jump on."
Ella stepped down into his boat, and before she knew it he had pushed off and they were heading out into the river.
"Well?" the ferryman glanced at her as he gave a few sweeps at the oars.
"I’m very sorry. I don’t want to go anywhere. I just wanted to talk to you."
He snorted. "You can talk to me all you like, provided you pay the fare. You want a tour of the river then? It’ll be two copper cendeens for a start. I know all about the city, the palace, the bridges; no one knows Sarostar better than me."
"Here." Ella handed him two copper coins. "Is your name Fergus?"
He froze, and then began to row furiously, turning the boat around. "I think I know what this is about, here, take your money, young lady." He returned the coins. "I don’t want any of your questions." The oars churned the water into foam, and Ella was almost thrown out when the boat hit the dock with a clunk.
"Please, she was my friend. Won’t you at least talk to me?" Ella pleaded.
"There’s nothing to say." He held the boat fast to the dock. "She must’ve fallen into the river. It’s a sad story. On your way then."
"Harry Maloney said she was in her bedclothes," Ella persisted.
Fergus put his hand to his temple. "Harry Maloney says a lot of things."
"Is it true?" Ella still hadn’t stood up from her seat in the boat.
Fergus blew out of his nostrils. "Yes, it’s true. Now, will you leave me alone? Do you understand the position I’m in? The High Lord’s men made it clear I wasn’t to say anything to anyone." He shuddered. "She fell in the river and drowned, that’s the story. Me and my big mouth, Harry got the truth out of me. I’m going to go and see him now and tell him…"
Fergus stopped talking; he was looking over Ella’s shoulder. Ella followed his gaze, and a chill ran through her spine.
The first thing she noticed about the man on the Tenbridge was he was wearing a sword. She’d never seen someone who wasn’t a soldier or a palace guard with a sword. He wore it comfortably, and walked with a smooth grace. He was tall and broad, with a wide scar on his cheek, and he was clearly heading in their direction.
Fergus pushed away from the dock and began to row. The ferryman was looking anywhere but at the swordsman, and Ella could almost believe Fergus hadn’t seen him. The swordsman held up his hand for them to stop but his words were lost on the wind.
"Who is he?" Ella asked. Fergus’s face had paled. "Aren’t you going to stop?"
Fergus put his back into the oars, staying silent until some distance had grown. "His name’s Jarvish. Rogan Jarvish," he spoke in between strokes. "He’s one of the High Lord’s men, and let’s just say he’s not the man you send to have a polite conversation."
"Aren’t you going to talk to him?"
"No, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see him." Fergus grimaced. "I think I’m overdue to visit some family in Halaran. Long overdue."
Ella watched as Rogan came to the dock, dropped his arms, and stood watching them silently. For some reason she thought it was her he was watching, rather than Fergus. The swordsman finally disappeared from view as they rounded a bend. Ella shivered in the chill air and tried to think of something to say to Fergus, but no words came to her mind.