Maria followed Magnus and Dee down the path toward the beach while I pulled up fistfuls of grass and tried to think of anything useful. I was no sorcerer Master; I knew only the most rudimentary magician spells. All I really had was my fire ability, and that wouldn’t help us.
“This is my fault.” Blackwood put his head in his hands, his raven hair a tangled mess. “I didn’t see through Mab’s lies. I’ve lost the war,” he groaned.
But he hadn’t been the one to decipher R’hlem’s whereabouts and send everyone down the blasted Faerie roads. Nor had he been the one to suggest using the weapons, which had started this all in the first place. No, that had been my own brand of selfish pride. I must always be the one with the answer.
“Magnus found a boat!” Maria called, running up the hill and rousing us from our self-pity.
We followed her to the beach, passing the shattered remains of a town. The stone houses had been ripped down to their foundations; sun-bleached carts and wagons were swallowed by overgrown grass. The hill sloped down to the beach, the earth giving way to white sand and sea grass. We’d come to a small cove, and anchored fifty feet off shore was a fishing vessel. Magnus waved aboard the deck, Dee beside him.
Blackwood took Maria by the waist and floated them both toward the boat. I followed, growing more unsteady the closer I drew to the water. I narrowly made it onto the deck before falling. My corseted ribs ached as I tried to get up. Maria, however, looked perfectly comfortable as she helped unfurl the canvas sails. Magnus frowned at her. “Should you really come with us?”
“Think I can’t handle myself?” She spit into the sea.
“My dear, you can handle yourself better than most men. But this is magical war.”
Maria gave me a pointed look.
“We can’t leave her behind,” I said. Her abilities weren’t my secret to tell.
As Magnus steered us out of the cove, I peered over the ship’s side and noticed its name: La Bella Donna.
Take the belladonna, Lambe had said. I bit my lip. Bloody psychics. Hopefully, he had foreseen our victory as well.
—
AN HOUR LATER, MARIA AND I were leaning against the railing, listening to the taut snap of the sails and the slap of water against the hull. Blackwood provided wind to keep the vessel moving. Dee sat beside him, and Magnus continued to steer. I would relieve Blackwood of his position soon, but for now there was nothing to do except sit and prepare.
“How much do you think’ll be gone?” Maria asked.
“God knows.” My eyes tracked the faint coastline, and I imagined that rolling green replaced by a vision of my father atop Buckingham Palace’s steps, surveying London’s carnage with pleasure.
My father. The shock and horror of his discovery had worn off, and a cancerous sort of admiration had wormed its way into my heart. What orphan child doesn’t dream that her parent is a long lost monarch? William Howel, humble solicitor, had metamorphosed into a king of nightmares. He did not cower or bow. He did not lie.
When I met him in the flesh, would I find any remnants of goodness? Or had his greatness burned that humanity away?
As the sun neared the horizon, we entered Southend-on-Sea, the gateway to the Thames and to London. Land appeared on both sides of us, far enough away that it was difficult to pick out details. Large, round rocks and boulders dotted the shoreline.
Blackwood stepped up beside me. The wind had a bite to it, and I shivered. Without saying anything, Blackwood took off his coat and draped it across my shoulders. When I tried to return it, he stopped me. “I’m all right.”
I buried myself in the coat, still warm from his body. It smelled of the dark earth of Faerie, twined with his own particular scent of clean soap and linen.
“I’m afraid to see London,” he said, a quiet admission. He looked down into the sea. “Whitechurch is dead.” His voice sounded so small with realization.
“Who will be the new Imperator?” If there would ever be a new one. If the Order, and the queen, and London, and a free England still existed tomorrow.
“In times like these, the monarch appoints one until the Order can hold a proper vote.” A wave stretched up over the side. With a quick, graceful sweep of his stave, Blackwood sent it back down into the sea. My shivering had stopped.
“Here,” I murmured, slipping out of the coat.
He took it, staring at it as if he’d never seen one before. Then, “I’m sorry.” The words were so soft the wind nearly carried them away. “I should never have shut you out.”
“You’ve no reason to apologize,” I said.
“But I do. I wanted you to yearn for me.” He put on the coat, his movements slow and mechanical. “But I realized that you don’t need me as badly as I need you.”
“I need you,” I said, and meant it. But Blackwood seemed resigned.
“It can’t be the same. You grew up in the open air, with Rook.” He gripped the railing. “I was raised in a dark place. The only two people who knew my secrets disliked me.” His voice quavered. “You are the first and only person who saw me and still cared. How could I not love you? How could I hope you would understand what need is in that kind of love?”
He choked on the last word. I felt that I’d unlocked a door hidden at the back of a dark house to find the most essential part of him: a lonely little boy watching out the window for visitors who would not come. Gently, I laid my hand on top of his own, feeling the strain in his fingers.
The boat came to a sudden, jerking halt. We all fell forward, Blackwood nearly tipping over the side. The wind still filled the sails, making them taut, but the boat rested.
“What—?” Magnus went to the back, puzzled. Then, “Everyone, come here.” His voice held an edge. Just below the surface of the water was a shimmering mass that clung to the bottom of the boat. At first I thought it a kind of weed, but when I touched it, it stuck to my fingers like a web.
A spiderweb. I yanked myself away, stifling a scream.
“Don’t pull on it,” Blackwood hissed, grabbing my hand.
Maria whistled. “It may be too late for all that.”
In the distance, by the eastern shore, one of those large boulders I’d noticed earlier stirred. It shifted and began to move toward the boat. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the boulder rose higher, revealing itself to be no rock at all but an abdomen.
Her fifty-foot-long body glistened in the weak light. Mottled brown in color, with violent green and purple decorating the pulsing sides, the enormous abdomen belonged to a creature with eight legs as long as trees. Three round eyes, each large as the window of a house, eased out of the sea to study us. Dripping pincers emerged.
Nemneris the Water Spider perched on her web, front two legs moving rhythmically up and down, a silent monstrosity.
She was beautiful in her hideousness, a totemic god. Such a massive thing should not be so deathly quiet, but she was—it was a moment born from the most feverish nightmare. With that jerking crawl peculiar to arachnids, she made her way toward us. The boat shook with each pull of the web.
We were frozen, until Maria shattered the hypnotic peace with a short, piercing scream. As if a spell had been broken, we acted.
This couldn’t be the end. We still had to get to London; I still needed to fight R’hlem. Dimly, I recalled something of that prophecy tapestry in Agrippa’s home, something about a drowning poison. After all, shadow had burned above the city when Korozoth was destroyed. Perhaps this was meant to be. Perhaps the great Water Spider would die today.
Or at the very least, perhaps we would not. Hope flooded my veins, spurring me.
We considered abandoning ship, but it wouldn’t work. The western shore was too far away, and it would be impossible to reach on one gust of wind alone. We’d fall into the water and into her web.
As Nemneris crawled forward, we lined up on the starboard side with our staves and the new weapons. Maria kept behind me, squeezing my shoulder. I’d never seen her so afraid before.