“Why are Hanoshi so stiff?” she says. “Where’s your imagination?”
“Make-believe doesn’t put food on the table,” he says.
Seeing the looks she makes, Jeryon adds, “Give me some proof a castle was actually here, then I’ll be filled with wonder. Isn’t it more exciting to find a use for a plant than to imagine it has some magical property? Isn’t it magical enough that boneset alleviates pain?”
“If I didn’t imagine what a plant could do,” she says, “I’d never figure out what it actually does.”
They cross the plateau. The sun has dried out the weeds growing in the cracks. Mosses and lichen scab the surface. The spikes cast shadows like sweeping black blades.
Jeryon stops and says, “Where are the birds?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is an ideal roost. It should be covered with larus. Sea crows. Shag. And guano. Acres of guano. Birds are all over the island, but the plateau’s clean.”
“If something’s scared them off,” she says, “wouldn’t we see signs of it? Like its guano?”
“Perhaps.”
They head to the northern edge. Everlyn dangles her legs over the cliff, leans forward, and spits. He sits farther away and resists the urge to pull her to safety.
“I bet we can see thirty miles,” he says. “Of course, this must be just a hill to you.”
“No,” she says. Tears shimmer atop her cheek.
“I’ll get you home,” he says.
“That’s not it,” she says. “I can see the curve of the world. I could see the horizon from the ship. I could see half the League from the mountains. But the view wasn’t like this. The curve’s so pronounced. As if it were drawn.”
“I know,” he says.
It’s her turn to look skeptical.
“When I was a boy,” he hears himself say, “I left my father in the Harbor and snuck into the Upper City, then climbed to the top of the Blue Tower. I couldn’t see this far, maybe twenty-five miles, but I’d never been more than five miles from home. I could see towns I didn’t know existed, hills and forests beyond them, the tips of your mountains, and, most of all, the bay. I could see the other side. I could see Eryn Point and the Tallan Sea. I watched a galley head for them. That, I decided right then, is where I would go. I wanted to touch the curve of the world. And here I am.”
She smiles. “So you do have imagination,” she says.
“I picked a port,” he says, “and plotted a course. The next day the Trust took me in as a ship’s boy.”
Took him in, Everlyn thinks, as if he were a foundling.
“What if we called the plateau the Crown? These spikes remind me of radiates.”
“That’ll do,” she says. It’s nice of him to try. “We could tie the bamboo Xs to them. We could probably make them even bigger if they aren’t freestanding. How big would they have to be to be seen thirty miles away?”
Something scrapes behind them. They scramble away from the edge. Jeryon brings up his spears. She draws her sword. They don’t see anything. He whispers, “Stay close.”
She says, “Not too close. I don’t want to hit you.”
He points at a nearby spike. Each one is wide enough for a man to hide behind. Jeryon didn’t think there were that many spikes until now. They’re outnumbered. And the plateau’s edge feels exceedingly close. He survived a cliff fall yesterday. He doesn’t want to make a habit of it.
“This way,” he says. They edge to their right to look around the spike. Nothing’s there. More noise echoes off the spikes so he can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Everlyn closes her eyes. It sounds like a boot on gravel, digging in, waiting to spring. She points the sword at one of the larger spikes. She motions left. He nods and slides right. They charge the last few steps around and half swing at themselves. The scraping comes from above.
There’s a large hole near the top of the spike. “Boost me up,” she says. She sheathes her sword and leans it against the spike.
He holds his clasped hands for her to step in and pushes her up to where she can step on one outcropping, pivot, and sit on another. She looks into the hole and smiles broadly.
“What is it?” he says. “A bird’s nest?”
“You have to see this.”
Something in the hole scrapes insistently.
He looks for a foothold. She hugs the spike tight to her hip, pulls her foot off the outcropping, and holds out her hand. “Step where I did,” she says.
She’s stronger than he imagined, and her hands are big and useful.
He stands on the outcrop and hugs the spike opposite her. She puts her foot on his to steady herself. They start to let go of each other’s hand, but can’t. Both could fall.
The scraping changes to the sound of tiny dishes breaking. But all that’s in the hole are two large charcoal stones. “Rocks?” he says. “I’m up here for rocks?”
One of the rocks wobbles, scraping against the floor of the hole, then cracks down the middle. A tiny white claw reaches out to scratch the air.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Gray
1
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