Witch's Pyre (Worldwalker #3)(95)

“I’ll make a mind mosaic to find the bomb, and then steal instructions for how to dismantle it from Alaric’s memories,” Lily said.

“Come again?” Breakfast said, confused.

“A mind mosaic is when I use my claimed like an array of cameras. I look through all of your eyes to find what I’m looking for. Sometimes I have to look through your memories, too, sort of like fast-forwarding through recordings on a surveillance camera,” she explained. “You don’t even know I’m there, but I’m spying through you.”

Una looked horrified. “Please tell me you’ve never done that before,” she said.

“Once. When I was learning, and only for about a second,” Lily admitted. “Rowan told me that witches do it all the time,” she said, becoming defensive at their accusing looks.

“But not you,” Breakfast said hopefully.

“No. Not me,” Lily said. “At least, not yet. But if Carrick doesn’t find the bomb or doesn’t dismantle it for whatever reason, I’ll have to try it.”

“Yes, you will,” Una said, looking at the ground. Breakfast turned to argue with her but she continued before he could say anything. “She’ll have to, Stuart. A million people . . .” She trailed off, the scope of it overwhelming her.

“It’s wrong,” he said quietly.

“I know that, Breakfast,” Lily snapped. “I asked a man who tortured me—who tortured and murdered my father—for help in order to avoid it. Is that the right thing to do? I don’t know. I’m trying to do what’s right, but I don’t know if there is such a thing as a right option anymore. Just different kinds of wrong.”

Breakfast narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t get too comfortable with that notion.”

Carrick walked back into Lillian’s camp, slipping through the occupied throngs unnoticed.

People tended to ignore Carrick until they couldn’t, and then afterward, they tried to forget about him as quickly as possible. Sometimes they would say or do just about anything to make him go away. That had its advantages.

Carrick passed a squirrely page boy gnawing a thumbnail down to the quick as he walked, and grabbed him.

“Lady Lillian’s heaviest armored cart. Where is it?” he asked, standing a little too close.

“I don’t know—the carts are that way?” the boy replied with a desultory wave of his hand. He was trying to extract himself, but Carrick just smiled, unnerving the boy even more.

“What’s your name?” Carrick asked, friendly-like, sidling even closer.

“G-Gavin,” the boy stammered.

“Gavin, I’m in a lot of trouble if I don’t find our Witch’s biggest, heaviest cart. I’m supposed to already know where it is.” Carrick leaned over the boy, still smiling, and the boy leaned back, desperate now to get away.

“There is one she’s kept separate. Over that ridge, out of sight,” he said.

Carrick released him. “That’s the one. Thank you, Gavin. If there’s ever anything I can do for—”

But the boy scurried away, probably already trying to forget the encounter had ever happened.

Carrick mounted the ridge and dropped into a crouch behind a boulder. The cart that was housing the bomb would be guarded, of course. He’d have to kill the guards swiftly and without them ever really knowing what it was that was taking their lives, or Lillian would know, too. But Carrick had spent so long out in the wild with the Woven that he knew how to move like them, strike like them, and leave no trace. Except, of course, for the useless bomb he would leave behind. But no one would know about that until they tried to use it, and then it would be too late.

Carrick waited until dusk. He stayed crouched down until he was almost a part of the rock, like he was growing out of it, turning to stone. He stared at his hands. He’d just gotten them clean again.

Captain Leto strode confidently to the waiting greater drake, wearhyde riding clothes creaking, sliver epaulets flashing, and looking very much like a grizzled old Viking stepping forward to slay a dragon.

“You want to check the cinch around the drake’s neck before you climb up,” he instructed. He tugged on the leather straps that encircled the drake’s long, lowered neck. They didn’t budge. “Nice and tight,” Leto said approvingly. “Next, you see that the stirrups are the right length for you. Then, just grab hold of the pommel and swing yourself up.”

Leto mounted the drake and it squawked, shifting onto its thick hind legs and grasping the air with its smaller forelegs for a moment before settling back down. Lily took a reflexive step away and bumped into Rowan, who was standing right behind her. He steadied her and gave her a little push forward.

“And you wonder why I never learned to ride one,” he teased quietly in her ear.

“You never learned because you’re a big baby,” she whispered back. She felt him chuckle and elbowed herself away from his chest. “And since you never learned,” she continued accusingly, “I have to ride to the nearest speaking stone with Leto. You should feel horrible for abandoning me like this, you know.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, grinning. The drake flapped its talon-spiked wings, irritated at being penned in by the huge spruce trees. “Just horrible.”

“It’s perfectly safe to come forward now, Lady Lily,” Captain Leto called.