The Drowned Woods (67)

“Yes,” said Renfrew. “Yes, it would.”

Mer looked up. Renfrew had walked to the opposite side of the pool, away from the others. Beside him, Gryf was on his knees, carefully removing jar after jar from his pack.

“What is that?” said Ifanna.

Fane drew in a breath and Mer glanced up at him. His expression, always so carefully guarded, had sharpened with an alertness she’d never seen before. All his attention was on those jars.

“You’re right,” said Renfrew. “With its magicked walls and old protections, Gwaelod cannot be invaded—only destroyed from within.” Ifanna began to rise, but Renfrew said, “Stay down please.” His voice was light and pleasant as ever—which was why Mer didn’t notice the crossbow in his hands until sunlight glinted from the iron bolt.

Renfrew met Mer’s gaze. There was nothing at all to those eyes: no pity, no remorse, no emotion. “Please don’t move,” he said.

Gryf set another jar on the ground.

“That’s blasting powder,” said Ifanna, her voice hushed. “I’ve seen shipments of it. It’s used in mines.”

And abruptly, Mer remembered Gryf sitting at a long table, smiling at her and quietly insisting he wasn’t a hired sword. Nor was he a spy, as she’d thought.

He was a miner. His entire pack was full of blasting powder.

Numbness crept from Mer’s fingertips, up her arms, stealing through her chest. She could not feel any part of herself. And part of her was grateful for it, because it meant she did not have to feel the words that left her lips.

She remembered the map in Renfrew’s memories, water spilling across all of Gwaelod.

“This isn’t a heist,” she said. “It’s a suicide mission.”





CHAPTER 21


MER HAD BEEN eight years old when she’d glimpsed Renfrew for the first time. He had stood in the doorway of her home, hood drawn up over his pale blond hair, speaking quietly to her da—but all the while, his cold blue eyes had been on Mer. In all the years that followed, Mer had thought she’d known him. She’d studied under him, learned languages and history, how to slip a key from someone’s pocket or memorize a map in a few moments’ time. She had made him laugh and he’d made her smile. She knew how he stood, how he kept his left hand behind his back most of the time—not only because the stance made him look like a soldier, but because he always kept a knife at his back. She had learned to imitate that posture. She knew his taste for smoked fish and fresh bread. She knew more about Renfrew than perhaps anyone else alive.

But now she realized, it had not been enough. For all of their time spent together, she had never truly known him.

Not until now.

He held the crossbow easily, the tip aimed downward and his finger relaxed near the trigger. “Dear child,” he said. “Please, listen to me.”

Numbness gave way to anger. Mer lunged to her feet. She might have stormed around the Wellspring if not for Ifanna’s hand upon her arm. The thief was frozen in place, her eyes fixed on the point of the crossbow bolt.

“No,” Mer snarled. “You—you cannot. You of all people—I trusted you. You told me—”

“That we would weaken Garanhir.” Renfrew’s eyes flashed with cold fury. “And we will. This is the only way.”

“The only way?” A terrible, bitter laugh broke free of her. “You lied to me. You lied, just like he did. You and he are exactly alike. He used me to poison innocent people, and you used me to find this place.” Another terrible thought occurred to her. “Those soldiers,” Mer breathed. “The ones at the Scythe and Boot. They were yours, weren’t they?”

His gaze was unwavering.

“It was no mere coincidence that I was captured on the night you came to meet me,” she said. “You wanted me to think this was my only way out. That I had to come with you. Those—those dead water diviners. It wasn’t Garanhir who slew them—was it?” She took an unsteady step back. “Did you tell the guards where to find us last night?” She threw a glance at Ifanna, who still held her arm. Ifanna’s gaze was moving rapidly across Gryf and Renfrew—likely calculating the odds.

“You didn’t want her here, did you?” said Mer. “That’s why you let slip our location. You wanted us to be attacked, so that I’d think she betrayed us. Because you knew if she came, she would side with me.”

“Damned right I would,” Ifanna murmured under her breath.

“Dear child,” said Renfrew, and his voice was soft. “What would you like me to tell you?”

“The truth,” she said. “Just for once in your life, tell me the truth.”

Renfrew gazed at her, unwavering. For several long moments, she was sure he would not answer. This would be yet another secret he kept to himself. Behind him, Gryf finished placing jars of black powder on the ground. Renfrew lifted his chin. “Garanhir is going to bring the isles to war. I have seen the plans. I know of them. He has been waging the border wars against Gwynedd not just for territory, but because he intends to march into Annwvyn itself.”

“So it is true,” Fane said.

“That’s nonsense,” Ifanna said, startled. “He can’t—I mean, he wouldn’t—”