The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(80)

“I was afraid of being alone.” My voice is quiet, small. I don’t know if they can hear me over the sound of the men shouting on deck or the waves lapping against the ship’s hull, but I keep going. “Of dying alone. Caleb says we all die alone, but I don’t think that’s true, not really. It’s different to face it alone. To know that no one is coming, that no one will ever come. To know it’s just you and that’s all it’ll ever be—”

I break off then, turn around to find the four of them staring at me, a chorus of horror and fear and sympathy on their faces.

“Are you still afraid of that?” Fifer says. Her voice is as quiet as mine.

“I don’t know.” I close my eyes against their unrelenting stares. “I don’t know what I’m afraid of anymore. I don’t see why it matters, anyway.”

“It matters a lot,” she says. “Because what if the tomb isn’t the same this time? What if your fear isn’t? There’s no telling what you’ll have to face in there. What happens if singing doesn’t work?”

I feel my eyes go wide. I hadn’t considered that. I never imagined the tomb might be different. Never imagined it might be worse.

“I don’t know what condition you’re going to be in, after it’s over,” Fifer continues. “You’re also weaker now than you were then, when you were training every day, and you’re hurt. If Schuyler is there, he can help you destroy the tablet. Besides you, he’s the only one strong enough to do it.”

I turn to him. “You agreed to this? Why?”

Schuyler sighs. And for once he doesn’t look amused or indifferent. For once I can see the years and the things he knows flash across his eyes, a dark shadow behind the blue.

“Because Fifer asked it of me,” he says. “Because I don’t want her going in there alone. Because I don’t want Nicholas to die. Because I think Blackwell is more dangerous than any of us knows. Because if I don’t, I’m going to be hunted as much as you are.” He shrugs. “I’ve got a very long life ahead of me. I don’t want to spend it running.”

I sink down on the deck and draw my knees to my chin. No one says anything; there’s nothing to say. But after a minute George scoots next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says firmly. “I told the others: Anyone who can take on Hastings and live to talk about it can take on anything.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe that’s what the test will be. A ghost, a basket of flour, and a brace of dead fowl.” Fifer and Schuyler smile.

But when I look at John, he’s not smiling at all.



The sun begins to set. The waters around us go calm, but the sailors on board grow loud. A few bring out instruments, a violin and a lute, and begin warbling off-key tunes. Others begin a loud game of cards on deck. Another group starts throwing dice.

George stands up. “I think I’ll try to get in on that card game,” he says. “Try to win back our passage money. Anyone feel like staking me?”

John pulls out a couple of coins and tosses them to him. “This is all I have left. Try not to lose it all in the first hand.”

George looks shocked. “Me? Lose? I think not. I’ll have our money back within the hour—just you wait.” He winks at me and gallops down the stairs.

“I think I’ll go for a walk around deck,” Schuyler says. “Gaze at the moonlight and all that. If that’s all right with you.” He looks at John. “Wouldn’t want to anger the warden.”

John shrugs. “As long as Fifer goes with you. And as long as she keeps a sword on you at all times.”

Fifer snatches the Azoth off the deck and pokes the blade against Schuyler’s back.

“Feisty.” Schuyler grins. “Shall we?” He holds his arm out for Fifer. They walk down the stairs and across the deck, their heads together, whispering.

I turn to John. “You let them go off together?”

“Clearly, they go off together all the time. I haven’t been able to stop it yet and I’m not likely to. At least I can make sure she’s armed.”

I smile. Then I realize he’s left here alone with me. No doubt the last place in the world he’d want to be.

“I guess I’ll just go to sleep now,” I say.

John lifts an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me to leave?”

“I—no,” I say. “I guess I’m just saying you don’t have to stay.”

“I’m fine,” John says. “But I am hungry. Are you?”

“I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He smiles a little. “It’s really a yes or no question.”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll be back.” I watch him go. I don’t know why he cares if I’m hungry or not. I guess because he knows in order to keep Nicholas alive, he needs to keep me alive. Which includes keeping me fed. I can’t take it to mean anything but.

He returns a few minutes later, carrying a bundle of cloth. He unwraps it and lays the contents in front of me. Cheese, figs, apples, ham, a loaf of bread, a flask of water.

“No cake,” he says. “Sorry. But I did ask.”

I blink. “No, this is perfect.”