46. Smoke from the city

Ada woke to the scent of smoke. Her eyes flickered open and were met with the palest of blue skies, as though the night had swept all colour from the world. She felt cold and bare without her cloak, and pins of grass prickled her cheek. But when she tried to roll onto her side, a weight kept her tethered to the ground.

The air stilled and Ada slid her gaze to the left. Past the green dimple in the earth, the river burbled into foam, but the sight was partially blocked by a body of black leather. Raeph lay dreaming in the early sunrise, his face half-pressed into Ada's hair. In their sleep, he had cast an arm across her waist, the tips of his fingers aligning with the grooves between her ribs. They had found each other in the darkness, unconsciously curling up on the cloak and sharing warmth throughout the night.

His wounded arm rested between them, although the cut appeared to be little more than a scratch now. A jagged line still marred his skin, but the calendula poultice had dried into a translucent peel, and the web of scorched veins beneath it had faded. Raeph's chest rose and fell with soft breaths, and Ada was careful not to disturb him as she slipped away.

Above his cut, Raeph's sleeve remained in matted tatters, and his tunic was crusted with muck. It had fallen loose in the night, and Ada saw that like her cloak, its inside was sewn with pockets. Her breath caught, fingers already inching toward the breast pocket that would be just large enough to hold a folded letter.

Raeph groaned, his bent arm shifting as he rolled onto his back, dark hair tumbling away from his face. The stream seemed louder upon the deserted hillside, like a voice willing the world to wake. Ada waited for a handful of seconds, but when it was clear that Raeph was still sleeping, she tugged back his tunic.

Her fingers fumbled to open the pocket. She was crouched over his body, not even daring to breathe in fear that he would wake. But his eyelids didn't so much as quiver when Ada skirted her fingers down to trace the seam of the pocket over and over again. It was empty.

Her hand was fisted when she withdrew it, and she let the leather thud back onto his chest, no longer caring if it woke him. She felt abruptly angry; angry at herself for agreeing to go to the seers' wretched cave, and for believing that she would have retrieved both the Saltsworn's name and her grandmother's letter by now. She was angry at Raeph for not even bringing the letter. Perhaps he had never planned to return it to her at all, twisting the words of their arrangement somehow and making him exempt from the dealing.

Ada hoped his arm still hurt. She had already helped him more than he deserved, and he would certainly not receive any more if he struggled to walk this morning. Her glare glazed over as she watched the tufted hill rise up over Raeph's head, and for a wild moment, her mind shouted at her to run. She could slip away with the breeze and fly to freedom. The valley would provide little cover, but maybe the Wystwood forest would be more forgiving in the sunlight, and she could wander through the fringing trees until she reached the bone arch, and after that towards the well.

But then what?

Across from her, the iron knife lay upon the soil, sheathed within wystwood. Solen's silver dagger caught the sunlight in keen flashes, but the wedge of wystwood almost merged into the hillside, its dark sheath belonging amongst grass and earth. Ada picked both blades up, weighing them upon her palm before coming to a decision: she wouldn't give Raeph the iron knife until he held to his side of the bargain. No matter what, she would retrieve her letter.

A sharp cough splinted the air and Raeph dragged his eyelids open. His attention immediately went to his arm, brows furrowing and stare darting as if he was unsure where he was. He heaved his body off of the cloak, hissing when he put his weight on his wounded arm and then clutching it to his chest. His gaze found Ada, at first wary, and then only a little breathless as he took in the hillside.

He grimaced when he saw the dried poultice, though seemingly not from pain as he started peeling long strips of it from his skin. The scar beneath was crinkled pink like the lip of a seashell. Ada didn't realise she was staring at it until Raeph's voice broke the silence, nodding his head towards Ada's bandaged palm.

"You didn't use any on yourself?" His voice was rough.

In truth, it had never occurred to Ada to use the poultice on herself. In the moment of panic, she had simply spread the salve as thickly as possible onto Raeph's arm, not knowing how much or little would help such a deep wound. But she didn't admit that aloud, shrugging instead as she wrapped her fingers around her makeshift bandage.

"You were in a far worse state than me," said Ada, and found herself staring past his face and into the stream. It felt stranger to be with him now than it had the night before, and she could suddenly hear the echoes of Raeph's anguish as he had spoken about his father to the moon. His eyes had been feverish, and sweat had slid down his neck. Ada cleared her throat. "I couldn't save your shirt, though."

She waved her hand approximately in the direction of his shoulder, boots scuffing at the soil. Raeph looked down at his sleeve, as if only just noticing his shirt had been ripped into ribbons. They didn't say anything for a while, the grass swirling around their legs in a ripple of green.

"I thank you." Ada heard Raeph murmur when she stooped to pick up her cloak. "For helping me."

She kept her eyes upon the rumpled velvet, brushing off specks of dirt as she hummed a faint acknowledgement. She could feel Raeph's gaze across her face as she tucked the two daggers back into her pocket. If he noticed the wystwood sheath, he said nothing. Ada straightened up, pulling the cloak on and tying it at her collar. But her fingers lost its bow half-formed when she stared down into the valley.

"Raeph," she gasped.

The man rose at her side, and Ada heard his breath still. A thread of smoke shuddered up from Wysthaven, creeping through the air and curdling the sky. It was pitch black, the colour of charred wreckage and new ruin. They didn't say a word as they started running, following the stream down towards the city. The closer they came, the more tendrils of smoke became clear, twining together and hazy with ash.

The valley rushed past in a tide of grass and a spray of pebbles. Ada's boots sent up clods of soil while her cloak billowed out behind her, and even when her lungs began to struggle, she kept her pace at Raeph's side.

When the earth finally began to level, and the sun had soared fully into the sky, they slowed their steps and stared into Wysthaven. What Ada had originally thought to be dawn shadows lingering beneath the archway had taken shape and substance, and Raeph huffed a curse as they watched three Hounds guard the city entrance. They slouched against the stone, weighed down by their chains but sunning their face, and looked as though they had been made to stand awake for many hours.

Raeph changed their path, dodging behind banks of earth before wading into the stream. They reached the city wall before the Hounds had a chance to scan the slope, and Raeph stalked towards the point where the stream met the towering brickwork. Ada trampled across pebbles nearby, her heart pounding even though she was certain they hadn't been spotted.

"What happened to the other boy?" she asked, then frowned and amended, "the other Hound?"

Raeph didn't reply, digging the toes of his boots into the riverbed until it suddenly deepened, the water rising up to his shin and tugging his leg downward. The stream was rushing into a basin built into the wall, swirling around like the whirlpools Ada had seen illustrated in storybooks as a child. Her legs felt rooted to the mudbank.

"We're not going to be able to get into the city through the archway. Even with gold, there'd be no promise we could bribe our way past that many Hounds." Raeph was speaking, but Ada was distracted by how deafening the stream's surging had become. "There's a route in below the city, but you're going to have to hold your breath."

Raeph was grim as he knotted pieces of loose clothing, then bent down to retie his bootlaces before taking another step into the water.

"I haven't done this in a while, but I don't think it runs too deep," he said. "We should surface again in a matter of..."

He trailed off when he glanced back at Ada, who stood trembling, toes not yet touching the water. She couldn't breathe, could hardly speak as she croaked, "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Raeph replied, eyes darting to the wall as if expecting chains to start seeping from the stones.

All Ada could do was shake her head. She felt the cold press on her lungs, heard the heavy rushing already filling her ears and weeping into her eyes. The memory of falling into the Wishing Well struck stronger in that moment than any nightmare of Hounds or seers or daggers, submerging her senses and stuttering her heartbeat.

"I can't," she repeated. "Not again."

She didn't hear Raeph wade out of the water, but felt his hands clamp down on her shoulders. His face filled her vision, and for once it wasn't anger that creased his features. He looked worried, almost as desperate as he had the night before, his eyes awash with moonlight.

"You can, Ada. Listen to me, we've got to get back into the city and find the others." Her name sounded odd on Raeph's tongue; deep and low and rumbling. It made her shiver. "I promise you'll be safe. All you have to do is jump."

Ada held his gaze and felt the sun stream golden into the valley. Then, she jumped.