Ravenous (21 page)

IT HAS BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE WE DEFEATED THE WITCH, AND SINCE
Vincali and his mercenaries vacated the palace. Now I have a promise to keep. If it isn't already too late.

We make an odd procession through the city, newly flooded and adorned with fresh clinging seaweed and dying, stranded fish. Many of the Belladomans returned with us to the city to survey the damage to their homes. Last night was the last day of the full moon, and the Sonzeeki will rest until the cycle begins again.

“This is even worse than I imagined,” Hans says beside me.

I nod. “It is an awful price they pay for Ensel's greed.”

“I wish we could do something to help.”

I suppress a small smile. It took weeks for my hatred of
these people to transform into something like understanding and sympathy. But for Hans, one look was all he needed. He's always had a kinder heart than me.

But he's right. We do need to do something. I even have a plan. I just need to convince King Oliver it's a good one.

As we walk up the cracked palace steps, I realize this is the first time I've come here through the front door. The flagstones shift and crack under our weight, slippery from last night's floodwaters. A contingent of the Bryrian army waits outside in case there's any trouble while we push open the creaking rusted gates. The palace hasn't changed in the past few days. Cold and dusty, and smelling of old salty seawater. No servants remain behind; they probably fled the moment Vincali left. I run to the abandoned guardhouse and tear down the stairs, Ren and Hans hard at my heels.

“Greta, wait! You don't know what's down there,” Ren says.

“I know exactly what's down here: a man Ensel locked up.”

“But there could be a trap. What if Vincali—”

I take the stone stairs two at a time into the depths of the dungeons until I can no longer hear Ren. Hans knows better than to try to stop me. The newer areas are mostly empty, with a few scattered faces. Bryrian guards will be along shortly to let them out too. When I reach the last section of the prison, I round the final corner and enter the familiar hallway that held my parents and the king's former adviser. The sounds of the boys' footsteps echo behind me, but they haven't caught up yet.

My eyes drift to the cell where my parents were held, where I found the last letter from Mama and Papa, then the cell across from it. The heap of rags lies motionless in the corner. Did Vincali and his men even know he was down here? Did they bother to feed him? Or were they content to let him die?

I don't even know the man's name to call it out and rouse him if he's asleep.

Hans reaches me first and swallows hard. “This is where Mama and Papa were all that time?”

“In that cell over there,” I say, pointing. He places a hand on the bars and peers inside, but there isn't much to see.

Ren finally catches up, holding something in his hands. The keys. “Opening his cell might be tricky without these,” Ren says.

“Thanks. I suppose I was in too much of a hurry.” He hands them over. I clench my fists around the circular key ring so my hands won't shake.

“Hello?” I call, but the shape makes no answer. I fumble for the right key, and after several tries, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

I drop to my knees by the pile of rags and gently shake his shoulder. To my intense relief, he moves.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, pulling out a piece of bread from my satchel.

The groggy man sits up with some help from us, his milky eyes registering recognition. “So you are a girl of your word.” He takes the bread and tears into it greedily,
while eying Hans and Ren with interest. I hope he doesn't get sick from eating too fast.

“I told you I'd come back if I could. The mercenaries are gone. Thank you for telling me about my parents. If not for you, I'd never have known what happened to them. Nor would my brother, Hans.” My eyes burn as I gesture to my sibling, and I turn my face away from the others. No one needs to see me cry. “Giving you back your freedom is the least I can do.”

The man's eyes glitter. Perhaps the bread is reviving him. “Do you have any water?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” I hand him my flask, and he downs half of it in one gulp.

“Ah, now that is what has been in shortest supply down here. Fresh water.”

Ren frowns, then shudders. He must remember the time he spent in these dungeons.

“I must ask,” I say, when the man is done with his small meal, “what is your name? You never said when I was here before.”

“Manson,” he says. “Manson Cartwright, disgraced former adviser to the king.”

“Well, Manson Cartwright, can you walk?”

“Let's find out,” he says, grinning lopsidedly. We help him to his feet and slowly head back to the stairs. We half carry him up the stairwell, and I'm glad Ren and Hans came with me. It would take far longer without them.

Slowly but steadily the four of us make our way down the dirty hall toward the main doors of the palace. Manson
seems delighted each time he manages to put one foot in front of the other.

“How long were you down there?” Hans asks.

Manson shrugs. “Who knows? Months? Years? Time does not pass in the same manner when one's surroundings do not change. I tried to keep track at first, but grew bored and lost count.”

We push the heavy double doors open, and daylight pours over Manson's face. He sighs, breathing in the fresh air deeply.

King Oliver, Dalen, and the Bryrian soldiers wait on the steps of the palace. To my surprise, a large crowd of Belladomans has gathered too. They must wish to know what we plan to do with their city now that Vincali is gone.

Many of them gape at Dalen, but he insisted on coming with us. After all, plenty of Belladomans saw him when we overpowered the mercenaries the other day. His secret is out; there's no more reason to hide.

But that doesn't mean we need to spill the details of the hybrid village just yet. Caution is still necessary. He paws the ground nervously when he sees the skin-and-bones man hanging between Ren and me.

But then Manson stands up straighter, cautiously putting his full weight on his own two feet. Murmurs roll through the gathered crowd as the people recognize him. The king comes forward and shakes his hand.

“Greta tells me you were once an adviser to the kings of Belladoma,” King Oliver says. “I am Bryre's king and I wish to help this city. Since you know it better than all of
us, I would welcome your advice on how best to do that.”

Manson's eyes trail over to me, something sparking in them. He looks back at King Oliver. “Manson Cartwright, and I'd be happy to, Your Majesty.”

I step forward, leaving Hans to stand by Ren. “If I may, King Oliver, I have an idea or two that I'd like to share with you.” I realize now that I was overstepping the last time I brought an idea to the king. This time I'm determined to do it right.

King Oliver raises an eyebrow. “You want to help this city?”

I swallow the needles in my throat. “I understand it seems unlikely, but much has changed in the last few weeks.”

He regards me appraisingly and I swear the milling crowd holds its breath. “All right. Let's hear it.”

I take a deep breath as Hans appears at my side. I smile gratefully at him. “You came to Belladoma to bring food and supplies. But that is a temporary fix. While generous, it only addresses the short-term effects of a much bigger problem.” The crowd murmurs. They know all too well what that problem is.

“Even if the cornucopia can provide enough food to sustain the entire city, it will never be a permanent solution. The city is falling apart. There are tunnels that run beneath the castle and the streets and alleys. I've gotten to know them well while I've been here, and they are not in good shape and need to be repaired. It is not enough to feed the people of this city. Soon we'll need to house and clothe them too, if we don't stop the Sonzeeki.”

Hans squeezes my hand and I can feel the weight of his eyes on me. I have not even shared this plan with him.

“That is a fair assessment, Greta,” King Oliver says. “But how can we stop a beast like that? No arrow has ever pierced its shell. And trying to scale the cliff when it rises is a suicide mission.”

“Give it what it wants.”

Ren gasps. “But it wants the cornucopia! The people here need it to eat.”

“The people need to be able to grow their own food and trade with others more. The Sonzeeki is the cornucopia's rightful owner.”

“Ren has a point. That cornucopia is what we had planned to use to help Belladoma,” King Oliver says.

“At first, I was conflicted about relinquishing it, too. We could use it to feed Belladoma's people. But like all magic, there would be a price.” Hushed whispers ripple through the gathered crowd. “I can't stand the thought of the entire city being tainted by reliance on magic. It's already much too late for the Sonzeeki. If the cornucopia's used to feed the beast instead, Belladoma could again grow crops and truly rejuvenate itself. Even you have to admit that's a far better solution than more bloodshed or permanent dependence on magic.”

King Oliver considers my words for a long moment. Then he frowns. “You make a good case, but how do you propose we return it to the beast? If we send it over the cliff, it might get swept away by the tide. If we wait until the next full moon when the beast rises, someone might get eaten in the process.”

“The same way Ensel reached it the first time.”

“And how exactly did he do that?”

Manson, realizing what I plan to suggest, begins to laugh. “King Oliver, this Greta is a smart one, I tell you. Very smart indeed.”

I sneak a glance at Dalen, and he nods encouragingly. I don't like using magic, but it needs to be done. Though I resented Belladoma for a long time, I can't leave my mother's city—my family's city—to rot and ruin. It would make me no better than Ensel.

“Ensel had potions, one of which allowed him to breathe underwater. The wizard gave them to him. That is how he snuck into the Sonzeeki's lair and stole the cornucopia in the first place. I found these potions. I . . . I have tested them before.”

Understanding flashes in King Oliver's eyes. “Do any of those potions happen to make one invisible?” No doubt their escape from the threshing house so many nights ago now makes more sense to him.

“Yes, sire. And since I have used them, I volunteer to return the cornucopia to the beast. I am an excellent swimmer for one, and I have the potions.”

“Greta, I cannot ask you to do such a thing.” King Oliver folds his arms across his chest.

“I must. I need to face the beast down. It will haunt my nightmares forever if I don't.” I shudder involuntarily.

“Magic is too dangerous; you don't know what it might do.”

“Actually,” Manson says, stepping forward and grabbing
my arm, “we know exactly what these potions will do. Or at least I do.”

My face flashes hot as he pushes my sleeve up to the elbow, revealing the many sores dotting my hands and arms. I hiss as the fabric brushes over them. They've gotten much worse since I drank the last potion. Hans sucks in his breath sharply and the king frowns.

“As I suspected,” Manson continues. “The potions are made from dark magic. They work very well, as I recall from my days with Ensel, but they take a blood price. Fortunately, they require only a small amount of magic, and the price is small, too.”

He releases my arm, and I let my sleeve fall back into place to hide the sores—and my trembling. I'd braced myself to admit to using magic, but I wasn't prepared to have the sores revealed like that. “Are they permanent?” I ask Manson.

He shakes his head. “No. The ones on Ensel cleared up within a week or two of using a potion. It takes what it needs for the spell, and then the user can heal. It isn't wise to use them too often or in the long term, but one more use will do you no lasting harm.”

King Oliver's face bears an unreadable look. “You know how I feel about using magic, Greta. I have never seen it lead to anything good.”

“I agree, sire,” Manson says. “And that is why I fear what reliance on the cornucopia could do to this city. I saw how it twisted Ensel, making him greedier and more paranoid than ever. I understand perfectly the temptation to use
it, but the price might destroy Belladoma in the long run.”

The king sighs. “I have to agree that it is best to ensure the cornucopia is returned to the beast so it will leave Belladoma alone. But I don't like the idea of sending you down there. There must be another way.”

My fingers clench around the vial in my pocket. I have to be the one to do this. If my mother were here, she would do the same without hesitation. I was going to leave these people with no way out, hungry in a crumbling city. I need to make amends. “No. This is the only way. I will not give the potion to someone else. I need to do this.”