Faces (35 page)

Mara couldn't really argue.
It's probably for the best
.

Indeed, Catilla had forbidden them from stopping at
any
villages, including Silverthorne, though Mara would also have liked to have told Herella how successful their Maskmaking had been. Instead they camped at night and rode during the day, eventually crossing out of Aygrima through the pass Mara had opened for the Lady scant weeks ago, and descending into the valleys north of the range, making their way to the Lady's village.

The place looked half-empty to Mara as she viewed it from horseback high above. Keltan had told her that the unMasked from the mines who had fled there had mostly gone south again the moment the Masks were gone. “And some of them,” he said, “are going to pose a problem for Edrik. Many will end up in other prisons sooner rather than later.” He sounded rather pleased by the idea.

Mara had insisted on coming this way, instead of riding to the Secret City and up the coast. “I will not go into the village,” she had promised Catilla, “but I left some personal items in the fortress I would like to retrieve.”

“And how do you plan to get into it without going into the village?” Catilla had demanded.

“I lived there for weeks,” Mara said. “I know a way in I doubt anyone in the village will have found.”

“Very well,” Catilla had said. “But only with an escort.”

And so, as darkness fell, Mara, Keltan, Whiteblaze and three of their guards rode down into the narrow ravine behind the mass of rock on which the castle perched. There Mara found the wolves' trail she had used when she had sneaked into the village without the Lady's knowledge, all those weeks ago. Together she and the others climbed up it, and crawled into the fortress through the low, hidden opening in the wall.

The castle had been sacked. The beautiful tapestries were torn and burned, the rich furniture missing or smashed, the pantry empty, everything of value gone. But none of that concerned Mara in the slightest. She led the way to the Lady's private chamber, found the loose rock the Lady had pried up in her presence . . . and took out the small chest containing the scrolls and books the Lady's father had retrieved from the Palace Library when they had fled Tamita, the ones that contained everything the scholars of old had learned about the rare Gift that she and the Lady and the Autarch shared.

She did not open the chest in the presence of the unMasked, and they, having been given no orders to interfere, let her take it without question.

The next morning, they continued their journey to the coast.

On a bright sunny morning they emerged from the woods onto the warm, stony beach that had been covered with corpses and snow the last time Mara had seen it. She had expected to see the wreck of
Defender
still keeled over on the beach where the Lady had flung it, with men working around it, but instead she gasped in surprise: the ship floated offshore, gleaming with fresh paint, sails neatly furled. The Engineers and magic sent from Tamita had indeed worked wonders.

Tents dotted the shore. Someone looked up and saw them, and gave a shout—and a moment later Chell himself came striding across the beach toward them. “Mara,” he said. “Keltan.” His gaze flicked to the wolf. “And Whiteblaze.” He looked back at Mara. “I have been waiting for you,” he said. “Word came that you had chosen to accompany us. I'm honored.”

“Catilla left me little choice,” Mara said. “But the truth is, I'm glad to be leaving Aygrima behind.” She looked at the unMasked who had accompanied them. “Your task is done,” she said. “Why don't you ride on home to your mistress?”

“Our task is not done until you are aboard that ship and sailing away from these shores,” Hathar, the leader, said unsmiling. “We will remain in camp until that is done.”

“Don't bother putting up your tents,” Chell said. “We've been ready to sail for two days.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Gifted Engineers are . . . amazing. Despite everything I had seen, I hadn't realized until now just how much we lost when we lost contact with Aygrima.”

“Magic can be used for more than destruction,” Mara said. “Or so they tell me.”

Chell opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. “I'll see you all aboard,” he said after a moment's pause.

An hour later, Mara stood on the deck of the reborn
Defender
and watched Aygrima slip away, the tents on the shore blending into the hills behind them, which faded into the mountains, which were eventually lost in haze. After that, there was only the sea.

She slept a lot those first couple of days. Slept, and talked with Keltan, and made sure Whiteblaze was fed and watered and exercised. They had meals with Chell, but Chell said nothing about what would happen once they reached his homeland. Mara knew what he wanted—knew that he hoped her Gift could somehow be used in his kingdom's war against Stonefell—but he held his tongue, and for that she was grateful.

Early on the morning of their third day at sea, she stood on deck with Whiteblaze at her side, staring over the rail at a school of flying fish glittering in the sun. Lieutenant Antril stood on the poop deck next to the helmsman, but otherwise the deck was deserted, the night watch heading to their bunks, the day watch still at breakfast.

They were galloping along, a brisk breeze filling the sails. A bit of spray splashed Mara's cheek. She jerked back from the railing in surprise . . . and in that instant, the iron Mask suddenly and without warning dropped from her face, clattering into the scuppers. Whiteblaze sniffed it curiously, then sat on his haunches and grinned up at her.

She gasped and gripped the railing, waiting for a rush of magic, or anger, or memory, or madness . . . but nothing happened. She felt just the same. She loosened her grip and took a deep breath. Something fluttered in her chest like a bird released from a cage.
Hope
, she thought.
I think that's
hope.

They were many days from Korellia. Many days before she had to make any decisions at all about what she would do in her new life.

For now, it was enough that she was free of the iron Mask, that she had left all of Aygrima free of the Masks that had enslaved them for so long; enough that she had Keltan and Whiteblaze with her.

She could feel, all around her, the magic in the bodies of the sailors in their ship. But the sea muted it. She didn't
crave
that magic. She didn't
need
it. She could leave it untapped.

For the moment.

She went in search of Keltan.

Behind her, the last Mask of Aygrima, forgotten and discarded, rocked gently to the motion of the great ship.

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