The Iron Thorn - Caitlin Kittredge [100]
My father’s book had talked about the Winnowing Stone. I had the distinct feeling I didn’t want to meet it. Not yet, anyway.
“If you were going to kill me,” I said, raising my chin so he had to meet my eyes, “you would have done it the first time I came through the hexenring. Or left me for the corpse-drinkers. Either way, you want me alive. For something.”
I only hoped my fate wasn’t worse than being consumed by one of those cackling, horrid things in the mist.
“So it is,” Tremaine said, all traces of humor gone from his face. “You must think you’re a clever girl, Aoife?”
My jaw set. “I do my best.”
Tremaine’s delicately hewn face rippled, just for a moment, with anger. It was the first emotion of any kind I’d seen pass over his features. “I despise clever girls,” he spat. “Come along. I’ve something to show you.”
When he got a few steps ahead of me and I stayed immobile, he threw up his hands. “It’s the truth, you wretched human. I swear on silver. Now come along before I fetch you by that bird’s nest you call hair.”
I felt my eyes go wide. Even when I was just an orphan, not even an Academy student, people rarely spoke to me like that, either out of breeding or out of fear of my madness.
“Where are the other Folk?” I blurted. The question had been niggling me since the day before. “My father’s writings speak of Folk. Not just one. And his chambermaid has seen scores of you.” I put my hand on my hip, cocked it, doing my best imitation of Dean. He was the only person I could picture standing up to Tremaine.
The pale man scoffed, his nostrils flaring out like the sails of a weather ship. “So?”
“So,” I returned, “what’s happened to the rest?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Tremaine said quietly, his tone like a knife in the dark, “for someone who won’t like the answers.”
“Why did you bring me here?” I pressed on. “Why do you want me and not my father?”
“I do want your father!” Tremaine exploded. He closed on me, looming a head taller, his eyes ablaze.
I went cold and insensible all over, but I let the fear root me to the spot rather than drive me on. I wasn’t running from Tremaine. He’d enjoy it far too thoroughly.
“I would vastly prefer him,” Tremaine amended through gritted teeth, his nostrils and body quivering with suppressed rage. “You think I want a simpering child when I could have a gifted future Gateminder? I do not. But you are all that is left, Aoife, and the sooner that you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”
“I want my brother.” I could grit my teeth too.
“And I want the sky to open and rain down fine green absinthe,” Tremaine returned. “Neither of us will be gratified today.” His hand snapped out, quick as the traps of Graystone, and seized my arm. It was the first time he’d been overtly violent, but I can’t say he surprised me. Tremaine jerked at me. “Now, are you going to come along, or do I have to drag you?”
I looked up, away, so I wouldn’t have to meet those burning coal eyes any longer. If I stared Tremaine in the face, I’d lose my nerve. We’d come a distance—the sky was pure white now, clouds giving me a glimpse of a pink sunset—but only a glimpse. The air tasted cold and sharp. Winter seemed to hold sway, and I pulled Tremaine’s jacket closer with my free arm.
“Tell me where the rest are,” I whispered, “and I’ll follow you.”
Tremaine warred with himself a moment, shutting his eyes. His lashes were long and crystalline, and if I hadn’t known what he was I’d have thought him beautiful beyond compare. As it was, he just reminded me of a wicked springheel jack—the creature with the beautiful face hiding a ravenous monster.
“The Land of Thorn is no longer a fruitful land,” he finally bit out. “Many of the Folk have gone or fled, and many have simply wasted away. I am stronger, and I remain. That’s all the answer your clever mind is getting.” He snatched my arm again and growled through his pointed teeth. “Now, come.”
Having no way of getting back to Graystone on