Silver Secrets

Chapter 22: Mel

The road to Highhold is steep and narrow, zigzagging up the mountainside until the spindly trees give way to bare grey rock and bundles of scrubby heather. I'm starting to realise why Rowan chose such sturdy mounts.

The nights are becoming bitterly cold, and I'm glad to have Rowan's warmth to snuggle into every night, though every time he puts his arm around me to draw me in close to him, I have to fight back a twinge of guilt. I have no right to be cuddling him like this when in my bag I carry a knife that could not only kill him, but make his death long and painful. I've seen what silver can do, now, and every time my fingers brush the sheepskin sheath at the bottom of my bag, my heart gives a little jump, as if touching it somehow makes it more real, makes Rowan more likely to find it. I want to fling it into a mountain meadow and let the winter snows bury it, but I have a feeling that won't be enough. Captain Holanan gave me this knife for a reason; somehow, I feel like getting rid of it won't be as easy as simply dropping it. I have to settle for hiding it at the very bottom of my bag. As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to throw this thing somewhere nobody will ever, ever find it.

On an evening where the clouds still crouch low over the ground—or maybe we're just so high up that we're walking through the sky itself—a stone arch fades into view ahead of us. A wall flanks it to either side, crumbling in places and standing strong in others. It disappears off into the fog as far as I can see on both sides. The whole world is as grey as a corpse, and it's difficult to tell where the stone ends and the fog begins. I nudge Ember forward, but Rowan stays where he is.

The arch and the wall look like they could be a part of the mountain itself, with the way they rise up from the ground so seamlessly, but there are unreadable runes climbing up the arch. I reach out and trace one with fingers numb from the cold. This is no natural land-form.

We made it.

"Are you ready?" says Rowan from behind me, the fog muffling his voice.

I don't know what we're going to find in Highhold. Part of me hopes that maybe somehow, someone survived, and started to rebuild all the way up here in the clouds. I'm sure they could teach me more than some book ever could. Maybe they even remember my mother. The rational part of me knows that here, we will find only ghosts. Nobody survived the Highhold earthquake.

Everybody knows that.

I nod mutely, my throat too dry to speak.

The ground rises sharply as we pass under the gate, and I grip the saddle so tightly it makes my thighs burn. Shapes come into view as we ascend, vague and dark in the fog.

"Houses," I whisper as we pass one squatting at the side of the road, glowering at us with empty windows. "There are houses still standing."

The ground levels out. Even though I can't see it, I can sense the mountain towering above us like a disapproving parent. I get the distinct feeling that we are intruding someplace sacred and holy.

Rowan dismounts, apparently not sharing my sentiment. He turns in a slow circle, peering into the mist with his hands on his hips. "I think this must be some sort of village square," he says, after offering me his hand to help me down from the saddle. When I don't reply, he tilts my chin up so I have to look at him instead of at the ground. "Are you all right?"

I shrug. "I think so." I swallow hard. "I guess I'd just hoped this place wouldn't be so..."

"Hollow?" Rowan ventures. I nod. It's as good a description as any.

"I guess I'd hoped someone survived." My eyes start to sting, to my immense annoyance. "Sorry. It's stupid."

"No, it's natural," Rowan says firmly, pulling me into a hug. I bury my face in his woolen cloak, expecting to sob until my head hurts, but nothing happens.