He hesitated, clearly unwilling to do something as unmanly as surrender his blade to his sister, but at last let her take it. She held the sharp edge over her finger for long moments, biting her lip.
“Hurry!”
When she did not immediately comply, he shot out his good arm, seized her hand, and forced her skin against the knife blade. It cut, but not too deeply; by the time she had finished cursing him the worst of the sting was over. A red pearl appeared on her fingertip. Barrick took her hand, far more gently now, and brought her finger against his.
It was a strange moment, not because of the sensation itself, which was nothing more noteworthy than the girl would have expected from rubbing a still-sore finger against her brother’s, smearing a little blood across the whorled fingertips, but because of the intensity in Barrick’s eyes, the way he watched that daub of red with the avidity of someone witnessing something far more arresting: lovemaking or a hanging, nakedness or death.
He glanced up and saw her staring. “Don’t look at me like that. Do you swear you’ll never reveal what I tell you? That the gods can punish you horribly if you do?”
“Barrick! What a thing to say. I’m not going to tell anyone, you know that.”
“We’ve shared blood, now. You can’t change your mind.”
She shook her head. Only a boy could think that a ceremony with knives and finger cutting was a stronger bond than having shared the warm darkness of a mother’s womb. “I won’t change my mind.” She paused to find the words to convey her certainty. “You know that, don’t you?” “Very well. I’ll show you.”
He stood up, and to his sister’s surprise, clambered onto a block of wood that had been used as a pantry stool since before either of them could remember, then scrabbled in the back of one of the upper shelves before pulling out a bundle wrapped in a cleaning rag. He took it down and sat again, holding it carefully, as though it were something alive and potentially dangerous. The girl was caught between wanting to lean forward and wanting to scramble away, in case anything might jump out at her. When the stained cloth had been folded back, she stared.
“It’s a statue,” she said at last, almost disappointed. It was about the size of one of the privy garden’s red squirrels sitting up on its hind legs, but there the resemblance to anything ordinary ended: the hooded figure, face almost entirely hidden, was made of cloudchip crystal, gray-white and murky as frost in some places, clear and bright as cathedral glass in others, with colors ranging from the palest blue to pinks like flesh or watered blood. The squat, powerful figure held a shepherd’s crook; an owl crouched on its shoulder like a second head. “It’s Kernios.” She had seen it somewhere before, and reached out her hand to touch it.
“Don’t!” Barrick pulled it back, wrapped the cloth around it again. “It’s...it’s bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I just...I hate it.”
She looked at him curiously for a moment, then suddenly remembered. “Oh, no! Barrick, is that...is that the statue from the Erivor Chapel? The one Father Timoid was so angry about when it went missing?”
“When someone stole it. That’s what he said, over and over.” Barrick flushed, a bold burst of red on his pale cheeks. “He was right.”
“Zoria’s mercy, did you...?” He did not speak, but that was an answer in itself. “Oh, Barrick, why?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I hate it. I hate the way it looks, so blind and quiet, just...thinking. Waiting. And I can feel it all the time, but it’s even worse when I’m in the chapel. Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“It...I don’t know. It’s hot. It makes a hot feeling in my head. No, that’s not right. I can’t say. But I hate it.” His little face was determined again, pale and stern. “I’m going to throw it into the moat.”
“You can’t! It’s valuable! It’s been in the family for...for a long time.”
“I don’t care. It’s not going to be in the family any longer. I can’t even bear to look at it.” He stared at her. “Remember, you promised, so you can’t tell anyone. You swore an oath —we shared blood.”
“Of course I won’t tell. But I still don’t think you should do it.” He shook his head. “I don’t care. And you can’t stop me.”
She sighed. “I know. No one can stop you doing anything, redling, no matter how foolish. I was just going to tell you not to throw it in the moat.”
He stared at her from beneath a furious brow. “Why?”
“Because they drain it. Don’t you remember when they did it the summer before last and they found those bones of that woman who drowned?”
He nodded slowly. “Merolanna wouldn’t let us go see—like we were babies! I was so angry.” He seemed to regard her for the first time as a true collaborator rather than an antagonist. “So if I throw it in the moat, someone will find it someday. And put it back in the chapel.”
“That’s right.” She considered. “It should go into the ocean. Off the outwall behind the East Lagoon. The water comes up right under the wall there.”
“But how can I do it without the guards noticing?” “I’ll tell you how, but you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Just promise.”
He scowled, but she had obviously caught his curiosity. “So be it, I promise. Well, how do I throw it over without the guards seeing me do it?”
“I’ll go with you. We’ll say we want to go up and count the seagulls or something. They all think we’re children, anyway —they don’t pay any attention to what we do.”
“We are children. But why does you coming along help? I can throw it off myself, you know.” He looked down quickly at his clenched left hand. “I can get it into the water easily. It’s not very heavy.”
“Because I’m going to fall down just when we get to the top. You’ll be just in front of me and the guards will stop to help me—they’ll be terrified I’ve broken my leg or something— and you just step to the wall and...do it.”
He stared at her with admiration. “You’re clever, strawhead.”
“And you need someone like me to keep you out of trouble, redling. Now what about that promise?”
“Well?”
“I want you to swear on our blood oath that the next time you think of something like stealing a valuable statue out of the chapel, you’ll talk to me first.”
“I’m not your little brother, you know...!”
“Swear. Or the oath I made doesn’t count anymore.” “Oh, very well. I swear.” He smiled a little. “I feel better.” “I don’t. For one thing, think of all those servants who were stripped and searched and even beaten when Father Timoid was looking for the statue. It wasn’t their fault at all!”
“It never is. They’re used to it.” But he at least had the good sense to appear a little troubled.
“And what about Kernios? How is he going to feel about having his statue stolen and thrown into the sea?”
Barrick’s open expression shuttered again. “I don’t care about that. He’s my enemy.”
“Barrick! Don’t say such things about the gods!”
He shrugged. “Let’s go. Lady Simeon must have given up by now. We’ll come back and get the statue later. We can take it up to the wall tomorrow morning.” He stood, then reached down his good hand to help his sister, who was struggling with her long skirts. “We’d better clean this blood off our hands before we get back to the Residence or they’ll be wanting to know where we’ve been.”
“It’s not very much blood.”
“It’s enough to cause questions. They love to ask questions —and everyone pays attention to blood.”