Perry had seen him this way twice—on the day Cinder had burned his hand, and when he’d laid waste to a tribe of Croven—but it stunned him again.
“I never should have trusted you!” Cinder yelled.
“Wait,” Perry said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
It was too late. Cinder spun, and shot outside.
8
ARIA
Roar ran up a short while later, as Aria approached the compound with Molly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said, wrapping Aria in a quick hug. “You made me worry.”
“Sorry about that, pretty.”
“You should be. I hate worrying.” He clutched Molly’s free arm, and together they pulled her as quickly as she could manage to the cookhouse.
Inside, the tribe was packed together, crowding at the tables and along the walls. Molly left to check on River, and Roar went to see Bear. Aria spotted Twig, the lanky Aud who’d been with her on the journey there. She slid onto the bench beside him and scanned the buzzing hall. People were in a panic over the storm, talking over one another in brittle voices, their faces tight with fear.
She wasn’t surprised to see Brooke a few tables over with Wylan, the fisherman with dark, shifty eyes who’d cursed her under his breath at Perry’s house. She saw Willow nestled between her parents, with Old Will and Flea nearby, and the rest of the Six, who never strayed far from Perry’s side. As her gaze moved from one person to the next, a sense of dread rolled through her, making her fingertips tingle. She didn’t see Perry.
Roar walked over and dropped a blanket over her shoulders. He edged Twig aside and sat beside her.
“Where is he?” she asked plainly, too anxious for caution.
“At his house. Bear said he knocked his shoulder out of joint. He’s fine.” Roar’s dark eyes flicked to her. “But it was close.”
Aria’s stomach clenched. Her ears latched onto Perry’s name drifting across the tables in a wave of whispers. She sifted through the din and grabbed onto Wylan’s spiteful tone, her eyes finding him again. A group of people had gathered around him.
“… he jumped in like an idiot. Reef had to fish him out. Almost didn’t get to him in time, either.”
“I heard he saved Old Will,” someone else said.
Wylan’s voice again. “Old Will wouldn’t have drowned! He knows the sea better than any of us. I was gonna get him on the line on my next cast. Right now I’d feel better if Flea were wearing that damned chain.”
Aria touched Roar’s arm. Do you hear Wylan? He’s horrible.
Roar nodded. “He’s all bluster. You’re the only one who’s actually listening to him, trust me.”
Aria wasn’t sure about that. She wove her hands together, her leg bouncing beneath the table. Both the hearths blazed, warming the hall. It smelled of damp wool and mud, and the sweat of too many bodies. People had brought treasured belongings from their homes. She saw a doll. A quilt. Baskets packed with smaller items. An image appeared in her mind of the falcon carvings on the sill in Perry’s house. Then of Perry, there alone. She should be with him.
Aether funnels struck outside, their distant shrieks carrying to her ears. Faint tremors vibrated up through the soles of her boots. She wondered if Cinder was out in the storm, but she knew that—of anyone—he’d be safe under the Aether.
“Do we just sit here?” she asked.
Roar ran a hand over his wet hair, making it spike. He nodded. “A storm this close, this is the safest place to be.”
At Marron’s, the storms hadn’t been nearly as frightening. Everyone in the compound retreated deep underground to the old mining caves of Delphi. There Marron had provisions at the ready. Even diversions, like music and games.
Another deep rumble thrummed through the floorboards. Aria looked up as dust shook loose from the rafters, sprinkling the table in front of her. In the cooking area, pots rattled softly. Nearby, Willow hugged Flea, her eyes shut tight. Aria hardly heard anyone talking now.
She reached for Roar again. You need to do something. They’re petrified.
Roar lifted an eyebrow. “ Ido?”
Yes, you. Perry’s not here, and I can’t. I’m a Mole, remember? No, wait. I’m a Mole tramp.
Roar stared at her, seeming to weigh his options. “All right. But you owe me.” He crossed the room to a young man with a cobra tattoo that wove around his neck, and nodded to the guitar leaning against the wall. “Can I borrow that?”
After a moment of surprise, the young man handed over the instrument. Roar returned and sat up on the table, propping his feet on the long bench. He began testing the strings, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he adjusted the tension. He was meticulous, as she would’ve been. They both heard in perfect pitch. Anything less would’ve grated on their nerves.
“So,” he said, satisfied. “What are we singing?”
“What do you mean we, Roar? You’re doing it.”
He smiled. “But it’s a duet.” He played the opening notes to a song by her favorite band, Tilted Green Bottles. Over the winter he couldn’t get enough of the song. “Arctic Kitten,” a ballad, was supposed to be sung overly romantically, which made the lyrics more ridiculous than they already were.
Roar had the romantic part down. He strummed the first riffs, his dark brown eyes intent on her, his lips pulled in a subtle, seductive smile. He was joking, but it was almost enough to make her blush. Aria felt the attention of everyone on them now.
When he sang, his voice was smooth and rich with humor. “Come thaw my frozen heart, my little arctic kitten.”
Unable to resist, Aria jumped in and picked up the next line. “No chance, my yeti man, I’d rather be frostbitten.”
“Let me be your snowman. Come live in my igloo.”
“I’d rather freeze to death than hibernate with you.”
Aria couldn’t believe they were singing such a stupid song to people who were wet and scared stiff—who had Aether funnels pounding down around them. Roar bought into it fully, his hands beating a cheerful rhythm out of the strings. She forced herself to match his enthusiasm as they kept on, back and forth.
She expected the Tides to throw mugs or shoes at her at any moment. Instead she heard a muffled snort, and then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a few smiles. When they sang the chorus together—which involved some melodic purring—a few people laughed openly, and she finally relaxed, letting herself enjoy something she did well. Verywell. She’d been singing all her life. Nothing felt more natural.
After Roar plucked the last notes, there was a beat of perfect silence before the sounds of the storm filtered back in and the chatter of the hall returned. Aria peered at the faces around her, picking up snatches of conversation.
“Barmiest song I’ve heard in all my life.”
“Funny, though.”
“What’s a yeti?”
“I’ve got no idea, but the Mole sings like an angel.”
“I heard she was the one who found River.”
“You think she’ll sing something else?”
Roar bumped his shoulder into hers. He raised an eyebrow. “So? Will she sing again?”
Aria straightened her back and filled her lungs. They thought “Arctic Kitten” was something special? They hadn’t heard anything yet.
She smiled. “Yes. She will.”
9
PEREGRINE
For the first time in months, no one noticed Perry as he stepped into the cookhouse. All eyes were fixed on Aria and Roar. He pulled himself into the shadows and leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth at the pain that shot down his arm.
Roar sat on top of one of the trestle tables at the center of the hall, playing a guitar. Beside him, Aria sang, with a relaxed smile on her lips and her head tipped to the side. Her black hair hung in wet strands that spilled over her shoulder.
Perry didn’t recognize the song, but he could tell she and Roar had sung it before by the way they were in pitch sometimes and sometimes apart, twining like birds in flight. He wasn’t surprised to see them singing together. Growing up, Roar had always turned unlikely things into songs to make Liv laugh. Sounds connected Roar and Aria, just as scents connected Scires. But another part of him couldn’t stand seeing them having fun, right after he’d almost drowned.