Isobel pursed her lips. “Fine. But where will we all go?”
“We could go back to the lair,” Alistair suggested, seeing that he was outnumbered. At least then they’d all be in his Landmark, which answered to him. Plus, his belongings were still there, and he needed them, now that Elionor had stolen every stone he’d had.
Except one.
“You call your Landmark your lair?” Alistair heard the Grieve ask, but he wasn’t paying attention. He reached into his sweater sleeve and pulled out the Lamb’s Sacrifice. He slid it back on with a relieved sigh. In this small way, he still had his brother.
“The Cave is too small for all of us,” Isobel said, and Alistair realized that Isobel was different now that she had her powers back. She was more confident, already the unspoken leader of the group. “You claimed the Castle, didn’t you? Take us there.”
The Grieve didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze settled on Alistair—more specifically, on the blood covering Alistair’s torn shirt. His face contorted into something cold, a look Alistair knew well. The Thorburn might’ve shared some sort of bond with Isobel, but Alistair had trouble believing the Grieve was loyal to anyone. Even if Isobel protected him for the time being at Briony’s request, if he saw an opportunity, he would strike.
“Fine,” the Grieve said flatly. “I’ll lead us there.”
“I know the way,” Isobel replied, shoving her spellstones littering the ground back into her pockets. One ring in particular—a white quartz—she slipped onto the chain of her necklace, beside her locket. Alistair realized it must’ve contained the finished recipe for Reaper’s Embrace, though she hadn’t charged it with magick yet. “You can help Alistair walk.”
Before Alistair could be offended, she shot him a pointed look. One that told him she didn’t trust the Grieve, either. Although Alistair appreciated the idea of keeping one’s enemies close, he wasn’t keen to wrap his arm around the Grieve’s shoulder and depend on him for support. Alistair might not have died, but his leg was still in bad shape and he was unarmed. And he didn’t like the way the Grieve looked at him, as though committing each of Alistair’s weaknesses to memory.
Isobel strode ahead, and the Thorburn hurried after her. Alistair dimly heard pieces of their conversation.
“So you have it back?” Briony murmured.
Isobel nodded. “Yes. Did you—？”
“I didn’t tell a soul.”
As they talked, the Grieve walked over to him and held out his hand. Alistair ignored it and pulled himself up with the help of a tree branch.
“How are you feeling?” the Grieve asked. From anyone else, the question would’ve seemed considerate. From the Grieve, it sounded like a threat.
“Like murder,” Alistair answered.
He took several steps forward, then tripped. He wasn’t sure if it was his own clumsiness or the weakness in his injured leg. The Grieve approached him like he was a wild animal, then he hesitantly slipped his muscular arm around Alistair’s waist. Alistair instantly tensed.
“Will you let me help you?” the Grieve asked with exasperation.
“Should I? Isobel owes the Thorburn a favor. What reason do you have to be spared?”
“It’s my Castle.”
“You’re still deadweight.”
The Grieve let go of Alistair, and Alistair crumpled gracelessly in the dirt. “Crawl there, Lair.”
“Fuck yourself, Castle.”
Alistair grimaced, not expecting the Grieve to actually run off through the trees. He cursed again and staggered back up. It took a considerable amount of strength—and an even more considerable amount of pain—but Alistair quickened his pace until he caught up with the others. They’d reached the end of the forest. In the distance, the Castle looked like a shadow cast across the moor, black ivy stretching across black rock. Alistair half expected lightning to flash behind its tower or a banshee’s scream to pierce the night.
Isobel studied the ground hesitantly. “Are there still landmines?”
“No,” the Grieve answered, striding forward, leading the way.
The three followed him across the moat bridge and into the fortress. The Castle was famously impenetrable to everything other than the Crown, a Relic which had yet to fall. It meant the four were safe … at least, to attacks from the outside.
As Alistair limped over the threshold, the moat’s drawbridge closed behind him with a foreboding thud.