The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Sixty-Two

My jaw dropped nearly to the floor. I staggered, tripping over my feet in a moment of shock.

Reed caught my arm and steadied me. "Fyra? What's wrong?"

I simply pointed.

They all turned to look, and Lark let out a small, quiet gasp.

"Fyra," she said. "That's-"

"I know." I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I guess I messed up."

"Don't apologize for thinking the world to be better than it really is," said Lark. "Optimism is a good thing."

"Except when it's not," Bran added. "Kind of like now."

Lark glared at him. "Way to undermine my point."

"Anyway." Bran grinned shakily. "What do we do?"

"Good question," said Reed. "I'm not sure."

"We've got to do something."

"Yeah, I know, just give me a minute. I've got to think."

"Maybe the rescue Blesseds can help?" I suggested.

"That's a lot of villagers," Reed said. "They might not be able to overpower them all. Plus—they're coming into this without knowing that we've been found out."

"I can fix that," I said. "Bran?"

He offered his hand to me, and I took it. Power flowed through my limbs. I sent it out to the deathbirds and had one land on the deck of the Calamity, where the rescue Blesseds had begun to assemble. Cass rushed over immediately. She looked strange through the bird's eyes—as though she was proportioned differently than she was in real life. Or maybe it had something to do with the way she towered over me.

The bird's instinct at her approach was to flap away quickly. I soothed it quickly, telling it that I knew Cass—that she wasn't going to hurt it.

"What's wrong?" Cass asked. "Is something going on?"

I—the bird—nodded.

"Something bad?"

I began to nod. Something jolted into me, and I—no the bird—no, it really was me this time—hit the ground hard.

A wave of music flew over me, and my attacker gave a screech of terror as he was lifted from the ground and thrown backward. Lark moved forward to help me up. She directed a glare at the man who'd pushed me.

"You stay away," she growled. "Don't touch her. Don't touch any of us."

I looked around, slightly dizzy from the sudden transition from bird to body. The Blesseds had moved to surround us. They stayed back, though, clearly wary of Reed's tight grip on his pen and the way Lark's bow hovered above her violin strings.

The Head Man pushed through the crowd, Mam still at his side.

"Drop your weapons," he said.

"We're not carrying weapons," Bran shot back. "We're just kids, in case you've forgotten. Did you expect us to all have daggers and axes?"

"Drop your weapons," the Head Man repeated.

"We're not carrying any weapons."

"Yes, you are." He motioned to our friends. "Lark's violin? Reed's pen? Those count as weapons."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Angrily, Mam pushed past the Head Man to glare at Bran. "You will mind your manners, Bran Rayden. You're speaking to the Head Man. Our leader."