Matthew Sharpclaw's Arc

Chapter 7 of 12

Rarespot crossed the snow and stopped a few paces from the iron staff. She lifted her chin. She waited for the man to look at her. He did not. His hood stayed turned toward Matthew, like she was a stone in the field he had already stepped around. "Vesna," the man said again, but his eyes were on Matthew now. "Stand where you are." Rarespot's ears twitched. The snow under her boots glittered, smooth and quiet, a clean blanket she was no longer the center of. She had walked out to meet an old enemy and found herself excluded from her own confrontation. The man drew a long scroll from inside his cloak. Gold lettering ran down its length. He held it up so Matthew could see. "This is yours, boy. Your signature line. Your name at the bottom." Matthew's stomach dropped. The snake had never been the prize. Rarespot had never been the prize. The ultimatum had been written for him from the start. "You," the man said, soft, "are what she gave up her old life to protect. So you are what I take." He produced a second paper, sealed with dark blue wax shaped like a crescent moon. "Sign. Come with me. Or the strike teams move tonight, not in six days. Your friend's hospital. The sanctuary. Everyone inside." Matthew's hands shook. He thought of Lyra at the bay window. He thought of Redtail's words about borrowing trouble. He looked at his mom standing alone in the snow, locked out of a fight that had always been about him. He stepped forward. "I'll sign," he said. "But she walks away first. Both of them. Off this field." The man smiled under the hood. He set the sealed letter on the snow between them. Matthew knelt and broke the wax. Behind him, Rarespot made a sound he had never heard her make. Somewhere far off, past the ridge, a single cherry tree stood pink against the gray, blooming where it should not. Matthew pressed his name to the page. The deadline closed. He had bought his mothers their safety, and traded himself for it.