The Storyspinner (4 page)

Chapter 8

Rafi

Rafi didn’t like being proved wrong, but Snout pointed out the blood spatter from the initial hit and even tracked back to the place the girl had stood when she took the ill-fated shot. Both were on the public side of the river.

“It was a right fine shot, if I may say so,” the tracker said as he scratched his perfectly average nose. His nickname hailed from his ability to sniff out any trail.

“It wasn’t a kill, Snout.” Rafi looked across the orchard but silently agreed with the tracker. With the low-hanging branches and shadows, it would have been a difficult mark for any man in his guard. “If she’d only waited for it to turn broadside.”

Then she wouldn’t be hurt, and I wouldn’t feel such a fool.

“Dom, send riders to town. Have them spread word that we found a girl lost in the woods. Say she was injured and is under our care,” Rafi said as he snapped a fallen twig in half. “I don’t expect anyone to claim the figureless urchin, but I’ve already been wrong once today.”

Dom snorted. “I’ll mark it in my journal, for I’m certain it will never happen again.”

Rafi punched his brother in the shoulder hard enough to knock the younger boy back a step.

“Careful with those fists, brother.” Dom rubbed the spot theatrically. “They tend to get you in trouble. Right, Snout?”

The tracker held back a smile, but only barely. “Is there anything else, Lord Rafael?”

“If anyone does claim the girl, please escort them back to the manor.”

“Yessir.”

“Well . . .” Dom slapped his riding gloves against his palm as he watched Snout return to his mount. “I’d be happy to serve as your Punisher. I could pull my punches a bit, and perhaps save you some pain.”

Typical Dom, always searching for the easiest way out of any problem. Rafi knew he could agree, that his mother would let him choose the Punisher. But it was a point of pride to select someone to dole out the blows—four times as many as he’d unjustly given—who could actually hurt him. Dom was strong for a sixteen-year-old, but he wasn’t the Punisher Rafi had in mind.

There was a lesson in this, and Rafi wanted his stupidity to teach his younger brother the cost of mistakes. “If we don’t uphold the law, then no one will.”

“It’s archaic. Can’t we pay her off?”

“It’s honorable,” Rafi corrected. “No man should be able to take advantage of the weak. I’m going to ask Captain Alouette to serve as my Punisher.”

Dom cringed. “I didn’t expect to take your title, but if you’re offering it up . . .”

“I’ll survive.”

“I’ll pray for you.”

I’ll need it.

Chapter 9

Jacaré

“What is he doing here?” Pira pointed to the old man, who rocked his chair back on its hind legs and rested his boots on the hearth. “He’s been
exiled
. ”

“Good to see you, too, Pira. Thanks for the warm welcome,” Texugo said as he tossed another piece of kindling onto the blaze.

The light cast an orange glow onto the old man’s pure white hair, as if it had caught fire. Jacaré almost laughed at the thought. Texugo had always been a hothead.

Adding Pira to the mix would be like throwing dry grass on a wildfire. Jacaré rubbed a hand over his shorn scalp, already doubting his plans and the inclusion of his sister. While great in a fight, an excellent hunter and scout, and generally trustworthy, she was a difficult person to manage. With both Pira and Tex aboard . . .

Pira gasped when the other person at the small table pulled back his hood. Whirling, she stepped in front of Jacaré.

“What is going on? Are these two even allowed in the same room together? If you’re in trouble, then Tex is someone who might be able to help.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “But
he
is practically on the Mage Council. Don’t you think he’ll run back to his grandmother and report exactly what’s going on here?”

“Leão can be trusted.”

“Leão is what . . . twelve years old?”

The boy cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “I’m almost eighteen. I make my own decisions, even if they’re contrary to the Council’s opinions.”

“You can make decisions all by yourself without Grandma Amelia holding your hand?” Pira scoffed. “My, what a grown-up boy you are.”

Jacaré grabbed his sister’s upper arm, squeezing hard enough that she couldn’t ignore it. “It’s still early enough for you to leave, Pira.” He yanked her toward the door. “We can do this without a fourth.”

“Do
what
without a fourth?” Pira pulled her arm free.

“If you’re in, no more commentary. I’m High Captain and you
will
follow orders.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Agreed?”

Pira shot a dark look at the two other men in the kitchen. “Mother Lua knows you’re going to need my help.”

Such a typical response, always needing to score the last point.
Jacaré held his tongue and let her sit down at the table between the two men.

“The magical barrier that separates our land from Santarem is in danger of falling,” Jacaré said. His sister’s eyes grew wide as the words sank in. “For the magic to remain stable, it has to have an anchor on either side of the wall. On this side, it’s magically tied to Amelia and the Mage Council. On the Santarem side, it is tied to the line of kings. Sixteen years ago the king was murdered and the bond was passed to his closest living relative—an infant daughter who was smuggled out of the Citadel before it fell. We’ve been able to watch her and Santarem through a divining pendant that was given to her caretaker.”

He set the glass down on the middle of the table. Tex didn’t look at the image; he’d already seen it and understood what it meant probably better even than Jacaré. It had been in Tex’s charge long before it became Jacaré’s, and he had watched it pass from heir to heir during the two-hundred and seventy-five years he’d guarded it.

Leão leaned forward, trying to get a clear glimpse, but lurched back when Pira pulled it closer to her.

Jacaré explained his interaction with the Mage Council and their inability to make a decision about what should be done to protect their people.

“The heir—this princess—is the key to keeping the barrier stable. She’s been away from the wall for too long.” Jacaré pulled out the last chair from the table and sat on it backward. “Think of the magic like a piece of leather that’s been stretched for a long time. Eventually it will develop a weak spot and snap. Our job is to relieve that tension.”

“So we need to hop over the wall and find this girl and bring her closer to it.” Pira shoved the glass toward Leão. “What’s the Council’s problem with that?”

Jacaré and Tex exchanged a look. The old man shook his head and turned back to the fire.

“They’re scared. We crossed Donovan’s Wall and erected the magical barrier to protect ourselves from the influences of the people on the other side.” Jacaré ignored Tex’s grunt and pressed on. “The people of Santarem have short life spans, but they outnumber us by more than a thousand to one. Even without magic, they could overwhelm us. During the Mage Wars, our people were divided. We killed each other and the people of Santarem.”

“It was an ugly, bloody mess,” Tex interjected. “No one wants to see it happen again.”

“Are they great fighters and strategists?” Leão asked, fingering the glass much like his grandmother had. The same blue glow emanated from his fingertips as he searched for a flaw in the magic.

Leão was a full Mage, gifted with the strength and ability to command all five elements, rather than just one or two like Pira and Tex. He’d chosen to become a soldier over the softer life of a diplomat. For that he had Jacaré’s respect. And because of Leão’s willingness to defy the Council, he also had Jacaré’s trust.

“Some are violent. They harm each other much more frequently than our people do.”

“I still don’t see the issue,” Pira said, stealing the glass back from Leão.

“There are several problems. Half the Council thinks that if the barrier collapses, the people of Santarem will attack us,” Jacaré explained. “The other half thinks that Santarem has forgotten us, and we’d be better off forgetting them. The Council won’t take action until they can come to a unanimous decision.

“It’s been two months already, and I fear the princess may be in danger.” He made eye contact with each person around the table. “If she dies without passing on the bond, the barrier will fall, and then it won’t matter what decision the Council makes.”

“What makes you think she’s in danger?” Pira asked, always looking for the fault in his logic.

“I believe her guardian was murdered, and whatever trouble found him will go after the princess next.”

Chapter 10

Leão

Leão shifted his pack, moving the sword strapped underneath closer to his right shoulder. He prayed he wasn’t going to need it for the rest of the journey, but something cold and venomous coiled in his belly. Death lurked somewhere nearby, waiting to strike.

He hoped to anticipate the bite and avoid its sting, but there were no guarantees for any member of their small group.

The sun had set on their third day of travel and with the failing light, the chilly air sank into his bones. Still, he held his position near the bramble hedge that hugged the mountain’s feet and listened to the sounds coming from the fortress centered in Donovan’s Wall. Jacaré called the square-shaped building the Citadel, and it was the first sign of civilization Leão had seen since they had left the borders of Olinda two days before.

Jacaré had been certain Pira would join their crew. The High Captain had four packs already prepared with foodstuffs, bedrolls, and weapons, and they left the cottage without a word to those who would miss them.

Defector,
Leão’s conscience had taunted.
Yo
u’
re leaving your post. Yo
u’
re disobeying orders. Yo
u’
re defying the Mage Council.

The guilt waned as they passed the Elite Guard’s last outpost. The men stationed there had grown lax with nothing to do besides hunt the occasional mountain cat that raided the sheep herds nearby, and the crew had breezed past the location without detection.

The outpost wasn’t going to be much of a defense if something or someone did try to attack Olinda, and because of that Leão felt reassured by his decision to be part of Jacaré’s incursion.

Passing the outpost had been their only chance of being detected or detained, and after that the trip had gone smoothly. They’d seen no signs of the dangerous predators rumored to haunt the narrow canyon that sliced through the mountain range. Not a growl or call or print.

Leão had been a bit disappointed that he hadn’t faced any of the legendary creatures—pumas the size of horses and twice as fast—but as he turned his focus back to the Citadel, he realized there were plenty of challenges to come.

He used a trickle of his power to encourage the wind to blow in his direction, carrying the sounds of the fortress with it.

The men spoke harshly. If this was the quality of people that guarded the border, then Jacaré had been right to worry. From what Leão could tell, they spent more of their time swearing and spitting than doing any actual guard work. And their lack of concern showed.

The building they protected was falling into ruins. Two stone towers rose over the wall dividing the mountain range from the rest of Santarem. Portions of its crenellated ramparts had crumbled, leaving gaps like missing teeth in a sorry smile. The watchtower roofs under their hats of thatch leaned drunkenly toward each other, too weak to stand on their own.

It was a hideously constructed facility, but what it lacked in beauty it made up for with sheer immensity. Olinda didn’t need fortresses, nor could the Elite Guard have manned one this size.

Not that the Citadel was full; he’d only heard four voices in the entire hour he’d crouched among the thorn bushes. Enough men to raise a warning if there was an attack, but not enough to stop even a small group of people hoping to cross into Santarem.

Hoofbeats drew his attention. They clattered across a stone courtyard Leão couldn’t see. Two men, two horses, and a struggling captive.

From the sounds of the whimpers and occasional plea, he guessed it was a woman.

Mother Lua, these people are disgusting.
He listened for a few moments more until he couldn’t ignore her cries.
She may not be one of our own, but Jacaré will want to know. This is wrong, no matter which people she belongs to.

Chapter 11

Johanna

A voice drew Johanna from a dreamless slumber. Her eyes popped open, expecting to see the beams of her wagon ceiling or perhaps a starry sky, but never a watered-silk canopy.

Images flashed across Johanna’s mind like shadows on a tent wall: the deer, arrow, flying fists, arrogant prig, Lady DeSilva. Then she remembered.

There must have been something in the tea she gave me.
Johanna stretched tentatively, feeling sore but not agonized.
Whatever it was, it worked.

“Pardon, miss.” A redheaded girl in a maid’s cap held a bundle of pale blue fabric in her arms. “My lady asked me to attend to you. She sent this dressing gown for you to wear.”

Johanna would have to get out of the bed soon if she planned to walk across the forest and through the orchards before her brother sent out a search party. She didn’t want to leave the luxury behind but couldn’t bear to worry her family. “Where are my clothes?”

“They were taken by the laundress and will be returned when dry.”

“Oh.” Johanna fingered her borrowed nightgown, feeling the lump of bandages that bound her ribs underneath it. “I was hoping to go home now.”

The maid smiled sweetly. “Good thing your family has come here.”

“What?” Johanna checked the window; the sun was still in the sky. Her mother probably didn’t even realize she was missing.

“Your brother’s come to claim you.”

Johanna cursed.

The maid giggled, flushing as red as her hair.

“I’m sorry . . .”

“My name’s Brynn, miss. Don’t you worry, my brother’s a sailor. I’ve heard worse language on his shore visits, and find myself directing those same oaths at him before he returns to his ship.”

“Do you know which of my brothers is here?”
Please say Joshua.

“I believe he gave the name of Thomas. Lord Rafael sent word to town to let your folks know you were well.”

Except that if Thomas was at the estate, in the middle of a work day, all was certainly not well.

“He’ll be up shortly with Lady DeSilva.”

Perfect.

Johanna let Brynn slip the robe around her shoulders and tuck her back into bed. Moments later a knock sounded at the bedroom door.

Thomas rushed through, his face pale as Mother Lua in the night sky, and so similar to their father’s that Johanna cringed. Lady DeSilva followed at a more stately pace.

He knelt next to the bed and took her hand. “Are you all right, Jo? The lady told me what happened.” His eyes flitted to the bump on his sister’s forehead, but the rest of her bruises were hidden. He pressed on, his voice worried. “What were you thinking? I told you to stay out of the forest by yourself. You know it isn’t safe. Girls are kidnapped every day. What if you’d been caught by someone with less honorable intentions? I can’t even . . . I don’t even . . .” He ran out of steam. “I just . . . I can’t protect you when you won’t do as I ask.”

Thomas rarely deviated from the script when it came to arguments. He asked all the questions without waiting for answers, his concern making Johanna feel guilty and foolish.

“I’m sorry.” She meant it, but for so many other reasons.

He bowed his head for a few breaths, then looked at her with intense blue eyes. “Can you walk home? I’m sure Mother will be frantic when she realizes you are gone.”

“No, no, no.” The duchess waved away the idea. “She can’t walk home, and she certainly can’t ride home. She may have cracked ribs.”

Thomas gave his sister a knowing smirk. “Johanna could walk on two broken ankles.”

Of course, he’d bring
that
up. Another time when her disobedience had resulted in an injury.

“My ribs aren’t broken anyway.” Johanna swung her feet over the side of the bed, feeling sad to leave the cozy comfort. Her fold-down pallet in the wagon wouldn’t be nearly as kind to her bruises. “If someone will bring me my clothes, we can be on our way.”

“They won’t be dry till morning,” Lady DeSilva said, folding her arms across her chest. “You will both stay the night. We can make up the room for you next door, Master Thomas.”

Thomas stood, his head barely coming to the duchess’s chin, and yet he knew how to command a room. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Your Grace. I have to return to the accounting office by dawn.” He held out a hand to Johanna, intending to pull her to her feet.

He’d probably lost half a day’s pay to see to his wayward sister, and they certainly couldn’t afford to lose any more. Johanna knew he’d carry her home if he had to.

Lady DeSilva put her hand over his. “Let her stay then. We’ll have our physician check her bruises again in the morning and you can escort her home tomorrow evening.”

All of Arlo and Marin’s children knew when to bow their heads to authority, but Thomas’s battle was evident on his face.

“Please forgive me for asking, my lady, but can you guarantee my sister’s safety while a ward of your household?”

The duchess pressed her lips together in a tight line, and Johanna prepared to be tossed out of the room. “If I am not mistaken, you are Arlo the Acrobat’s son and have visited this estate at least a dozen times. Correct?”

Thomas and Johanna exchanged a glance and nodded.

“As Performers, you’ve had a chance to compare our estate with those in Maringa, Belem, and Impreza. Would you say that I’m a tyrant or cruel or fail to uphold the laws of my land?”

“Of course not, my lady,” Thomas said, looking as taken back by the question as Johanna felt. “Your estate and township are orderly, your tenants happy, and your staff voices no complaints.”

It was true. The DeSilvas were known for treating their people as near equals rather than shoe-kissing subjects.

Lady DeSilva, at least. I’m still not sure about her lordling son.

“Will you let the words of my people serve as a testimony for my household, if my word of honor is not enough?” the lady continued.

Johanna mentally applauded the duchess. She worked Thomas like a pickpocket with a fat mark, taking control of the conversation without him noticing. The people of Santiago, the peasants and gentry alike, were prickly about their honor. Denying her request would have been a serious slight.

“Your word is enough, my lady,” Thomas said, and bent his neck to her will. “My father always believed you and your husband were rulers worthy of our respect.”

Lady DeSilva’s smile lit her face. “Give my son the chance and he’ll earn your respect as well.”

Johanna rolled her eyes, but only Brynn—who stood forgotten in the corner throughout the entire exchange—seemed to notice.

“Well then, we’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Thomas stooped to kiss Johanna on the forehead, just as he always did. “Enjoy your time here.”

“I’ll try.”