The Villain Keeper (6 page)

Caden lingered on the second floor. Jane Chan had run
away the same time he and Brynne had been brought here. Now Caden was imprisoned in her old foster home. He reached out and tried the door to her room. It was locked, but the metal knob felt warm like it had been exposed to some nearby magic. He needed to question Tito further about the missing girl. Again, his instincts told him there might be a connection between her and Caden being stranded.

C
aden woke to the
tink-tink
of rain on the roof. He was warm and well rested in Rosa's not-prison. There was no Brynne across the way, insulting Caden about the shelter he built and its ability to keep out the drops.

His stomach turned in a twist of guilt. His willful ally and his horse were stuck outside in the cold rain. Truly, he needed to speak to Brynne and make her aware of what he'd learned. He pushed his pink and orange quilt away and sat up.

Across the taped line, Tito was dressed in gray, shabby clothes and sitting on his bed. His hair was tied back with a band. “You awake?” Tito said.

“I get up at dawn,” Caden said.

“Why aren't I surprised?” Tito said.

Caden, however, was surprised Tito was awake so early.
“Why are you awake?”

Tito put on some worn-looking shoes. Sneakers, he'd called them. “Rosa makes me run in the morning, thinks it helps me release anger or some crap like that.”

“I don't know what that means,” Caden said.

Tito snorted and tied his shoe. “Of course you don't.”

Caden looked at the shadowed mountain out the window. Brynne was somewhere out there. Certainly, she'd be drenched and difficult already. The sooner he found her, the better. “You run out there?” he said and pointed outside.

“Up to the edge of the property and back down. Fun, fun, fun,” he said, but he didn't sound like he found it fun.

Caden decided. “I'll run the mountain with you.”

Tito looked up incredulously from his shoe. “She hasn't made you. You don't have to.”

“Does that matter?”

“I guess not,” Tito said. He looked Caden up and down and scrunched up his face. “Didn't you wear that yesterday? Did you even shower?”

Caden bristled. True, he'd first been confused by the small, closet-size room Tito had called a “bathroom.” It was nothing like the baths of the Winter Castle. They were tiled in Razzonian marble and filled with hot spring water and snowmelt transported downslope to the castle by great stone aqueducts. The waters were always clear and steaming. Then he'd noticed the strange spigot and wash basin.
“I'm clean,” he said. “I rinsed my clothes and person in the tiny washroom.”

Tito rummaged around in his pile of unfolded, wrinkled clothes. “Here,” he said.

Caden caught the wad of clothing that flew at his face. “What's this for?”

“You don't wear good clothes to run the mountain. Especially in the rain.”

Maybe not, but Caden didn't wear other people's clothes, period. Nor would he wear this cheap scratchy fabric. He sniffed the clothes and frowned.

“Look, your royal highness,” Tito said, “they're old but they're clean.”

Caden had promised to be gracious, but he couldn't bring himself to say thank you when he wasn't at all thankful for the worn pants and shirt. His clothes were of higher quality and better fit. He rubbed the thin fabric between his fingers.

“I'll wear them,” Caden said.

“Whatever,” Tito said and stood up. “You coming or what?”

Caden quickly changed into the peasant's garb. The material hung loose around his shoulders. He pulled at it, but it remained poorly fitted.

Tito seemed amused. “You gotta eat more,” he said. “At least try to bulk up.”

Caden was tall for his age, and, no doubt, would grow
to be as tall as his brothers. “I'm the same size as you.”

“Almost. But you're gonna shrink if you don't eat.”

“That's nonsense.” Caden grabbed his coat and traced the embroidery with his finger. Legend was that the Winterbird, the symbol of Razzon and the royal family, was one of the eight Elderkind that formed the lands and magic of the Greater Realm.

Four were said to have formed the lands. The Kingdom of Razzon, the whole of the Winterlands, was built where the Winterbird had come to ground. Razzon's great peaks were the outline of its frozen wings, Razzon's deep-blue twin lochs, its ever-watching and protective eyes.

Next was the Walking Oak, which rooted to form the Springlands. Third was the great Sunsnake, whose movements turned the sands of the Summerlands' deserts. Last was the Bloodwolf. Its red and brown fur could still be seen in the Autumnlands' great prairies and red-leaved forests.

The other four Elderkind were the powerful and fickle Elderdragons. Two of them—the Gold Elderdragon and the Silver Elderdragon—were charmed by man. In return they taught strategy, medicine, and magic to the peoples of the realms. It was said that magic with the most altruistic of motives often glowed in silver and gold in memory of their teachings.

The other two—the Blue Elderdragon and the Red Elderdragon—were angered. They punished the lands with disease, war, and dark magic. Magic of hate, magic
of anger spurred whispers of their influence, destructive dragon-shaped energy that still echoed their true forms.

Tito coughed and startled Caden from his memories of myths and home. He pointed to Caden's coat. “That'll get messed up on the mountain,” he said.

His coat was enchanted. It bore the symbol of the royal Winterbird. It stayed clean, always; it stayed the opposite of “messed up.” “We'll see,” Caden said.

“No, we won't. Rosa won't let you wear it.”

Caden pulled his arms through the sleeves and grinned. “How's she going to stop me?”

Rosa was waiting on the front porch. Her clothes were layered, her outer shirt green with strange writing, her pants a bright purple. She looked Caden over with a furrow in her brow.

“He wants to run,” Tito said.

Rosa paced and the porch creaked. “Why?”

Tito rolled his eyes. “Beats me.”

Brynne and Sir Horace were somewhere on the mountain. Caden needed to run so he could contact Brynne, then he needed to return to Rosa's prison afterward so he could learn more about the missing Jane Chan.

Rosa walked up to him. “It's not easy.”

Well, better the training then. “Good,” Caden said.

“Leave your coat. You can't run with it.”

“Yes, I can,” Caden said.

In the gray morning light, it was hard to make out her
expression. She was either angry, amused, or both. Not that it mattered. Caden wouldn't give her his coat. He crossed his arms and waited.

“Let me rephrase,” she said. “I don't want you to get your coat dirty. It's muddy and still drizzling, and your coat is wool. If you want to wear it, you can just watch with me from the porch.”

Caden needed to run. The simple solution was to leave his coat. Still, he hesitated.

His sword was taken, his horse a fugitive. Brynne was in the mountains, hiding from the police. While he believed that he, Brynne, and Sir Horace would get back and that he'd complete his quest and make his father proud, at this moment, his coat was all he had of his home.

Rosa softened her expression. “It'll be here when you get back.” She pulled off the green garment. Her undershirt was a bright orange and looked like a mini sun against the gray morning. “Here, you can borrow my army sweatshirt. It's special to me.”

Caden didn't want to give her his coat, yet he needed to get to the mountain. Slowly he took his coat off, folded it, and handed it over. The sweatshirt she gave him in return felt nothing like it. He pretended not to care.

“The more difficult the training, the better,” he said.

She tucked his coat under her arm. “If that's what you want,” she said. “Run at least to the orange tape. It's the property line.”

“I'll run to the peak,” he said. The longer run would give him more time. And if he were to talk to Brynne, he'd need it.

“Fine,” she said. “But I expect you back in twenty-five minutes.”

Tito groaned, and mumbled that
he
was stopping at the property line, but Caden ignored him. Besides, running a mountain was good training. Dragons lived in rugged terrains. Well, not in Asheville it seemed, but in most other places with steep slopes, rocky paths, and fiery names.

Beyond the protection of the porch, the drizzle and air were cold. Caden's boots squelched in the mud as he dashed past Tito, into the forest, and up the path. He ran past a pine tied with orange tape, and was high uphill when he stopped. Both Brynne and Sir Horace knew the signal—two quick whistles—and Brynne certainly had used magic to track Caden and would be near.

Caden whistled, but it wasn't Brynne who answered by whistling back or Sir Horace who answered with a loud whinny. Instead, Caden heard a whisper rustle through the trees. “I'm here.”

Caden froze, unsure of what he'd heard.

“I'm here, little brother.” The voice was soft and strong, and sounded like his slain brother, Chadwin. It called to him like a warm fire on the coldest of days. It smelled like his father's castle. Caden felt hope blossom in his soul.

Caden had seen Chadwin bleeding with a dagger in his back, and, later, cold and still in the Winter Castle tomb. Yet,
unknown magic had brought Caden to Asheville. Perhaps it had also awoken Chadwin, and he had become stranded here, too. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe it'd been a mistake. It could've all been a mistake.

The soft whispers turned to loud and impatient whistling. “WHEWWWW. WHEWWWW.” Caden turned toward the sound. Then the whistles turned into shouting. “Caden! Get me out of here!”

Caden felt panic start to wash over him. For Chadwin to yell like such, he must be in peril. Never had Caden heard him so frantic. Caden couldn't lose him again. Like his father taught him, he stopped and took a breath. To save him, he must find him.

As he inhaled, he noticed a strange scent in the air. The woods smelled of fire and leather. They smelled, he realized suddenly, the way magic smelled when it was intended to ensnare. For Caden, that smell was his father's study, where he and his brothers would gather. It smelled like home.

The voice of his brother and the safety of the castle still felt very near, but Chadwin's voice was not real. And as he realized this, the magic around him dissipated, and something else became clear.

“Caden, I heard you whistle. Where are you?” It was Brynne calling, not Chadwin. She yelled his name again from the same direction as the whisper of his lost brother. Whatever ensnaring trap he'd found, she'd found it, too, and been caught.

There wasn't time to revisit grief for Chadwin, or to dwell on the fist now crushing his heart. His ally needed help. He darted toward her shouts and the false hope of those lost. Fir trees and leafless oaks towered on all sides. His nose itched and mud buckled under his boots. The drizzle intensified once more to cold stinging rain.

Within moments, he was at the edge of a clearing. He could feel rain soak his back, hear drops pad against the earth, and smell it. In the clearing, though, all was dry. No rain fell. No plants grew from the strange sand within it. No animals scampered across the bare ground.

Brynne was stuck in the sand and thrashed like a butterfly in a web. When she saw Caden, she reached for him. “Get me out of here!”

He was mere strides from where she was stuck waist-deep in the sand. Her hair fell in perfect waves, long enough to touch the sand, which stuck to her skin and sparkled like Razzonian diamonds. The more she struggled, the deeper she sank.

Looking around, Caden realized something else. Had Sir Horace also sunk into the sand? “Where's Sir Horace?” He'd lost his brother. He'd been stranded far from home. He couldn't lose Sir Horace.

“He's around,” Brynne said. “
I'm
the one who's sinking.” She was now shoulder deep. Her arms were under the surface and trapped.

Caden let out a breath. He searched for something he
could use to reach her, then glanced again at the sand. It made sense Sir Horace wasn't nearby. “Sir Horace is too clever to be caught by such a trap,” he said.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Though she still sounded scared, her tone turned murderous. “Your concern for that beast is greater than for me.”

“He's a true friend.”

“He left you to those policemen.” In a smug tone, she added, “They took you down easy enough.”

“Says the sorceress stuck in the sand.”

She was fury in a sandpit. “Get me out, prince. Or else.”

With one hand, he grasped a prickly evergreen. He reached out with the other and stepped into the sand. He sunk, but not much. Not much at all. He frowned. “Why are you so much deeper than me?”

“I think it responds to those strong with magic.”