A Play of Shadow (67 page)

“Below” proved to be squatting between the ribs of the barge, boots just out of the bilge sloshing along the shallow keel. There was a deck, of sorts, above. It was made of planks that could be taken in or out depending on cargo, or even set lower, to adapt the barge for livestock. Bannan, his neck already bent to avoiding cracking his head, supposed he should be grateful they weren’t shipping cattle.

Dokis had brought down a barrel and lantern, its opening a slit that did little more than confirm how dark it was below. He sat, long knife across his lap, eyes fixed on the truthseer.

Who considered and abandoned notion after notion. The coins and brooch in his pouch? Pointless. Dokis would simply search him for more and find the tokens.

A bribe from another source was now out of the question.

Emon had seen him. Tried to warn him. Heart’s Blood. Was himself in the gravest danger!

If he’d the power of a turn-born right now, he’d wish Lila the great good sense to rescue her husband and leave Channen with him.

Probably take more than that, Bannan thought ruefully. His sister leave him? Whatever this “gift” she had—and hidden so successfully from him—it wasn’t prudence.

Pat. Pat. For whatever reason, the yling stayed with him. Much as he appreciated the company, a messenger would have been of greater use.

Nothing for it, then. He’d have to overpower the brute and escape before Lila arrived. First, untie his wrists and ankles, the latter also secured by a ring screwed into the wood—implying a regular trade in those who needn’t bother shouting for help.

While Dokis watched like a toad by an open door.

“Your master’s mad,” Bannan began conversationally, trying not to appear as if he strained against the ropes. Ancestors Untimely and Unwanted, whatever Dokis lacked as a searcher he made up for in his knots.

Was that a glint in midair?

Energized, the truthseer went on, “Mad and I’d not trust him. That sort? As like to tidy up loose ends when he’s done, as remember a man’s service.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just giving my advice.”

“I said—” Without warning, the man’s eyes rolled up and he toppled gracelessly from the stool to lie facedown in the bilge water.

While above him, the yling raised a bloodstained spear in triumph.

Though he was woefully bedraggled. The light of his hair had dimmed and strain was evident on his small features. “Hurry!” Bannan urged, pulling at his bindings, but the yling was already in flight. Whatever his rescuer did behind his back, the ropes unwound themselves. Shaking the last free, the truthseer splashed through the bilge to pull up the man’s head.

Only to set it down again. “Poison, I take it?” Heart’s Blood, that spear had been in his hair and who knew where else?

Patpat. Then a painfully tight grip.

“Get out of here,” Bannan translated. “No arguments, my deadly friend.” He retrieved Emon’s knife, leaving the lantern, then crept toward the ladder, as eager as the yling to return to the edge.

To freeze as a plank above him creaked, then something heavy fell.

The moth danced on her hand, as if unable to settle or unsure of its welcome. Jenn lifted it level with her eyes, careful not to wish or want or, as best she could, feel. “Help me find Bannan. Please?”

The moth froze in place. ~This you can do.~ Deep that voice, and vast. The Bone Hills spoke thus, being sei.

Lighter than a feather in her hand, the moth who was as well. Larger than the world, that too. Jenn swallowed. ~I don’t understand.~

~This you can do.~

Oh dear. The words sounded promising but— “What is it you think I can do? I’ve tried my mother’s gift. I’ve tried wishing as a turn-born and—and—as the other.” She couldn’t very well presume to say “sei” with one sitting on her hand. “Nothing’s worked. Bannan’s vanished in this great city, and we’d come to help his sister and her husband. Now everyone’s lost and not where I want them—” Jenn closed her lips, but it was too late.

Had she gone too far?

The moth bent a plumed antenna with a leg, bringing it across a fathomless eye as though curious about itself. ~You are one. This you can do.~

Of course she was “one,” Jenn thought. That was the problem. She sat here, alone on a roof, when she’d been supposed to stay with Bannan and find his family and go home.

Not that the little cousin and kruar weren’t company, but—

Alone wasn’t what the sei had meant.

She was “one.”

The word filled her, finding empty spots and heartsores and worries she hadn’t known. It answered and promised—and warned. Most of all, at last, Jenn understood.

She’d kept herself divided: woman, turn-born, sei.

It was time to put aside fear and be whole.

~I can do this.~ And her voice was vast yet familiar and how could it not be hers?

Jenn Nalynn cupped her free hand over the moth, then pressed her palms together. “Keep Us Close,” she whispered, even as she became glass and glow, and tears of pearl.

She opened her hands and moved them as if tossing something into the air.

Moths bubbled from her palms, streaming into the sky. Smaller, yes, but just as white. They fluttered and danced into the mist. Dozens. Hundreds.

Thousands.

For this was her magic.

Enough, she decided, when it was, and lowered her hands, watching the last disappear into the night. In a sense, she’d sent an invitation. All that remained was for it to be accepted. If it was, those who were lost would find her.

Acceptance was beyond her control; a limit she’d set herself without qualm. As Aunt Sybb would say, grace lay in offering help, not imposing it. She’d also say a lady did not go barefoot in a city.

Wiggling her toes, for the artisan hadn’t shoes to fit her, Jenn leaned against the stone statue. Desperate times. Bannan had been taken. Lila and Emon were missing. To be honest, she’d no idea where she was at the moment, other than here. Yet she felt at ease, more content than she could remember and whole as never before. What could be mended, would.

What she dared not touch, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the sort of heroine to leap into battle, sword in hand, much as that was admirable and exciting. She was, Jenn realized peacefully, roses and tears and wishes.

After a moment, something cool and warty pressed against her side.

Air stirred over her head as the kruar came close and took in her scent.

“Now we wait,” she told them. She’d done what she could, though what she could do still astonished an increasingly small part of her.

The rest? Began to fret—as usual—about meeting Bannan’s sister and whatever should she say to a baroness?

The ladder led to the deck through a hatchway inconveniently left closed by the late Dokis. Bannan gave it a cautious push. The hinges were well oiled, to no surprise, but to raise it sufficiently to jump out, free and clear? Or even to take a peek? He’d be seen.

The yling could slip through a crack, but it was beyond Bannan to communicate the notion. He wasn’t sure how well it was or strong, another worry, away from the edge. Besides, if there were friends above, he’d rather the tiny warrior not simply guess who to stab.

He eased back down, having a better idea.

The constable’s helmet Dokis had stolen was too small for Bannan’s head, but he didn’t plan to wear it. Instead, he stabbed the tip of the dead man’s long knife into the padding within, holding the arrangement up by the hilt.

More thuds from above. He was out of time.

Bannan braced himself near the top of the short ladder, Emon’s knife free in one hand, the hilt and helmet ready in the other. He’d lift the hatch and show the helmet. If anyone waited above, Ancestors Favored and Fortunate, they’d strike at the wrong target, giving him time to strike the right one.

Which was a fine plan, except that when Bannan thrust up both hatch and helmet, a sword swept by both to rest lightly at his throat.

Lila Larmensu chuckled. “Really, brother?”

The sword slipped back in its scabbard and a strong, slender hand came down. Bannan took it, climbing out on the deck. Bodies lay strewn about. Three men and woman, in nondescript clothes. Hired thugs, at a guess. No, two men, one woman. He’d mistaken the lonely head for a third.

Bannan shook his. “Messy.”

The Baroness Lila Larmensu Westietas shrugged. “They were in my way.”

Oh, he knew that tone. She was annoyed, as she’d put it. Furious was more like it.

Though it didn’t show. She looked—Ancestors Witness, she looked wonderful, delicate face wreathed in a tumble of fine brown curls, large luminous eyes that seemed soft and gray, but would flash green without warning. As tall as he, Lila, but slim of build, almost frail.

A misjudgment how many had paid for with their lives? Whipcord and steel lay beneath that elegant femininity.

And a temper.

Bannan felt entirely within his rights to some temper as well. “I came to save you, you know.”

A shapely eyebrow rose. “Did I ask?”

“The boys did.”

Her eyes closed for the briefest instant, as if she summoned patience, then flew open. “And you left them,” with an icy snap.

Heart’s Blood. Not a thank you or an— Bannan chuckled. “I’ve missed you too,” he said lightly, as sure of his sister’s heart as his own. “Could we argue somewhere else? Your husband’s in danger.”

She raised a brow. “Why do you think I’m here?”

He nodded, conceding the point. He’d hooked his thumb in his belt. Now he spread those fingers in the sign for
enemy closing in.

Her finger tapped the hilt of her sword in acknowledgment, the scabbard belted over a corseted tunic and pants similar to Jenn’s, but in muted red. In plain sight, that sword, despite being illegal on Channen’s streets.

Any comment being unwise, Bannan tiptoed around the pools of blood—though admittedly his boots and clothes were crusted in filth—heading for the bow and the ramp off the barge.

Lila touched his shoulder. “Not that way. Follow me.”

She’d sliced an opening in the tarp, on the river side, and now quickly widened it for his bulk. Bannan felt every bit the foolish younger brother. How often had she told him, never use the obvious door? Those lying in wait hadn’t been the only trap. “The ramp’s bespelled,” he guessed as he slipped through to join her.

Lila gave him a sharp look.

“Long story. Where now?”

She pointed along the narrow gunnels. “I’m going that way. You?”

Bannan found himself in the river, sputtering. Lila looked down, unsmiling. “See how much of that grime and stink you can scrub off. I’ll be back.”

There’d best not be turtles, the truthseer grumbled to himself, though to his deeper sight he was in nothing but ordinary water. Above-his-head water, but he’d grown up swimming in a river like this. Trusting the yling to have abandoned him, unless the creature longed for a bath as well, he dove under, but was still careful when rubbing his hair.

When he surfaced, Lila had clothing under one arm and a pair of boots in her hand. “Leave yours under the barge.” She nodded toward shore, then walked away along the thin rail, as easily as if on a street.