A Play of Shadow (69 page)

~Elder brother. Are you asleep?~

Giving up any pretense, Wisp cracked open an eye. ~What now?~

~Though it is the middle of the night, the warrior returns, elder brother. He moves with urgency.~

Not good news. The dragon eased himself from the bed, pleased his bones felt whole again. Though there was—he stretched his wounded leg—lingering weakness.

~Something must be wrong, elder brother.~

The man might want his own bed, Wisp thought, but there was no convincing the toad. Little cousins noticed the unusual, being meticulous beings and vigilant. ~Peace. I will see to it.~ Little he could do for Tir’s comfort, but as Wisp flew to the lower level, he sent a breeze to liven the fire in the cookstove and move the kettle above that warmth.

Then, knowing the man, he brought a bottle from its hiding place and a mug.

The door opened, brusquely but with a care. Tir stepped in with a swirl of snow and cold, shutting out the night before beginning to strip. “Dragon.”

Wisp shaped himself in light. “I am here.”

Tir glanced at the loft.

“The boys sleep.” He’d wait to learn the man’s temper before going into more than that. “You’ve alarmed the little cousin.”

The house toad, puffed by the fire, received a glance. “I saw no reason not to sleep in my own bed,” the man said gruffly.

The toad glared, still unsettled.

Wisp sent a breeze to stretch out the hammock and its bedding.

“Not yet.” Tir could move silently when he chose; he didn’t bother to mute his steps as he went for the bottle. Taking off his mask, he freed the cork with his teeth, spitting it on the table. After pouring a quantity into his mouth, he swallowed, then wiped the ruin of his lips on his sleeve. “My thanks.”

“I’ll thank you,” Wisp said, giving the breeze a nip, “not to wake them.”

A wink. “Had a rough go, did you? Don’t worry. T’lads expect noise down here. Too quiet will only wake them sooner.”

He’d not thought of that.

Grabbing the bottle, Tir went to sit by the fireplace, stretching out his legs. The dragon took the hint and added tinder and a log, fanning the embers with a careful breeze. Dragonsbreath, though quicker, would have melted the brick.

“Books.” The man paused for another pour and swallow. “Who’d have thought it?”

Wisp curled himself before the fire to wait for something of meaning.

“Don’t be smug.” The bottle lifted, a finger around its neck pointing at the dragon. “Kydd’ll find you in one. You’ll see.”

Much as he respected the skills of the beekeeper—and abhorred his curiosity regarding things of magic—the dragon doubted that. “Are you saying you’ve learned from a book about this man from before?”

“First things to start with. I’ve a name for young Weed.” A nod upstairs. “Truedreamer. And why I’m glad o’the wine, friend dragon,” pour, swallow, and sigh, “is thinking who else must be.” He settled a moment, fierce creases along his brow, then threw out his arm, almost losing the bottle. “That bloody woman! It’s how she always knew—always!—when I was at fault. Or sir. She’d call us out before we’d stepped two feet through the door. Bannan’d blamed me for it, but it was her—dreaming us!”

The dragon refused to puzzle this out. “What did the beekeeper know of Crumlin?”

“Humph,” Tir grunted. After a sullen moment, he cheered. “Can’t see why you’ve had such trouble with that one. Must be over a hundred by now.”

“I’m ‘trouble.’” Wisp lifted a flawless wing and pretended to examine it. “And older still.”

“For a man, that’s gum-the-bread age. Anyway, this Crumlin—Crumlin Tralee—had family in Avyo, including a young brother of the same mind. This brother wrote a book on magic doings and don’ts Kydd said was rightly banned, though why he has it—” Tir stopped, by his blank stare working his way through the “having” of a book whose pages sheltered bees and whose words were lodged in Wainn’s head. He gave up the struggle. “In this book, he brags of how his elder brother ‘traveled north to conduct his greatest work.’ That’d be our Crumlin,” he clarified unnecessarily. “Not to be heard from again.”

The dragon curled up to wait again.

“I didn’t get the half of what Kydd said. But I know what’s what.” Tir lifted the bottle, only to put it aside. “What’s in one world belongs to it. Nothing good’s to come of this Crumlin’s meddlin’,” he stated. “Nothing good at all.”

Wisp snarled to himself, in complete agreement.

“How can I know? What if she’s ’dreaming me now?” Tir muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Think it’s funny, do you?” he said abruptly, glaring down at Wisp. “Wait’ll Lila ’dreams you, dragon. Sees out your eyes!”

The dragon rested his long jaw on his hip, admiring how the firelight caught on his scaled hide. “A far more interesting view,” he suggested slyly, “than through yours.”

“I
T MIGHT NOT
work,” Jenn admitted to the toad curled in her lap. The little cousin was heavier than it looked and chill, but she didn’t mind. What she minded, a little, was that every so often there’d be a disturbing “squeak!” and crunch from the dark, the kruar insisting they hunt around her.

After a louder CRUNCH than most, she winced. “How many mice can there be?”

A kruar purred. ~Not mice.~

Oh.

~I would eat the foul nyphrit too, elder sister,~ the house toad informed her poignantly, ~but none dare come close to you.~

“Because you are here to guard me, esteemed little cousin,” she consoled it, smiling as it puffed with pride.

~Someone comes!~

The toad leapt from her lap to let her stand. “It’s a friend—or family,” Jenn warned, her protectors having demonstrated themselves the sort to eat first and look later.

The kruar faded into the shadows, leaving doubt.

Jenn hoped they’d be family. She also hoped, most earnestly, that whomever came didn’t mind having to climb the rickety ladder from the back alley which was the route to this particular rooftop, that not having been something she’d thought about before invoking magic to draw them here.

Consequences, Jenn sighed to herself. Difficult to think of them all.

A moth danced in and out of a dark alcove near the back of the rooftop, then two. Suddenly a veritable storm of moths, all white and aflutter, appeared in the same spot.

Jenn held out her hands and they flew to her, sinking through the calluses of her palms in a flurry of softness before she could change and be glass. She squinted at her now-empty, quite ordinary skin, then rubbed her hands together, wondering. Was being one and whole, to be all at once? Surely not—

“Fair evening.” A man stepped through a door she’d not noticed before, but should have guessed would be there.

He wasn’t alone, for two other men came behind him, then a woman.

And she might have worried, to be faced with so many strangers, but the man who’d greeted her came forward and bowed, brushing fingertips to the rooftop and when he raised his head, she saw Werfol’s smile.

By his dress, the man could have been any of those she’d observed sweeping the stones or carrying packages. He’d curly reddish-brown hair, gentle brown eyes, and a round, almost boyish face, but there was no mistake.

Jenn dropped in a hasty curtsy. “Fair evening to you, your—” Her wits scattered. What did one say? “Baron Westietas. I’m Jenn Nalynn.” Which should have meant nothing to a baron.

His smile softened. “Of whom my wife’s brother has written such glowing praise.” A second, shorter bow. “Please. Emon. These are my companions, Bish,” the woman, “Dutton, and Herer.” The men.

All three wore swords strapped to their hips. They bowed as they were introduced, looking none too happy to be here. Bish had tight gray curls cut close to her head and keen brown eyes; black feathers had been painted on her shoulders and throat. Hair and beard grizzled, Dutton was heavier set, his shoulders scarred, face wrinkled beside his eyes as though he’d spent his youth staring at the sun. Emon’s final companion?

“I’ve had the pleasure,” Herer said, after his bow, being the man who’d lost his clockwork and knife. His arm was in a sling.

“You were watching us,” Jenn blurted out.

“My apologies. When you spoke to me in Rhothan, I feared you were one of my lord’s enemies, trying to expose me. I followed to see for myself.” He touched the sling. “Someone objected.”

Jenn winced. “I can explain—”

“Later, please, along with why you’re here at all.” Emon had lost his smile. “Where’s Bannan? I tried to warn him.”

“A fool risk,” snapped the woman, Bish.

“As is my right!”

Bish bowed her head. “My lord.” Her eyes glittered. “You’re most welcome to be a fool, so long as we can save you from it.”

They’d been the figures on the bridge, who’d pulled Emon back. Ancestors Plagued and Pained. They’d been close to finding Emon twice, Jenn thought, chagrined, only to fail. “I’ve asked Bannan to find me,” she said, which was true however strange-sounding. “That’s why you’re here. I expect him soon.”

“The moths.” Emon shook his head, face filled with childlike wonder. “You’ve rare magic, Jenn Nalynn.”

“When it works,” she muttered.

Dutton and Herer exchanged looks; Bish almost smiled.

~Danger!~ Kruar erupted from their hiding place as two large black birds dove toward Emon!

Swords flashed even as the—crows!—veered at the last moment to avoid the leading kruar’s fangs, cawing their alarm.

“They’re mine,” Emon said calmly. He lifted his arm and the crows spiraled down to land on it, fluffing their feathers as if thoroughly offended. “Cheek and Scatterwit.” The latter put its head close to the baron’s ear, taking a curl of his hair in its beak to give it an affectionate tug.

Jenn looked sternly at the kruar who, having sprung their ambush to no good purpose, did their best to appear ordinary horses, ears up and peaceful, though one had a very large toad clinging to the saddle and both stood on a roof where horses couldn’t be.

“These are mine,” she admitted, not attempting to explain.

“Remarkable!” He seemed ready to take a closer look.

“M’lord.” Herer had pulled out his clockwork. “They’ve convened. We mustn’t tarry.”

The baron sighed. “For what good it will do.” He gave Jenn a wistful look. “Unless you’ve some magic to change minds who stubbornly insist on proof.”

“With respect, my lord baron,” she replied stiffly, “that’s not a proper use of magic at all.”

He had a contagious laugh, open and joyous. “Emon, please. You’re right, of course. We’re left with my powers of persuasion, such as they are. As Herer says, we’re out of time.”

“M’lord. I beg you reconsider.” Dutton’s voice was the deepest Jenn had ever heard, like one of Scourge’s rumbles. “You’ve done all you can without exposing yourself. There’s naught to be gained from these shadow lords. We could be back in Rhoth—”

Emon shook his head. “I’d ill serve Rhoth if I didn’t see it through. I’ll meet with anyone who might bring some sense back to all this.”

Shadow lords? “You’re meeting with the Shadow Sect,” Jenn said anxiously. “That’s what he means, isn’t it?” She looked to Herer. “That’s who tried to stop you in the market.”

“They’re against us?” that worthy exclaimed, growing pale. “M’lord!”

“How do you know of them?” Dutton demanded sharply, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. “Speak quickly!”

“Peace.” The baron held out a hand, waiting until his companions relaxed their stance, if not the now-suspicious glares they bestowed on Jenn. “The sect has authority within the Shadow District for good reason, my friends. Magic walks here.” He smiled at Jenn. “Have we not seen it tonight?” He gave her a curious look, his crows angling their black heads as though curious too. “Leading me to ask, Jenn Nalynn. Are you of this sect? Is that why you’ve summoned me?”

“No.” How much to say? Jenn met his eyes, kind and wise, as well as curious, and thought that if Semyn and Werfol’s father was someone to trust, his companions were another matter, being rightly concerned with protecting their lord. “The sect has been courteous and helpful to me as a—as a visitor here.” Which wasn’t a lie, if hardly the full truth. “I invited you to find me because Bannan and I thought you needed help.” She made a rueful face. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. You aren’t in trouble, are you.”

“Not for want of trying,” Bish said dryly. “Our lord’s put himself at considerable risk to move freely, away from Channen’s official court.”

“As was necessary.” Emon shrugged, his crows bobbing to keep their balance. He noticed her puzzlement. “Jenn, those who’d blame Rhoth for their woes have been swayed by promises no one outside Channen could match or comprehend. The rest hold no grudge against us, but have been convinced by lies I couldn’t refute as an envoy, trapped in meetings. If I was to find any leverage at all—any hope at all—it was here, in the Shadow District.”

It sounded more desperate than hopeful. “What will you do?”

“The shadow lords wield great influence within Channen’s House of Keys. Pray they’ll listen. First and foremost, though. Please. I must know Bannan’s safe,” Emon declared, warming her heart.

“You will,” Jenn told him, for she trusted what she’d done. Then, because Bannan would, she dared ask, “And the baroness? Is she safe?”

Emon ran a finger down the throat of the larger crow, Scatterwit. His thumb was badly bruised, the nail split, as if caught in a door; now that she looked with more concern, she noticed the purpling under his eyes and how he favored one leg. Still, he smiled at her question. “My Lila? Rarely.”

Which wasn’t an answer.

“M’lord, if you would do this, we must away.”

“A moment longer,” Jenn urged, answering to impulse. “Please.”

“I—”

A sheet of white crested the side of the roof, moths spilling over in a blinding cloud. As Jenn held out her hands to retrieve them, she looked to see what—who—followed, her heart pounding.

And there he was. Bannan Larmensu reached the top of the rickety ladder and stepped onto the roof.

Followed by the woman who could only be his sister.

Bannan stood high on a rooftop and watched moths vanish into the outstretched hands of the woman he loved, her face aglow with happiness, and witnessed joy as he’d never imagined it. Something had changed—what could have changed?

Whatever it was filled his heart until it might have burst.

Save that Lila stood watching with him, her utter stillness a warning not to ignore.

“Lila, this is Jenn.”

Along with Emon, Ancestors Blessed, with his bloody crows, flanked by Dutton Omemee and Bish, whom he’d not seen since his last Midwinter Beholding with the family, two years ago. And their watcher, reasonably unscathed, likely missing a knife.

Not to forget the kruar, with toad.

PatPat. As if the yling knew he’d been counting.

Did Lila even breathe?

Jenn’s smile disappeared as her hands dropped to her sides, her eyes locked with his sister’s.

“Let me—”

Lila’s head moved almost imperceptibly. No, that was, and Bannan closed his mouth. Heart’s Blood. She’d judged Jenn a threat and why wouldn’t she? Magic in abundance. A summons in the night? One that swept up her husband too? It couldn’t be worse, and Bannan was lost for what to say or do—but he, Ancestors save him, he put his hand to the hilt of that wretched knife and despaired.

Jenn took a step forward, dropping an old-fashioned curtsy. “Baroness.”

Lila gave a hard little gasp. “I’ve ’dreamed you.”