Aeralis (3 page)

Anger boiled in my veins. “Get off this porch,” I said. “This is a mob. This is not how we do things here. We can meet to discuss this in daylight when I can see all your faces properly.”

“You’re the Bluewing,” he said. “I respect that. But you’re wrong to harbor her. We’ll see justice done.”

“Daylight,” I repeated. “I won’t be cowed by a mob.”

I remained in the doorway until they left the porch, then I shut the door and leaned against it, shaking. I wasn’t shaking with fear, though, but with anger.

I looked at Ann. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “They have every reason to—”

“No. I won’t hear you defend their prejudice and hate. How dare they ignore your role in the liberation? Your father’s role?”

“My father’s role is the only reason why he wasn’t shot that night.”

I chewed my lip and growled in frustration.

“I’ve expected this,” she continued. “I knew they’d come. They’ve been looking at me as if I were a snake since the liberation.”

“You’re a hero,” I snapped.

“They don’t really know that. All they know is that I’m a Mayor. My father—”

“You are not your father!”

“That mob doesn’t care,” she said. “And I think they’re right about one thing. I think perhaps I should leave.”

“Absolutely not—”

“Lia,” Adam said firmly. “Ann is right.”

I stared at him, shock silencing me.

“She should leave for her own safety,” he said. “I was thinking perhaps she and her father could stay temporarily at the Weaver farm, now that it’s been returned to your family’s possession.”

The farm
. I saw it in my mind’s eye, blanketed in fresh snow, far from the village and this madness.

My blood buzzed in my ears as if I’d swallowed a thousand bees. My hands itched to break something. “All right,” I said after a pause. “But I hate this. It’s stupid. It isn’t fair.”

“Maybe not,” Ann agreed. “But it’s what I have to do.”

~

Ivy and I helped Ann carry her things to the farm, and I settled her into my old room. Being back felt like a dream—similar to my memories, but different. Some of the furniture had shifted, a thick coat of dust covered the tables and shelves, and the walls felt tighter around me. It was as if I’d grown in size, or the house had shrunk. I trailed my hand across the top of my bureau, leaving streaks in the wake of my fingertips.

Ann kept her mouth fixed in a smile, but I could see the glimmer of apprehension that shimmered in her eyes as she looked through the window at the yard and the Frost beyond.

“You’ve both been injected with serum,” I said quietly as I knelt to help her unpack her things. “Watchers won’t attack you if they get a whiff of your blood. Remember that.”

“Yes. Too bad bears don’t respond to the serum as well.” Ann reached into her luggage and began pulling out cloaks and dresses. She crossed the room to the bureau and opened a drawer. She dumped the things inside and stopped, lowering her head. “I’m scared, Lia.”

“We don’t get many bears this close to the village.”

Ann giggled, a half-hysterical sound. She shut the drawer and turned to face me. “It isn’t as if I haven’t lived out in the wilderness before. I don’t know why I’m being such a mouse about it.”

It was true—she’d spent several weeks with us as a fugitive in the Frost ruins, but she’d never been on her own with only her father for company.

“But this time...” She stopped. “I’m not a traitor, Lia.”

“I know.”

She chewed her lip. “It will be lonely here.”

“I’ll visit you,” I promised. “We’re not abandoning you.”

She nodded slowly and went to unpack the rest of her things.

“I’ll see how your father is coming,” I said.

Below, I found Ivy building a fire while the former Mayor watched with fascination and apprehension. I realized with bemusement that neither Ann nor her father had probably done much—if any—household work. They’d always had servants for that. Well, no longer.

The sight of the warm wooden walls and narrow, shuttered windows made my chest ache with longing to stay. I missed this place to my bones, but my work was far from done. They needed me in the village.

“Thank you for your assistance,” the Mayor murmured to Ivy. He looked away from me, and I realized he was afraid of me now.

Ann descended the stairs and looked at us, then the fire. Silence fell over the room.

“We should get back to the village,” Ivy said softly.

Ann crossed the room and hugged me. I clung to her a moment, squeezing her tight to reassure myself that she was safe, that she was going to be all right here without me, without any protection. Despite my assurances to her earlier, I was worried.

“We’ll be fine,” she whispered, as if reading my thoughts.

Ivy and I left the house and started across the yard. I listened to the sound of our boots squishing in the sludge of melting snow and inhaled the scent of pine and wet earth.

“It’s stupid,” Ivy muttered without looking at me.

“Yes,” I agreed, and I wondered when my sister and I had stopped fighting and started sharing the same thoughts and opinions. We were shoulder to shoulder as we walked, and I realized she was almost as tall as I was. She was almost a woman now.

I stopped by the barn.

“You go on,” I told Ivy. “I have something I need to do.”

The barn door creaked as I shoved it open. Sunlight illuminated the space, catching dust motes and making them sparkle. The air smelled of must and old hay, and I sneezed as I stepped around scattered farm tools. I crossed the room to the compartment in the floor that led to the lower room beneath the barn, the one where my parents had kept their secret life as Thorns agents and Weaver heritage keepers hidden from us.

My fingers automatically found the button concealed among the stones, and the door slid open with a rusty scraping sound. I descended the steps, stopping to feel my way through the dark. I fumbled for the matches I’d left the last time. I struck one against the stone wall, and it flared and sputtered in the darkness. I lit a lantern and sank down among the boxes and stacks of books.

“I wish you were here, Ma,” I whispered aloud. “Jonn is sick.”

Silence hung in the space around me, thick as the dark the lantern light kept at bay. My words withered and fell away unheard.

He was dying, and I was helpless to save him. I would do anything, but there was nothing to be done.

Sighing, I reached for one of the boxes and lifted the lid to peer inside. It contained stacks of papers, all old documents belonging to my parents. Lists of names, maps, catalogs of supplies. I sifted through them, feeling the brittle paper between my fingers, gazing at the scrawl of my father’s handwriting.

At the bottom of the box lay a wooden case. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. A jewelry box—my mother’s jewelry box. Why was it in here with the papers and documents? She’d kept it in her dresser drawer, beneath her underthings and stockings. As a child, I’d loved to sift through the sparkling pieces and rub them until they shone clean. Rings, earrings, all my mother’s treasured family heirlooms. Memories rushed over me.

My fingers slipped, and the box crashed to the floor. Strands of silver scattered. Brooches tumbled out. I righted the box quickly, carefully replacing each piece.

Something protruded from the corner of the box where the velvet lining was pulling away from the wood. A paper of some sort. The fall of the box must have dislodged it.

I tugged gently at the scrap, and a folded square of paper slid into my hand.

A letter.

I unfolded it and scanned the first line.

My dearest Lia, Jonn, and Ivy
,

I stopped. My heard pounded. This letter was meant for us.

I unfolded the rest of the paper and spread the sheet out on my lap. My lips moved as I read the words silently.

There is something you need to know, something I’ve not yet had the courage to tell you.

First, let me tell you a story.

Lia and Jonn—when you both were small, before Jonn’s injury, before Ivy was even born, a fugitive found his way to our farm. He was Aeralian, running from the injustice of a wrongful accusation. This was before the royal family had been deposed, before the Aeralians became the Farthers we know today. He was from a farm on their plains, a man who loved woods and sky and snow as much as any Frost dweller. We granted him refuge, and he lived in our barn. He even helped us build the secret room that lies below the floor, a place where he could live in safety.

I stopped reading and looked around me at the room in wonder.

Your father was always fascinated with the remains of the Weaver legacy that we’ve written about in the journals. He began uncovering ruins, making maps, finding books and inventions that he could not understand. He would make long trips into the Frost, searching for answers, uncovering everything he could find. The Frost held many treasures, many secrets, and he found many of them.

Then, one day more than a month after the fugitive had joined our little farm, your father

The rest of the letter was missing. I turned it over, but there was nothing written on the other side. I examined the jewelry box and sifted through the papers I’d found it with, but there was no sign of the rest of the letter.

I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket as the words swirled in my mind, haunting me.

There is something you need to know, something I’ve not yet had the courage to tell you.

What was it?

THREE

THE JOURNEY BACK to Iceliss melted into a blur as the sharp white of snow and the jagged cuts of green spun around me. My mother’s words sparked in my brain, and with every remembrance, my mind spun with questions,

There is something you need to know.

I reached the Cages and passed beneath the snow blossom-trimmed bars. The flower-wreathed metal striped me in shifting shadows, and I shivered reflexively. We might cover them with beauty, but the reminder of all we’d lost remained. Some of the flowers were already withering, revealing the steel beneath once more. It looked more like a memorial to honor something long dead rather than a celebration.

Beneath our attempts to cover them, the truth showed through like bones.

Something I’ve not yet had the courage to tell you.

In the village streets, a crowd had gathered. Shouts split the air. I pushed my way through the clusters of men and women, trying to make out the furtive whispers as I elbowed my way to the middle of the commotion.

Two men shoved at each other in the center of the crowd. Their eyes were bright and sharp with fury, and their mouths spat accusations. Their cloaks fluttered as they circled each other.

“What is going on?” I shouted.

The men drew apart and looked at me, and their fury faded as they recognized my face. One was a villager, a Fisher. The other was one of the fugitives that had returned with me through the gate.

“Bluewing,” the fugitive said. “We—”

“I should not have to share my quota with an outsider!” the Fisher snarled. “They’ve brought us nothing but confusion and trouble. There’s even talk of disease spreading.”

A hot wave swept through me, obliterating any sense of tact I might have.

“Shut up,” I said, and the words came out cold and cutting.

They both fell silent and looked at me. And they listened, respect in their eyes, because I was Bluewing. Surely, I would know what to do. The mockery of their trust when I felt so lost made me brittle inside. I wet my lips with my tongue and gathered words to soothe them.

“We were all outsiders once,” I said. “And those who live among us now helped bring us peace.”

“But the rumors of illness—”

“They deserve our respect and thanks. We’re all in this together now.”

The man looked away.

“Bluewing—” someone began in protest.

“Do you remember how we ended up in the grip of the Farthers?” I shouted. “Do you remember how it grew worse and worse? We were fragmented, suspicious. We were at each other’s throats. It was so easy for them to take us. We were weak, and we will continue to be weak if we continue to fight and mistrust and hate.”

Mutters swirled in the air around me. I stared at each man in turn, willing them to hear the words I spoke and take them to heart, and then I turned and headed for the former Mayor’s house in the center of town.

~

Adam was waiting on the porch when I reached the house. The wind caught his cloak and made it flutter. His eyes were dark and full of unspoken things as they met mine.

“We need to talk.”

Apprehension brewed in my stomach, and the questions raised by my mother’s letter fled my mind. I climbed the steps to meet him.

“What is it?” My voice came out low, emotionless. Adam didn’t have many expressions that he wore openly, but I detected his apprehension in the way his eyes tightened and his fingers twitched. Whatever his message, he was loath to deliver it.

Adam tipped his head to the side, considering me, weighing his words. “I’ve made contact with the Trio at last. I’ve received our orders.”

I breathed out. This did not pertain to Jonn, at least.

“And?”

“I’ve been given orders to help with the liberation effort in Aeralis. I’m to leave for Astralux right away.”

The world telescoped around me as I absorbed his words. “What?”

Adam didn’t repeat himself. He knew I’d heard him the first time. He just stood there, letting it sink in, letting me process it.

“What about me?” I managed.

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. “The Thorns think you’re best suited to remaining here as a contact, and I think it’s best, too. The villagers listen to you. They look to you for guidance.”

“But—”

“Stay here and look after your brother.”

I’d just lost Gabe, and Jonn was at death’s door. How could I stand to lose Adam, too? How could I do this alone?