The Storyspinner (22 page)

Chapter 62

Pira

Leão’s hand was on her side, his lips tentative against hers. Pira paused for the length of one thought—one moment of
what in the Light am I doing?
—before giving in. The brush of his mouth wasn’t enough. She needed to measure the breadth of his shoulders with her hands, to feel the crush of his arms, to taste him on her lips.

Whenever they’d sparred, Leão fought her with skill and intensity, never holding back. His kiss was the same, fueled by desperation, all tongue and lips and gasping breaths. Hands searched her body, strong and certain as they ran down her back, finding her belt loops, using them to pull her closer.

The muscles of his chest flexed and tensed under her fingers. She traced the lines of bone and sinew she’d spent so much time staring at, finding the valleys between his ribs.

This is so wrong. So wrong, so wrong,
she thought as the heat from his body scorched her own, singeing her palms with a touch that had been forbidden. And yet she didn’t do anything—didn’t
want
to do anything—to make it stop.

Tex took care of that for her.

“I’m not going to ask what you two think you’re doing because it’s quite obvious there isn’t a whole lot of
thinking
going on.” His gruff tone filled the tiny space.

They lurched apart, each hugging the wagon’s opposite walls.

The old man shook his head, and Pira wasn’t sure if he was amused or disgusted. “Jacaré wants to ride in three hours. I suggest you use that time to sleep.”

With that he slammed the wagon’s door and marched down the stairs.

In the sudden silence their breathing rattled like loose shingles in a windstorm. Pira could see the rapid rise and fall of Leão’s chest and the bare skin of his abdomen where his shirt had ridden up.

“Pira . . . I . . .” His mouth hung open for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to—”

She heard shame in his tone and didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. “It was a mistake. We’re both tired and not thinking clearly.”

“I know—”

“It’s late. We’ll just chalk it up to stupidity and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“A-all right.”

She turned her back to him, tucking her knees close to her chest and the blanket up around her ears. “Go to sleep. I know Jacaré’s going to want to ride hard tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Pira covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the tender skin of her lips. She pressed them together, savoring the flavor of Leão as it lingered on her tongue.
He doesn’t have any feelings for you. It was a mistake. He agreed. It was stupid.
I
was stupid.

Chapter 63

Johanna

Johanna woke to the sound of male voices. Rafi’s face immediately popped into her mind. She rolled to her elbows, peeking over the sill, and saw two men in DeSilva livery sitting near the fire pit. For one ridiculous moment Johanna was disappointed that the lordling hadn’t come as her personal escort. After his apology, which had been surprisingly sincere, something changed in the way she saw Rafi.

Under the brooding, arrogant facade was a boy—not much older than herself—who was fettered with responsibility. He feared failing his family, his people, and disgracing the memory of a deceased parent. She knew the weight of those chains.

H
e’
s doing the best he can,
she thought as she climbed over Michael’s sleeping form.
I have to respect him for that.

She tried to ignore the bubbling sense of something else, something a little stronger than respect.

The sun peeked above the horizon, but it was so early. She wanted to clean up their small living spaces before she left for the day, but that meant facing whatever beast may be asleep in the other wagon.

Instead of a mess of bottles, a bucket of sick, and the lash of her mother’s drink-sharpened tongue, Johanna found the space empty and everything in perfect order. The wooden surfaces gleamed, the floor was freshly swept, and across Johanna’s bed lay a dress of pale green damask.

It had always been one of her mother’s favorites.

Tucked into the laced bodice was a single sheet of paper and her father’s necklace. Johanna brushed it aside and read the words on the note.

My Dearest Johanna,

Your father wanted you to have this necklace when you were old enough. Tonight, I realized that time has come. The casing is bent and the stone is flawed, but I promise it’s worth far more than it appears. I hope it will bring you more luck than it brought my dear Arlo.

You are a better daughter than I deserved to have.

Love Always,

Mother

Johanna’s chest ached like she’d been shoved into a corset five sizes too small, and she knew the feeling wouldn’t abate until she was able to speak with her mother.

She slipped into the dress and attempted to comb her hair so it somewhat resembled a lady’s and not the overgrown mop of a boy. The gold chain dropped over her head, and the warm pendant slid under the neckline.

She checked her reflection in their small mirror and was pleasantly surprised at how well the color suited her.

“All right, boys,” she said as she stepped out the wagon door. “Let’s get ready to go.”

Chapter 64

Tex

Far to the north, a glass glowed bright enough to wake a sleeping man.

Tex stumbled to the saddlebag on the floor, finding the leather-wrapped bundle. Frantically, his fingers tore through the ties that covered the glass’s surface. He was too late to catch the image in action, but he hurried to the window to determine what he could see.

The picture was frozen again and horribly murky. A bright beam of light fell across a crisscrossed lump. Tex could make out a square window, a splash of washed-out color.

And then it made sense. He was looking at a crazy quilt of some kind, a tiny body asleep in a narrow bed—a bed terribly similar to the one he’d just climbed out of.

Someone had touched the stone and activated it.

The question was who. And where.

Chapter 65

Rafi

“My lord! My lord, wait!”

Despite Rafi’s desire to ride into the meadow and leave the rest of the servants and underlords behind, there was something compelling about the voice.

Ugh. So this must be Vibora.
His staff was all abuzz with discussion about Inimigo’s kind, pleasant, thoughtful, beautiful assistant. Even Rafi’s steward Mortimer—a notoriously difficult person to impress—said Vibora seemed “relatively intelligent for someone in Inimigo’s employ.”

Rafi could ignore her, and whatever she needed. No one would stop him. If he rode Breaker at a gallop, no one would even be able to catch him. But that would be running, and a responsible duke never ran from anything. Especially not from high-ranking staff members of a visiting duke.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” he asked.

The crowd of servants—busy attaching panniers of picnic goods and other necessities to saddles—parted for her, nodding hello and offering smiles as she went. Whoever she was, she’d certainly made friends among the maids and couriers quickly.

“Good morning, my lord.” She stopped at his stirrup and bowed her neck in deference. “Forgive me for interrupting you, but Lord Inimigo wanted me to make sure you’d received his invitation to join him for breakfast.”

Rafi took a deep breath, hoping to calm his temper. Who was Duke Inimigo to invite Rafi to breakfast? Visitors waited for invitations; they didn’t issue them.

“I’m afraid I’ve already eaten. Please give Duke—”

“Your mother also requested that you join the duke and his daughter.” Vibora offered Rafi a square of paper between two outstretched fingers.

Rafi’s heart sank. He’d been looking forward to a morning away from his guests, to give him space and a chance to put his thoughts straight about betrothals and intrigue and too many secrets.

Dom urged his horse closer, so he could see over his brother’s shoulder. Rafi tilted the paper so his brother could read his mother’s missive.

“Tell them you already ate, and that you couldn’t possibly stomach a bite in Duke Inimigo’s company,” Dom suggested. “Because you’re already full, of course.” He smiled at Vibora and received a flat-eyed stare in return.

Rafi crumpled the paper and tossed it into the goat pen. “Tell my mother and the duke that I’ll be along shortly. I have a few arrangements to make.”

The woman nodded, and Rafi watched her return to the house at a slow, gliding pace, as if all the world would wait for her. Halfway back to the house, Vibora froze as if a poisonous snake had slithered across her path.

Her head swiveled toward the line of horses, eyes scanning the servants who laughed and chatted as they waited.

Was she looking for someone specific? Perhaps she needed something else. Rafi opened his mouth to shout after her, but she blinked and continued into the house.

“Can you manage this on your own?” Rafi wanted Dom to say no, to tell him he couldn’t possibly direct the servants without assistance.

“I intend to stay out of Brynn’s way,” Dom said with a grin. “She’s quite capable of handling this, as you are well aware. I’ll lie in the shade all day, listen to the birds sing and the wind blow through the meadow.”

Dom was right. Accompanying the servants to prepare for that afternoon’s picnic wasn’t necessary, but Rafi liked having an excuse to be close to Johanna. He turned in the saddle, searching for her. She sat shoulder to shoulder with Brynn, the two of them laughing lightheartedly. Two guardsman in DeSilva livery loomed behind her like shadows at dusk.

“Oh.” Dom followed his brother’s gaze. “So the rumors
are
true.”

Rafi stiffened. Had his brother somehow discovered his mother’s suspicions about Johanna’s identity? If he knew, who else did?

Dom dismounted and freed the pannier from behind Breaker’s saddle and tied it to his own. “If you don’t want people to know, you should really make your interest less obvious.”

Rafi leaned across his saddle and snatched Dom’s reins, holding both horses steady. “What are you talking about? What rumors?”

“Brother, relax.” Dom gave Rafi’s knee a playful shove. “Gossip follows every lord around. Especially when he and an attractive Performer girl disappear at the same time.” He shook his head, as if slightly confused, but a smile still creased his face. “I can’t say I understand her taste in men. Surely she knows that in a few years I’ll be the brother everyone will want.”

The knots in Rafi’s neck loosened a bit, and he allowed himself one more fleeting glance in Johanna’s direction.

“If you want to keep your romantic rendezvous private you have to be sneak—”

“It wasn’t like that,” Rafi insisted, his voice low. He felt honor bound, among other things, to protect Johanna’s reputation. She’d suffered enough at his hands and was a prickly person to apologize to. “I wanted to . . . to make sure she got home safely.”

Rafi doubted every action he’d taken regarding Johanna. Perhaps it would have been better to send her away—to where, he wasn’t sure—but it would have been too easy for someone to attack her en route.

No. It was better that she was where he could keep on an eye on her personally, and where guardsmen he trusted could provide her protection when he was unavailable. And if she was supposed to be his future wife . . .

“You’re doing a horrible job
not
looking at her.”

Rafi realized that he’d been staring, feeling a twinge of jealousy as she chatted with a few of the visiting underlords. Then one man touched her elbow, and Rafi’s jealousy shifted to concern.

Any one of them could be an assassin. It would be so easy to slip a knife between her ribs, or poison her food, or snatch her into the underbrush. In that moment he made a decision.

“Dom, I need your help.”

Rafi didn’t tell his brother everything—there were some secrets better left unspoken—but he needed another person he could trust to keep an eye on Johanna. He laid out a plan that he hoped would protect her while still allowing him to treat with Inimigo.

“She’s not going to like it.” Dom scuffed the ground with his boot. “She may not play along.”

“She’ll do it. If she’s in danger, her family may also be at risk. A man intent on killing every girl who matches her description wouldn’t let a couple of little boys stand in his way.”

*    *    *

Rafi hesitated outside the small dining room’s door, trying to make out the voices on the other side.

“You said the men of Santiago were honorable, or at least a little more circumspect about their dalliances.”

“He’s a man, or will be soon, Belle. You can’t expect more from him than that.”

“But she’s a Performer!” The girl’s voice rose in pitch. “Some gutter-whelped entertainer who isn’t even talented enough to be sanctioned by the Performers’ Council. If she were another high-bred lady with taste and class, perhaps I’d be willing to share him—”

Her voice cut off with a thump and a gasp.

“Enough,” Inimigo said, sounding dangerous. “I don’t care if he brings a trollop, or a man, or a horse to his bed, as long as he brings you to it as well. I’ve fought too long to lose it all because my daughter doesn’t want her husband to act like a man.”

There was another pained intake of breath before Inimigo continued. “You will obey me. You will flatter and sway him. You will convince him that you are the only choice for a betrothal, or I will ask Vibora and her friends to help you. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“N-no, Papa. Please.”

Vibora?
She hadn’t seemed particularly threatening, but she did work for Inimigo. That alone made her a woman with secrets.

Rafi didn’t want to get caught listening at closed doors. “Good morning, Duke and Lady,” he said as he entered the room. “Forgive me for delaying your meal. I’m glad your steward caught me. I couldn’t imagine breakfasting with a more . . . lovely companion.”

He took a moment to study the girl’s form—as he supposed Inimigo expected him to do. Maribelle’s dark hair had been swept off her neck, which was bare, as were her shoulders and a generous portion of her chest. Two large cutouts exposed the girl’s abdomen from her rib cage to her hip bones. Smooth, tawny skin stretched over sinuous curves. Rafi knew dress styles in Maringa were more revealing, but this gown had to border on scandalous even there.

She offered her hand and Rafi pressed his lips to it, noticing a series of fingerlike bruises ringing her wrist.

A coconspirator in this plot, but an unwilling one.

“She is something to be proud of,” Inimigo said, eyeing his daughter like a prized mare.

Maribelle returned her father’s smile without a blink or tremble.

And a good actress.

Rafi waved to the table laden with an assortment of breads, cheeses, sliced meats, and fresh yogurt, not that he had any inclination to eat while his stomach broiled with disgust. “Tell me the news from Maringa.” Rafi schooled his features into pleasantness and hoped that neither of his guests would realize his smile was fake.

“Lord Rafael, we both know that Maringa’s economy, its people, its textiles and commodities are far richer than Santiago will ever be.” Inimigo leaned forward, resting a fist on the table beside his plate. “I want to expand trade from my state beyond Belem, but your people and those of Impreza hold me in no great esteem. I’m here to attend your naming ceremony as a gesture of goodwill, and I’m offering you my daughter’s hand to create a greater connection between our states.”

At least he didn’t spend the entire meal making small talk, Rafi thought as he set down his goblet. “While your daughter is beautiful,” he said, nodding to Maribelle, who blushed prettily, “and a new trade route between our states would be mutually beneficial, I’m not certain the people of Santiago are prepared to forgive you for the deaths you sanctioned during the Ten Years’ War. What reason can you possibly give me—and I them—that would clear those memories from their minds? And why would they believe you when you arrive at my home with thirty
slaves
in tow?”

Rafi leaned back in his chair, trying to appear more calm and controlled than he felt. A drop of sweat rolled down his back and puddled at his belt.

Inimigo considered Rafi with pursed lips. Rafi hoped he saw a confident, educated man and not a boy spouting his mother’s words.

“Yes, Vibora said there were rumors circulating about my
prisoners
.” Inimigo drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he spoke. “Rather than incarcerate all petty criminals in Maringa, we give a select few the opportunity to work off their debts as members of our household staff. The collars are to help us delineate between regular staff who have access to every room in my house, and those who have limited access.”

“You brought these criminals into my home.”

Maribelle spoke up. “They aren’t criminals in the usual sense. They’re rehabilitated street people, mostly. Isn’t that right, Papa?”

“They aren’t dangerous.” Inimigo placed a hand on his daughter’s bare shoulder. “I wouldn’t let anyone evil near my child.”

Except yourself.

“Perhaps the people of Santiago would be swayed by the opportunities I give the lowliest of mine,” Inimigo continued. “If that’s not enough, there’s always Maribelle’s dowry.”

“Twenty thousand in gold, shares in two of your mines, a selection of jewelry.” Rafi shrugged as if unimpressed. “I’m sure an underlord in Belem or Impreza would be happy with those terms.”

Maribelle crumpled her napkin between multiringed fingers. “It’s not enough for you?”

Rafi rested his elbows on the table and narrowed his eyes at the duke. “I was once betrothed to a princess. Her dowry was an entire kingdom. Why would I give up on that when there are rumors that she survived and is on the Wisp Islands, massing troops for her grand return?”

“People love romantic notions of missing heirs returning to claim their thrones. It’s something straight out of a Performer’s tale.” A vein ticked at Inimigo’s left temple, but his face showed no other sign of emotion. “I
know
the princess is dead. Unfortunately, a group of overzealous soldiers strung up her body. I executed the lot for their actions.”

It wasn’t the confession Rafi hoped for, but it also didn’t eliminate Inimigo as a threat to Johanna.

“A dead girl can do nothing for you, Rafael.
I
can fill your grain silos.
I
can feed your people, this year, next year, for ten years to come. But food isn’t what you really need.”

“Then what is?”

“Protection.” A small smile crept onto Inimigo’s face. “There’s a storm coming, and the two hundred men in your garrison aren’t going to be enough to stand in its path. You could call in the men from each of your outposts and force your underlords to marshal their troops as well. They won’t be enough.”

Rafi’s throat grew dry, but his back continued to sweat. “Is that a declaration of war?”

“From me?” Inimigo placed a hand over his chest, clearly offended. “Of course not. I was offering a piece of advice.”

“Tell me then, where will this great threat come from? The Wisp Islands? The Pirates from beyond Impreza?” Rafi tried out one of Dom’s smirks. “Or perhaps you expect the Keepers to appear and take back this land.”

“No need to be flippant, my boy. There are people who see the future of Santarem as one united country, rather than five divided states.”

Inimigo’s neck had gone red, but Rafi continued to push.

“I assume you’re one of these people? The one ready to wear the crown of a united Santarem?”

“Those are your words, not mine.” Inimigo grabbed his daughter’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m not certain this country would ever accept you as a king.”

“Consider my offer. Consider your position in the new Santarem.”

And as the duke vacated the room, Rafi wondered what, exactly, Inimigo had been holding back. There had been some undercurrent of tension, something that even the implacable duke had been unwilling to discuss.

What was it?
Rafi wondered. And how much danger were his people about to face?