The Storyspinner (29 page)

Chapter 87

Pira

The horses drank like they’d been running across a desert. Their sides heaved as they gulped, their coats gleaming with sweat under the evening sunset.

Pira knelt to fill her canteen and took a few long swigs of the clear, cold water before splashing a bit on her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and the tunic she wore over her leather breeches was sweat stained. She looked awful compared to the pampered little princess.

The girl was attractive in an obvious way, petite and fair-skinned, with small hands and delicate features. Pira wanted to hate her, but she had to give Johanna credit for a toughness that belied her size. She didn’t complain about the hard ground or rough food, and didn’t cry when her attempted escape left her scraped and bleeding.

Leão certainly hadn’t missed Johanna’s beauty and gumption, consoling her and patting her on the back when she needed comfort.

It was infuriating and charming all at the same time.

Pira picked up a flat rock and skipped it across the stream, trying to distract herself from thoughts of that night, of that kiss, of the way her body fit perfectly next to his.

Yo
u’
re being ridiculous.
She grabbed a handful of rocks and threw them all into the stream.
It was nothing. It meant nothing.

“Hey,” a voice called from over her shoulder.

Pira jumped. Leão shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on her, but his natural ability to be silent and her loud thoughts had overwhelmed her senses.

“The horses are almost done drinking. I’ll be back to camp in a few moments.”

“Actually.” He took a couple of steps closer to her, but the look on his face was anything but inviting. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She busied herself gathering the nearest horse’s reins, so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sure. What do you need?”

He stopped and took the reins out of her hands. “Johanna could be the leader of Santarem someday. I think it would be good if we made an effort to befriend her.”

Pira gave a half laugh and shook her head. “Too bad there isn’t a hayloft or a Performer’s wagon convenient.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” His green eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock.

“A perfect political match. Give her a few kisses and I’m sure she’ll be amenable to whatever
diplomacy
you have planned.” The words spilled out of her mouth and she had no way to dam them. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried it already.”
Oh Light. Stop talking.

“You can’t honestly think . . . Miriam was—”

“You even remember her name!” She forced a cold smile to her lips. “I’m impressed.”

“Pira.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “The night I kissed you—”

“Was one I’m sure you’d rather forget.” She stepped past him, backing toward their camp. “Me too. Go ahead and finish up with the horses. I have other duties to attend to.”

Chapter 88

Rafi

They’d gained ground on the kidnappers. Both Snout and Vibora agreed that the tracks were fresher, but they were still more than a day behind.

Rafi called for a short stop where both the men and animals could rest.

He settled by the small cooking fire and pulled his lumpy saddlebag toward him. He’d been too involved with last-minute details to take the case Snout had found in Marin’s hands out of the bag, and the metal rectangle brushed against his calf as he rode. It was a constant reminder of why he was on the trail and the person he was looking for—not that Johanna was ever far from his mind—but he felt battered enough without the bruise the box inflicted.

If I wrap it in my cloak, it will dull the edges.
When he tugged the box free, the entire lid tore off and a few coins spilled out across Rafi’s lap. “Blast it.”

He dropped the coins inside, where they disappeared between sheets of paper. He slid them aside, wanting to make sure that all of Johanna’s money was accounted for, and saw something that made him freeze.

It couldn’t be . . .

Trying not to disorder the papers, he reached for an envelope with a navy-colored blob of wax. He lifted the paper and tilted it toward the light. Sure enough, it was the hawk from his family’s seal.

It’s probably a request for a performance,
he convinced himself, but the wax had never been broken.

There was no name on the outside of the envelope, but it was his father’s seal—Rafi’s seal now—so the letter had something to do with his dukedom.

With a hint of guilt he opened it. The handwriting was cramped and hurried; blots marred some of the lines, but it was completely recognizable. The message was undoubtedly from his father, but the words it contained were life altering.

This letter is to assert that the girl raised by the acrobat Arlo is the child of King Wilhelm and Queen Christiana. On the event of my death, these words are to stand as a testimony of my knowledge and actions concerning the Princess Adriana, who is known to herself and her family as Johanna Von Arlo.

The letter described how Arlo, under the king’s command, had smuggled the child out of the Citadel by means of a rear gate that few besides Wilhelm and his closest confidants knew of.

The political environment of Santarem is dangerous, and the princess’s enemies are many and widespread. For her safety, she’s being kept at Performers’ Camp and hidden until there is an appropriate time to return her to the throne.

Arlo is the bearer of the king’s emerald pendant—a flawed green stone, set with a golden cap. The edges of the cap are scalloped. Wilhelm used this pendant rather than a sigil ring to seal all his correspondence and political documents. Arlo will give the necklace to the princess when she comes of age. Each of the dukes will recognize it as a talisman, and its bearer as their leader.

“You brought your accounting books with you, my lord?” Vibora dropped beside him, stretching her long legs toward the fire with a sigh. “I didn’t think you were the type to be so concerned over your daily finances.”

“Ah . . .” Rafi slipped the letter into his shirt. “You can never be ignorant when it comes to the care of a ducal estate.” He sounded like a fool, but Vibora didn’t seem to notice.

“If you can’t sleep, you should at least eat and lie down, my lord.”

He couldn’t sleep now even if someone mixed passionflower in his food.

Johanna
was
the princess. His father had always known . . . had always known his betrothed was alive and could take the throne. Yet the duke had done nothing about it.

Because it could lead to civil war. Inimigo would stop anyone who tried to rule Santarem and this time Belem might fight at his side.

Suddenly the evidence was stacked against the overweight lord. The attack on Johanna in the forest, the theft of her necklace, and the killing of her family—all of it to stop her from claiming the kingdom that was rightfully hers.

“At least your muscles will rest.”

Had she said something else? Rafi grunted and rubbed his eyes, feigning exhaustion.

A quick look at the group proved he was the only one having difficulty relaxing. Snout stirred the thin stew in aimless circles. Both Rafi’s guardsmen held their heads in their hands, one already dozing off. Lucas, Vibora’s collared servant, had collapsed on top of his bed roll without crawling under the blankets.

The horses chomped in their feedbags, seeming more energetic than their human companions. Vibora’s medicine—whatever it was—had done its job for the animals.

“You wouldn’t by chance have a miraculous energy pill for humans, would you, Vibora?”

“Well . . .” She took a bite of dried fruit and chewed slowly. “There is something I could try that may refresh you, but there’s no guarantee it will work.”

Snout cleared his throat and tapped his spoon against the side of his bowl. His distrust for Vibora and her skills hadn’t faded, no matter the miles they’d traveled together.

“Perhaps in the morning,” Rafi said, pulling his blanket around his shoulders. “No need to refresh me till then.”

Vibora’s smile held, but her eyes seemed to dim a bit. “Yes, my lord. In the morning.”

Chapter 89

Leão

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

Leão gasped, hauling in lungfuls of air like a swimmer who’d been under too long. The fire had burned down to flickering coals, giving him just enough light to see the two forms on his right. Jacaré and Texugo were still sleeping, both resting peacefully. On his left, the princess was curled up on her side.

He scanned the camp’s perimeter, trying to find a familiar shadow.

“Go back to sleep, Leão.” Pira’s voice came from somewhere above and behind him.

Rolling to his feet, he moved toward the tree she’d perched in. Her legs dangled from a branch even with his head. “Did you hear or see anything? I felt . . .”

“You had a nightmare. The only thing I heard was your thrashing.” Her face was turned away from the fire, protecting her ability to see by the moonlight. “Or maybe that was just an excuse to move closer to Johanna.”

He wanted to reach out and touch her calf, to stop the one leg that was swinging idly, but kept his hands at his sides. Touching her would only get him into trouble. “I have no interest—”

“There’s a herd of marsh deer out there,” she continued, ignoring him. “I crossed their tracks when I came back from the stream.”

“I could have sworn I felt something with a strong
essência
.” He closed his eyes and focused, trying to sense anything besides the three other members of his crew and Johanna.

“I may not have your oh-so-superior
Mage
abilities, but if there was anything out there besides deer and a few titis, I’d know it.”

“Pira, I wasn’t saying—”

“Go back to sleep, Leão. You’ve got last watch.” She readjusted her position in the tree, drawing her feet up onto the branch and away from him.

Leão returned to his bedroll without another word.

Chapter 90

Rafi

“Don’t ever let her touch you.”

The words were spoken in a rushed whisper over the top of Rafi’s head. He looked up to find Lucas standing beside Nudger, the servant’s collar the only bit of brightness in the predawn light.

“What did you say?” Rafi asked as he straightened from tightening his horse’s girth.

Lucas toed the saddlebags by Nudger’s side. “Would you like me to secure this for you, my lord?”

Vibora’s servant never offered to help, not with setting up camp, or cooking meals, or collecting firewood. Lucas kept to himself, barely speaking to the other men and sleeping every moment he wasn’t in the saddle.

“No, thank you.” Rafi hefted the bag. Even though it was wrapped in his cloak, he could feel the sharp edges of the metal box inside. He wasn’t sure what else it had in it, but he had no intention of letting it out of his sight. The letter was too important to put back, so he kept it tucked in his vest’s inner pocket. “I can manage on my own.”

Lucas stood for a moment more, studying the ground, before Vibora called him to her side.

Something about the way Lucas moved reminded Rafi of a kicked dog, or maybe it was a dog that expected to get kicked. Vibora whispered a few words to her servant, and if it was possible, the man’s shoulders seemed to slump farther. She lifted his face with her fingers, forcing Lucas to make eye contact.

It was an odd interaction—actually there were a lot of odd things about Vibora, Rafi realized. Her skills as a tracker, her control over the servants, the respect Inimigo gave her, and of course Maribelle’s fear.

Rafi shook his head, recalling Maribelle’s words as they picked raspberries. Vibora couldn’t possibly command
magic
. That was ridiculous. All the stories said magic had disappeared when the Keepers crossed Donovan’s Wall, if it had ever existed in the first place. The perfect weather, abundant crops, and miraculous recoveries had all seemed a bit far-fetched.

Miraculous recoveries.

Was it possible to heal the horses to return their energy? To keep them running all day without tiring?

Vibora leaped into her saddle.

“Are you ready to ride, Lord Rafi?” she asked, eyeing him askance. “Are you feeling all right?” She reached for the pouch at her waist. “I do have some gentle restoratives. They aren’t as powerful as what I give the horses—”

“No.” His tone was sharp enough to draw her attention. “I’m fine and will be better once we find Johanna.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Rafi followed Snout out of the clearing, wishing Vibora rode at the front of the group.

Never turn your back to a viper,
his father had once cautioned, as he pinned down the head of a black-and-red-banded himeralli.
That’s an invitation to strike.

Rafi would have taken a pit full of the vipers with their bright stripes and flesh-melting bites over one Vibora, whose true danger was unknown.

If she could wield magic, Rafi didn’t want to present her with any opportunity to attack.

Chapter 91

Jacaré

With a village ahead and provisions to replenish, the crew had to slow their pace or risk drawing attention from any travelers who might venture down the wooded road.

The delay, and Johanna’s constant prodding, irritated Jacaré to no end.

“I need to send a letter. A note. A messenger pigeon. Anything,” she said as she rode the big black horse beside him. “They need to know that I’m safe and that I’ll be coming back soon.”

He shifted in his saddle, but it didn’t ease his guilty conscience. He’d promised Johanna that she could return to Santiago as soon as possible. “Possible” was a broad term, and in this case it meant “someday.” Maybe.

“My little brother thinks he’s alone in the world. Michael needs to know that at least one member of his family survived.”

“We
cannot
send a letter,” he said, trying to keep his tone level. His eyes searched the roadside, looking through the browning leaves for any hint of danger. “No one can know where you are or where you’re going, at least for now. We can’t give away our position.”

“Please, Jacaré—”

Her words cut off when a dozen deer burst across the road, dodging around the horses, eyes frantic as they darted into the woods.

“What was that?” Johanna asked, her head swiveling as she watched the animals disappear. “What would make an entire herd bolt?”

“A predator.” Jacaré whistled, hoping it would carry to Leão, who was scouting the trail ahead. “Johanna, get behind me. Tex take point. Pira—”

The hair along Jacaré’s arms stood on end, the sensation reviving long-dead memories. Reacting instinctively he reached for his
essência
an instant before Tex’s horse dissolved under him in a column of flame.

“Ambush!” Jacaré created a shield of air that stretched across the trail. It shimmered and almost collapsed under the impact of another fireball. “Pira, take Johanna and ride into . . .”

Arrow points punctured his barrier, seeming to hang in a glistening curtain.
The
y’
ve divided us from our most powerful crew member,
Jacaré realized as men stepped onto the trail, crossbows cocked.
Leã
o’
s either too far away or h
e’
s—

A round of bolts smashed into the shield and the edges faded. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for long.

“Ride back to Santiago!”

Johanna put her heels to her horse and wheeled south. Pira hesitated, her mount dancing.

“Go, Pira!” The strain of holding the defense made his voice break. “Protect the princess.”

She looked up the trail for one breath, then turned and plunged after Johanna.

Jacaré’s shield took one more blast of fire, then evaporated like dew under sunlight. With weak, trembling arms, he freed his sword from its sheath.

Five men. All carrying weapons and all wearing collars. He could ride away and be shot in the back by fire or arrows or . . .

He spurred his horse and the animal reared, its hooves providing a distraction while he slipped from its back. Rolling as he fell, Jacaré stopped on his knees in front of the closest man. One slice and the man dropped to the ground, bleeding from thigh-high wounds.

Four.

The sword’s arc continued across Jacaré’s body to stop a downward strike. The impact jarred his shoulder but saved his head. It was an awkward position, one he wouldn’t be able to maintain for long. Using the last trickle of his
essência
, he sent a focused channel of air into his attacker’s throat, crushing the man’s windpipe.

Three.

The remaining men eyed each other nervously. “He’s like them,” one said as he raised a hatchet into a defensive position.

“Like who?” Jacaré used his sword to lever himself to his feet, expecting to be incinerated by a Keeper waiting in the trees. It had been a common tactic during the war, using humans to tire out an opposing Mage, then blasting away their remaining defenses with a magical barrage.

The men lurched into motion, as if their bodies weren’t wholly under their own control, and Jacaré raised his shaky blade.