I glanced at Raffar, but he was watching the woman. She rested one hand in the water and raised the other, moving it gracefully as if tracing the swelling contours of something only she could see.
“Watcher of Water knows nothing of this crime,” she murmured.
Considering where Scilla had died, that wasn’t very surprising. The northwest was a dry area. The kahngaad groped for the polished black stone. Her other hand went straight up and pointed to the sky.
“Watcher of Sky saw it all,” she said. “I will do my best to get the information you seek. Sometimes what we think of as the simplest questions are the hardest to pick out of the Watchers’ knowledge.” A moment later she said softly, “I see betrayal. A prison. A knife.”
Her eyes squeezed more tightly closed. “Blood,” she whispered. “And more blood, even since.” She opened her eyes and stared at me—she knew the truth about Scilla and the earthwalkers. After a silent moment, she continued, “Back to the murder then. It’s hard to see—the Watchers are not clear when it comes to appearances—but I get the feeling it was a man. A man your sister knew. One she trusted with important things.”
A Farnskager man Scilla knew and trusted. How many could there be? She’d only visited a few times; she’d surely met Aldar. How many others? But the kahngaad hadn’t said anything about the nationality yet. It still could have been someone from Loftaria or Stärkland, if all Aldar had done was arrange for it. “Was he from Farnskag?” I asked quietly, hoping my question wouldn’t ruin her concentration.
Raffar watched the woman, his eyebrows knit together.
She shook her head. “I can’t see. The Watchers don’t see the physical differences between us. They do not understand what our clothes or hair look like.” She inhaled and exhaled. “Watcher of Sky also shows me someone embracing land.”
I imagined Scilla falling to the ground, a knife in her back. “The ground where my sister was found?” I asked.
“No . . .” Surprise lilted in her voice. “Elsewhere. And it is important. Keep that in mind. I have the feeling you’ll need to consider it someday.”
Embracing land was important? What did that even mean, and how could it have anything to do with Scilla?
Her hand rose to her forehead, and she massaged it with two fingers. “Embracing . . . grasping . . . I believe it means ownership, more than love, but it is hard to tell.” The woman opened her eyes. She stared at Raffar, and slowly, a sigh escaped her lips. “Not much here . . . just . . .” The woman’s back straightened. “King Raffar, I can see that you are also involved in this murder somehow.”
Raffar stared sadly at the shiny black rock from the sky, cradled in her fingers.
She leaned forward in a kind of half nod. “Yes, but not directly. Not in the sense of having wanted the woman’s death. Just . . . responsible . . . involved.” She set the rock on her knee. “I’m sorry it is so imprecise.”
If the Watchers couldn’t tell the difference between one person or another, could we even ask them for help finding Aldar? “Do the Watchers see the murderer now?”
The kahngaad blinked several times, then she picked up the jagged rock. “Yes . . . he is outside. With another person, someone he trusts. The trees are tall and . . . I see monoliths, but I don’t recognize them. Perhaps they are known in another part of Farnskag, but—”
“Could Watcher of Stone show me?” Raffar asked.
The woman’s eyes flicked to the shard in Raffar’s ear. She reached out the hand holding the stone. With the other, she first took my hand and placed it on hers, so it half-covered the stone. Then she did the same with Raffar’s. All three of us touched the stone. My heart galloped. Any minute now, we could find out where Scilla’s killer was.
“Close your eyes. I will ask where.”
My eyelids slid shut. As a fuzzy picture formed, my heart lightened. It was really working. I was the forest. I saw my trees. Some were ironfern trees, some were the unbelievably tall kind Freyad had called gigantruv. Two figures moved among the trees. From their broad shoulders, they appeared to be men, but they were so blurred, it was impossible to see details that would make them identifiable. The focus in the vision turned to the monoliths, and the image sharpened, far clearer than the picture of the people, so short of time in this world, so transient. One gray monolith with sparkling alabaster veins came closer and closer, until my flesh hardened into granite, and I was both the ancient monolith and the girl with her palms and forehead pressed to it, her heart desperate to save her sister, her family, the world around her. The stone bored itself into my mind until I could feel the roughness against my forehead, feel its need to spring a piece of itself for the girl at its base.
“The woods!” I gasped, yanking Watcher of Stone out from under my tunic. “Near Baaldarstad. Where I got this.”
“She’s right,” Raffar said. “I recognize it too.”
The picture disappeared, and by the time I opened my eyes, Raffar was already standing up. “How certain are you that these men are there right now?”
The kahngaad pressed her lips together. “Time goes by differently for a Watcher than for us, so I cannot be certain. The people were there, probably yesterday or today. But whether this morning or this afternoon, or at this moment . . .” She raised her hands in defeat.
Raffar balled his fists and looked at me, his body just short of quivering with rage. “It’ll take us hours to get back to Gluwfyall, so we can’t head to Baaldarstad tonight. But at least it seems he’s still near there. Our soldiers will find him. I’ll make sure of it.”
__________
We arrived back in Gluwfyall late at night. Raffar and I had fallen asleep to the rocking of the carriage, nestled in the warmth of each other’s arms. As a servant holding a candle lamp led us up the stairs, the cobwebs of sleep gradually swept from my mind. Once in our room, candles flickered on tables and windowsills, having apparently been lit in anticipation of our return.
Finding Scilla’s killer was so slow, it made me want to scream sometimes. At least we knew where to look once we returned to Baaldarstad. Until then, it was more than selfish, but I thanked the gods she hadn’t been here in Gluwfyall. Hopefully, I’d gotten through to her, at least a little, and she wasn’t terrorizing our family back in Glizerra.
Blood on the floor, the walls, the ceiling.
I pushed the terrible thought away. To gauge how bad she might get, I counted the weeks since Scilla had become an earthwalker.
I froze, counting the days since leaving Azzaria.
Five months had gone by since then.
After all this waiting . . . today was my birthday. Since this morning, I was eighteen years old.
I shot a quick look to Raffar, who was speaking quietly with the servant. Suddenly, it wasn’t only the brisk walk up the stairs that warmed my skin.
Birthdays weren’t celebrated in Farnskag like they were in Azzaria. And no one was supposed to know I hadn’t turned eighteen until this day anyway. So, there would be no banquet, no gifts for the queen.
After checking with me, Raffar refused the late supper the servant had offered since we’d eaten in the carriage after meeting the kahngaad. Then the servant left, and we were alone.
All I could think of were the heated looks he’d given me since I’d arrived, and the careful tamping down on our feelings. I hadn’t felt so conscious of us alone together since the night I’d arrived in Baaldarstad. The night he’d said he wanted to wait.
With everything going on, was it wrong of me to think of us together, to want to be together? Tomorrow, we’d rush to find Scilla’s murderer. Did I dare steal tonight for just the two of us, to reserve one night to begin our future, instead of only looking to the tragedies in the past? Raffar flopped on his back on our bed and raised both hands to cover his eyes. He looked exhausted, but before my nerves could get the best of me, I strode to the bed.
My palms were damp, which was silly. We were married. It was a natural part of a marriage. And I wanted
to. Oh, I wanted to.
I crawled across the mattress on my knees, then sat back on my heels. This entire time, he hadn’t moved. Could he have fallen asleep—
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” I asked.
His eyes remained closed, but his mouth widened into a grin. “I liked knowing you were watching me. Aren’t you tired?”
I straightened my shoulders, let out a sharp breath. “Today is my birthday.”
Raffar’s eyes popped open. “You’re eighteen?”
I nodded. He sat up, the sleepiness falling from his eyes, the grin disappearing from his lips. He looked me up and down, and each stroke of his eyes made my mouth a little drier.
“It’s been five months? I kept my promise to White Mother?”
“You did.” I bit my lip. Knowing today was the day, brushing my hand over his felt like so much more than a caress.
“And we’ve had a chance to get to know each other,” he breathed. His hand quivered under mine.
“Yes.” I walked my fingers up his arm to his shoulder then brushed my knuckles across the stubble on his jaw.
He leaned forward, and it was as if we’d been moving under water for months, and now firm ground supported our feet again. Nothing slowed us down. Raffar plunged both hands into my hair, tangling them, drawing my face to his, making my heart pound when his lips met mine.
Everything inside me melted. I climbed onto his lap, and his mouth pressed against my neck. My lips burned as they drew across the stubble on the top of his head. But I didn’t care because that burn set the rest of me on fire, and I tilted my head to kiss his ear, his jaw.
The world flipped, and I lay on my back with Raffar propped over me. I ran my hands down his shoulders and over the muscles in his back. When he pressed his body against mine, my core ached for him to be closer. I pushed up his tunic, and he sat back to remove it.
I’d seen him without his shirt before; the tattoos didn’t only adorn his face. I raised a hand to trace one on his shoulder, but he distracted me by smoothing up the hem of my tunic to just above my navel.
I might have seen him without his shirt before, but he had not seen me without mine. I nodded, letting him push it up over my head, and his eyes widened at the sight of my silk undergarment, the one piece of clothing I still wore from Azzaria. I rolled to the side to let him untie it at my neck and back, and the fabric fell away.
Gently, he tugged me onto my back again, and a shuddering breath escaped his lips. “Jiara.” A feather kiss to my lips. “That we can be together . . . it’s so impossible, and so perfect. Sometimes it feels like a miracle.”
His finger trailing from my cheek down to my collarbone and over my chest made me shiver. Then it hooked under the leather string around my neck. His head tilted to the side. “My wife. You belong to Farnskag now.”
I still belonged to Azzaria, but in my heart, each country had its place. I nodded and rubbed my inner thigh against the tensed muscles of his leg. His hand stroked the side of my jawbone, and the combined stone and tooth pendant slid down my neck to lie on the bed beneath me. Now it was only Raffar and I, no countries, no Watchers, no politics. He shook his head a little bit, like he was driving away the image of the Watchers against my skin.
Then the warmth seeped back into his eyes. His lips parted, and the firm heat of his chest was on mine. Ripples of lava fanned out through my veins. I kissed him so hard, my lips pulsed, and the room spun around me. Everything external was gone, everything transformed into kisses and quick breaths and burning skin.
And I understood now why Gio and Flisessa couldn’t hold themselves back, not even when they’d caused a cyclone with their love. Because Raffar and I were caught in the same whirlwind of need and heat and love. And nothing in the world could have made me stop.
__________
A few hours later, in the middle of the night, the room was pitch black when fire seared my left arm. I cried out as I slapped a hand over it.
“What?” Raffar said loudly, jerking awake next to me.
Slash—another cut crossed the first one on my arm. “Stop it, Scilla!” I shouted in Azzarian.
Brightness flared, making me squint, as Raffar lit a candle on the table. “Jiara! What—” The lit candle floated from the table through the air straight for my face.
“Scilla, no!” I yelled again.
Raffar grabbed the candlestick, bracing himself against the edge of the bed. “What is this terrible magic?” he cried. The tiny flame came closer and closer to me, backing me against the headboard. Raffar struggled to pull it away, but even someone as strong as he was could not win against an earthwalker.
My sister had killed me once already. My heart froze with fear she was here to do it again.
I shook myself—Scilla said I was the one who understood her. I had to appeal to her, pray that I’d gotten through to that rational part still left of her. I held a palm to Raffar to ask him to wait for my answer, then I continued in Azzarian. “Listen to me, Scilla! Remember how we talked? How you said I understood you? I know you. You’re not some monster. Even if you’re angry and disappointed about what’s been stolen from you, you can keep control of yourself, keep your family safe. I believe in you.”
The candle stopped moving, hovering only inches from my face, so close, the warmth stung the tip of my nose. I could barely breathe. Raffar reached to snuff it between his fingers, but his hand hit an invisible barrier. The flame burned on.
I swallowed. There was something else I needed to say. Only the gods could fathom Scilla’s thoughts. But I knew how I felt, how I’d felt since the day Raffar had offered his hand. “I know Raffar was supposed to be yours.” For only a second, my eyes flicked to him, then they were back on the flame in front of me. “And it hurts me so much that you’re gone and you never had your chance. I can understand that would make you angry. You had so many plans . . . but you have to remember that he isn’t yours anymore. He’s my husband now.”
The flame burned higher, and I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t angered her even more by saying it. But the candle didn’t move.
I had to keep trying. “Scilla, I know being an earthwalker makes you confused about what’s right and wrong, and your emotions must be overwhelming. I miss you so, so much. But a wicked part of me isn’t only sorry about what happened, because you were right, back in Glizerra. I said Raffar looked strange and foreign, but . . . I found him attractive. And he’s not foreign at all, not any more. He’s careful and considerate and—Scilla, he made a tagarro boat for me out of butterflies, and took me to see the most beautiful lakes.” Tears pricked my eyes, because for a second, I was having a normal conversation with my sister. But our situation wasn’t normal at all, and she needed to understand what she could give me by sparing me, so I forced myself to keep going. “Being with him is the right thing for me. It’s what I want with every last corner of my heart. Please, please don’t hurt us. Don’t stop us from building a future together.”
I waited for my sister’s reaction. Nothing happened. The candle flickered where it was, flame still high and hot so close to my face. Raffar had both hands on the candlestick again; he strained to pull it away as he stared at me with wide eyes.
Then the force holding the candle apparently vanished, and Raffar stumbled back a step. “Is it gone?” he asked.
I looked around the room, although I should have known by now that I wouldn’t be able to see anything. As I was about to answer, a soft tickle brushed the back of my uninjured hand. A tear slipped down my cheek. Despite everything she’d done, she wasn’t merely an earthwalker. My big sister, the real Scilla, was there too, at least for now.
“I love you, Scilla. And I promise, I haven’t forgotten you.”
I waited. Nothing else happened.
After a few moments of silence, Raffar repeated his question. “Is it gone?”
“I think so. We were lucky this time.” I pressed a tunic he gave me against
the bleeding cuts on my arm.
Raffar rubbed his hands up and down my arms as if proving to himself I was still there and in one piece. “You told me about the ghost. But—”
“It’s different when you experience it. That’s why I’ve been so desperate to find Scilla’s murderer. I’ve been worried . . . about my family, myself, you even.”
He pulled me against him, wrapped his arms around me as if he could hide me from the world. “The ghost was so strong. There was nothing I could have done.”
“I know,” I said, muffled against his chest. “We’re doing the only thing we can. Tomorrow, we head for home . . . and we find her killer.”
Fingers of ice trailed down my spine. Just because Scilla had listened to reason this time, didn’t mean she would in the future. Time was running out.
__________
Two of the guards had been sent ahead with instructions to hunt for Aldar or anyone else hanging around the monolith. On elephant birds, they could make it back before us in our slower carriages.
Now, Raffar and I were five hours from Baaldarstad, lurching along the storm-roughened road. I was determined to use as much of the trip to revel in my new husband before we arrived and chaos took over. I bit my lip, keeping my eyes trained on the trees and bushes blurring outside the window instead of imagining how my fingertips had followed the curves of his tattoos until he’d seized my wrists and kissed me senseless. My fingers itched for him. His arms, his legs, his chest. I ignored my greedy heart and slid my hands under my thighs.
Since we’d finally had our “wedding night,” I tried to be the same queen everyone knew. I acted no differently than I had all along. But considering how I felt inside—all warm and relaxed and right—could the others tell? When the guards looked at me, could they see the joy in my eyes? How happy I was to finally have a full, real marriage? To have a love that left me grounded and dizzy and wanting?
My skills with Farnskag had improved so much, but I still had trouble when people spoke quickly or reading was required, so before we departed from Gluwfyall, Raffar had arranged for a new translator. The grandfatherly man named Greggr sat across from us in our carriage, since the other one was full of trunks. His presence was the only reason I kept my hands to myself. My cheeks warmed at the thought, and I sighed.
A Dragonbird in the Fern Page 25