by Jean Lee
Arlen checks Liam’s pulse one more time before standing. “I don’t want Liam moved unless absolutely necessary. You and Ember should go, Devyn. If Orna’s victorious—”
“Over my dead body.” At last, Dorjan unfolds himself.
“Yes, thank you, Dorjan. Devyn, you have always been the leader of scouts and commoners alike.” Arlen’s eyes rest a long, obvious moment on Ember. “Your safety is important to many.”
“Not to mention food.” Dorjan sticks his hands in his pockets, a bitter look on his face. “You know the other commoners won’t spare a drop of veli for us.”
Devyn heaves a sigh, then Ember, out of the sand. “We will check the border family, then we will hunt west, away from the others. We’ll bring as much as we can for all of you.” He and Arlen grip each other’s forearms and pull together in a tight farewell. “Even him.” He nods at Liam.
“Make that double for him,” Dorjan adds. “I’m sure these two will go off taunting death in another hour.”
“Har har.” But the quiet tremor in the ground tells Charlotte that death-taunting may not be that far off. Cairine, too, studies the sand beneath her paws and quickly growls to Aine to keep by her father while she seats herself at the thicket’s entrance, a mountain of muscle and teeth no sane creature would challenge. Not that those Incomplete are sane, but still, bear jaws are better than nothing.
Devyn’s dust and feathers cloud the thicket’s air. He circles the green canopy while Ember bows to Arlen and gives her tiny, microscopic smile to Charlotte. “Be safe.” One heartbeat later, she is changed and gone with her owl.
12
When Dorjan’s Gone
Silence, but for a cub’s yawning barks.
The tremor ripples through again, but no Pits ash stings the air. Charlotte’s nose checks for any other hints of danger, but smells only clover, aster, broken grass, and canine. Good. The longer Liam has to recover, the better.
Yet Charlotte still shivers, because of Dorjan. His face is still so smooth and thin. A hunter’s coldness has replaced the warmth of a muffin thief. “What happened here?” she asks. “Way back. Like, before the Wall.”
Dorjan and Arlen share a black look. The oak leaves rustle so loud, too loud above them. Cairine takes it all in with a predator’s senses, analyzing every flutter.
Then Arlen, cradling the cub, begins. “As you know, River Vine was not always a prison. My wife and I found this forgotten piece of the water road and thought we had at last discovered a land unwanted by any House. We worked alongside Devyn and the commoners—Nettle and Remus were present then as well. For the first time in centuries, we felt safe, and gathered our inner embers to bring little Aine into the world.”
Dorjan roots around in Arlen’s satchel and finds a canteen and one more muffin. He tosses the canteen to Charlotte…and eventually the muffin, after a threatening scowl from Arlen. “Yes, Cairine is my father’s sister. Liam may be older than me by a few centuries, but I have known Arlen and his family nearly my entire life.” He kicks a few acorns across the sand. “I often came here for refuge, or took a wolf’s life in the northern woods, acquiring veli as a shapeshifting magician among the native tribes. Liam’s family came when I was gone…” His lips quiver and twist. Words swell in his throat, but they are choked by sobs.
“We soon learned one can never hide from Bearnard and Treasa Artair for long.” Cairine hardly looks over her mountainous shoulder. “Not when you are useful, or beautiful.”
Charlotte squeezes Liam’s hand as she remembers what he said on the rooftop a few nights ago: “They gave me only one lesson, over and over: Power is everything.” The way he looked, poisoned by the mere memory of their words… “Or when you can teach their son.”
“They wanted Liam to learn the ways of a poisoner.” Sunlight surrounds Arlen, and his shadow seems to cover himself instead of the ground like some heavy dark cloak. “You can imagine their reactions when he displayed his talent to heal.”
“The thing about being a princeborn,” Dorjan says as he stares at his drawn-up knees, “is that you’re supposed to be feuding. The Houses have been pitted against one another since the kingborns were killed. Murder and sex have always been part of the game. And by Artair rules, you have to play.”
“I still remember the tumbling apple blossoms in little Aine’s hair,” Cairine says faintly. “We had gone to pick fruit for Father, hadn’t we?” The little cub sleepily bats Arlen’s chest and smiles. “And there was their boat, gilded and pristine, the four of them—”
“Four?” Charlotte quickly searches what she remembers of Liam’s memory. No, no one but the parents came to the seaside cottage that day.
“Liam’s brother Keller,” Dorjan growls. “Another piece of bloody work. Father tried to promise my sister Cate to him in marriage.” His lip curls, baring his incisors. “She ran instead.”
“They came with Liam bound and struggling.” Cairine nudges Liam’s ankle with the tip of a claw. “He argued with Treasa, but something about her turned his anger into meek submission. Bearnard ignored him completely, his attention…” A pause. “My denials meant nothing to him. And Aine, so very brave, just like her father, she…” her voice trails off and ends with a mournful wail.
The ground shudders. From Cairine’s wailing or the threat Ember saw, Charlotte isn’t sure. Yet the past cocoons them too tightly, and she doesn’t dare cut herself free.
“No, not like me,” Arlen says with a bitter laugh. “Aine would not have buckled to their demands every century like I did. But that day, their own son bound and gagged like some spoil of a raid, my wife cornered, my child struck for daring to defend her mother…” The shadow hoods Arlen’s hair and face. His own teeth seem to grow. Ancient curses gurgle in his throat.
Dorjan kicks deep into the dirt, green eye glowing with anger, blue eye watering with guilt. “I should have been there.”
“Bearnard would have killed you without hesitation,” Cairine says, nuzzling him. “You are far too precious to us, as precious as our own Aine.”
Arlen rolls up his right sleeve to reveal another vine, another ring of thorns. But on his left hand something glitters for just a moment—a thin ring of red and gold. A wedding band. “I burned the very earth in my rage against Bearnard. You saw the place; Orna ambushed you there. But a marriage among princeborns bonds their magic, and Treasa is the most powerful heir of the skies.” His body shakes with a deep sob, but he quickly calms himself before Aine can wake. “He broke my stone ring and sent it deep into The Pits, leaving it there for anyone to harness if able. And Orna was very, very able. As for my wife and daughter…”
“I still don’t know why you never told Liam,” Dorjan says. “I knew it was your stone ring the moment he pulled it out after the battle. He could have connived it from Orna ages ago.”
“And what good would it have done?” Arlen shakes his head. “You know Liam’s wickedly jealous nature. Either he would have believed me, and therefore punished Cairine and Aine for my disappearance, or worse, he would not have believed me enough to care, especially when he was beguiled by Orna.”
“I would have cared.”
The words are faint, blurred round the edges, but there.
“Liam!” Charlotte leans in close and cups his face to be the first to see his eyes, thin crescent moons beneath fluttering eyelids. Her finger slides along the black hairs of his eyebrow. “Stop scaring—”
Ashes.
Charlotte bolts upright. She knows she smells them.
“Charlotte?” Arlen reaches out. “Orna’s not sent more secret whispers, has she?”
But Dorjan’s face has gone hunter-smooth again. “No, I smell it, too.”
The ground shudders again in compliance, longer and louder than before.
Arlen clutches his daughter tightly as she yawns and licks his neck hello. Dorjan rolls into a standing position and scours the beach and treeline.
“There.” Cairine nods slightly into the distance. “A
branch, two leagues southwest.”
“Campion.” Dorjan’s green eye is wicked-bright. “Has to be.”
Charlotte spins her fingers into Liam’s hair. Lake-smell cracks fresh as each curl bends. “Liam, I’m going to take the blood dagger. I have to help.” He does not fight as she sheaths the dagger on her back. Sunlight warms the leather harness wrapped about her. Just like your arms from the skipping stones. You owe me more stones, Liam. She rests her forehead upon his, her nose tip touching his, her lips so close to his dry, cracked mouth, but there is no time for lips now. “Just, don’t you go anywhere on me, okay?” And she flanks Cairine, nose hunting for more.
“I smell south,” says Dorjan.
“I got something east,” adds Charlotte.
Cairine’s massive bear eye goes squinty in Charlotte’s direction. “Your nose could rival any beast.”
Charlotte shrugs. “I got skills.”
Dorjan snorts and checks Charlotte’s stance. “This isn’t boxing.”
Charlotte cracks her neck as a few more leaves rustle along the tree line maybe half a mile away. “A fight’s a fight.”
Laughter. It’s very short, like the squirrel-chirping, but there’s layers to it.
There’s more than one.
“Wellie well well, Campion’s got himself some henchmen.” Charlotte shifts to have both the lakeshore and thicket’s edge on either side of her vision. Too much ground, dammit. The others vulnerable. Kid in the crossfire. Fuuuuck. “Can Aine climb?”
Cairine swings her head between lakeshore and tree line. “She only knows how to survive in water. We will protect them.” Firm words, trembling voice.
“Well it’s not like I could teach her more than the dog paddle,” adds Dorjan.
“Of course, cuz it’s not like your hands—never mind.” Charlotte growls to herself, grabs Aine— “All right, kiddo, time to see the sights” —and scrambles up the first trunk that looks stable. Charlotte thinks nothing of splinters in the soles of her feet or hands. She does worry a little about how sharp a cub’s teeth can be, not to mention how rank its breath can get. But the kid’s not clawing, at least, and the elm’s got plenty of branches weaving in and out of some oaks that reach even higher. “See this, Aine? You can go anywhere you want if you just stick to the branches. The branches. Not me, the BRANCHES.” Charlotte finally gets Aine to to rewrap her furry limbs around a wide, flattish branch. “You stay here, and you’ll be okay. I’ll be back before you know it.” She starts the climb down.
Neither notices other branches stirring on the far side of the thicket.
13
Those Poisoned Enemy Hands
Liam watches Arlen’s face crease with both pride and worry as Charlotte deems herself protector of yet another little whelp. The moment Arlen’s hand touches the herbs on Liam’s ribs, Liam grabs it—clumsily, but he grabs it. So much vitriol boils up in him, ready to be spat out on this man who said he cared, who said Liam could be family. Since when does family hide from itself? “I would have cared for them as I have for you.”
Arlen blinks slowly. “While burning the homes of past human women who spurned you? No, Liam. You would not have cared.”
Cairine growls, eyes wild. “They are close. I cannot—”
The ground shudders. It does not stop.
A tree branch above Arlen’s shoulder flashes silver. And violet.
“Move!” Liam shoves Arlen towards Cairine before the invading cloud of dust and fur can land with feet, hands, and teeth. Liam’s joints sing with their pain, but he will not listen to them, not when his inner wings of his heart’s fire can beat them into silence. He stands tall before he who would dare to attack:
Campion.
The traitorous scout’s eyes flash a lavender too dangerously pale for a Velidevour. Oil beads upon his skin like sweat. “Golly gee, princeborns galore. What’s the occasion?”
The ground shakes, only now it does not stop. Charlotte feels it in her branch a good two dozen feet in the air.
“Let me guess—birthday party. I looove birthdays. Especially kids’ parties, you know? All that wishin’. Mmm mmm mmm.”
Sparks alight in Liam’s limbs, visible beneath his skin. “Where is Orna?”
“She’ll be along in her own sweet time. Speaking of sweet,” Campion scratches the back of his neck, “Where’s little miss Sweet C?”
The storms in Liam’s eyes could level cities. Yet Dorjan grabs Liam’s smoldering shoulder before he can attack the traitor. “He’s hiding something.”
“So are you, dog.” All playfulness drops. “Orna’s not just thumping for her fiery feathered hunk. She’s eager to have the little runt, too.”
Now Liam and Dorjan both have to hold Arlen back. Cairine faces Campion with teeth bared. She sends a spray of saliva in a line across the sand when she snaps her jaws. “There is no gift of darkness that can protect you from my wrath, vermin.”
“Gift of—oh, you mean this?” Campion licks some of his own black slime off his fingers. Hocks.
Poison! The Voice cries.
Charlotte doesn’t think.
She drops.
Draws the blood dagger as she somersaults.
Sets a crescent of fire burning through the air to meet with Campion’s spit.
The poison flashes, screams, dissipates.
Charlotte lands between Campion and her friends.
Her family.
“Looks like you picked up a pretty trick yourself, roadkill.”
Aine whimpers.
And of course, Arlen reacts. Even though his eyes dart for only a moment, that’s all Campion needs to know which tree hides the cub. He sucks a poisonous thumb as he begins humming a rhyme that’s never sounded so disturbing in Charlotte’s life before this moment.
“Rock a bye, baby, in the treetop…”
Trees crash south of them, out of sight.
The ground stills.
This magic rivals the monstrous granach, the Voice says calmly. Be on your guard.
“Shee-it,” Charlotte says through clenched teeth.
“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…”
Pop pop POP: trees, snapping.
“On the beach!” Cairine roars and runs with ramming speed, the ground thundering in her wake.
Whatever the hell is “on the beach,” Charlotte doesn’t dare look. Campion hocks a wad of oily spit onto Aine’s tree. Acidic bubbles hiss and eat a gaping hole into the trunk.
The trunk buckles.
“When the bough breaks—”
The tree falls away from Campion and lands at a slanted angle, its branches caught up in another oak. Aine loses her front grip and now dangles from her clawing back legs. Her screams swell within Arlen and set him roaring, tearing around Charlotte with arms wide open.
“The poison!” Charlotte cries, heart splitting because she has no wings and cannot fly with the blood dagger’s single firey wing—
Dorjan runs and slides, setting a spray of sand into Campion’s face. He swings his feet to kick out Campion’s legs. Poison droplets scatter and clump in the sand as Dorjan claws up another sand-spray with his hand before crashing into what’s left of the base of Aine’s tree.
Campion falls the same moment Arlen leaps into the air and lands feet first on the slanted trunk. Even as the trees of the thicket shake and tear away, Charlotte and Liam both gape as Arlen runs along the broken trunk that still groans, so unstable while Aine swings in the air, crying out—
“Liam!” Charlotte waves to the space between the ground and Aine.
Feathers spark around Liam’s shoulders and fingers and by Aether’s Fire, he will show Arlen he cares. He runs into a launch—
Only to be blocked by a whip of black thorns.
One side of the thicket tears up like dandelions picked by a greedy child. In the Pits, Orna had melded the Incomplete with scraps from the cursed white tree.
Not this time.
Charlotte’s dwarfed by this Incomplete mel
ded with a giant oak bleeding veli and oil. Its branches thrash with thorns, shredding green leaves into confetti that fall into Arlen’s eyes as he closes the distance, into Dorjan’s hair as his blue eye shines cold steel. But Charlotte can still smell the animal inside the trunk. Up near the top of the trunk she sees a humanish jaw, a rabbit’s nose. One hairless rabbit ear. Buck teeth past the chin. Fleshy paws bleeding black sinews, rooting it to the tree. A furry chest too small for its ribs—two bones ooze oil outside its skin. Its screech is neither animal nor human. It’s worse.
Charlotte realizes the screech is in stereo, turns. Cairine faces another Incomplete oak alone on the beach. She pulls up onto two feet before the thorned branch can slash her, and she slams her whole self upon the cursed tree’s trunk. Her jaws snap and rip the Incomplete’s head clean off its oak-body and release it onto the beach. The thorned tree collapses and bursts into ashes.
“The cradle will FALL!” Campion lunges at Liam with fingers spread. The staggering oak pulls back to thrash again.
“Hey, this is my dance!” Dorjan shouts. Black fire surges around his body as he pounces, teeth bright as stars as he bites down on Campion’s shirt and flings him fast and hard into the Incomplete oak.
Liam bolts forward as one, two, three branches whip down, his heels just clearing their clouds of poisoned sand. The Incomplete oak sees the broken tree with Arlen and Aine and lashes a thorned branch out around its trunk.
It begins to pull.
Arlen jolts forward, cracks his jaw as he falls, but he grabs a branch, then another, and swings through the last space before grabbing Aine with his free arm and kissing her with bloody, tear-stained lips.
Liam’s inner wings burst forth bright and strong, his eyes keen on the narrow gap as he kicks off with changing feet, sure as his heart’s fire that he needs but a moment, just one moment more to fly through the gap before the Incomplete pulls the broken tree away and captures his teacher—
Charlotte slashes air near the Incomplete oak. “Knock that off!” Embers spark to life along the blood dagger’s blade and shoot a wing of fire at the thorned whip, setting it alight, but not yet breaking it.