Nerissa’s throat suddenly felt dry, and her heart felt like it missed a beat. Did he mean what she thought he said, or was she just hearing what she wished to hear?
He leaned toward her, and a ray of moonlight fell on his face, highlighting the intensity of his deep blue eyes. Nerissa’s eyes closed in anticipation.
But then he spoke, and her heart sank as he asked the last question she wanted to hear.
“Won’t you please tell me your real name?”
“Why is that so important to you?” she croaked and leaped to her feet. She had to leave. If she stayed, she might confess everything to him. She wanted to tell him who she was, and yet she also didn’t want to. Indecision twisted her insides, and she yanked her hand free from his.
Before she could leave, Rian was on his feet, impulsively pulling her back and wrapping his arm around her waist. The sensation was pleasantly familiar, though she did not know why. Had he held her like this before when they met at the masquerade?
“Don’t go,” he said in a husky whisper. He traced her cheek with his free hand and cupped her chin, lifting it toward him. “I want to know your real name because I can’t think of you as ‘Caeneus’ when I think of you like this.”
In the next moment, her awareness was consumed by the cool breeze through her hair and the soft warmth of his lips pressed against hers. It wasn’t Nerissa’s first kiss, but it was the first kiss that would remain indelibly written on her heart, holding within it the promise of many more to come.
“Never mind,” he murmured when they parted. His arm briefly lingered around her waist before he let go. “If keeping it a secret is that important to you, I don’t need to know your real name. I will call you My Phoenix. You were dressed as one the day we met, and like a phoenix, you returned to me when I thought you were gone forever.”
Nerissa smiled and put her hands on his shoulders, lifting her heels off the ground to give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. “I think I might like that name even better than my real one.”
Chapter 20
Rabbits and Wolves
Nerissa
The scent of ink and paper reached Nerissa’s nose at almost the same time that the printer’s home came into view. Set at the end of its own lane on the outskirts of Warren, the stone cottage with a peaked roof and white picket fence would have been indistinguishable from numerous other houses in the town if not for the larger stone building—a workshop—standing a short distance behind it.
A cart trundled down the lane going the opposite direction, and the driver lifted one hand casually. Nerissa couldn’t see if Jarold waved back, but she was sure he returned the greeting. Based on observations from Cole and Eloc’s scouting efforts this morning, the lane leading to the printer’s house was frequently trafficked by wagons delivering printing supplies and carts picking up finished books for distribution. So, although they had been avoiding towns and villages until now, the presence of unfamiliar faces on this road would be utterly unremarkable.
Nerissa stood up in Alba’s stirrups to readjust her position in the saddle. A bone-deep ache had settled into her legs after riding from sunrise to sunset for three days in order to arrive in Warren as soon as possible. Now that they were so tantalizingly close to the next book, the aching feeling seemed to have been replaced by anticipation. Beside her, Raysel also stood in the stirrups and craned his neck to get a better view of the house.
When they turned into the driveway, Rian rode up from behind, and his eyes briefly locked with hers. She reached up to coyly tuck a non-existent lock of hair behind her ear and immediately felt foolish as her fingers found nothing but air. Why had she done that? Her hair had been short for months. Even if she managed to forget that fact temporarily, she was reminded of it every time someone called her Caeneus. Yet one look from Rian was enough to bring out an old habit.
The corner of Rian’s mouth twitched with amusement before he addressed Raysel. “We need to make a small change of plans. Cole and Eloc want to stay with the wagon and have Jarold and Leal accompany us instead.”
“We’re still going directly to the workshop instead of the house, right?” Raysel asked. “All of the pickups and deliveries are made at the workshop, so it will be less conspicuous to park there.”
“Yes. Cole thinks his horse might have picked up a rock in its shoe, so he wants to check it while we go inside.”
“That’s fine,” Raysel replied. Rian nodded and then rode up to the front of the wagon to relay the change to Jarold.
A short time later, having left Desta and the twins to care for the horses, the rest of the group gathered on the workshop’s porch. Raysel knocked on the door, but no one answered. They could hear footsteps and voices from within—clearly there were people at work inside. He knocked again and then once more. Finally, a harried-looking man opened the door.
“Pick-ups and deliveries are made around back,” the man said. He started to close the door, but Raysel caught it.
“We’re not here for a pick-up or delivery,” he said. “We are antique merchants in search of books with crystals embedded in their spines. Do you have any matching that description? If not among those in your printing inventory, perhaps you have one in your personal collection?”
A look of surprise flitted across the man’s face. He pulled out a pocket watch and flipped it open to check the time. As he did so, he twisted his wrist at an awkward angle, and the gold cover caught in the light, producing a bright flash that left a blue afterimage in Nerissa’s vision.
“We are running late for a very important delivery, but I suppose I can spare a few moments for you,” he said, fiddling with the watch before putting it away. “I believe a few of our oldest master copies may have crystals with them. Please come inside, and I’ll show you where we keep them.”
Nerissa raised an eyebrow. Producing copies of the tomes was their business’ source of income, and yet the man didn’t seem to have reservations about parting with them. Even if the old texts were no longer used for printing copies, they would be valuable. Wasn’t he curious about why they were seeking such unusual books? An uneasy feeling tugged at the back of her mind as she followed the others inside.
As soon as Nerissa saw the work area, it was readily apparent that this was a family-operated business. All of the presses were run by teens with assistance from their younger siblings. They raised and lowered the platens in such consistent rhythm that the sound produced was nearly musical. Type case cabinets stood in the center of the room, their tops partitioned into a grid of compartments containing the metal type used to assemble blocks of text. A teenage girl moved her fingers around the grid with amazing speed, plucking out tiny letters and then deftly planting them into the block of text cupped in her hand. Her two front teeth protruded over her bottom lip as she concentrated, and her eyes never left the book propped open in front of her. Another girl, who was no more than five or six years old, hurried past the group carrying a finished block of text to the presses. At the sight of Nerissa’s group, she tripped over feet too large for her petite frame and bobbled the block as she struggled to maintain her balance.
The man’s arms shot out, and he bent to steady her with the practiced hands of a parent. “Be careful, Alice. It takes less time to be cautious while walking than it does to gather the letters from the floor and reassemble the block.”
“Yes, I understand, Papa,” Alice answered. She stood on tiptoes to whisper, rather loudly, into her father’s ear. “Besides, Beatrix will get angry with me if I spill her letters again.”
The man patted her head tenderly and sent her on her way, but he rubbed his forehead wearily and muttered, “Again?” under his breath once she was out of earshot.
“The master copies are kept over here,” he said, turning back to the group. He led them around the outside of the room to the rows of bookcases that stood on the far side.
Nerissa marveled at the size of the collection—it easily took up half of the workshop’s space. She was sur
e there were libraries with smaller selections of books.
They had reached the first set of shelves when a piercing scream came from outside. The printer reacted by herding his children out the rear door of the workshop. Nerissa watched them flee and wondered if she and the others should follow. Then she caught sight of Cole through the window, ushering Desta into the driver’s seat of the wagon while Eloc squared off against a pony-tailed swordsman.
The realization of the man’s identity washed over her in a cold wave. Senka!
The horses stomped their feet and tossed their heads, eyes rolling wildly in spite of Cole’s efforts to calm them. The man swung his sword at Eloc, who dodged by taking several steps backward, drawing the fight away from the wagon. He swung again, arcing the blade in an overhead strike.
Eloc sidestepped to avoid the blow and bounded forward, driving the base of his palm into the man’s nose. In one continuous movement, his hand dropped to seize the sword’s hilt, and then he pivoted, tucking his shoulder into his opponent’s torso. The man flipped over Eloc’s back and tumbled to the ground empty handed. Eloc raised the sword above his stunned opponent, and Nerissa tore her eyes away before the final moment of the mortal scene played out.
Just then, the front door to the workshop burst open, and two men rushed inside, swords drawn. Dread of confronting actual Senka swordsmen crept like pinpricks across Nerissa’s skin, yet the sensation mixed with relief as she realized they outnumbered their enemies. She drew Harbinger and stepped forward to join Jarold, Leal, and Rian in the skirmish, but Raysel’s arm shot out, blocking her from going past him.
“Get behind me. We will serve as backup,” he said, his voice barely audible over the ringing of blades. “No arguments. Too many allies can be as dangerous as too many enemies when fighting in a confined space.”
Nerissa knew better than to protest, so she focused on the clashing swords, prepared to jump in if needed. Her shoulders tensed with anxiety as Jarold barely deflected his opponent’s strike and was forced up against the type case cabinet. When the Senka man raised his sword again, Jarold feinted to one side and then rolled to the other. The blade connected with the cabinet instead of his flesh, sending a rain of tiny letters throughout the room.
Rian charged to Jarold’s aid, using Bane to block the man’s next slash. Their blades met over and over in a rapid series of blows. In one final exchange, their swords locked, grinding downward along the length until they caught on each other’s hand guard. The Senka man roared wordlessly, thrusting his arms forward with all of his might to send Rian staggering into the first row of books.
The wooden bookcase shook under Rian’s weight and creaked ominously, listing sideways before letting go and tipping. It smashed into the bookcase behind it with a splintering thud, knocking over one unit after another like a series of dominos and spilling mounds of books and loose papers into the aisles.
The second Senka man momentarily turned his attention away from Leal to make a lunging strike at Rian while he was defenseless. It was a foolish decision, a desperate bid to even the numbers, and one that cost him dearly. A crimson line erupted as Leal slashed the man’s hamstring and sent him sprawling to the floor. His sword skidded away, coming harmlessly to a stop beneath a printing press. Unarmed and unable to drag himself away, the man rolled onto his back. He faced Leal with a look of utter loathing and hurled at him a string of colorful curses which were swiftly silenced.
In the midst of the chaos, Nerissa heard a tremulous cry followed by muffled sobbing. She glanced down the row of shelves nearest her, and there, cowering in the narrow gap between the fallen bookcases with her leg pinched by a fallen shelf, was a young girl. She held the floppy ends of her cloth headband in front of her eyes with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. Tracks were visible on her cheeks where tears had partially washed away smudges of ink.
Nerissa turned back to the fight to see that Rian had recovered and was teaming up against the first Senka swordsman with Jarold and Leal. They had the man cornered, forcing him to defend with both his sword and sheath. It was only a matter of time until one of their strikes broke through.
She tugged the tail of Raysel’s shirt. “One of the children is still here, and it looks like she’s hurt. I’m going down this row to help her.”
“Go on. I will cover you,” he said without taking his eyes off the fighters. “But be ready to get out fast if reinforcements show up. We can’t afford for you to become trapped. Your life is more important than hers.”
“I beg to differ,” Nerissa said as she dropped to her hands and knees. She gingerly crawled across the scattered books, mentally apologizing for every torn page and cracked spine.
“Stay away from me,” the girl blubbered between hiccupping sobs. “You’re one of the bad guys Papa warned us about.”
Anger constricted Nerissa’s throat. If the printer warned his children ahead of time, then—somehow—he had known they would come. He and the Senka must have been watching and waiting for their arrival. Regardless, no matter how angry Nerissa felt, this young girl had nothing to do with her father’s actions.
“I’m not a bad guy,” Nerissa said gently. “I’m going to help get this shelf off your leg. Is that something a bad guy would do?”
“No,” the girl answered, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
Nerissa struggled to quickly come up with an encouraging response. “You’re a tough little girl. Did you know that?”
“My brothers say I’m a baby because I cry a lot.” The girl punctuated her argument with a sniffle. “I’m not tough. I want my mama.”
Sometimes I do too, Nerissa thought. She didn’t remember seeing a woman in the shop earlier, so her mother must have been in the house. “Why don’t you tell me about your mama? That way I can take you to her once I get you out of here.”
“My mama is beautiful. She brushes my hair every day and ties it up just like hers. And she bakes me gingerbread men cookies. Those are my favorite.” The little girl rambled on while Nerissa pushed aside the fallen books and lifted the heavy shelf off her leg. A bright red welt was visible across her shin, but the injury didn’t look too serious.
There came a flurry of sword clashes and then a sickening, guttural sound. Nerissa’s chest tightened with fear that it had come from one of her companions. She glanced over her shoulder at Raysel. Although he still held Thorn, she could see the tension melt from his face and knew it meant the last of the Senka had been defeated.
He looked down the aisle, and their eyes met. “It’s safe now. If any reinforcements were coming, I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t have done so by now.”
“Does your leg hurt too much to crawl or walk?” Nerissa asked the girl.
She shook her head. “I am tough! I’ll be ok.”
They clambered to the end of the aisle, and Raysel helped each of them stand. He hurriedly slipped his hand over the girl’s eyes and guided her away from the fallen Senka. “You don’t need to see any of that unpleasantness,” he said gently.
“If this was supposed to be an ambush, they were fools to send only two men,” Jarold said gruffly. He wiped his blade clean and slipped it into its sheath.
“There were three men,” Nerissa said. “I saw the twins fighting another one of them outside.”
“Three is no better,” Jarold scoffed.
“It seems they know our disguise but not how many members are in our party,” Rian said.
Raysel nodded in agreement. “We need to leave as soon as possible. But first we need to find the printer and ask him again about the book, even though I have a feeling I know what his answer will be.”
Rian and Leal led the way out the rear door, checking warily before stepping outside where the printer, his wife, and his children huddled underneath a large apple tree. The little girl bounded ahead despite her limp to throw herself into the outstretched arms of her mother.
“You signaled those men when we arrived, didn’t you?” Raysel accused.
Raysel sighed. “We have no intention to hurt you. We’ve brought your daughter back safely, haven’t we?”
The man wrung his hands anxiously, but he looked slightly relieved. “Yes, those men were sent here weeks ago by King Casimer to await your arrival. They told me to signal them using the watch if anyone ever came asking about books with crystals in their spines. I am a loyal subject of my king. Of course, I would do whatever he and his men asked of me. I already have done everything he’s asked of me, and yet they threatened to kill us if we didn’t cooperate.”
“You said you’ve already done what Casimer has asked. What did you do for him?” Nerissa asked though she had a sinking feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“King Casimer sent out a summons weeks ago to all the printing houses in Marise requesting any and all books with crystals in their spines be brought to him. We had one that was a family heirloom, so we took it to the capital right away. Those men came back with us and have been keeping watch ever since.”
The man’s words rang out in Nerissa’s mind so loudly that they drowned out all other thoughts. Casimer had one of the books. Had he found the prophecy hidden inside? Did it give a clue to the whereabouts of another book like Alden’s had? If so, Alden and Shae could be in danger. Charis could be in danger. Nerissa’s throat burned at the thought.
She looked the printer in the eye, but he timidly averted his gaze. “It is good to be loyal to your ruler,” she said. “But you should remember who it was that threatened you and who returned your daughter safely. Think about that, and decide whether or not it is wise to be loyal to a man who puts his own interests above the safety of his people.”
Reflection- Thorn of the White Rose Page 17