The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga

by Karen E. Hoover

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What do you mean, the flute’s missing? The Sapphire Flute?” Brant asked in disbelief. Kayla nodded, unable to dam the flow of tears.

  He stood perfectly still for a long moment, then cursed under his breath and moved into the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Are you sure it’s missing? Where have you looked?” he asked, taking in the mess she’d made.

  “Everywhere!” she wailed. “It was under the mattress when I left for breakfast this morning, and when we came back from our ride, it was gone! Why, Brant? Who would have done this?”

  Brant did not answer, but instead began his own search of the room—a search that, Kayla was reluctant to admit, was much more thorough than her own had been. He moved the bed, the dresser, the wardrobe, and the chairs. He rolled up the carpet and pulled down the tapestries. He even scaled the wall to look in the window ledge, and he found exactly the same thing Kayla had.

  Nothing.

  He stood in the middle of the room, chewing at his lip and staring into space, then without a word he began to put things back in order. The tapestry baffled him for a moment, but, making up his mind, he headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Kayla asked, uneasy about his leaving.

  “To get a ladder,” he replied, seemingly distracted. “I’ll be right back.”

  Kayla didn’t answer, but continued the job Brant had started. She was putting her clothes back in the dresser drawers when she found something that didn’t belong. On the top of the dresser was a note—with her name scrawled across its folded back.

  For a long time she could do nothing but stare at it, afraid to touch it for fear it would disappear much as the flute had, but finally she had to know what it said. Hand shaking, she reached for the parchment and opened it.

  "Why did you play the flute, Kayla? You were warned, and yet not even a full day went by before you breathed life to the instrument. We have claimed the flute until you are worthy of it. We will protect it, and Dragonmeer, if you will not. Prove yourself worthy, and it may be returned, or spurn your duty and lose it forever. The choice is yours. Speak through the stone.

  Thenari Kafato Topuini

  Hand of Klii’kunn"

  Kayla sank to the floor in shock. Stolen because she had played it? But she hadn’t! No sound had come from the instrument—she knew that with her heart and soul. How dare this Thenari claim she was not worthy? How dare he take it from her when the king himself had given her guardianship of the flute?

  Anger took over now, where fear had overwhelmed before. She read the note again and again, trying to decipher the message. She would find out who this Thenari Kafato Topuini was and claim back what was rightfully hers. She’d show him that she was “worthy” and take it back by force, if necessary. She was no weakling to be pushed around and threatened. With the name and identity of the thief, she had gained a purpose and would not give up until the Sapphire Flute lay in her hands once more.

  The main thing that confused her was the last part. “ Speak through the stone,” she whispered. “What does that mean?”

  Brant chose that moment to open the door and manipulate a ladder into the room. He got the ladder through the doorway and propped against the wall when he caught sight of her face.

  “What? What happened, love?” He was at her side in an instant.

  Instead of answering, she handed him the note. He read it, growing more tense with each sentence. It affected him just as it had her. By the time he reached the end, his face was red with anger, and he seemed to have forgotten both ladder and tapestry.

  “Who does he think he is? He speaks as if he is guardian of the flute, and not you! Who is this ‘Hand of Klii’kunn’? Do you know?” he demanded.

  “Of course not. If I knew, don’t you think I’d have reclaimed the flute already?” She took the letter from his hand and answered with a set jaw. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  “How?” he asked. It was a very good question, and one for which she did not have an answer. Instead of answering, she asked him a question in return.

  “What do you think this means—‘Speak through the stone’?” She pointed at the sentence on the paper. Brant read it again, chewing his lip in thought.

  “I don’t know. Was anything with the paper? Where did you find it?”

  “It was on the dresser.” She walked to the dark bureau and rested her hand on its surface. She’d already moved the few items from the top and found nothing of significance. She had no idea what the thief was talking about.

  Brant got on his knees to search the floor. “We have moved things around a bit . . .” he muttered as he ran fingertips along the baseboards, following the wall toward the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Kayla asked.

  “Looking for something,” he mumbled, his head and half his body wedged beneath the bed.

  “That’s obvious, but what?”

  “This,” Brant said, backing out from beneath the boxy frame with a small item clasped in his right hand. He stood and opened his fingers. At first Kayla was not sure what she was looking at—it appeared to be a plain old rock until Brant turned it over. Kayla took in a sharp breath and released it slowly. It was a scriptstone, a reading rock, a message stone—it went by many names, but Brant was right—

  “He wants us to communicate with him,” Kayla whispered.

  “It appears so,” Brant said, still fuming. His eyes flashed when they met hers, but Kayla’s anger had faded. All was not lost. She just had to find this man or woman who had taken her flute and somehow prove she really was worthy to have it. She didn’t care what it took or how she had to humble herself, she would recover the instrument.

  “It’s okay, Brant,” she said, not quite able to smile, but at least she was no longer crying. “We’ll figure it out, and we will get the flute back.” Her promise seemed to do little to relieve his anger. He still paced the room, his hands flexing in agitation, but at last he nodded. He was willing to help.

  Kayla sat down and tried to compose a letter to the thief, this Thenari Kafato Topuini. That was a mouthful of a name, both to write or to speak. She decided to call him Thenari. It was easier and the most normal-sounding of the three. Mostly she wanted to call him “thief,” but had the feeling that doing so would not help the situation. She had to have the flute, and she had to get it before she saw the king again.

  There was no way she could lie to King Rojan if he asked about the instrument. If that happened, she could forget about her duchy, her mother’s restoration to nobility—and she could especially forget about her upcoming marriage.

  “Brant,” she said as he tried to hang the tapestry again on his own. He wasn’t having much luck.

  “Yeah,” he snarled.

  “You aren’t going to tell anybody, are you?”

  He paused in his attempt and let the tapestry drop to the ground, then turned to face her while standing ten feet up the ladder. "Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am?” he said, a little of his frustration aimed at her, but she didn’t take offense. She was too relieved by his answer.

  “A smart one,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “I just had to be sure we were on the same page. I should have known.”

  “Yes, you should have,” he snapped, then softened. “I don’t blame you for voicing it. I probably would have done the same in your shoes.”

  Kayla nodded at him, then turned back to the blank paper and began to write:

  "I do not know who you are or why you have done this, but your accusations are false. I did not play the instrument. It had no voice from me. I am its guardian, determined worthy by the king, and I will not stop until it is back in my hands. Return the instrument to me and there will be no repercussions. Keep it, and you will have all the wrath of Peldane against you."

  Kayla did not bother signing the letter. The thief would know who sent it. She set aside her pen and ink and sanded the paper. Once she knew it was dry, she set
the scriptstone in the center and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  “Brant,” she said, and he immediately came to her. “It’s not working.”

  “Did you tell it to send?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know I had to.”

  “Hold your hand over the stone and say ‘send.’ It will do the rest,” he explained, and went back to his labor of rehanging the tapestry on the wall.

  Kayla cupped the rock in the palm of her hand. “Send,” she croaked, and immediately a rainbow colored light burst forth and pulled the ink from the paper. She sucked in a breath of surprise. She had not realized that a scriptstone would actually steal the ink from the page. It was strange. Very strange indeed.

  The letter was sent. She’d done what she could. Now she must wait.

  In the meantime, Kayla helped Brant with the tapestry, and they got it back in place without too many mishaps and only one broken vase. It was slightly crooked, but Kayla figured no one else would really notice, and if they did, they could fix it. They were done—and none too soon, for at the same moment Kayla saw another flash of rainbow light, a knock sounded at the door.

  Kayla wasn’t sure where to go first, though her heart tugged her toward the writing desk and the now-full page that lay waiting for her response. But in order to keep a low profile, she had to answer the door.

  “Yes,” she called after a second knock.

  “’Tis Sarali, Miss Kayla. Would Master Brant be with ye? His father be needing him right away.”

  Brant groaned and climbed down the ladder.

  “Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone,” he whispered to Kayla, his eyes pleading.

  “Of course not,” she answered. “I never do.”

  He raised his brow at her, both of them remembering too many incidents where she certainly had been foolish, but Brant said nothing, letting a sigh of resignation escape his lips before opening the door.

  “Yes, Sarali, I’m here, but I’m kind of busy right now. What does Father need?” He leaned against the doorframe and ran his hands through his tousled hair.

  “He wouldn’t be telling me that, sir, just asked me to fetch ye,” Sarali replied with a wink and a smile.

  “Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” he said, but Sarali shook her head.

  “The master insisted that I not return without ye, sir. ‘’Tis very important,’ he said.”

  Brant grunted, obviously disgusted, and gave Kayla one last warning glance before he left. “All right then, Sarali. Let’s get this done. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Yes, Master Brant,” she replied as she pulled the door shut. The instant they were gone, Kayla ran for the paper.

  "You speak untruth, Lady Kayla, for I heard the flute calling in my sleep last night. The flute cannot speak unless given your breath, thus you have played it. If you wish to have the flute returned, threats and lies will get you nowhere. Prove yourself."

  “Prove myself? How?” she asked of the air, throwing her hands up in frustration. Prove herself. Prove herself. It made no sense. What more was there to prove? How could she persuade this person that she truly had not played the flute?

  Left with no other options, she decided to be completely honest and sat down to write another letter.

  "Sir,

  I do not know what you want of me. How may I prove myself and have the flute returned? I will do all that you ask, but please, return the flute to its rightful guardian. I swore to my king to protect it with my very life, and so far I have failed in that task, as you have been able to remove

  the instrument from me. I know not what more to say. Tell me what to do, and it shall be done.:

  Kayla sat and waited for a response and received it within minutes, though its message chilled her to the bone.

  "Meet me in the cellar and thy worth shall be proven. Do not respond. Go now while Brant is away."

  How could the thief know Brant was away? Only if he were watching her room or knew that Brant had been called to his father. And then it clicked. The thief knew because he had sent his servant to fetch Brant. The thief knew because he was a trusted member of the household and had a name she knew, a name that, when contracted, became one she’d heard several times that very day.

  Thenari Kafato Topuini.

  T’Kato.

  Sarali’s husband was the thief.