“Well, it upsets me that she didn’t tell us!”
“Me too.”
Tavi let out a long sigh. “I’m glad you copied this. But I can’t imagine the Grays taking control anytime soon. That will take years.” When Narre nodded, Tavi said again, “I need to be home for now.”
“That’s fine,” Narre said. “And I’m certainly not going to Savala without you.”
They sat quietly, but Tavi’s mind was churning. Yes, she wanted to be near her mother, but that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to go. It wasn’t even the primary reason.
One fact was branded on Tavi’s mind: Misty had been killed because she’d been with Tavi. The more time her friends spent with her, the more likely they were to get hurt, especially if they traveled to Savala.
Tavi wouldn’t say it aloud; she would just get empty assurances in return. But she knew the truth: She brought danger to the people she cared about the most. For now, someone else would have to fight the Grays.
Chapter Eleven
RELIN: In the heat of battle, I feel as much bloodlust as the next man. But even then, reason must reign. We do not kill because we love killing; we kill because we love winning.
-From Relin: A Play in Three Acts by Hestina Arlo
The crystal glass flew across the room before smashing into the wall. Liquor darkened the red fabric wall covering, and daggers of heavy glass fell to the floor.
It had come close enough to Ash’s head to make him flinch, but not close enough for him to think Konner was trying to hit him. Konner Burrell wouldn’t risk his greatest asset in that way, Ash reflected.
Konner’s bellow made the crash of glass seem whisper-soft in comparison. “This may have ruined everything!” Three strides brought him to Ash. He was inches shorter than his intended king, but Konner was intimidating, with his barrel chest and hands scarred from fighting as a youth. Ash held his ground, despite his instinct to step backward. “Tell me what happened,” Konner said.
Ash told him every detail the traveling team had shared upon their return. Konner’s jaw tightened and eyes bulged as he listened. Having finished the worst parts of the story, Ash described how the team had prevented discovery by taking a long, meandering route home along minor roads. The trip had taken a month instead of two weeks, but they’d made it back without ever encountering safety officers.
When Ash finished his recounting, Konner shook his head, a grimace of disdain marring his face. “I want to talk to all of them. Yamah included. Now.”
They walked into the back yard. It was nearing midnight, and clouds covered the moon and most of the stars. Guided by the light of a candle, they approached a weathered, windowless storage shed. The padlock on the door had only two keys, carried by Konner and Ash. Konner unlocked it and pulled it off the latch. When they’d both entered, he used the same padlock on the inside of the door.
In the candlelight, Ash examined the inside of the shed, as he did each time, making sure nothing was out of place. A wheelbarrow sat in the corner, the dust surrounding it proving it hadn’t been moved. Two rakes leaned on the wall next to a shovel, and hand tools such as trowels hung on hooks. Everything was rusted, dull, or broken. The newer tools were in a room off the small stable across the yard.
To the left of the door was an old rug, laid across the floor, a sawhorse atop it. Konner picked up the sawhorse, tossing it in a far corner. One of its legs, already cracked, broke in half. He cursed but didn’t stop moving, folding back the rug. Underneath was a hinged trapdoor, and he grabbed the single hole in it, lifting the heavy wood and letting it rest on the nearby wall. Without another word, he climbed down the ladder underneath. Ash followed.
At the bottom of the ladder, they entered a damp, cool tunnel. It was only four feet high, and they began crawling through it. Ash knew Konner hated navigating the tight space. They had each ruined the knees of most of their pants, despite the planks lining the bottom of the tunnel.
Ash, however, relished the uncomfortable crawl, for this tunnel was his magical magnum opus. The previous year, he’d used the gray magic in his hands, with all the pain it entailed, to dig. Every day, for weeks. Sure, he’d had help from the other Grays, who had hauled soil and shored up the tunnel with planks and boards. But he’d been the one with the shovel, using his magical speed to dig faster than any ungifted human could do. Never had a pot or cup he’d sculpted given him as much satisfaction as this ugly tunnel.
A tunnel certainly hadn’t been part of the Grays’ plan. But everything had changed when Narre and Tavi had escaped the farmhouse. Konner and Ash had known that once the group from Oren felt safe, they would get word to Savalan authorities, who would search the farmhouse.
And so, hours after Tavi’s escape, the Grays had moved into a rented cottage near the farmhouse. Ash had hired workers to turn their treasured training area back into a barn, and a week later, a very nice family had signed a lease on the farm.
But the Grays had still been at risk, despite the location change. Tavi and Narre knew Konner’s identity, and he had feared they would lead the authorities to him. With his connections in Savala, Konner had discovered what hotel Tavi and the others had used, but the rooms were empty. When Sella had returned with Reba, Konner had immediately sent them back along the road to Oren to look for the former captives, a quest that had proven just as pointless as Ash had anticipated.
The house the Grays had moved to was safe, but it was tiny, and it was tucked away in the forest, accessed by rough roads that weren’t much more than wide game paths. Konner wanted his team to have a decent headquarters.
It seemed someone was looking out for them, because Konner had learned of a house for sale near his in Savala. Through a company he owned that couldn’t be tied to him, he had purchased it. The Grays had moved in under the cover of night.
Konner needed to keep up his normal routines, however, and if he were to visit a particular house too often, someone might notice. Frequent visitors to his house would attract even more attention. So Ash had begun to dig. When complete, the tunnel was two hundred feet long and traveled under the yards of multiple unsuspecting neighbors. Ash traversed it almost daily, and Konner used it when he needed to.
The two men arrived at the end of the passage, out of breath and dusty. Konner climbed up the tunnel’s second ladder. He pushed aside the trapdoor above, which opened into a back yard. Large trees all around the tunnel’s exit protected it from prying eyes. Ash emerged soon after, and they both brushed themselves off.
“If you’d like to wait in the sitting room, I’ll gather the team,” Ash said. Konner grunted his assent, and they entered the house.
The entire traveling team was upstairs, and Ash ushered them down, with the exception of their prisoner. Sella had left Yamah in one of the bedrooms, tied up and still unconscious, thanks to Wrey’s most recent administration of magical anesthesia.
The meeting in the sitting room was just as unpleasant as Ash had expected. He stood at the back of the room, watching Konner berate every one of the team. Why hadn’t Sella been with them? Why had they separated when only Reba knew what Tavi looked like? Why hadn’t Wrey put Tavi to sleep too, even before she realized it was Tavi?
None of the team’s answers were satisfactory. How could they be? Ash was fully aware of the magnitude of the mistake; he simply held in his anger better than Konner did. He wished they had never heard of the all-blessed girl. They could meet their goals without Tavi; they had just gotten greedy. And now they had angered her in such a way that he wouldn’t blame her if she pursued them with a vengeance fueled by grief and powered by earth-shaking magic.
And it was Konner’s fault. The small, screaming man by the fireplace would never admit that his insistence on hiring a criminal had caused this. But it had, and the other Grays in the room must recognize that, as Ash did.
Ash glanced at the others, his eyes settling on Aldin. The young, stride-blessed Gray hadn’t gone on the trip or been involved with its plannin
g. He sat in a corner of the room, a small grin on his lips, evidently enjoying the confrontation. Or possibly just planning his next waltz across the sitting room ceiling. This isn’t a game! Ash wanted to shout at Aldin. Don’t you see what’s happening?
“Ash!” Konner’s harsh voice interrupted Ash’s thoughts. “Take me up to see Yamah.”
Ash nodded and exited the sitting room, followed by Konner. As they ascended the stairs, Ash said, “They kept him tied up the whole way home, and he’s tied to the bed now. He’s asleep, but when he wakes up, he won’t be happy.”
“I couldn’t care less how that man feels about being tied up,” Konner said. “When he wakes, I’ll give him a piece of my mind, and then my top priority will be to find another councillor who wants to steal Yamah’s breath and join the Grays. That stupid man will have to die to finally do something useful.”
Ash nodded. “Sella thought you’d want to use him for that. That’s the only reason she didn’t kill him herself.”
“Smart lady.”
They reached Aldin’s room, where Yamah was being held, and Ash opened the bedroom door. He gasped. Konner pushed him to the side and ran into the room, shouting another curse.
There were ropes on the bed, a small knife next to them. A twisted bedsheet hung from a rough beam that bisected the vaulted ceiling. And hanging from the sheet by his neck was Yamah, his wide face discolored, clearly dead.
Konner had never hit any of the Grays unless he was teaching them to fight. But Ash was watching the man’s red face, and he wondered if that would change today. Konner’s cold, quiet voice was more frightening than his screams had been; at any moment he might reach a precipice of anger and dive off a cliff of violence.
“The only thing I can think is that he stole the knife from a bag when he was in the wagon,” Sella said. “He must have hidden it in his sleeve.”
“Or he had help.” Konner’s glare scanned each face.
Konner approached Reba and stood far too close to her. The girl stood her ground, but her trembling lower lip belied her confident stance. “I keep coming back to one thing,” Konner said, his voice low. “If you had all stayed together, you could have identified Tavi. You could have prevented Misty’s death, Reba. You could have made sure Tavi was taken.”
“I gave them all descriptions of her.” Reba’s voice was high and unsteady. “I don’t know how they could have thought Misty was Tavi. They don’t look anything alike.”
Konner snapped, just as Ash had feared he would. He grabbed both Reba’s shoulders. She winced, and he yelled so loudly it hurt Ash’s ears from several feet away. “I have told you more times than I can count, I will tolerate no excuses! You stupid, stupid girl!”
Ash stepped up, placing his hand on top of Konner’s. “You’re not helping,” he said, enunciating every word. “Get your hands off her.”
Konner did so, and Ash thought he might have just saved the girl from being thrown across the room.
Striding toward the door, Konner said, “I’m going home. I’ve got to plan for what’s next, since I seem to be the only one who cares. Bury Yamah in the back yard. Ash, use your magic to make the hole deep. We don’t need any questions from authorities.” He grabbed his candle from the mantel and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
Ash watched him go, examining the sensation rising in his chest. He was surprised when the name for it came so readily to his mind. Hatred. He had felt annoyance, scorn, and distaste for Konner, almost since the beginning. But this was the first time hatred had filled him. And looking around the room, Ash was quite sure he wasn’t alone in that response.
For so long, he had believed the Grays could not succeed without Konner. Now, having seen the man’s growing volatility, Ash wondered if they could succeed with him.
Reba lay on the narrow bed in her windowless bedroom, the cramped space lit by two lanterns. She spent most of her time here. The previous year when Konner had found out her true age (fifteen, not eighteen as she’d claimed), he’d declared Reba must stay inside her room in the Gray House, their new headquarters. They couldn’t risk her leaving the house. A traveler from Oren might see her and take her home to her parents.
Reba had asked if perhaps she could wear a Karite veil, as Camalyn did. That way she could run occasional errands or even take a walk. But Konner refused. Clearly he didn’t trust her or even like her. She got the feeling he wanted to forget she existed unless he needed her for something.
She’d gotten used to Konner’s disdain for her. Yesterday had been the first day, however, that she’d felt physical danger in his presence. After he’d stormed out, she’d had to come up here and breathe deeply for half an hour to calm herself from the confrontation. Even now, she couldn’t stop replaying the scene in her imagination. Konner’s hateful words blared in her head, words she doubtless deserved. She could still feel his hands, holding her shoulders so tightly that today she’d woken up aching.
Sava, please help me.
Reba could count on one hand the times she’d prayed since receiving her gray awakening. She only called on Sava at moments like these, when she felt desperate.
The prayers were always short, because her cry for help was immediately swallowed by guilt. Every time. She didn’t deserve Sava’s help. His hand of justice, that was what she deserved. Maybe this dreary life, now colored by fear, was her punishment.
But surely Sava wouldn’t want her to stay here, helping these people, would he? After the horror in Oren’s forest, Reba had lost her awe of Konner. She saw through his words now. He claimed to want power for the nation; he only wanted it for himself. He didn’t care who he hurt to get it.
Reba stared at the soft glow of lantern light on the ceiling’s wooden planks. The light was dull, but it was enough. It reminded her of her magic, before it was gray. It hadn’t been strong, but at least it had been good. And now that goodness was gone; she’d never get it back. Could she salvage anything from her innocent childhood?
I don’t deserve anything good.
That was the truth, and it wasn’t going to change, because Reba couldn’t take back what she’d done. She released one more long breath, then sat up and picked up a Corminian history book from the table next to her bed. She tried to read but found herself stuck on one page, reading the same paragraph repeatedly. The printed words didn’t make any sense; she was far too distracted.
She lay the book down, stood, and tiptoed to the door. Ever so slowly, she cracked it open. No one was in the hall. Good. She crept to the stairs and stepped down, staying on the right side for the first few steps and the left side for the rest, avoiding all the spots that creaked.
From the foot of the stairs, she still didn’t see anyone. Some days, like today, she was lucky, managing to spend a few minutes out of her room before someone noticed and sent her back. She sat on the bottom step, enjoying the light that streamed in from nearby windows.
Konner’s voice came from the sitting room, followed by Ash’s. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Normally, with them so close, she’d have rushed back upstairs to avoid being caught. Today, however, she wanted to listen. After what Konner had done to her, she wanted nothing more than to successfully eavesdrop on him. Even if all she heard him discuss was the price of cheese, she’d feel a little vindicated.
So she tiptoed to the closed door and sat next to it, pressing her ear against the crack.
As she listened, her eyes widened. Her heartbeat quickened. She became very aware of the sound of her own breaths. Konner would be furious if he realized she was listening to this. They certainly weren’t discussing the price of cheese.
Finally, she’d heard enough. Then she did rush back upstairs. But she didn’t have time to feel vindicated. She had to think. She had to find a way to leave this place.
Chapter Twelve
One of the biggest differences between small towns and large cities is how their residents treat strangers. When I’m feeling optimistic, I’m proud of t
he hospitality of our town and am glad not to live in a city, surrounded by aloof neighbors. However, on days when my pessimism takes over, I become convinced that residents of small towns are simply more adept at pretending to like people.
-From Small-Town Cormina: A Midwife’s Reflections by Ellea Kariana
Tullen opened the back door of the butcher shop, stepped in, and closed it behind him. It was dark, the sun still below the horizon. But his hearing magic was active, and his glowing ears brought golden light into the room.
His stride gift was active too, though hidden under his boots. It allowed him to easily carry the heavy bags strapped to his back, a task that would have been challenging without magical assistance. Tullen walked on silent feet to the long countertop and placed the bags on it. After lighting a lantern, he released his magic.
He picked up his favorite cleaver and sharpened it on the whetstone, timing his breaths to the rhythmic scrape-pause-scrape. When the blade was so sharp it wouldn’t balk at bones, he took the meat out of the bags. But before he could make his first cut, he heard a lock rattle, followed by the chime of the bell hanging from the front door.
Arjean Shonner crossed from the shop into the back room where Tullen stood. “You’re up early!” he said.
“So are you.” Tullen smiled. “I’m headed to the Meadow today, but I woke up and wanted to get in a little hunting. I was lucky. Small buck, but—”
“But a deer’s a deer!” Arjean clapped Tullen on the back. “Good for you, son.”
“I’ll head out as soon as I’ve butchered it.”
“Nonsense. You’re off today. I’ll get this done before it’s time to open the shop.”
Tullen smiled his thanks. He’d moved into living quarters above the shop upon his return from Savala, and ever since, Arjean had been teaching him the art of butchering. Tullen was precise, but his speed left something to be desired. Arjean didn’t complain; Tullen could kill twice the animals in half the time of other hunters, and the shop’s business had increased significantly since he had started working there.
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