by Amber Argyle
Mindful of the rain, she slid out the map Mama had drawn for them. Her grandmother’s house was far too near the druids’ palace for Larkin’s liking. For the hundredth time, she marked each turn they needed to make.
“Easy.” Tam smiled and waved at a field worker. “We belong here, remember?”
She jerked his hand down. “Druids don’t wave!”
“Not all druids are dour.”
“Yes, they are. Glare. Be condescending.”
Tam grumbled under his breath and arranged his impish features into his best imitation of severity. Clearly an imitation. But perhaps someone who didn’t know him would buy it.
“The forest take me,” she muttered. “We’re both dead.”
They slipped in with the Cordovans as they approached the newly constructed wall, the stones stained black by rain. Workmen used a lever to heave heavy stones up to the top, where they were rotated and laid across mortar. It slipped, slamming off-kilter with a deafening boom that made Larkin jump and cover her ears.
Tam yelped.
The foreman screamed and cursed at his workers.
A pair of soldiers moved toward them. A drop of rain soaked through her hood and drew a chill line down her scalp. She shivered.
She stopped walking, her whole body tensed to run. They aren’t looking for me, she reminded herself. No one is looking for me.
“It’s all a game, Larkin,” Tam said.
“It’s not a game when we could die.”
He huffed. “We’re not going to die.”
They crossed a bridge over a wide river. The stench of rot washed over her. She followed the smell to corpses swinging from their necks from scaffolding. This was how the druids dealt with criminals, which included traitors.
He paled. “Life is a game. In the end, we all lose.”
She shot him a sardonic look. “So helpful. Thank you.”
The refugees bottlenecked at the partially closed gates, the space beyond dark as a night without stars. A clutch of soldiers stood guard, halberds gripped in both hands.
“Like I said,” the foremost soldier shouted, “unless you have direct family members to stay with, you will not be allowed to enter the city.”
Larkin took a tiny step closer to Tam, glad he’d stolen robes. All druids would be welcome into the city to celebrate the equinox.
“We woke to an army on our doorstep,” one women cried. “All the unmarried women were taken. You can’t leave us out here undefended.”
The soldier held out his hands. “We are calling up soldiers as we speak. They should be arriving in Cordova shortly. In the meantime, we suggest you begin construction on your own perimeter wall.”
“At least allow us to camp outside the city,” a man said.
“We can’t have you trampling our crops,” the soldier said. “Now turn back and see to your own defenses. An army should be arriving from Hamel in a few days.”
Hamel. Larkin stiffened. She’d been under those soldiers’ watchful eyes for days. If someone from her village recognized her, the game was over.
Tam touched the outside of her hand, his face a serene mask. “You’re making panicky faces. Stop making panicky faces.”
“What if one of the soldiers recognize us?”
“Why would foot soldiers be at the palace?” Tam said.
“And the druids?”
“Still seeing to the trial.”
She forced herself to take a calming breath.
Tam shot her a cocky grin, grabbed her elbow, and pushed through the people. He eyed the soldier, who took one look at Tam’s robes and let them pass.
“Told you these clothes were a good idea,” Tam said.
Larkin paused at the edge of the shadows. She sensed that once she stepped beyond, she’d never come out alive. She glanced back at the forest, memories of her departure pulsing hot. She stepped into a dark like the night. She searched the shadows for wraiths. Her heart thundered in her ears. She grabbed for Tam’s arm, holding on for dear life. Water dripped from the murder hole above and slid down her neck.
They emerged into the city, and she gasped for breath. Tam watched her, eyes wide. She was gripping him hard enough to leave bruises. She quickly let go.
He rubbed his arm. “What was that?”
“I think—” She swallowed hard. “I think I’m scared of the dark.”
He grunted. “As are we all.”
She was relieved he seemed to understand.
Head high and shoulders back, Tam strode into the city as if he owned it. Taking a breath to steel herself, she followed him. With each step she took, she shed a little of the mud from her boots. They crossed the first row of neatly kept houses, a canal filled with boats passing beneath them. Plots of vegetables grew along the sides of each house.
People kept their gazes pinned to the cobblestones as they bowed in Tam’s direction. Murmurs of “druid” followed them in a wave.
Larkin and Tam passed a curving side street when Tam’s head came up. “Do you smell that?”
“What?”
He filled his lungs. “Meat puffs.” He abruptly changed course.
“We’re not here for meat puffs,” she hissed.
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had something besides gilgad stew and dried meat?”
“We had grouse a couple of nights ago.”
He stopped before a stall. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you some too.”
“You are not spending what little coin we have on—”
“Ten for myself and my lovely sister,” Tam told the man who eyed them from the other side of the flour-covered table.
The man handed them a steaming hot bag of pastries the size of a small egg. They were filled with meat, cheese, and vegetables fried in bacon grease. Tam popped one in his mouth and moaned in pleasure. He looked down at Larkin and winced. “Again with the glaring.”
The baker eyed their travel-worn clothes with interest. “Where have you come from, Druid?”
“Hamel,” Tam said.
The man’s eyes widened. “Is it true what they say? Are the beasts who steal our daughters really men?”
Tam choked on his second puff and coughed, his eyes watering.
Larkin pounded his back with relish. “What have you heard?”
The man stared at the ground and shuffled awkwardly. “Surely you know, Druid?”
“Of course I do,” Tam snapped. “Answer the question.”
A woman stepped out of the darkened building behind the man’s stall. “Rumors of men from the forest with some strange, dark magic who attacked Hamel. In all the towns and cities of the Alamant, hundreds of unmarried woman have disappeared. And last night, those same men were seen around Cordova—surely you’ve seen the refugees, Druid.”
“The rivers are choked with candles for missing girls,” the baker said.
“Some of the men have taken to marrying off their daughters as young as twelve,” his wife said.
Larkin paled. “Ancestors.”
Without a word, Tam took her arm and hauled her away.
“Their mothers,” Larkin said softly. “Oh, their poor mothers.”
“We’ve been over this.”
She jerked free. “How can you stand it?”
Tam whirled on her, all traces of humor gone. “I’m sick of being blamed for it.”
She was a little afraid of him. He reached into the bag of meat puffs and pushed one against her lips. She breathed it in, her mouth watering.
“Eat it.”
She opened her mouth obediently.
“Chew.”
She did. It was delicious. Hot and flavorful and greasy. Despite herself, she groaned in pleasure.
Tam nodded in satisfaction. “Better than gilgad soup?”
“So much better,” she agreed.
“Now, what are we here to do?”
She took a deep breath. “Find the mansion my mother described. Convince Iniya to help us into the druids’ keep during th
e chaos of the festival. Retrieve the ahlea amulet and Eiryss’s journal. Get out.”
He linked arms with her, and they strode onto a bridge. Before she knew it, the bag of meat puffs was gone. She was warm and full, her anger held back at arm’s length.
Tam grunted in satisfaction and pushed the bag into her hands. “Now, be a good little druid’s sister and throw away my rubbish.”
She made to argue when she saw druids riding toward them. Long coats covered their legs, and wide-brimmed hats kept the rain off. Head down, she took the bag to one of the wheeled barrels meant for refuse.
“Brother,” they murmured to Tam, who repeated the greeting in kind as they passed.
Larkin held her breath until they rode beyond her. She glanced around the edge of her hood to see if they looked back.
Tam stepped up beside her and gripped her arm again. “Keep moving.”
The citadel walls loomed before them, the high, arched gates painted a lurid crimson. Two guards in full armor and halberds stood on either side, their helmets obscuring their faces. The symbol on their armor was two descending crescents bisected by a sword.
Larkin’s ancestors had lived here. She found herself searching the towers for the one Eiryss might have looked out of in the vision. A drop of rain splashed in her eye, making her blink hard. Tam tugged her forward, as far away from the palace as he could manage.
“I had no idea my grandmother’s home was this close,” she murmured.
The red doors swung open, and men in black robes with tooled belts streamed out. Half a dozen headed their way. Larkin gasped, memories swarming her.
Above her, Hunter slid out his knife from his sheath and held it against her exposed throat. She knew she was going to die. Knew she drew her last breath and saw her last sky.
She would never again fly across the fields while her mother and sisters chattered and laughed. Never know the joy of a warm fire after bitter cold or the taste of spring water when she was thirsty. Never stand on the ridgetop on a windy day and imagine she could fly.
“I am sorry,” he said as he pressed the blade into her delicate skin.
No! She wasn’t going to die! Not today! She twisted and bucked.
The knife slipped across the surface of her throat—but Hunter rocked back, his gaze going wide. They both looked down at the spreading red stain at his chest. Larkin marveled at an arrow haft buried in his ribs up to the fletching. He gave a single gasp and coughed. Warm, wet blood splattered her face and dripped into her hair.
Larkin came to with her face mashed against Tam’s damp shirt, her body seizing up. She had to run, hide. But the world spun so fast. She smelled the damp wool, sweat, forest, and campfires. The blackness faded and the spinning eased. She pushed back to stand on her own feet, wobbling.
“Are you well?”
A young man stood behind her, a druid. Hands clasped behind his back, he raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. He was handsome, with pretty blue eyes and waving hair to his shoulders. She stared dumbly at him. She realized she needed to say something, but no words would come.
“We’ve come a long way, brother,” Tam said easily, though she noted his hand slipping to the ax hidden beneath his robes. “Her sister was taken by the beast only days ago.”
The man’s mouth tightened in sympathy. “I swear to you, lady, we will end the reign of the beast before the snow comes.”
She shuddered, but not for the reason the man supposed. “Thank you, sir.”
He bowed and slipped away.
Tam watched him go. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be fun.”
She breathed out. “So fun.”
He grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”
Larkin shot Tam an exasperated look and hurried down the nearest side street. Finally, she came to the mansion her mother described. A hulking, two-story building with a wide, wraparound porch and grand windows. She couldn’t picture her father growing up in such luxury. And certainly not him ever willingly leaving it behind.
Inside was Larkin’s grandmother. Larkin looked down at her dress in despair. It was fine, but they’d been traveling for two days, and the mud didn’t help.
She sighed. There was nothing to be done. Taking a fortifying breath, Larkin pushed against the gate, which opened on silent hinges. Squaring her shoulders, Larkin marched up to the door and knocked.
Smoothing her gray smock, a serving girl with black hair, brown eyes, and enormous teeth answered the door. She inclined her head at Tam. “How may I serve you, Druid?”
Tam stood stiff and straight. “We are here to see Iniya Rothsberd.”
The maid eyed their muddy boots and tsked disapprovingly. “I’m afraid Lady Iniya is not well.”
Larkin blinked, unable to believe a druid would be denied entrance anywhere.
“I’m afraid I must insist,” Tam said.
“My lady is not well, Druid.” The maid wasn’t budging. “I must insist you come back at—”
Tam pushed open the door. “Then take us to her bedside.”
The girl’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t argue. She led them to a sitting room, the walls covered with taxidermied heads of leopards, deer, and mountain goats. There was a full-sized gilgad and a bear as well. A man rose as they entered. “Tinsy, who—”
He cut off, staring at Larkin as she stared back. He had her same unruly red hair. Her same smattering of freckles. Eyes wide, he came toward her.
Larkin cocked back her arm and punched her father full in the face.
Harben staggered back from the blow, his hand going to his jaw. Tam stepped between them, his hand on his ax handle. “Larkin?”
Larkin pretended like she hadn’t just broken her wrist, letting it hang limp from her side. “Tam, this is my lying, cheating, adulterous father.”
To her surprise, Harben made no move to strike back, only stared at her in amazement. He was dressed in a fine shirt and trousers, his normally unruly hair cut short and his scraggly beard neatly trimmed. Only his bloodshot eyes and trembling hands betrayed him for the useless drunkard he was.
“You’re alive,” he breathed. “You’re here. How?”
Furious tears filled her eyes. The forest take her, her wrist hurt. “You don’t get to ask questions.”
Harben, she’d vowed never to call him Papa again, nodded to the maid. “Tinsy, go to the cellar and fetch a few cold slabs of raw meat.”
“But, sir,” Tinsy said.
He held out his hand. “Tinsy, please.”
She turned on her heel and left the room.
Eyeing Tam, Harben wisely put a couch between them. “Who is this?” When Larkin didn’t answer, Harben paled. “Not a piper—your husband? Surely you’re not fool enough to bring one of them here.”
While Larkin and her family had been fighting and running for their lives from the wraiths, her father had been lounging in this mansion. Ancestors, she didn’t think it was possible to hate him more.
“He’s not my husband, and how do you know anything about the pipers?”
“Oh, good,” Harben breathed. “And I know because I figured out enough for my mother to explain it to me.”
“He is a piper,” Larkin said with more than a little satisfaction.
Harben groaned. “It’s not safe for you. Go back to the forest.”
The forest wasn’t safe either. “The forest take you and your mistress and your son.” The son he’d always wanted. Ancestors, she hated him. “I came to see my grandmother, not you. Where is she?”
The maid, Tinsy, came back with two raw chunks of roast. Harben pressed one to his cheek. The other he held out to her. She crossed her arms, hiding the wince that came from the pressure on her wrist. “I don’t need it.”
Tam took it from Harben and shoved it at Larkin. “You’re going to want to keep on top of the swelling,” he murmured.
Larkin threw the steak on the floor and blocked the retreating maid. “I will speak with Iniya. Now.”
Tinsy shot Harben a l
ook. He nodded reluctantly, which saved him from another punch to the face.
“I’ll fetch her, miss,” the maid said. She bowed and left.
Tam picked the steak off the floor. None too gently, he took Larkin’s wrist and rested the steak on the back of her hand. She flinched at the bolt of pain and shifted the meat to her wrist. She ignored Harben, though she could feel his stare. Instead, she studied the room. With its forest-green paint and taxidermy, it seemed a mockery of the real forest.
The click of a cane and hard heels preceded Iniya’s entrance. She wore her white hair piled in an elaborate updo atop her head. Fine-boned, with a thin, graceful neck and severe wrinkles, she wore a spotless, perfectly pleated dress in solid black.
Her pale blue eyes looked Larkin up and down, from her muddy boots to her soaked clothes. Her gaze lingered on her wild mane and freckles. “The lost son has returned, and he’s brought more mutts with him.” Her voice was high and warbling.
Larkin huffed. “I’ve come to bargain with you on behalf of the pipers.”
“The pipers have nothing I want.” Iniya’s gaze narrowed on the slab of meat her son held against his swelling cheek. “What happened to your face? You look as though you’ve wrestled with the beasts of the game room and lost.”
Harben grunted.
The old woman noted Larkin’s meat-wrapped wrist. “Savages.” She turned her back on them and went to a sideboard, which she unlocked with an iron key hanging from a ribbon around her neck. She pulled out a tumbler and glass, poured herself a finger width, locked the cabinet back up, and took a swallow.
“My son is no longer allowed to imbibe,” Iniya said.
Larkin scoffed in disbelief—her father never stopped drinking for longer than it took to sleep off his hangover or discover Mama’s stash of money.
Iniya glared at her. “We can only assume the weakness in his blood—from his father’s side, of course—is inherited by his children, so you’ll excuse me for not offering—”
Harben tossed his steak onto the coffee table. “Mother, that’s enough.”
Iniya gaped at the bloody, dripping meat in horror. “Tinsy!” her voice turned shrill. The girl immediately hustled into the room. Had she been lurking behind the door, listening?