“What happened to being allies?” Pen snapped, seeing through the politeness, though it was too late.
“Allies need to be honest with each other,” she said, “and while I don’t want to make an enemy of you, it is hard for me to see past the grief you caused.”
“I fixed the Undying Curse, and I didn’t want Tellus to die either.”
“He died for a noble cause, as did my husband sending you on that journey—”
“I was trying to bring back my own husband and son!”
Trembling now, Pen was on her feet, unable to remember when she exactly stood. Both hands were planted on the table, and the crystal goblet vibrated at the impact.
Aethra sat still and silent, watching Pen tower over her now. Her perfectly guarded expression finally cracked. Realization entered her eyes, and more resentment and anger followed.
“You caused the Curse!”
“I fucked up, but I fixed it,” Pen blurted out in a wavering voice, unable to say much more.
Aethra was quiet, but her gaze was hard. Pen looked away and let go of the table.
“I didn’t know Tellus long, but he was a friend, and I will take care of this killer for him.” Before she could stop herself she asked, “Do you know where he’s buried?”
Aethra took a careful breath before replying, “The public graveyard, on the north side.”
Chapter Twenty One
Raisa
Raisa strode through the city streets finally enjoying the day. She and Pen had parted just an hour ago when she was whisked off to the castle. Raisa had managed to call out that she would be home later, glad that it was vague enough for only Pen to understand.
It was brisk out, mainly in the shade, but the sun shone on the chilly day. Elation flooded through her as the fletching shop came into view. There was no special sign other than a bow and arrow over the door, but it was perfect for the Ragged Wolves hideout.
Business was going well for them, enough for Raisa to afford a two story house in the shopping district. The shop front was a great side income of bows and arrows mostly made by one of their own. The rooms above and behind housed the other Ragged Wolves safely and discretely.
“Afternoon, Palrig,” Raisa said entering the shop and seeing him.
The bald man arranging arrows in a barrel looked up. Raisa was struck by how much his beard had grown in. Whatever he lacked on his head, he made up for on his face.
“Raisa,” he bellowed with a grin splitting his beard, arms outstretched.
He pulled her into a hug, nearly lifting her off her feet.
“What’s it been, three years?” he asked after he let her go.
“About that.”
“So, how’s this secret mission of yours going?”
“It’s done,” Raisa said shrugging, enjoying the weight off her shoulders.
“Really?” he asked.
“Delivered the quarry I had to and found an old friend along the way. Is Drivas here?”
“Downstairs, practicing her knife throwing.”
“Any new requests?” Raisa asked discretely again as another man entered the shop.
“We’ve handled a few, but if you want to check them over, they’re in your office,” Palrig said.
Slapping a hand on his shoulder as thanks, Raisa left him with the customer. The fletching shop was small, but it was designed that way. Most of the rooms were hidden around them, and there was access to a basement in the back.
Raisa snuck down quietly, tensing at every creak in the wood steps but grinning. After another corridor, she peered into the training room. Drivas had left the door ajar again.
A young woman, hardly older than fifteen, stood in the center of the room facing away from the door. Her dark brown hair was streaked with red and tied back from her face. The tunic she wore hung to her knees and cinched at her waist.
She held half a dozen tiny knives in her right hand and only one in her left. As Raisa watched, she fiddled with her grip before pulling it back and throwing it.
There were already three similar knives stuck in the target ten paces away, none of them in the center, but one was close. The latest knife struck farther from the center, but it bounced off hilt first and stuck in the ground. Drivas cursed.
“You’re holding it wrong,” Raisa said pushing the door wider.
Drivas twitched at the surprise but turned beaming.
“Ma!” She tossed the other knives to the counter and rushed to her mother.
Raisa met her in the embrace, finally feeling at home.
“Did you find Pen?” Drivas asked when they parted.
“I did.”
“Is she here too?” she asked practically bouncing on her toes.
“No, she had to meet with someone else, but she’ll visit soon. So, how are things here?”
“Great, I’ve been learning the rooftop passages with Kaya, and she’s to take me on a research trip tonight.”
“Anything to report, then?” Raisa asked more formally.
Drivas straightened. “Grekous Matranga sent us a letter taking out an order for his cousin. We don’t know much about the cousin yet. That’s what we’re investigating tonight.”
“Good. I was going to check the other reports upstairs. Want to come?”
Drivas followed close behind as they took the stairs to the top floor.
The series of rooms they passed were surprisingly tidy, and Raisa suspected that was Kaya’s doing. She hated things being out of place. Her office was similarly clean. Her bedroom door was open on the other side of the room, and Raisa could not wait to get in there tonight. The desk in the corner was really not more than a table covered in letters, but it did the job.
“So, I have an idea,” Drivas said propping herself on the windowsill next to the desk.
“What’s that?” Raisa asked taking the desk chair and looking over the letters.
The jobs that were complete had a distinct mark in the corner, so she started separating them.
“We could expand these investigations to finding people in general,” Drivas suggested. “People go missing all the time, and we’ve had letters asking us to find them anyway. Why not expand there?”
Raisa paused, an unread letter in hand. The small sense of fear came. The Ragged Wolves had flourished under her, thanks to her caution. Risks were dangerous, and Arus had wanted to take those risks. Then again, his ideas involved being more ruthless and killing without investigations.
Her nerves calmed when she realized Drivas had basically suggested the opposite.
Raisa mentally shook off the fear, trusting that it was just prejudice against Arus.
Putting the letter down, though noting that it was unmarked, she turned to Drivas on the window.
“How would you go about it?” she asked.
“Well, we basically already have the resources,” Drivas said.
“Basically? What are these resources?”
“People who find others. We’ve hardly lost a person in the past few years. I think we could hire a few more too. Get a contact in every town, not just the cities. Pen is great at tracking people, right? She could even help.”
“She’s better with animals in the woods, but I know what you mean,” Raisa said.
It was a decent idea, expanding the Ragged Wolves away from secret killers in the night. People went missing in general, like Pen herself vanishing for so long. Few bothered to look for them, but others didn’t want to be found, again like Pen.
It was ambitious but the kind she admired. Pride swelled as she watched her daughter.
“It’s a fair plan,” Raisa said and Drivas beamed. “Work out a few details, though. What exactly would people be specializing in? How the victims could be found. What sort of questions would we ask? Where would people be stationed?”
The confidence radiated from Drivas, like the sun pouring in from the window behind.
“Of course, I’ll make it work just like you did with the fetching shop. Is th
ere anything else I can do to help out? Learn the ropes in any way? You know, for later,” Drivas said.
“Later?”
“For when I’m in charge,” Drivas said shrugging. “You’re going to step down eventually. I want to be ready for that time. No offence or anything, I just want to be prepared.”
“You think you’re going to inherit this position?” Raisa asked, holding her daughter’s gaze in an iron grip.
“That’s usually how it works, right?”
“My parents were sheep herders,” Raisa said. “I pried this position from the dead hands of a man called Callas.”
Drivas stiffened.
“I had to fight for this,” she continued, “and there aren’t many who would work under a woman, but the Wolves needed to change. Callas was taking us down a dangerous path.”
Frustration crossed Drivas’s eyes.
“I know that’s ridiculous, but if you want this job, you’re going to have to fight for it when I’m dead.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Drivas argued. “Monarchies don’t work that way, and the queen is holding her own.”
“This isn’t a monarchy,” Raisa said leaving the desk. Taking Drivas by the shoulders, she softened her tone. “I want nothing more than to see you grow and run these Wolves, and I will try to make that path smoother. You’re as fierce as any of them.”
Drivas smiled again.
“But being fierce isn’t enough. You need to be smart and tactical. Planning this investigation business could really help that.”
“So, your parents were sheep herders?” Drivas asked after a moment. “My grandparents are just farmers?”
“Don’t say just farmers,” Raisa punched Drivas’s shoulder lightly. “Those sheep fed and clothed a lot of people. I’d like you to meet them someday actually.”
A pain ran through her heart at the thought of her parents. They didn’t even know Drivas existed, and it had been so long, Raisa wasn’t sure if they were both still alive. Twenty years of silence is a long stretch.
“So, if parentage really doesn’t matter,” Drivas said tentative but hopeful, “can you tell me who my father is?”
It felt like an iron portcullis fell around Raisa. A good defense but easily seen through.
“Drivas,” she warned.
“You’re always saying it’s not important,” she pressed standing away from the window. “If he really isn’t, then you wouldn’t have a problem telling me.”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“No, you just shut down the moment he comes up. You know your parents are sheep herders and they’re still alive, why can’t I know both of mine?”
“Because he was—”
The door opened, cutting off Raisa’s words, for which she was thankful.
Pen stood in the archway, looking a little dazed at what she’d walked into.
“Pen!” Drivas shouted and practically ran to her.
Drivas threw her arms around Pen, who laughed and held her back.
Raisa allowed herself a breath, appreciating the distraction, though she noted how tired Pen looked. She was paler than usual, and her eyes were heavy though there was a new light in them as she held Drivas.
“Where have you been all this time?” Drivas asked when they parted.
“Just moving around a lot,” Pen said. “Went as far as Kression this time. You’d like the arenas there, and it’s actually where your mother found me.”
“So you two have been talking as you traveled, right?”
“Well, yes,” Pen confessed confused. “It’s kind of impossible to go that long in silence while walking together.”
“Were you able to convince her to tell me who my father is?” Drivas asked, hopeful.
“Wait, what?” Pen asked taken aback.
“Hold on,” Raisa interjected before either could reply and rounded Drivas to stand by Pen. “Have you two been conspiring about this somehow?”
“No,” Pen stated and directed her frustration to Drivas, “and don’t make it sound like we have. It’s Raisa’s call.”
Calm replaced the shock of the conversation. Pen had her back, even if she kept scratching at it.
“I may not agree with the call of silence,” Pen continued, “but still.”
And there was the scratch.
“Drivas, could you give us the room, please?” Raisa asked.
“But—”
“Go practice your knife throwing. You were getting better at it.”
Drivas sighed and stalked off, closing the door behind her.
Pen turned to her, an expectant look in her eye.
“I’m not having this conversation again, not now,” Raisa said throwing herself into the desk chair again. “So, what did Aethra want?”
Pen dragged over one of the other chairs and sat too.
“She said I owe this place for Tellus’s death, and I do. I won’t dispute that.”
Raisa sat back silent, letting her continue. Tellus’s death had been hard on Pen, not as much as Arch’s, but enough. She had only known the man for a month or two. She held onto people too much, not that loyalty was a flaw.
Dread nearly took over Raisa as a new thought grew. What would happen to Pen after her own death? She wasn’t a young woman anymore. Neither was Pen, though she still looked it. Nyx had made sure of that. Raisa corrected herself then. She was one of the few Pen had told about her ongoing immortality, but it wasn’t just Nyx who placed that burden on her. There had been another goddess, but Raisa couldn’t remember which.
Casting off the thought, though the dread still clung to her, she asked Pen, “Did Aethra give you any task, then? There must be a better reason for me to drag your ass across Ichorisis than a guilt trip.”
Pen gave a tired chuckle at that, then said, “Apparently, there’s a deranged killer attacking women that she wants me to take care of.”
“This is a large city. Did she say where you could find him?”
“Nope, just that there’s a man I can talk to that’s also looking into it and where to find him.”
She sighed and scratched at her temple, leaving a frizzy mess of purple.
“Anyway,” she said clearly too tired to care, “is there a bunk here I can use? Aethra set me up with a small place, but I don’t want to use it.”
Trepidation set in.
“There is, and you know I would let you stay in a heartbeat …”
“But?”
She knew Pen would catch that.
“Given the connection with the queen—”
“You don’t want to get the Wolves involved too much,” Pen finished.
Raisa didn’t bother replying or contradicting her. She had already bent the rules agreeing to find Pen in the first place.
Pen did look tired enough to collapse, though.
“Look,” Raisa said. “If you want to stay here, I won’t stop you. Drivas would love it, but then we can’t discuss this … project.”
“No, I can find the other place,” Pen said. “I don’t want to draw attention here.”
“Still, if you need a place to lay low, you’re welcome here. Palrig knows you, so it shouldn’t be a problem getting in.”
“Right,” Pen stood. “I should go figure all this out. I’m not good with plans, but if I need help with being cunning—”
“There’s no harm in asking,” Raisa said relaxing a bit.
“My thanks,” Pen said nodding.
Chapter Twenty Two
Pen
It was only mid afternoon, but it felt like years had passed since last night. At least Raisa had given her a fresh set of clothes, and they were durable in the coming chill. There was even a set of hidden pockets for knives. Raisa had insisted that she take a few blades, but Pen declined them. The Ragged Wolves were doing well, but Pen didn’t want them wasting resources on her. Besides, the queen herself gave her a fair sack of coins for the job, and she wasn’t above taking advantage of that.
After she l
eft the Wolves’ hideout, she found a blacksmith and purchased some knives. They tucked perfectly inside the pockets, and one strapped to her boot. One was even hidden at her back, and she felt leagues better with them. Her blood was her best weapon, but blades provided the access.
While Pen felt better with the knives, it didn’t last long. The babe’s tiny, pale face haunted her from every shadow and corner. Alard’s was right there with him.
Unsure where exactly she was going, Pen made her way to the graveyard. The angled streets of Stymphalia hid the mournful place, but she used the castle as a landmark. The only other time she’d found it was when she literally fell into it trying to escape Tellus and the king’s grasp. It had been years since then, but the castle had been seen above it.
After wandering over several terraces and layers of the city, she finally found it. The headstones were much cleaner, and well taken care of, than in Malliae. It was a lot more crowded as well; some of the bodies had to be stacked on top of each other given how close some of the headstones were.
Pen made her way to the northern edge and started working her way down again. Aethra had said Tellus was buried on this side but not exactly where.
Eventually, after a lot of backtracking and cursing, Pen found it.
A simple rounded headstone had a small carving of a horse over his name. She couldn’t remember what the horse meant.
Pen sat against the stone that was across from Tellus’s, staring at his name.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” she asked him quietly.
Tellus had been kind eventually, but when they first met, things had been tense. Granted, for good reason, since they had to find out why people weren’t dying. After a while, though, they got along, and he had even taken care of her when she’d gotten sick from rust in her blood. She missed him.
She had visited him in Skiachora, watching his ghost walk along the river.
They could have been good friends given the chance, if they had more time. He hadn’t talked much about himself, but he never fought hard against her goading. He talked about Stymphalia mostly.
Guilt wracked her veins, curling her into a ball against the stone. That’s why she was here. She had taken a good man from his home, gotten him killed, and now his city was threatened.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 12