The Verdigris Pawn

by Alysa Wishingrad

  “But if I’m the ace, why did you tell me to find myself?”

  Fledge looked at Beau with a mixture of love, pity, and amusement. “You are not the ace, Beau. You’re the pawn.”

  “Me?” Beau couldn’t decide if he should laugh or cry. “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to change my father’s mind, find a way to work with him. I think I can get him to protect the children from Doone and possibly even free them, but . . . replace him? I don’t have that in me. I don’t want to rule anyone. He’s been right all this time, I’m too much like my mother.”

  “You’ve got much of her in you, that’s true. You’re kind and gentle. You want the best for everyone and are willing to do what it takes. Yet you also have much of Himself. You’ve been handed two legacies. It’s for you to find the way to make them work together.” Fledge set the collar of Beau’s shirt straight and tipped his chin up. “Go back to Doone’s and collect your friends. Play to win.”

  “Friend,” Beau corrected. “Certainly not friends.”

  Fledge pinned Beau with an all-too-familiar look, the one that said, “We both know you know the right answer.”

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  “But he’s impulsive, short tempered, and so, so stubborn! He’ll do anything for what he thinks is right. He’s completely blinded by loyalty and . . .”

  Beau sank into the chair. He’d just described the ace.

  All this time and it was Nate?

  “Why couldn’t you have told me before you left?”

  “I’ve had my suspicions. But only the pawn will know for sure,” Fledge said. “Though I’m willing to bet my life, yours, and everyone else’s on Nate. Besides, even if I had told you, you might not have believed me.”

  “I barely believe you now.”

  And yet it made so much sense.

  “I’ve wasted so much time,” he sighed.

  “There’s no such thing when you’re searching for the truth.” Fledge held the door open, leading the way out. “Come now, we both have work ahead of us. I’ll be riding out, but you need to convince Gerta to stop hiding in the shadows and stand with us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Left to Smolder

  Leaving Nate behind and her brews in Doone’s possession was not a choice Cressi would have ever wanted to make, but it was the only one she had.

  She flew down the stairs, determined to find Beau and get them both out of there, but just as she reached the door Doone stepped up, blocking her way.

  “Our friend is feeling better, I take it. Hungry?” He took hold of her elbow and steered her to the house. “Of course you are, you’re from the Manor. You’ve never known any different.”

  “You find the other boy you were looking for?” Cressi asked as casually as she could.

  “Trout’s got him.”

  While Doone still exuded the same outward confidence, there was a tension there that she hadn’t seen in him before. An agitation. A wobble that just might show a lie.

  Doone led Cressi inside and sat her down at a table piled high with platters of brightly colored fruit, freshly baked bread, and a large, meaty joint of ham. The smells were intoxicating, though the last thing she’d ever do was eat from his table. Yet no sooner had she sat down than the pawn started quaking and quivering. Beau had been here, maybe in this very chair.

  “Eat. Don’t be shy,” Doone said, filling a plate for himself.

  “I’m not hungry, thank you,” Cressi replied, even as her growling stomach betrayed her.

  “I needn’t be a charmer to see through that falsity.” Doone bit into a bright red berry, letting the juice run down his chin before wiping it with a linen. “My mother was a charmer, you know. I learned at her feet, until she was slaughtered by the Manor. I was about your age. Too young to lose her and old enough to know exactly what I’d lost. What about you? What have you lost that you want found?”

  Beau.

  “Wait, let me guess.” Doone was clearly enjoying himself. “What would the only charmer in the Land want that I can provide. Protection? Certainly. The promise of freedom? Absolutely.”

  Cressi remained silent.

  “But there’s really only one thing you want.” Doone leaned in close and whispered, “Power.”

  Cressi fought the urge to laugh. Only people who don’t understand the power of power hunger for it. But Doone misread her silence.

  “Good, we have a deal,” he said. “But you’ll have to prove your worth first. What can you show me?”

  “I’ve already healed Nate,” she countered. “That’s as good a proof of my powers as any.”

  “I’ve not seen him up and about yet. And besides, healing is boring. A talented apothecary could do nearly the same.” Doone pulled Cressi’s brews out of her bag and uncorked them one by one, taking the time to smell each in succession. “No, I want to see something spectacular. Something that speaks to the depths of your talents. Something like this.”

  Doone set the truth brew down in front of Cressi.

  “I told you, I learned from my mother,” Doone replied unprompted. “I can’t make charms of my own, but I can smell their properties, know what they can do. This is a very fine truth brew you’ve made.”

  There went any chance of charming him.

  “The question is, whose truth do I most want to hear?” Doone began rattling off names, none of which Cressi recognized, until he got to the last on his list.

  “Crafty. That’s who I want to hear from. Trout!” he shouted. “Bring our young cobbler in!”

  No more than two, three seconds later, the door flew open, and so did Cressi’s heart. But it was Nate, not Beau who came barreling in.

  He looked awful. Pale, pasty, and covered in sweat, he had the deadly wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Doone! I figured it out. I have the perfect strategy for storming Mas . . .” Nate let his words trail off as his bleary gaze landed on Cressi.

  Silently, they exchanged a dare—she challenging him not tell Doone about Beau, while he defied her not to try and expose Doone as a liar ever again. Eyes locked together, Cressi was certain he’d honor their bond, not betray her or Beau. But then he looked away.

  “Crafty is the heir,” Nate crowed. “She told me; did she tell you yet?”

  He did it, he actually broke their bond.

  Cressi girded herself, waiting for Doone to explode. But instead he calmly rose and stepped around behind her chair. She could feel the heat rising as he took hold of her shoulders, his hands a vise.

  “We hadn’t gotten to that part.” Doone’s voice remained calm, too calm. “Nate, I need you to get Trout for me. But first, burn that blanket.”

  “But I’m so cold,” Nate countered. “It’s the only thing keeping me warm.”

  “You’ll do better without it, I promise. I need my chief strategist healthy.”

  Nate’s ashen complexion brightened. “That’s how you think of me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Doone tightened his hold on Cressi. “Looks like he could use a bit more of your fever brew.”

  “Of course.” Doone let up the pressure just enough for Cressi to lean forward and pour some of her brew into a mug of cider.

  Nate dropped the blanket and downed the mug, the haze quickly clearing from his eyes.

  “I have the perfect plan!” he exploded with energy as he pulled a scrap of parchment from up his sleeve. “I drew it all out. Not one child will get hurt if we do it right. Then we can return them all to their families after. Those we can’t, can live here. There’s plenty of room. I’ve planned that out too. Look, you’ll see.”

  As Doone released his hold on Cressi to retrieve the parchment, she tried to catch Nate’s eye. But he was consumed, waiting on Doone’s response. Bouncing from one foot to the other, he looked like a five or a six waiting for their turn for a once-a-season swim.

  “Does Crafty know you know about him?” Doone asked, letting the parchment flutter to the table.


  “Of course not,” Nate replied. “I wanted you to know first. So what do you think of my pla—”

  “Then why are you still here?” Doone snarled. “Go find him!”

  Cressi recognized that expression blooming on Nate’s face. It was the same one he’d wear when Matron would shame him in front of all the other children. He was thinking, trying to see how hard he could push back. His mind not quite made up, he was teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

  Then Doone barked, “GO!” loud enough to send Nate running out the door.

  Watching him go, Cressi could only hope he’d land on the side of what’s right.

  “Rehoming the children?” Doone laughed as he tossed the parchment into the hearth. “What good would they be to me then? They’re useful only as workers, fighters maybe. What a fool. Although fools, like charmers, have their uses. Depending on what kind they are.”

  Doone pulled a chair up and planted himself inches from Cressi’s face. “There are the smart and the smug. My mother, Rana, was among the very smartest. She understood where her loyalties should lie—the bloodline through which she got her powers. Then there were others, like Annina. Vainglorious power mongers who didn’t understand their responsibilities to the Badem, to their people. Which kind are you?”

  “I have no interest in power, only fairness.” Somehow Cressi managed to remain expressionless. “I’ll do all I can to help those who also seek equity for all.”

  “Then I’m your man!” Doone crowed. “You think anyone with Manor blood in their veins cares for the people of this Land? Never. Besides, your little heir has no power, never will, at least not without me. And you.”

  She could have played along, pretended like she was on his side, but the charms she’d made wouldn’t allow her to lie. Her deceit would be laid plain.

  “I’ll never see him harmed or used.” Cressi spoke slowly, clearly, so he’d hear every word. “Not for the Manor, not for anyone. Especially you.”

  That was it—she’d pushed him too far. Like a burst of lightning, Doone grabbed her by the neck as he reached for his blade. But the object he pushed in her face wasn’t a knife, it was one of her own vials. The one she’d hidden in her boot. The charmer’s brew.

  “Never say never, charmer.” Doone turned the vial of swirling blue-green brew so that it caught the rays of sunshine streaming in through the windows.

  Cressi felt the blood drain from her head, leaving it cold and spinning. That was the tug she’d felt when she was asleep at Nate’s bedside. A rodent had been pawing at the top of her boot, a tall, blue-eyed rat.

  She tried to pull away, but Doone held her too tight as he uncorked the vial with his teeth. As the nauseating fog filled the air Cressi immediately became lightheaded and weak. She could feel her resolve melting away like a spring snow in the sun, her will surrendering itself to Doone.

  But just as she was about to succumb fully, the door burst open, startling them both. Doone pulled away, taking the vial with him.

  “He’s gone!” Nate erupted into the room. “And one of the horse stalls is empty too!”

  “Curse the day he was born!” Doone recorked the bottle, tucked it into his pocket, and headed for the door. “Guard her with your life, Nate, your actual life. Understand?”

  Nate nodded and locked the door behind Doone. But he didn’t advance into the room, instead he just stood there, cautious and watchful.

  For her part, Cressi collapsed back into the chair, grateful her mind was once again her own and that Beau had managed to escape. As for Nate, she’d have to wait for his next move.

  Finally, after too long a silence, Nate spoke. “What did he put in his pocket?”

  “A brew.”

  “For what?”

  “You sure you want to know?” A hesitant nod was Nate’s only response, so Cressi continued. “It’s a charmer’s brew. Only charm that can work on the likes of me.”

  “To do what?”

  “Control me, make me do his bidding.”

  “But that’s because you refused to help the cause of liberation.” Even as Nate laid the blame at her feet, the bitter edge in his voice had softened. Nate had softened.

  “No,” Cressi countered. “It’s because I refused to help him.”

  “So you’d rather help Craf . . . the heir become the next Himself than the one person who can take down the Manor? Who’s willing, right now, to go free Mastery House!”

  Cressi couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape. “He might be planning to free them from Mastery House, but there’d be no freedom for them. They’d go from serving the Manor to serving Doone.”

  “That’s a lie!” Nate fired back. “Those plans I made to free them, he asked for them.”

  “I’m sure he did. And then he threw them in the fire. See there? They’re still smoldering.”

  “He did not! He . . .” But as Nate pulled his parchment out from among the dying coals, the fire behind his eyes dimmed. “I . . . That can’t be true. He’s not like that. He’s kind and generous. You saw that room he gave us. Why would he . . . ?” Nate stared at his singed plans.

  “I suppose you could call him generous,” Cressi agreed. “After all, he sent all those brand-new blankets to the guards, masked as a gift for Himself from an admirer in a foreign land. But not without first adding a healthy dose of a deadly disease to kill most of them off. You should ask yourself why he let you keep that blanket up until now.”

  “He told me to burn it—you heard him,” Nate countered, but then he took a step back. “Why are you doing this? Siding with the heir over me! What has he promised you?”

  “Nothing. He’s made no promises. But unlike Doone, who would go on using the children of Mastery House for his own ends, Beau wants to see them returned home. See that the taxes, the cruelty, our entire awful way of life is changed.”

  Cressi reached out and laid a hand on Nate’s back. He allowed it to linger for a moment before pushing her off, the sadness overwhelmed by a return of his bitterness and rage. “Don’t you dare talk to me about the heir! He’s no different than Himself. He’s a liar and—”

  “He doesn’t want to be Himself, Nate,” Cressi broke in. “If anything, he only wants to be himself and let everyone be as they are too. You must have seen this in him.”

  Nate started to answer then stopped. He looked lost, heartbroken, as close to tears as she’d ever seen him. He turned away and stared into the fire for several, long minutes before he spoke again.

  “He hit me; did you know that?” He was clearly not ready to let it all go.

  “I’m sure you deserved it.” Cressi joined him by the hearth and brushed his hair out of his eyes as she always did. This time he didn’t push her away. “Come with me to find him before Doone can. I promise, together with Beau we have a better chance of doing some good than Doone ever would.”

  “I don’t know.” Nate hesitated. “I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

  “Then believe only yourself. You’re a born leader. I know it, everyone in Mastery House knew it, and Matron knew it better than anyone. Why do you think she refused to place you? The Manor couldn’t afford to have you anywhere but beaten down. You’re needed, Nate. I can’t promise you won’t regret it, but it’s the right thing to do.”

  “The last time someone said that to me, I wound up getting thirteen lashes and a week with quarter water rations for putting a family of possums under Matron’s bed.”

  “Well, you should’ve known better.”

  “I never do,” Nate said. “Why would I start now?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gather Your Army

  Beau found Gerta in her cabin finishing up her morning meal. She almost looked at ease sitting there with her hair down and her boots off. But then she took one look at Beau and stiffened.

  “I already told Fledge, I have no intention of storming the Manor, nor will I face off against Doone.” Gerta waved him off. “Our treaty with him ensures he doesn’t bother us
and we don’t bother him. It took us years to build this haven, and with our veil newly fixed, we’ll be safe for a long time to come.”

  “I’m glad you’ve found a way to make a life for yourselves.” Beau planted himself in the chair opposite Gerta. “Fledge told me how you lost everything and nearly everyone during the last battle for the Bottom. He also told me how angry you were at my mother for marrying my father, that you knew he wasn’t her ace but she wouldn’t listen. I also know you asked Cressi to help you and she did.”

  “And?” Gerta was cutting her food into tiny pieces yet eating none of it. Himself used to do something similar, stirring and stirring his tea, a signal his patience was running thin.

  “And while you should be protected, not everyone in the Land has a veil. Don’t you think that unless everyone is safe, no one is?”

  “What do I care about anyone else?” Gerta kept cutting. “I have my family with me, trusted friends, and a few wanderers who found their way to us all who understand what we’re doing here.”

  “What is that exactly?”

  “You trying to be clever?” Gerta dropped the pretense of eating and began plaiting her hair—tightly. “We’re living. Surviving. Protecting what’s ours.”

  “Funny, that’s what my father says too.” Beau dropped his voice taking on his father’s intonation. “‘It’s our duty to protect what we’ve fought so long and hard for.’”

  “Comparing me to Himself will win you no favors.”

  “I don’t need you to like me,” Beau countered. “But I do need you to help stop Doone from merely replacing Himself. I need you to help me protect the children of Mastery House from him. Reclaim the Land. Restore liberty, choice. Life.”

  Gerta looked him over as if seeing him with new eyes. “You’re not who they say you are.”

  “I don’t know what they say, and I don’t care anymore. I just want to do what’s right. And you know better than most that even if we manage to keep Doone at bay, or hold off Torin this time, nothing else will change in the Land. Not as long as the Manor rules. You’ll still be living in hiding, your safety perched on a precarious deal made with Doone. Just because your prison is more comfortable, doesn’t make it any safer. Believe me, I know all about that.”