The Storyspinner

by Becky Wallace

  “Have you done this before?” he asked quietly, eyes focused on the body. “Have you killed?”

  “No.” Pira found a bag of coins on the first body and slipped it into her pocket.

  Her words surprised him. She was so calm, so focused, so decisive.

  “You’re very good at it.” Leão meant it as a compliment, but Pira shot him a glare hotter than the fire that still flickered between the bodies.

  She moved to the second corpse and resumed her searching. “Next time, you’d better be good at it too.”

  Leão nodded, not that she noticed.

  There will be a next time.

  Chapter 16

  Jacaré

  While Texugo refused to camp in sight of Donovan’s Wall—mumbling something about it being too easy to go back to the Keepers’ homeland if he could still see the way—Jacaré wanted to move on for entirely different reasons. The Citadel had once been a symbol of strength and security for the people of Santarem. The soldiers who protected it took great pride in their post. He’d counted some of them as friends.

  Things change in three hundred years, Jacaré reminded himself. And that change hasn’t been for the better.

  That knowledge spurred him onward and confirmed his decision to cross the wall.

  They walked south out of the mountain range, through the rolling hills that constituted the remnants of Roraima Township. The burned-out homes had fallen into piles of moldering lumber, providing perfect nests for rodents and at least one type of venomous serpent.

  A burst of predawn rain forced them to seek shelter under the partially collapsed roof of an old stone inn. Tex found a scat-free corner, threw down his bedroll, and immediately went to sleep. He didn’t even offer to light the fire, though it would have been much easier for him than any of the others. Tex could turn a patch of wet sticks into a roaring bonfire if someone could motivate him to do it.

  Jacaré had to remind himself that Tex had agreed to come on this sortie as a personal favor, and it was good to know he had someone with real experience watching his back.

  Pira followed the old man’s example, saying nothing as she rolled herself into a blanket, using it to hide her still-trembling hands.

  Jacaré was impressed. He hadn’t handled his first kill nearly as well as his sister had.

  Leão, however, had thrown up after he killed the guard. No amount of training prepared a man for the hot spray of an enemy’s blood across his knuckles, or the horrible gulping whine of a partially severed windpipe.

  He sat near the small, smokeless blaze and sharpened his knife. He studied the blade by the fire’s light, the glint of steel reflecting in his eyes.

  “You did well today, Leão,” Jacaré said, feeling obligated to say something, to offer some sense of understanding.

  “Thank you, sir.” Leão removed the woven leather band they all wore around their shaved heads. He rubbed his temples, finding the slight indent the cadarço left in his skin. Eventually he’d have a callus right at his hairline, as Jacaré and Tex had, and wouldn’t notice the pressure against his scalp.

  “Tomorrow, I’d like you to scout ahead and look for a place where we can purchase some horses. Tex is certain we’ll find stables along the South Road before we get to Cruzamento.”

  “Yes, sir.” Leão replaced his headband and checked the edge of his knife against his thumb. One drop of blood welled, and he flicked it into the fire.

  “It gets easier, you know.”

  The younger soldier put down his weapon and regarded his commander over the fire. “The killing, you mean?” His voice was a fierce whisper that matched the emotion in his green eyes.

  “One day, it won’t bother you as much.”

  Leão nodded and sheathed his knife. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  * * *

  The next day dawned clear. The rain had washed away the low-lying fog that had settled around the Citadel and the Keepers’ Mountains beyond. They covered the twenty miles between the Roraima rubble and the crossroads city of Cruzamento by supper. Tex entered the town alone and came back with four horses, a pack mule loaded with supplies, and a piece of gray-green silk.

  He tossed the square to Pira.

  “There isn’t even enough to make a decent shirt.” She held it up to her chest. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Tex laughed, and Jacaré barely managed to keep his smile under control. “No women on this side of the wall shave their heads.”

  Their dusty traveling leathers, supplemented by a few linen shirts in bright colors, would allow them to go unnoticed, but Pira’s bald pate would attract attention.

  She eyed the two men, her face expressionless. “I’ll dress as a boy instead.”

  They all laughed, even quiet Leão. With her perfect heart-shaped face, full lips, and heavily lashed eyes, Pira might have passed as an unfortunately pretty boy. But there was no way the rest of her body could ever be mistaken for male.

  She crumpled the silk in her fist. “I’m not wearing this. I passed all the tests. I completed my training. I earned my cadarço.”

  “You can still wear it. Under the head scarf. ”

  “But, Jacaré—”

  “Put it on, and get on your horse.”

  She obeyed, swinging into the saddle, looping the reins around the horn. The scarf she folded in half and tied in a hasty knot under her chin. It looked ridiculous around her ferocious face, like a lion with a ribbon in its mane, but it would do for now.

  “We can pick up a wig in Belem, if you’d prefer.”

  In response she kicked her horse into a gallop down the southwest road.

  Leão watched after her for a moment. “I guess she’ll serve as scout for the rest of the day?”

  “Boy,” Tex said between chuckles. “When a woman’s in that mood, it’s better for us all to keep our distance.”

  Jacaré knew he should have called her to task, reminded her to follow orders without question and show a little more respect, but going on this mission created a hardship for each of them. Pira had the most to lose, so he let her temper tantrum slide.

  “At least she’s riding in the right direction.” Tex nodded toward the cloud of dust Pira kicked up on the prairie road. “And don’t ask me again if I’m sure.”

  Jacaré had selected each of his companions for a specific purpose, and none of them could navigate like Tex. He could track a frog through water, find the quickest and easiest way between any two destinations, and hunt up a decent meal in a blizzard. If anyone could locate the heir with the few clues the glass offered, Tex would be the one.

  The old Keeper pulled the cloth-wrapped bundle out of his bag and laid it across his saddle. With one hand he tugged away the string, revealing its shining surface.

  The image still hadn’t changed.

  There were two faces, pressed close together in the left margin. The first—a teenage girl with wide, gray eyes and dark hair, cropped close to her head—seemed to be looking out of the glass. The second person appeared to be a woman, but it was difficult to tell from the angle. Jacaré could see the underside of a chin, unbound hair, and part of a tear-streaked cheek.

  The faces were in focus, but it was the rest of the slightly blurry image that had provided Tex a few clues. On the right side of the image was the canopy of an araucaria pine.

  “I hate looking at this thing,” Tex said, covering the women’s faces with his thumb, blocking out their expressions of suffering and despair. “Seeing through a dead man’s eyes . . . It’s plain morbid.”

  Jacaré had to agree, but he’d studied the shining surface thousands of times since he realized it had frozen on this image.

  “What’s this glint in the corner?” Leão asked, leaning across his saddle to point to the bottom of the glass.

  Tex and Jacaré exchanged a smile.
<
br />   “That, my fine observant boy, is how I know our destination.” Tex rewrapped the magical tool. “It’s the peak of a golden dome.”

  Leão nodded, understanding. “So, the uncommon trees and a glint are leading us to this city of Belem?”

  “We have to start our search somewhere,” Jacaré said, giving his horse a nudge. “And Belem is the last place we’re sure she was.”

  Chapter 17

  Johanna

  “Wake up, miss!” Brynn hurried into the room and shoved back the bed curtains. She’d forced Dom out of the room after a second tale and made Johanna drink more of the medicine-laced tea. “Lady DeSilva will be here shortly to take you to Trial and Punishment.”

  Johanna’s heart galloped like a pony in an open field. “Why didn’t anyone mention it earlier?”

  “The lady didn’t know if she’d be able to make all the arrangements for a trial this afternoon, but with the young lord finished with his duties for the day, she decided there was time.”

  Trial. Did that mean they’d been unable to follow her trail, or had it washed away overnight? They wouldn’t possibly have been so kind to her, offering a bed and food and conversation, if she was going to be convicted.

  Unless that had all been some honor-bound oddity? Maybe they didn’t treat criminals like prisoners in Santiago until after all the evidence had been gathered? Was that why Lady DeSilva hadn’t wanted Johanna to go home with Thomas?

  Johanna wasn’t about to be tried for a crime she didn’t commit, and she certainly wouldn’t be Punished.

  The window was an option. She’d been unconscious on arrival but had vague memories of an imposing yellow stone structure, dotted with jewel-toned windows in every color. It was smaller than any of the other dukes’ residences—no towers or ramparts. She’d have no problem scaling the blocks, perhaps climbing to the red-tiled roof. It was sure to be slippery if there’d been rain, but Johanna knew she could manage it.

  Although with the sun still up, she’d be too conspicuous on the side of the building. She could knock out the maid and sneak off the estate in disguise. Brynn’s dress would drown her, but Johanna knew how to act like a deferential servant when the situation called for it.

  “I’m really very sorry about this, Brynn.” Johanna rolled to her feet, ignoring the flash of pain along her ribs. “I can’t go to the Punishment for obvious reasons.”

  “But it’s the law.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Johanna’s legs were weaker than she had anticipated. She’d need to gather her strength to take Brynn down with one smooth attack, and do it without drawing attention from other members of the staff.

  The maid turned her back to pull the dress off the screen where she’d hung it earlier. It was the perfect opening.

  Johanna took a silent step forward, hands outstretched, and was startled when the bedroom door swung open.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” Lady DeSilva said as she hurried into the room. Her dark hair had been swept into a simple bun at the base of her neck. “Everything’s been arranged, and I’d like to get this over and done with before your brother arrives.”

  “You wouldn’t let me walk home with injured ribs,” Johanna said, looking for a weapon, something she could use to threaten the women away. She backed toward the window, eyes darting around the room for a lamp, a chair leg, anything. “But you’ll send me away with a brand or short a few fingers?”

  “My dear, what are you talking about?”

  “It’s not a hand then? Perhaps you take a poacher’s foot?” A horrible thought crossed Johanna’s mind. “Please tell me you don’t punish like Duke Inimigo. One deer isn’t worth a life as a blind beggar.”

  The camisole the duchess held fell to the floor in a puddle of cream silk. “Johanna, we are not taking you to Punishment. Our tracker, Snout, found the trail just as you suggested and cleared you of any allegation.”

  Johanna’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Then who’s receiving the Punishment?”

  “My son. He has to pay for his crimes against you.”

  “Crimes against me?” Johanna weighed the words. “In that case, I’ll take fifty gold and be on my way.”

  The duchess’s lips twisted into a grimace, and Johanna guessed she’d aimed too high.

  “Thirty-five then, and we can consider it all forgiven?”

  “We can work out some monetary reimbursement, but the law is the law, and no amount of coin will absolve him.” The lady picked up the camisole and held it up for Johanna. “Though he’d appreciate your forgiveness, he couldn’t accept clemency without incurring a mark on his honor.”

  “And I suppose honor is important to him?”

  “Too important.” Lady DeSilva nodded, and Johanna noticed the frown lines forming around the woman’s mouth.

  Johanna tugged the nightdress over her head. “Well then, let’s get to your son’s Punishment.”

  Chapter 18

  Rafi

  The girl practically skipped into the audience chamber. Perhaps skip was an exaggeration, but she certainly didn’t stride with the contained elegance of Rafi’s mother. She wore blue silk that clung to her chest and hips, revealing narrow curves that didn’t belong on any boy. Even her short hair had been combed into gleaming waves, cupping her chin and showing a fine-featured face.

  Thank you, Mother, for making me look like a complete and utter fool.

  Not one word was muttered, but Rafi could see Captain Alouette’s eyes darting between him and the girl who was most definitely a girl. The old retainer’s lips pursed, making his blond mustache wiggle like a furry caterpillar.

  Rafi withheld a sigh, knowing that his father would never have been in such a ridiculous situation.

  The duchess led the girl to the second of five chairs arranged beyond the small drain in the floor, too far from the hearth for any warmth. A ring in the ceiling meant to hold up a chandelier had been outfitted with a rope and heavy leather manacles.

  The girl’s clear gray eyes studied the ring and the drain in the floor directly below it. Her nose wrinkled, but she didn’t say anything.

  Dom, Snout, and the new weaponsmaster, Raul Ortiz, entered a few moments later and barred the heavy door. It wasn’t thick enough to stop stories from fleeing the room. The kitchen staff was probably already whispering about the broken girl, carried to the estate in the arms of the soon-to-be duke, and her angry family who’d likely raise a challenge for whatever virtue the girl still had.

  What a wonderful way to start my legacy. I’ll be known as the first lord in two generations who required Punishment.

  “Thank you for joining us this day,” his mother said, welcoming the group. “My son, Rafael Santiago DeSilva, has been accused of accosting Johanna Von Arlo in the forest. She received six blows at his hands, and as the law requires, he will receive four times as many for his abuse.”

  She turned to Rafi, her eyes wet, belying her steady voice. “Do you deny these charges?”

  “No.” His voice was low and flat. “I admit to the crime and accept the Punishment.”

  The duchess nodded. “Would anyone speak for you?”

  “I will, Mother.” Dom stood, fidgeting nervously. “Rafi—I mean, Lord Rafael—stumbled upon a poacher on our land and tried to stop him from killing a deer, but we didn’t know the poacher was a girl. Johanna didn’t look . . .” Dom’s voice trailed off as he studied the girl from head to foot. “Sorry, but you didn’t look like that.”

  “Only fools hunt in dresses, Lord Dominic,” Johanna said. “And I was not poaching.”

  “That fact has been established.” Lady DeSilva raised her eyebrows at Snout who nodded his confirmation. “Did Lord Rafael attempt to capture this alleged poacher and bring him—or her—to justice?”

  “He did grab her, but she was sort of slippery—”

  “Just say no, Dom.” Rafi
shifted his weight impatiently. He didn’t need to be reminded when he should have stopped punching, when capture turned to assault, when he let his temper override his good sense.

  “If there is no other testimony,” Lady DeSilva said, searching the faces of her audience, “then we shall move to the Punishment.”

  No one spoke, as Rafi expected, and he began unlacing his collar with certain fingers. He tugged the linen from his back and handed the cloth to his mother, who folded it into a neat square.

  Captain Alouette jerked on the rope and tightened the metal-studded manacles around each of Rafi’s wrists. “Tight enough?”

  There was no condemnation, no judgment, no disappointment on his face. Alouette was an excellent soldier and an honorable man. Someone Rafi’s father had respected and trusted.

  Rafi nodded and felt the rope go taut, pulling his arms over his head and stretching his frame to its full length. “I’m ready.”

  The captain cracked his knuckles and went to work.

  Chapter 19

  Johanna

  Johanna felt ill. Her stomach swirled, her palms sweated, her throat burned, but none of those ailments were related to her injuries. Dom and Lady DeSilva were going to let a giant-of-a-man beat the conceited lordling. And he intended to take it.

  She’d visited all the lands, studied in the libraries, and learned to accept many odd customs, some good, some bad, some disturbing, but this . . . this was brutal.

  Lord Rafael stared at her with fire in his eyes, but his face remained calm as he handed his shirt to the duchess. He went willingly to his Punishment and shook the hand of the colossal Punisher like a trader in the marketplace.

  His body bore a few scars, one arrow-straight slash above his hip bone and another across his left bicep, but otherwise it was unblemished and well defined. The corners of his chest muscles and the ridges of his abdomen stood out in shadowed relief as his arms were yanked above his head.