The Story Hunter

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  Per Father’s instructions, Cameria had remained hidden in his shadow. The last thing she should do was show her face around the palace just now. But she knew the exact cell we needed, the precise location of the prisoner Father believed could help us.

  She took the lead now, past several interior doors, each of which led to a row of cells. Then she stopped short of one particular door. “Here,” she whispered. “This is the row, first cell, closest to the door. I shan’t let him see me.”

  Father nodded. “Wait here. We will make this as quick as possible and get you to the meeting point with Sailor Bo-Cydrid.”

  “One hundred sixty-two souls,” she murmured. “It weighs heavy.”

  “Indeed.” Father fitted the key into the lock. “Ready?”

  “Aye,” Mor said, and he put a hand on Zel’s shoulder. “You ready, mate?”

  Zel’s features hardened, but he nodded, steeled for whatever met us.

  Cameria waited in the hallway, and the rest of us pushed through the door into the row of cells. Diggy melted into one shadowed corner to observe, as she always did.

  He stood in the first cell, just as Cameria said, and it almost looked like he had been expecting us.

  But, of course, that was impossible. It was just his way. Always needing to appear calm, in control. One step ahead of everyone else.

  He had lost weight, and he wasn’t as neatly trimmed and well dressed as the last time I saw him. But there was no mistaking the cold glint of his gray eyes and his fine-featured, handsome face.

  Dray Bo-Anffir—Gareth’s closest advisor, traitor to King Caradoc, and Braith’s one-time suitor. Much against her will.

  “Well,” he said, his smile full of mockery, “this is a merry traveling party.” His gaze roved over me, then skimmed Mor, Dylun, and Warmil before settling on Father. “To what do I owe this great honor?”

  Father’s jaw flexed. “I assume you know what’s happened, Dray.”

  Dray shrugged. “As much as one might be expected to know when trapped like an animal in a cage. They don’t send the criers down here, you know, and my news is no longer delivered by pigeon. Pity, that.”

  “Braith has been kidnapped.” Father was in no mood to mince words, apparently.

  “I gathered as much.”

  “A steward has control of the palace now.”

  Dray’s smile grew. “And yet you still managed to find your way down here. Teach me your ways, wise one.”

  Father glared. “We don’t have time for this. Tell me what you know.”

  “Now, now. Why the haste? Surely we have time for some niceties. I don’t get much company down here, and I’ve rather missed it.”

  Father took one step toward Dray’s cell and looked straight into the man’s eyes. “You once said you cared for Braith. And now, when her life is threatened, you want to play games and make jokes?”

  “Quite the contrary. I want to help you.”

  Father’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Dray smirked. “Let me guess what you already know. You know the steward is a dolt and could not have possibly staged a coup.” He glanced at me. “I believe he is your dolt, as a matter of fact.”

  My face ignited. “He is not mine.” But I supposed he was, in a way.

  Dray ignored me. “You know someone else is behind the overthrow and kidnapping of Braith.” He studied Father’s face. “And you must suspect the person pulling Bo-Bradwir’s strings to be the same person who pulled Gareth’s, or else you would not be down here speaking to me.”

  Father’s jaw twitched again, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Well, if you think it’s me, you’re dead wrong. My first act as puppet master would have been to have my tired bones released from this wretched cell.”

  “No, not you,” Father said. “But you worked closely with this person once, did you not? You know who it is.”

  “Define know.” Dray shrugged. “We never sipped tea together, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And yet you must have been in his employ for years.”

  “In a manner of speaking. But you’re too confined by your own experiences, General. You assume that a group of people working together know each other, when that is not at all the case. We did not have planning meetings and debriefings in the throne room, if that’s what you’re imagining. We shared common goals and used each other accordingly.”

  Mor huffed. “Noble.”

  Dray’s gaze shifted to him. “The pirate turns legitimate for a couple moons, and look how judgmental he’s become.”

  A noise sounded somewhere far away, and I jolted. We had to hurry.

  “We need to find Braith,” I said. “Are you going to help us or not?”

  “I am helping. I’m giving you information.” He turned to Father again. “I believe you’re right. I think the person behind Gareth’s coup is behind the steward’s.”

  “Names.” The word was ice on Father’s lips.

  “He’s not the mastermind,” Dray said, “but Naith Bo-Offriad is surely involved. Though I must say I’m impressed by how low a profile he has been keeping.”

  “And the true mastermind?”

  “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

  Mor rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

  “I need to use all the bits of leverage at my disposal, son.”

  Hearing him call Mor son the way my father did made me want to vomit.

  But Father looked entirely unsurprised. “What can you give us, and what do you want in return?”

  “I can lead you to the place where I believe the Master would take Braith.”

  For a moment, I thought he had only answered one of Father’s questions—what he could offer us. But then I understood. That one statement contained both answers.

  He could lead us. He wanted to come with us.

  He wanted us to break him out of the dungeon.

  Insanity.

  But Father was already examining the hinges of the cell door. Eyeing the lock. Frowning at the bars.

  I took his elbow and spoke quietly in his ear. “Father, you can’t be considering this.”

  “Not sure we have a choice, Tannie. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to search for Braith.”

  “We can’t trust him.”

  “Of course we can’t. But we must work with him.”

  My mind clawed for more arguments—more reasons why we couldn’t possibly take this man anywhere with us.

  But before I got any of those brilliant rebuttals to come out of my mouth, Diggy had moved out of the shadows toward the cell.

  “Well, well,” Dray said, one eyebrow quirked. “I don’t recognize you.”

  And then, almost like it was an involuntary reflex, a habit he couldn’t resist, his gaze raked over her body.

  Her strong, golden-tan legs, her dark flowing hair.

  A spark of hunger, tinged with amusement, lit Dray’s eyes. Like a great game was about to ensue.

  Diggy stopped examining the cell bars and turned to him. “I’m called Digwyn.”

  But then she looked into his eyes, and though I was fairly sure their paths had not crossed before, I knew she recognized the lust in his expression all too well.

  Before I could do anything to stop her, she pulled a dagger from her thigh and lunged toward Dray.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DIGWYN

  You can always tell by the way they look at you.

  Maybe you don’t notice it at first. Maybe in the beginning, when there’s still some sort of innocence left in your soul, you don’t see that ravenousness—like a slavering mountainbeast denied a kill for too long.

  But as the innocence is chipped away, like flecks of paint peeled from an old ship, one flake at a time, you begin to recognize the look.

  You know you’re being watched with unnerving keenness. You know you’re being violated, even though no one is laying a finger on you.

  You know, beyond a doubt,
that you are being hunted.

  I pull my dagger from its scabbard, spin it between my fingers, and slam the flat of the blade into the bars, just in front of that man’s smug face.

  He flinches away. Satisfaction burns in my heart.

  Now he’ll think twice about hunting me.

  “Diggy!” Tannie hisses.

  I turn to her. Her big blue eyes are wide with concern, like always. I’m not sure why. I didn’t stab the man, though I thought of that first.

  I understand we need him. I understand he will lead us to the queen and that the queen matters to Tannie and Mor and Yestin.

  The man is staring at me, his mouth agape. I lean close to him, through the bars. “Take a good look now. Because if you ever look sideways at me again, the tip of this blade will be the last thing you see before I run it through your eye.”

  The blade spins in my hand again, and I replace it on my leg.

  Then I step away, holding the predator’s gaze with mine.

  He turns to Tannie. “Well, isn’t she charming?”

  A noise sounds down the hall. The Meridioni woman is waiting out there. This is taking too long.

  Tannie steps close to the bars. “Dray, you leave her alone, or I swear, I’ll—”

  She doesn’t finish her sentence. Her hand lights up with that glow, and I realize how we can get the hunter out of his cell.

  I grab Tannie’s wrist. As my fingers wrap around her, strands like fire shoot from her hands. The strands arc above my head, and I reach for them. I snag one, draw a quick breath, and will the strand to increase its power. Then I hurl it at the cell.

  The hunter stumbles away, and the crackling strand blasts through the bars. A hole opens up—large enough for a man to walk through.

  Once again, everyone is staring at me. I wish I could shrink away. Melt into the floor. Disappear.

  I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong this time. Or if I have done something wrong.

  I aimed to solve a problem. Think I’ve done so. Don’t they want the hunter freed? Why do they stare?

  Life was easier on my island. Without other people and their confusing expectations and scandalized gapes.

  The hunter scans the hole I’ve just made in the bars, then trains his gaze on me. “Does the Master know about her?”

  Tannie’s face pinches. She looks uncomfortable. Doesn’t want to answer. “That’s none of your business.”

  The hunter steps through the hole, his eyes still fixed on me. I force myself not to squirm—or flinch the way he did when I slammed my dagger at his face.

  “The Master would be very keen on this one.”

  I meet his glare. Meet, match, surpass.

  But inside, I wonder . . .

  Who is this Master, and what would they want with me?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TANWEN

  The hole in Dray’s cell bars gaped at me like an open mouth. It may as well have been mocking us, that open mouth, because Dray’s words were true enough.

  If the Master—whoever that was—had seen Diggy’s gift, they would stop at nothing to have her. To use her for their evil ends.

  I thought about how those dark strands had targeted me and Mor because we shared linked gifts. Diggy’s gift was twice as powerful and a lot less predictable.

  Perfect to use. Perfect to exploit.

  What if this Master that Dray spoke of—this madman overturning the kingdom—was the same person who had chased us? The same person who had murdered Wylie, sunk the Cethorelle, and attacked us on the beach of Kanac? If it were so, then they had seen Diggy’s gift.

  The urge to protect her grew ever greater. I wanted to make sure nothing and no one ever had the chance to use her in that way—to take this broken creature and make her a tool of evil.

  A crash pulled my attention from my troubled thoughts. A moment later, Cameria appeared in the doorway, her eyes grave. “My lord, they are coming.” Her gaze landed on Dray, who was standing outside his dungeon cell, and her features lit up in rage. “What is this?” She rounded on Father. “My lord?”

  “There’s no time to explain now.” Father took her elbow. “We have to run.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he darted back into the main hallway, then took off in the opposite direction of the door where we’d left Bo-Thyd.

  Deeper into the dungeon.

  “Digwyn,” he called over his shoulder as we all ran after him, “can you create another explosion for us?”

  Diggy’s hand was clasped in one of mine, and I got the feeling she was slowing her pace so she didn’t drag me too much. “Aye. I suppose.”

  “I know a hidden back door that leads up into one of the gardens, but it’s bound to be locked.”

  We reached a niche in the wall that appeared to be nothing more than an inconsistency in the stones. But one moment, Cameria and Father were in front of me, and the next, they’d disappeared.

  I realized that they had slipped into a narrow gap between two walls. Mor stood in the gap now, his hand extended out to us. I spared one glance back the way we’d come.

  Six green-suited guards sprinted toward us. Bo-Thyd was not among them.

  I grabbed Mor’s hand, and he pulled me and Diggy into the alcove. But surely the guards would find the niche and figure out where we’d gone.

  “Hurry.” Father squeezed through the narrow passageway, and the rest of us followed.

  He didn’t need to tell me what I would have to do once we reached the door. As soon as it was in sight, I imagined a ribbon of fire pouring from my hand.

  What came out instead was a strand of molten metal that looked far too much like the one that had killed Wylie.

  But Diggy snatched it from the air and somehow turned it explosive, then threw it at the door.

  The wooden door splintered before us. Father and Cameria turned their backs just in time to shield themselves from a shower of wood chips. Cameria’s face tilted up and registered dismay when she realized she had turned directly into Dray. He stood inches from her now. She scrambled away, nearly tripping on the hem of her dress in her haste to put some space between them.

  I could picture him smirking, enjoying her anger.

  “Halt, traitors!” a rough, unfamiliar voice sounded within the narrow passageway.

  “Move.” Another one-word command from Father.

  We all obeyed and stumbled into the dank air of a path dug down into the earth like a cellar, then toward the stone steps on the other side. Mor paused before following the rest of us up the stairs. He yanked off one of his gloves and created a web of strands, then he plastered them across the opening Diggy had blown in the side of the wall.

  It looked like a giant, eight-legged night-trapper had been there.

  He replaced his glove and helped me up the stairs. “They can slice through them with their swords, I’m sure, but it should slow them down. Those strands are sticky as boiled honey.”

  The cry of surprise that followed told me Mor’s plan had been a success. At least for the moment.

  Once we had all reached the top of the stairs, Father ducked into a nearby velvet-petal garden. He lowered his voice. “Cameria, can you get to the meeting point undetected?”

  She looked around, collecting her bearings. “Now that I’m out of the palace, yes. I believe so. I shouldn’t draw much notice.”

  “I doubt that’s true,” Dray said wryly.

  Father ignored him. “Give Sailor Bo-Cydrid my letter. Jule will see you and the others safely to”—he paused and glanced at Dray—“your destination.”

  Best not to give Dray more information than we had to.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Ma’am,” Zel said to Cameria, his voice strangled. “Will you make sure Arystia looks after my boy?”

  “Of course, Zelyth,” Cameria assured him kindly. “We will all look after him.”

  “And when we’ve found the queen, I’ll return for him,” Zel promised.

  “Of course y
ou will.”

  Then Cameria stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss Father on each of his cheeks, as Meridionis sometimes did. “Send word to us. Please.”

  He nodded. “I will. Be safe.”

  After one final glower at Dray, Cameria slipped from the garden and hurried along one of the shadowed walls.

  Father turned to the newly freed prisoner. “Where to now?”

  “Out of the gardens, for a start.”

  Father glared at him.

  “To the river,” Dray said.

  I didn’t bother pointing out we’d already known that much.

  “Won’t they know we’ll head that direction?” Mor asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Father said. “We’ll hide for a while if we have to, but it’s the fastest way to get out of Urian. We don’t have a choice.”

  “I know a less-traveled route.” Dray inclined his head toward a different archway than the one Cameria had just used. “Follow me.”

  And we did, because we had no choice.

  “Father . . .”

  “I know, Tannie girl. I don’t like it any better than you do. I feel as though I’ve made a deal with a fiend.”

  And that was probably true enough.

  But as the guards’ shouts carried over from an adjoining garden, the realization struck me hard.

  If we wanted to find Braith, we truly had no other choice. We had just broken that man out of the dungeon, and there was no turning back now.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRAC

  If you ever have reason to sit on a royal throne, I don’t recommend it in the least. They ain’t comfortable, and that’s the truth.

  The flowery carvings on Braith’s fancy chair poked into my back as I stared at the guards standing in front of me. “What do you mean they escaped?”

  Bo-Hunfed shifted his weight. “They overpowered Bo-Thyd and forced their way to Sir Dray’s cell. It looks like they have some kind of . . . weapon that can blast apart anything they want. That cell is ruined, and they blew a hole in the wall by a hidden back passage.”

  “Hidden back passage?” My enemies knew this palace better than I did, and that didn’t sit too well.