“Foolish girl!” Riwor closed the distance between them in one long stride. She gripped Dithwyr’s blouse in one hand, yanked the girl to her feet, and then reared back and slapped her across the ear.
Dithwyr cried out—a tiny sound amid the chorus of battle, but it cut clear and sharp into my mind. Something inside me snapped.
So much about the world had changed over the past year. So much about me had changed.
But Riwor was the same. It was Dithwyr instead of Tanwen now, but the story was identical. Surely I had not been her first apprentice to be slapped around and used cruelly, but by the stars, I would be the last.
I pushed every ounce of my twisted-up emotions into my hands. I didn’t have to think the exact words. My gift had become so deeply connected to my thoughts and feelings that, with just a focused intention, the right things came out.
And I certainly had intention.
I thrust my hands forward, and ten lengths of rope shot from my fingertips. The ropes sailed all over the room. Four swords clattered to the stone floor as their bearers each became entangled in a rope. In seconds, the men’s arms were pinned by their sides, and they stood helplessly, striving to maintain balance and not topple like felled trees.
One rope—a thin string that had come from one of my pinkies—headed toward Dithwyr. It wrapped itself gently around her wrist and drew her toward me.
The other five ropes were for Riwor.
The first around her legs, another restraining her arms to her sides, two more that stuck to the stone wall like night-trapper webs, ensnaring her beneath their sticky cords.
The last wrapped itself around her mouth. It was my turn to talk.
Everyone was suddenly very still.
Warmil’s eyebrows rose. “Well, if Tanwen could always do that . . .” He shrugged and sheathed his sword.
I shot a glance at him as Karlith, Dylun, and Zel worked on collecting the ancient strand from the corner of the room. “Aye, if I could always. But remember the mountainbeast and the rainbows?”
“Right.”
I needed a particular intention for it to work this way, but I guessed if anything could make my focus sharp as a blade, it was Riwor and her backhand.
Father loomed beside me, but I laid a hand on his arm. He looked at me with understanding as he stepped away and allowed me room.
I stood within inches of Riwor now. Hatred seethed in her eyes, her words muffled by the rope.
“No,” I said. “You be quiet. It didn’t have to be like this, Riwor. None of it did. I looked up to you. I wanted to please you. We could have been . . .” I cleared my throat. “We could have been like family.”
I looked around the cave—at her bound and struggling fellows, plus Dithwyr, who still looked like a frightened light-foot.
An ugly red mark spread over Dithwyr’s ear onto her cheek.
I turned back to Riwor, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You will let this girl alone. Do you understand me? You will let her and every other storyteller across Tir alone. You will never take another apprentice. Sell your own stories. Or don’t. Find something else to do with your life. Retire. Take up brickmaking or basketry. It makes no difference to me. But if you ever strike another person, I will find you.”
I edged closer to her and made sure she could see the truth in my eyes and know I meant every word. “I will find you, and I will make sure you regret it. I will make sure you pay for your cruelty. You know what my strands can do.”
I held her gaze, then turned and went back to Dithwyr. With a wave of my hand, the rope strand around her wrist disappeared.
“I . . .” She glanced at Riwor, then back to me. “Thank you.”
I nodded. “Dithwyr, do you think you can find your way out of here?”
“Aye. I think so. We marked the path.”
“Good. Find your way out and tell the huntmaster there’s a bunch of tied-up . . .” I searched for the right word. “Er . . . tell him there are some hunters tied up in here who need rescuing. And please”—I took her hand and forced her to meet my eyes—“know you are worth more than this. Don’t let anyone treat you like Riwor has ever again.”
She nodded and swallowed hard. “But . . . what will I do? Where will I go?”
A little laugh bubbled up inside me. I looked around at my little crew of rebel weavers—my dear father who I’d believed to be dead, my friends who had become like family, the people who had helped me discover who I really was.
“Dithwyr,” I said at last, “if we can figure out how to save the world, you will go and do and be whatever you want.”
Hope lit her eyes, and I could almost see her imagining a future filled with stories and friends and wild, beautiful strands of ideas.
She nodded, then grabbed a lantern and slipped from the room without sparing Riwor another glance.
Time for me to do the same.
I strode from the cavern, ignoring the muffled shouts of my one-time mentor and allowing the others to deal with the strand collection for now.
The darkness swallowed me as I stepped into the tunnel. I stopped and drew a shaky breath and closed my eyes. I guessed I would have to make my strands disappear and set Riwor and her team free before too long. They could die for lack of water before the huntmaster was able to get to them here.
But I didn’t have to tell them so.
“Tannie?” Mor’s voice, close in the dark.
“I’m here.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure.” I turned toward the sound of his voice, even though I couldn’t see him. “That was . . .”
“Not the way you hoped it would turn out?”
“Aye.”
“What will you do to Riwor if you hear about her mistreating someone?” I could almost hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh, I don’t know. I could think of some way to punish her. Force her to watch superior storytellers get all the attention for the rest of her life.”
Mor chuckled. “Such brutality.”
I imagined a strand of glittering gold and silky black—something that brought to mind my heart during my days with Riwor. A strand filled with goals and ambition and dreams of the palace and the capital. Not bad things, necessarily, but when they ruled a person’s heart, dictated her every move? No. That wasn’t my path. I lived for something else now—something greater.
I imagined a little chest, like a tiny lockbox. The black-and-gold strand floated into the box, and I mentally closed the lid and turned the key.
“Tannie?”
“Aye. I’m fine. Just . . . putting the past away where it belongs.”
“And what now?”
“Now?” I found his gloved hand in the dark. “We go save the world so Dithwyr can have a future.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BRAC
Eny frowned at me—one of his favorite pastimes.
But I’d long since learned it didn’t mean disapproval the way it did when my mam frowned at me, and it didn’t mean he had a restless, unpleasant thought he wanted to share but couldn’t, the way it did when Tannie frowned at me.
It just meant he was concerned. Worried. Wondering if I was being wise.
Truth be told, I was wondering the same thing myself at the moment.
We sat at a table in a pub on the outskirts of Urian. My cloak was rough and reminded me of home. Eny had borrowed it from a servant in the stables. He wore one nearly identical, the same homespun wool, soiled by work and poverty. We had both pulled the hoods low over our faces on our walk to the pub. Mine was over my head still, but somehow his frown managed to find me anyway.
Fourteen empty stools were crammed against a table too small to seat half as many. Eny’s ink-darkened fingers wrapped around a mug of ale he’d barely sipped. My calloused fingers gripped my nearly empty mug, but still my hands shook.
At last, the pub door opened.
And I knew who was approaching our shadow-draped corner before he pulled back
the hood of his cloak.
Hayfal, whose farm was half a league northwest from the boundary of my father’s land. I recognized the scar that slashed the back of one finger and ran up his hand.
Hayfal sat, giving Eny a suspicious glance and me a quick nod.
Next came Hywon and Helgan. Brothers just a bit older than me and Tannie. We’d worked the fields together as children and enjoyed the occasional dip in the summertime sea.
Then my cousin on Dad’s side—Breseth Bo-Braden. His hood wasn’t low enough, and it looked like half his hair had escaped its tail. Blond clumps of it tumbled over his shoulders.
At least he’d come.
Farlis, Wenth, and Gwlan arrived together. Three of Dad’s most trusted friends who were still young enough to wield swords.
Then Hyde, who stopped at the bar first to order a drink. Typical.
And next Rawn, my uncle on Mam’s side—her youngest brother.
I would have thought it foolish for the next three to enter together as they did, except they were so well disguised, I almost didn’t recognize them until they were close to the table. Guardsman Bo-Yemlath, Guardsman Bo-Droth, and Guardsman Bo-Saeth.
The guardsmen eyed the ragtag clump of farmers, then shared glances among themselves.
“Please,” I said, motioning to three of the empty stools.
The soldiers sat, and I got to feel the heat of nine farmers’ glares on me.
Truly, I didn’t know if I could trust these guardsmen. They had been my friends once. And loyal to Braith—at least I believed. Hoped and prayed.
When your life’s on the line for declaring your opinions, how can a man possibly tell where someone’s true loyalties lie?
But we had sat many watches together, trained at each other’s backs, defended the realm side by side. If I could trust anyone in Urian, it would be these three. And we definitely needed allies in Urian.
Tafarn entered next, limping a little. That was new. Had he been hurt on the journey? Or perhaps in a skirmish? Had he been one of the many who had helped me take the capital? Or had he resisted?
My stomach flopped over at the thought.
Tafarn eased onto a stool, one eyebrow raised. “Blodwyn sends her regards.”
Blodwyn, his wife, ran my favorite tavern in Pembrone.
Tafarn’s lip twisted in a wry half smile. “Says you owe her a few coppers.”
I laughed, and it sounded more like a sigh of relief. “She’s not wrong, I’m sure.”
Eny pointed his frown at me again. “We are still missing one.”
I glanced at the familiar faces around the table. “Where’s Farmer Rhys?”
“Dead,” a woman’s voice answered. She strode from the door—must have slipped in quietly beyond my notice—her hood pulled too low for me to see her face.
She reached the table and pulled a letter from her cloak—the one I had sent to Rhys. “But I came in his stead.”
Then she pushed back her hood, and curls the color of spun flax tumbled out.
“Celyn!” I jumped to my feet.
A chorus of snickers around the table set my face ablaze.
But Celyn En-Rhys didn’t flinch, and she didn’t laugh at me. She held my gaze and stepped closer. “Tell me what you need, Brac.”
And that was a question that weighed on me heavier than if every stone in Urian was tied to my back.
The weight of what I was about to ask of these folk, some of the most trusted people in my life.
“I . . .”
Eny cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should sit, my lord?”
Oh. Right.
I plunked back onto my stool, a little too heavily. I stared into my ale because I couldn’t bring myself to meet their eyes again. Just needed a moment before I came clean.
Finally, I looked up. “I’ve made a mistake.”
Farmer Wenth cast a glance around the pub. “Is this place safe?”
“We won’t be disturbed.” I nodded to the barkeep. “He’s got people watching the street. Directing folks elsewhere. And he’s paid well to lose his hearing when I need him to. Isn’t that right, Barkeep Crawr?”
“Eh?” Crawr lined up mugs of ale along the counter. “Didn’t catch that, my lord.”
“See? We’re safe here for the moment. I was more worried about you folk being seen traveling here together.”
Wenth looked unconvinced. Who could blame him?
“Brac, how? An empty pub. The guarded street. The silent barkeep . . .” Celyn held up a hand to refuse the ale Crawr was offering to her. “How have you managed it?”
“Being steward has some upsides, I guess.” My smile fell. “But that’s just the thing . . .”
And I told them all of it. How I had been fooled and used, but also how I had been weak and blind. So consumed with my own feelings and assumptions that I had been the dumbest pile of rocks ever to sit on a farm hill.
“I trusted people I shouldn’t have.” I stared into my mug of ale again. “I did things I knew was wrong, even as I did them. I just tried to convince myself . . .” I let the words die. There was no excuse. No explaining it.
Uncle Rawn spoke up. “All right, Brac. You made a mistake. Now what? What do you need from us?”
I forced myself to look at him and then around the table. “It’s too much to ask. I know it is. But if we don’t do something, they’re going to kill Queen Braith. And—” A lump in my throat choked off my words. But I had to keep going. “And they’ll kill Tannie. She and her friends are walking right into a trap. This wouldn’t be happening if not for me, so if she and the queen die, it’s . . . it’s my fault.”
“Brac,” Farmer Farlis said slowly. “Lad, forgive me, but what you’re sayin’ . . .” He shook his head.
“It sounds mad. I know it does. Queen Frenhin betraying her own daughter. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t heard it with my own two ears. But I did. I heard it. Saw the . . . strands, whatever they were.”
Farlis hesitated, and I knew it cost him to say what was on his mind. “Brac, how can we believe you?”
I thought about how to answer. It was a fair question that cut sharp as a blade.
At last, I said, “You’ll have to think about what you know of me. I ain’t never claimed to be the brightest or the best at anything. But I once was known as an honest lad. A good person, if a bit simple. Think about the Brac you used to know. Would he lie? Would he spin tales about something like this?”
Guardsman Bo-Droth rubbed his temples. “I understand your desire here, Bo-Bradwir. Really, I do. But”—he gestured around the table—“what’s your plan? To storm some unknown fortress of Queen Frenhin’s? With fourteen swords?”
“Fifteen,” Celyn put in. “I’m going too.”
Bo-Droth raised an eyebrow, and I had to set aside the argument that looked to sprout up.
“Even with fifteen,” Bo-Droth said. “Four trained soldiers, ten farmers, and one lass. How can this be possible?”
“If we can get there in time, Tannie and her friends will help us. We just have to find them first so we can warn them.” Even to my own ears, it sounded weak and impossible.
A fool’s errand.
But what choice did we have?
Farmer Hyde drained his third tankard of ale, then wiped his mouth. “Course we’ll go, lad.”
A couple heads swiveled to stare at him, but he didn’t pay them any mind. “I was a guardsman once, you know.”
I hadn’t known.
“When the mission is right,” Hyde continued, “when you’re fighting for good, that weighs out against the odds. Right wins. Leastways, it should.” He signaled Crawr to bring him another drink.
My resolve deepened. “If anyone doesn’t want to join, that’s fine. There’ll be no hard feelings from me. I’m asking too much of you, and I know that. But for those of you who believe that right wins out against the odds . . . will you join me?”
Hyde thrust his fist over the center of the table. Uncle Raw
n followed immediately after, touching his knuckles against Hyde’s. Then my cousin Breseth, who looked right excited about the prospect.
Fool lad. So like me. I supposed life would break him soon enough.
Celyn’s delicate hand joined the circle, and soon she was met by Bo-Yemlath and Bo-Saeth, then Hywon and Helgan. And one by one, everyone’s fists met in a ring over the table.
“Blodwyn’ll kill me, even if Frenhin don’t.” Tafarn cast his lot with us.
I was last.
Uncle Rawn gripped my forearm and forced me to look at him dead-on. “We’re with you. For the queen.”
“And for Tannie.” Farmer Hywon nodded.
A wave swelled in my chest, and I couldn’t speak. Could only nod as the circle of fists broke apart.
“Very good.” Eny pulled several pieces of parchment from his cloak. “Now that this has been settled, I can tell you this fortress of Frenhin’s is not unknown to us.” He opened one of the pieces of parchment and revealed a finely drawn map of northeastern Tir.
“Look, there’s Pembrone!” Breseth grinned. “Never seen what the peninsula looks like on a proper map afore.”
Eny nodded politely. “Yes. And Brac and I have been busy while we awaited your arrival in Urian.”
I glared at the map. “Spying on that hay-rat, Naith, mostly.”
The seedling of fury in my chest had grown into a full-fledged vine. It was all I could do to keep my calm while in Naith’s presence. Especially when he humbly requested a leave of absence so he might take a pilgrimage to the west. He fed me some lie about worshiping the goddesses at a sacred site in the Wildlands.
But I knew what he was really after. He’d go north to rejoin the murderous traitor Frenhin. And who knew what evil they would scheme up once they were back together?
I’d delayed him as long as I could, but finally Eny said I needed to release him to his journey, else he become suspicious.
No matter. We would catch up soon enough.
“We have a course charted,” Eny told the others. “And a precise location for the entrance of Frenhin’s mountain fortress. At least the one the strand hunters are supposed to use. This Hunt will be Frenhin’s fatal mistake. If not for that, we might never have found her.” He smiled mildly. “Our gain.”
The Story Hunter Page 20