“Who does he think he is? He speaks as if he is guardian of the flute, and not you! Who is this ‘Hand of Klii’kunn’? Do you know?” he demanded.
“Of course not. If I knew, don’t you think I’d have reclaimed the flute already?” She took the letter from his hand and answered with a set jaw. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
“How?” he asked. It was a very good question, and one for which she did not have an answer. Instead of answering, she asked him a question in return.
“What do you think this means—‘Speak through the stone’?” She pointed at the sentence on the paper. Brant read it again, chewing his lip in thought.
“I don’t know. Was anything with the paper? Where did you find it?”
“It was on the dresser.” She walked to the dark bureau and rested her hand on its surface. She’d already moved the few items from the top and found nothing of significance. She had no idea what the thief was talking about.
Brant got on his knees to search the floor. “We have moved things around a bit . . .” he muttered as he ran fingertips along the baseboards, following the wall toward the bed.
“What are you doing?” Kayla asked.
“Looking for something,” he mumbled, his head and half his body wedged beneath the bed.
“That’s obvious, but what?”
“This,” Brant said, backing out from beneath the boxy frame with a small item clasped in his right hand. He stood and opened his fingers. At first Kayla was not sure what she was looking at—it appeared to be a plain old rock until Brant turned it over. Kayla took in a sharp breath and released it slowly. It was a scriptstone, a reading rock, a message stone—it went by many names, but Brant was right—
“He wants us to communicate with him,” Kayla whispered.
“It appears so,” Brant said, still fuming. His eyes flashed when they met hers, but Kayla’s anger had faded. All was not lost. She just had to find this man or woman who had taken her flute and somehow prove she really was worthy to have it. She didn’t care what it took or how she had to humble herself, she would recover the instrument.
“It’s okay, Brant,” she said, not quite able to smile, but at least she was no longer crying. “We’ll figure it out, and we will get the flute back.” Her promise seemed to do little to relieve his anger. He still paced the room, his hands flexing in agitation, but at last he nodded. He was willing to help.
Kayla sat down and tried to compose a letter to the thief, this Thenari Kafato Topuini. That was a mouthful of a name, both to write or to speak. She decided to call him Thenari. It was easier and the most normal-sounding of the three. Mostly she wanted to call him “thief,” but had the feeling that doing so would not help the situation. She had to have the flute, and she had to get it before she saw the king again.
There was no way she could lie to King Rojan if he asked about the instrument. If that happened, she could forget about her duchy, her mother’s restoration to nobility—and she could especially forget about her upcoming marriage.
“Brant,” she said as he tried to hang the tapestry again on his own. He wasn’t having much luck.
“Yeah,” he snarled.
“You aren’t going to tell anybody, are you?”
He paused in his attempt and let the tapestry drop to the ground, then turned to face her while standing ten feet up the ladder. "Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am?” he said, a little of his frustration aimed at her, but she didn’t take offense. She was too relieved by his answer.
“A smart one,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “I just had to be sure we were on the same page. I should have known.”
“Yes, you should have,” he snapped, then softened. “I don’t blame you for voicing it. I probably would have done the same in your shoes.”
Kayla nodded at him, then turned back to the blank paper and began to write:
"I do not know who you are or why you have done this, but your accusations are false. I did not play the instrument. It had no voice from me. I am its guardian, determined worthy by the king, and I will not stop until it is back in my hands. Return the instrument to me and there will be no repercussions. Keep it, and you will have all the wrath of Peldane against you."
Kayla did not bother signing the letter. The thief would know who sent it. She set aside her pen and ink and sanded the paper. Once she knew it was dry, she set the scriptstone in the center and waited.
Nothing happened.
“Brant,” she said, and he immediately came to her. “It’s not working.”
“Did you tell it to send?” he asked.
“I didn’t know I had to.”
“Hold your hand over the stone and say ‘send.’ It will do the rest,” he explained, and went back to his labor of rehanging the tapestry on the wall.
Kayla cupped the rock in the palm of her hand. “Send,” she croaked, and immediately a rainbow colored light burst forth and pulled the ink from the paper. She sucked in a breath of surprise. She had not realized that a scriptstone would actually steal the ink from the page. It was strange. Very strange indeed.
The letter was sent. She’d done what she could. Now she must wait.
In the meantime, Kayla helped Brant with the tapestry, and they got it back in place without too many mishaps and only one broken vase. It was slightly crooked, but Kayla figured no one else would really notice, and if they did, they could fix it. They were done—and none too soon, for at the same moment Kayla saw another flash of rainbow light, a knock sounded at the door.
Kayla wasn’t sure where to go first, though her heart tugged her toward the writing desk and the now-full page that lay waiting for her response. But in order to keep a low profile, she had to answer the door.
“Yes,” she called after a second knock.
“’Tis Sarali, Miss Kayla. Would Master Brant be with ye? His father be needing him right away.”
Brant groaned and climbed down the ladder.
“Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone,” he whispered to Kayla, his eyes pleading.
“Of course not,” she answered. “I never do.”
He raised his brow at her, both of them remembering too many incidents where she certainly had been foolish, but Brant said nothing, letting a sigh of resignation escape his lips before opening the door.
“Yes, Sarali, I’m here, but I’m kind of busy right now. What does Father need?” He leaned against the doorframe and ran his hands through his tousled hair.
“He wouldn’t be telling me that, sir, just asked me to fetch ye,” Sarali replied with a wink and a smile.
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” he said, but Sarali shook her head.
“The master insisted that I not return without ye, sir. ‘’Tis very important,’ he said.”
Brant grunted, obviously disgusted, and gave Kayla one last warning glance before he left. “All right then, Sarali. Let’s get this done. I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, Master Brant,” she replied as she pulled the door shut. The instant they were gone, Kayla ran for the paper.
"You speak untruth, Lady Kayla, for I heard the flute calling in my sleep last night. The flute cannot speak unless given your breath, thus you have played it. If you wish to have the flute returned, threats and lies will get you nowhere. Prove yourself."
“Prove myself? How?” she asked of the air, throwing her hands up in frustration. Prove herself. Prove herself. It made no sense. What more was there to prove? How could she persuade this person that she truly had not played the flute?
Left with no other options, she decided to be completely honest and sat down to write another letter.
"Sir,
I do not know what you want of me. How may I prove myself and have the flute returned? I will do all that you ask, but please, return the flute to its rightful guardian. I swore to my king to protect it with my very life, and so far I have failed in that task, as you have been able to remove
the instru
ment from me. I know not what more to say. Tell me what to do, and it shall be done.:
Kayla sat and waited for a response and received it within minutes, though its message chilled her to the bone.
"Meet me in the cellar and thy worth shall be proven. Do not respond. Go now while Brant is away."
How could the thief know Brant was away? Only if he were watching her room or knew that Brant had been called to his father. And then it clicked. The thief knew because he had sent his servant to fetch Brant. The thief knew because he was a trusted member of the household and had a name she knew, a name that, when contracted, became one she’d heard several times that very day.
Thenari Kafato Topuini.
T’Kato.
Sarali’s husband was the thief.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ember watched her kidnapper ride away with her family, her hackles up so high it was almost painful. Ian Covainis had effectively cut her off from her family and those who could be of help to her at the mage trials.
He was with her family. A low growl rumbled deep in her chest as she tried to push past Shad to get to the man, but Shad moved with her, and after several attempts she tried to bull her way through. He rammed her to the ground and pinned her as easily as he would a pup, holding her there until she’d quit thrashing and biting and finally lay still. “Are you done?” he asked.
Ember didn’t want to answer. She wanted to throw him off and run after her family. They had no idea what kind of man Ian was. She had to warn them before something happened, but Shad wasn’t budging. He was getting heavy, and Ember couldn’t catch her breath with his weight on her.
“I ask again, are you done?” Shad’s snarl started low in his throat and rumbled across his chest.
Ember could feel the vibration as he pressed her into the ground. This was one battle she couldn’t win, so she answered. “Yes.” She sounded as sullen as she felt.
“Good.” Shad scrambled backward and faced her, wariness evident in his lowered head and motionless tail. There was no question he was waiting for her to try running off again, and Ember would have been lying to herself to say the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. But Shad made it pointless. It was obvious he wasn’t going to let her go anywhere. “You need to think before you charge off like that. Do you have any idea who that man is?”
“Yeah, he’s my kidnapper, and he works for C’Tan.” Speaking C’Tan’s name gave Ember chills. The woman was well-known for her ruthlessness, and it made Ember’s skin crawl to know they shared blood.
Shad snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Ian Covainis is second only to Kardon in C’Tan’s legions. It is rumored that he is the son of Kardon and C’Tan, though there is no proof of it. The man has no conscience, child. Leave him be.”
Ember felt sick. Everyone she cared about was in the company of that monster. “But he’s with my family! They don’t know how much danger they’re in. I’ve got to warn them.”
Shad shook his head. “So long as he doesn’t find you, they’ll be fine. He needs to keep himself from being noticed at this point. If you warn them, it puts them in more danger. I know for a certainty that Ezeker and Marda can take care of themselves, and with the guard and your brothers there as well, they could not be much safer. Covainis may be powerful, but even he cannot take on an entire regiment without injury.”
Ember didn’t want to listen, but it seemed she had no choice. She nodded reluctantly and bowed her will to that of her uncle. “Good girl. DeMunth!” Shad called to the mute singer who had left their side somewhere in the scuffle. DeMunth rode up from behind the pack at the mental call. “Ember’s kidnapper is riding with her family, trying to pass himself off as a do-gooder. I need you to keep an eye on him. Find out what you can and meet us at the big willow.”
DeMunth nodded and turned his mount back to get some distance. The horse gained speed, racing for the fence, and just as Ember was sure he would ram through it, the huge animal gathered himself and leaped over the wooden railing as if it were nothing more than a bush.
As soon as DeMunth was in the pasture, he dug his heels into his stallion, and they ran even faster. Even in her wolf form, Ember was amazed at the speed of his horse. She’d quickly discovered the night before how fast four legs could take her, but DeMunth’s mount made her long for that kind of swiftness. She watched until they hurdled over the gate on the other side and faded out of sight in the gray rain, headed for the high road.
Shad turned to her. “Are you ready?”
Ember nodded, not trusting herself to speak quite yet. She was still too angry at Shad’s interference, whether well-meant or not. Her stomach roiled with worry for her family, but it seemed there was nothing she could do without making things worse for them.
The pack ran, Shad and Ember in the lead, the other dozen or so loping behind or fanning out to the sides as they wove in and out of the trees around Paeder’s farm. The rain had lightened earlier, almost non-existent in the morning, but the muddy deluge had returned, making footing treacherous. Each bound forward threw mud behind them until those in the back of the pack were covered nearly head to paw in the gray muck, and Ember struggled to resist stopping to lick herself clean.
For most of the day they ran, their senses dulled by the constant rain and the need to pay attention to the slick surface. Most of the pack ate on the run—they stopped for a mouse here, a rabbit there, but Ember couldn’t quite bring herself to accept the blood lust that gnawed at her belly and made her mouth water. The logical, human part of her was revolted by the thought of raw meat—especially rodents.
It was near dark when the pack burst through the thick woods into a clearing dominated by the biggest willow tree Ember had ever seen. It was taller than Ezeker’s tower, almost as wide as Paeder’s house, with branches that spilled from the top to sweep the ground. The pack darted through the wiry branches, settling beneath the sheltering tree. Ember sank to her haunches in exhaustion. Running on all fours came rather naturally to her, but it still took a lot of effort, and she was more tired than she could ever remember. She panted, her tongue hanging low, her chest moving so quickly with her breath that she felt like a hummingbird.
The long branches of the tree channeled the rain down their lengths, leaving the open space near the trunk nearly dry. The branches were so thick, she felt as if she were standing behind a living curtain.
For the first time in nearly two days she felt safe, hidden, and protected from a hostile world. At least, she did, until several wolves dropped rabbits at her feet. They nudged the animals toward her, then backed away. Ember looked at Shad, but he wasn’t laughing.
“You need to eat. You are expending a lot of energy with this kind of run. You won’t last if you don’t feed.” Shad tossed what looked like a gopher through the air. It landed with a thud in the dirt next to the rabbits.
Bile rose in Ember’s throat even as her mouth watered. The two sides of her nature battled. She sniffed at the rabbits, picked one up in her mouth and bit down gently. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, sending a wave of revulsion over her. She dropped the rabbit and backed away, whimpering.
“Ember, eat. You’ll get used to it.” Shad came around and bumped her from behind. She parked herself and wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t eat that. I’d rather go hungry.”
“You’ll do more than go hungry if you don’t eat. You won’t survive. You don’t have a choice.” He said it so matter-of-factly that, for a moment, it didn’t register. She was going to die if she didn’t eat a raw rabbit?
Ridiculous.
“There are other things to eat.” Ember’s stomach growled.
“Like what?” Shad was obviously humoring her.
“Berries and stuff. Grass. Roots. Anything’s better than that.” Ember lowered her head toward the dead animals and sneezed.
Shad seemed almost offended. “Wolves don’t eat berries. Wolves eat meat. Red, raw, bleeding, still-warm meat. You are wolf, whether you want to
be or not, and until you can shapeshift back into your human form, this is it.”
That gave Ember an idea. “Speaking of shapeshifting, do you think we can practice that again? I think I can do it this time.”
“You’re changing the subject. You need to eat.” Shad’s set jaw was almost human. It reminded Ember of Aldarin in his most stubborn moments.
“I know I need to eat, but I won’t eat that. If I turn human, I can cook it first. I just can’t do the slimy raw meat thing.” She shivered in disgust.
Several chuckles sounded around her. Shad rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not as bad as you think, though your father also had a hard time with it. Very well, then, we’ll practice shapechanging, and in the meantime I’ll have the pack roast your meat for you. Will that suffice?”
Ember nodded, relieved.
“Good. Now, I’ve had some thoughts, especially now that Ian Covainis is in the picture. Your safety is of the greatest import, no matter the inconvenience. Would you not agree?”
Ember nodded again, not sure where he was going with this. He seemed nervous as he paced back and forth.
“Since shape-changing is now an option, or at least it will be once you figure out how to change back, it would make sense to use that as a way to disguise yourself, yes?” He didn’t wait for her answer before he continued. “The best way to disguise you is to present you in the way Ian is least likely to expect. Obviously you need to be human, but I am afraid he will search all females in the city looking for similarities. He would be much less likely to find you if you were much less female.”
Ember was confused. “I am female. How am I supposed to get around that?”
“By disguising yourself as a non-female.” Shad cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed.
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