Wings Unseen
Page 34
Just as she asked, he caught sight of something with promise. The luminescent, opaque, green glass outshone the mundane trinkets surrounding it. He showed Vesperi, but he did not need her confirmation to know it was what they sought. The three-headed bird molded into the glass was answer enough. He took Vesperi’s hand and they left, leaving Sellwyn Manor and its victims behind them.
CHAPTER 53
VESPERI
“We found it,” Janto announced to the others as Vesperi led him back over the raised walkway. Her free hand grazed the marble carving it held. Flivio brought up their rear. Vesperi had no idea where he’d come from, but she knew where she wanted to send him when he smirked at their entangled fingers. She challenged Flivio with an air of nonchalance but did not move so much as a finger. Janto’s hand was … nice. She was shaky after that embarrassment of a display she’d given at finding her father, and the pressure soothed. Soothing—what an odd reaction to a man’s touch.
When they reached the courtyard, Janto extended the medallion to Lorne.
“You were right, Vespy.” He flipped it over, inspecting its mark. “This is exactly what we needed. I never saw it, I am certain. How did you know it was this?”
She shrugged. “Father only wore it on special occasions. We didn’t have any executions while you were here, did we? I sometimes lose track—”
The rest of the gathered group asked questions with horrified eyes. If she could see through their scarves and handkerchiefs, she would guess their mouths hung open with shock. Again, our ways impress them. For the first time, she appreciated Lorne’s presence. At least he did not stare as though she had sprouted gills.
“No. He talked about hanging a few servants after you ran, but he never made good on the threat. In all honesty, he was too distraught to consider whom to punish.”
“Too distraught? Are you certain you are talking about my father? He has never—had never—been sad in his life, not even when Uzziel was born. Quiet and calm when the advers pronounced my brother’s ill health, but not sad. Maybe you mean disappointed?”
“I know the difference.”
“Obviously, you do not. I knew my father.”
“Enough of this.” Sar Mertina whacked her gauntlets against the trough where the horses had gathered. Now her emotion was obvious. Anger. And Vesperi did not take pleasure in having brought it out of the warrior.
“As enlightening as swapping gossip on hangings is, we need to keep going,” Sar Mertina scolded. “Qiltyn is a fortnight’s ride from here.”
“Fine.” Vesperi moved toward the horses, surprised to find the trough full. The drought had been broken. Vesperi wondered why now, with no people left in Sellwyn to benefit from it. She unclasped the horses’ lace masks one by one. “It’s safe enough for the horses to drink. Then we’ll ride.”
They passed the last rosewood and moved into hilly countryside about an hour later. Vesperi had only seen the region from inside the carriage that took her to Qiltyn at fourteen and returned her five years later. The rains had not made it there yet, leaving no signs of budding life as there had been in Sellwyn. The thought was hollow; there had been nothing alive except for plants. She had not thought to check for her mother, and Lorne had not mentioned her. He might not have known Lady Sellwyn resided in the manor at all. Vesperi knew it unlikely any women had escaped the kitchen.
Lorne rode ahead of her. His hair whipped freely as they went. He searched the hillsides as intently as Serra, though they each tracked a different sort of monster. They had agreed taking the direct route to Qiltyn was best, even with the risk of bandits and being seen by the Guj’s spies. Armed men were not as serious a threat as other terrors. The more time it took to carry out Janto’s plan, the more time the claren had to breed.
When complete darkness fell, Janto gestured for them to stop. As they made camp, everyone undertook their regular duties. They had never been designated, only filled. Napeler made rounds of the perimeter. Hamsyn and Flivio ventured as far as they felt safe to gather wood for the morning, finding only tumbleweeds in this terrain. Janto borrowed Hamsyn’s huge bow and went off to hunt for rabbits or snavelins. Serra sifted through everyone’s saddlebags, piecing together a meal. Lorne, of all people, rolled out the others’ blankets. When did he become useful?
Everyone had made a job for themselves—everyone except Vesperi. She had not considered how little she contributed during this daily routine, but her habit of watching the others work, pretending they were her servants at home, fulfilling her commands unquestioned, was not as appealing this night. Not after seeing what home had become while realizing what it always had been.
Mertina unrolled the oversized canvas swatch they used as a tent for the women each night. Its material was a compound of Elstonian fabrics: tough, tan, and thick. The northern fisherman needed its protection when they camped near the Sound, Janto had explained. It weighed a lot, but Mertina handled it like nothing, lacing her rope through a brass ring sewn into the canvas. Vesperi walked over, needing to do something, anything. Making shelter for herself sounded appealing, as did learning from a woman who was so adept at so much that mattered. Her earlier consternation still weighed heavily on Vesperi as well.
“Can I help?” A rare shyness made Vesperi’s voice soft and cheeks flush.
Mertina looked doubtful. “I’m not certain you can do that yet, but I can teach you, and maybe you can try tomorrow?”
Vesperi spent the next half hour holding the rope taut as Mertina pointed out every ring on the fabric, which ones needed the rope woven through them in a row, and which ones needed it knotted in place. Then she staked the canvas down on one corner, then on another and another, six times in all. Vesperi was lost by the time Mertina pulled a bundle of sticks broad as her thigh out of her pack.
“I skip this part when I can.” Mertina bound the sticks together with ribbons like the multihued ones Queen Lexamy wore on her skirts, except these were the same tan as the canvas. “It is so much faster when there’s a tree I can loop the rope around, but we don’t have that luxury here.” When she finished, the bound sticks had been formed into a single pole that rose about a foot taller than the warrior. Sar Mertina nosed the pointed tip of it into a metal loop at the fabric’s center then slowly raised it high, creating a frame for the tent that enveloped her. From within, Mertina explained that she was inserting the pole into a hole she had dug before she had started the rest of the tent-building process. A moment later she emerged from its loose flaps.
Vesperi was dumbstruck. “I am trying to figure out what you meant by square knot.”
Mertina laughed as she smoothed her hair back and retied it in a ponytail. Then she swatted at Vesperi’s knee. “We will try again tomorrow night. Maybe you will have figured out which ones are the guide lines by the time we are back in Callyn.” She winked.
Lorne watched them, amusement evident in the way he held his hands at his hips. He treated everything as a joke, but his eyes were sharp. How had she never realized he was different from other Meduans, that he had a mission? The Raven—Agler—had been easy to see through. Vesperi must have categorized Lorne as man and never given another thought to it beyond what it would take to get him in bed if needed. She had been wrong on that account as well.
“I was not playing a game with you, you know.” He came closer once he noted her gaze. “Searching for a medallion and entertaining your brother while keeping an eye on you are not easy goals to pinpoint. Even I didn’t know my task half the time. It’s how the Brothers prefer it.”
Serra laughed sharply from several yards away, chopping strips of dried tomato with a knife. Just then, Janto reappeared on the darkening horizon, and Vesperi smiled unbidden. He held two animals in his grasp.
Lorne pulled the medallion from his pouch. “You should keep this. It should be with one of you, I think. One of the bird’s heads. I am a wing at best. Probably a claw on a foot.”
Its green glass glinted orange with the light from Tansic abov
e them. Two of the familiar engraving’s heads faced forward. She had heard the confounded prophecy many times by then—Flivio harassed them with a less-than-harmonious rendition almost nightly—but Vesperi had not thought to connect it with this medallion or the carving on the bridge. Had she always been marked for this, by a charm her father cherished, but kept close to his chest only when the occasion called for it?
“I cannot take it.” She shook her head more vigorously than she liked. “I cannot.”
Serra’s extraordinary hearing saved her from explaining herself. “I will wear it.”
Lorne shrugged, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Fine by me. As long as one of you three has it, I think it’s in the right place.” He looped the leather thread around Serra’s neck. “It looks good on you,” he flirted, “but then, you always look scrumptious.”
Vesperi stifled a laugh. If she weren’t a few years older, she would have sworn Lorne was her twin. For the second time that day, she felt like less of an aberration. It was probably a good thing she had ignored him so thoroughly before she had run away.
Serra tucked the medallion beneath her tunic. It lined up with the necklace of braided cloves she always wore, the outlines of both barely visible through the fabric. Janto caught up to the camp then, and whispered something into Serra’s ear as he laid down the snavelin he had killed. Serra nodded and whispered something back. The ease of their interaction made Vesperi jealous, she could not help it, but when Janto’s eyes finally met hers, they were full of something she’d begun to recognize as a reason not to be.
Mertina joined them after checking the horses, having made certain their ropes were tightly knotted and their manes smoothed. “The fallowent,” she said to Lorne. “Do you have more? I think we will need it at the temple.”
He pulled a petite leather bag from the pouch on his belt then tipped it into his palm. A healthy amount of the black seeds poured out, filling his cupped hand. “We can each eat a pinch a day, but I am not sure how much it will help. I had been feeding it to myself and Uzziel in regular doses for weeks. I do not know if it works over time or immediately. I have only been told it works.”
“Might as well give it a try,” Mertina decided. “We need to make use of all our resources.”
Janto knit his eyebrows together. “Hamsyn, how many of these plants did you say your sister had?”
The other Nevillim was breaking up tumbleweed into kindling for the morning. “When I left to meet you at the Crossing, she had at least two hundred of them. They grow fast. All they produce are those seeds, and their branches are laden with them.”
Vesperi’s spirits sank at Janto’s next words. “Mertina, I need you to ride back and tell my father about the fallowent and Hamsyn’s sister’s collection. They need to be harvested and planted everywhere. If there is enough, then the people of Rasseleria and Wasyla need to start eating them now. We cannot let what happened in Sellwyn happen anywhere else.”
Mertina did not hesitate, moving toward the tent. Janto stopped her with a hug. “You are extraordinary. Ride fast.”
She nodded, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. “You can count on it, my prince. May Madel’s hand guide you all.”
“And you, also,” the other Lanserim echoed.
Vesperi did not want her to go. She wanted to blast Janto for ordering it. But she said nothing, not having the words to explain how she took solace in watching Sar Mertina’s straight form on horseback and her sword comfortably hanging at her side.
Serra was back to chopping tomatoes, and Janto cleaned the snavelins, his face blank by the time Mertina reemerged. Flivio helped her secure her packs to her horse, white as drapian dander, and held the reins while she mounted.
Their movement startled Janto from his thoughts. “One more thing! Tell my father to send a company of mounted men to Qiltyn as fast as possible. They must ride right away, and we will need at least a brigade on their heels.”
“Soldiers?” Sar Mertina slumped with confusion. “But you aren’t invading the city.”
Janto smiled wryly, looking at Lorne. “Aren’t we? If we succeed, we have to follow this act with a show of force, or the Meduans will not get the message. The claren will never stop breeding.”
“You are the slayer.” Mertina shook her head as though realizing it for the first time. “I never thought, not in my lifetime …” For a moment, wonder overtook her, but she did not revel in it. The warrior in her was too strong. “I will see you back in Callyn, my prince. Your commands will make it to your father in two nights at the latest.” She patted the horse’s flank and they disappeared into the darkness.
Vesperi retired to the tent early. By her pack lay an unfamiliar bag. She loosed the string around its neck, and when she saw the extra tan ribbons it held, she did not care about the tears that fell. All her life she had hoped for this from her father, hoped for a suggestion of what this single act from a woman she hardly knew accomplished. The bag held the pride and trust of another person, and Vesperi resolved to deserve it. She fell asleep with hands scratched from stroking the fibers of a spare coil of rope.
Two nights later, they hashed out their final plans behind a group of cabins at the base of Mandat’s hills, homes for men who would only now be returning after a full day of work. Lorne and Vesperi inspected the rest of their measly band, who stood ramrod straight, maintaining good posture though dressed in discolored robes they’d stolen from storage sheds. No one bothered to protect such ratty servants’ garments, their dense material stifling this time of year. Vesperi wore one of her own gowns that Lorne had snagged while they scoured Sellwyn for the charm. His direct connection to the Brothers had to be why Janto agreed to let him continue with them despite his earlier protests. Or Janto was the same trusting dolt she’d always thought him to be. Likely that.
“This will never work,” Lorne scoffed. “They hold themselves like bloody royalty, even the guards.”
“They are bloody royalty,” Vesperi corrected. “Even the guards. At least compared with us.”
He considered her words thoughtfully. She had not known Lorne possessed that capability and mulled it over as she addressed the group. “Your clothing is fine, but you need to slouch. You also need to shuffle as you walk, as though barools cover the floor. And you cannot meet anyone’s eyes. It would be safer to keep the floor constantly in your view. Servants don’t speak much, either, or we whip the tendency out of them.” She paused. “That means you, Flivio.”
He made to speak but opted for a shrug instead.
“Lorne will lead the group because he’s been here a number of times with his father—he will draw the fewest questions from the advers. I will pretend to be no more than his plaything for the evening. Serra, can you use the sight and stay low at the same time?”
She nodded, training her gaze toward the floor to demonstrate and casting lightning-quick glances toward the stars. “If I see any claren, I will cough. Raise your handkerchiefs then.”
Hamsyn raised a hand, righting himself in the process. Lorne called out “Slouch!” before hitting his shoulders and the back of his knees with a stick.
“Will there be a lot of people in the temple this time of night? Should we expect interruptions?” Hamsyn maintained the meek stature.
Janto probed closer to the point. “Is night what the priests prefer for their … activities?”
“The dark will be fine. The temple will not be busier because the sun has fallen—advers come and go in the light of day.” Such quaint notions the Lanserim held. “Oh, and do not be surprised when you see their robes. Most of them bear at least a few bones—the more there are, the more that man has ascended in the ranks. Some of them may also wear levere veils, shawls, or medallions. It protects them … well, it is supposed to protect them from magic, but if I am the only one with the flame, maybe the levere is only for show.”
Janto spoke next, nervousness evident in his voice’s quaver. “So then we move. Lorne, please guide the way.”
Its cavernous doors, tall enough for three men to walk through if they stood on each others’ shoulders, were a new sight to her, however, because they were only visible from the south. The people in town, huddled in their small-spired buildings, saw only a smooth face.
“Should I avert my eyes, also?” she whispered as they rounded another curve.
Lorne nodded. “Do not speak unless I address you. But you don’t need to hold your tongue after that—the advers who live here are used to my spirited girls. I get bored, you see.” Twins.
Lorne raised a hand to signal a stop about halfway up near a stable. Flivio followed closest on their heels, then Janto, Hamsyn, Nap, and Serra. The seer was a few yards behind the others; they would need to slow their pace if they wanted her to check the way but not get left behind. And stopping here meant Lorne had already picked up on that. Vesperi raised an eyebrow he could not see at the close attention he gave Lady Gavenstone.
Lorne ushered them inside a horseless stable to catch their breaths. The missing animals might explain why they’d seen no advers yet on their ascent. Do advers take field trips? Hamsyn disappeared into a dark stall, likely to relieve himself. Maybe a group outing to the convent? Vesperi’s breathing evened out with each deep gulp of gamey air. Best not think too hard on gifts. When Hamsyn returned, Lorne led them out again, walking slower this time.