Araneae Nation: The Complete Collection

by Hailey Edwards

  “Stop fighting me, you fool,” a booming voice rolled like thunder over my head.

  I froze. No rustle of wings, no humming, no claws raking my face. I tilted my head back.

  Murdoch fisted my braid when my shirt began tearing. “Give me your hand.”

  I gave him both and let him haul me up and into his arms. He dragged me into the room and his legs gave out, dumping us both onto the floor. His back hit the stones, and I landed astride his chest.

  Murdoch crushed my shoulders in a brutal grip and shook me. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Me?” I slapped his ruined cheek to get his attention. “I was fine until you grabbed me.”

  He caught that wrist and pinned it. “I saved you. You leapt from a window.”

  “It was more of a hop, really.” I swept my free arm toward my proof. “Besides, I had rope.”

  “You had—” His gaze lit on the coil of black fabric. He bellowed, “Are those my pants?”

  Every last pair, not that I’d tell him that. “They seemed sturdier than your sheets.”

  He bumped the back of his skull against the floor and covered his face with his hands. “This is a dream.” His arms dropped, and he glared at me. “No. You’re still here. This is a nightmare.”

  “I’m the prisoner here.” I stabbed his chest with my finger. “If anyone is dreaming, it’s me.”

  The door crashed open, and I scarce moved myself to care until Murdoch swore.

  “For the love of the gods, what’s with all the yelling? Have you—?” Lleu stood in the doorway. I glanced down to where Murdoch’s hands had come to rest on my upper thighs and scrambled back.

  I kept scrabbling until my head cracked against the wall. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Are you sure?” Lleu leaned a bulky shoulder against the doorframe. His gaze raked over my clean face, my body. “If that’s how you plan to escape, I am most amenable to persuasion.”

  “I’d rather have leapt from the window,” I muttered.

  I slumped at Murdoch’s desk, which he had shoved against the wall opposite his window. It afforded me a clear view of the window and Murdoch, who sat in a chair between it, the door and me. The heavy tome he had set before me, demanding I entertain myself by reading, listed in my hand, allowing me to peek over the top edge and peer longingly toward the door. The book fell. I let it crack loud on the desktop and jerk Murdoch’s head up from his own study.

  His nostrils flared so wide from this angle I swore I could see what was on his mind.

  “Must we burn the afternoon sitting here…” I thumped the novel’s cover, “…reading?”

  “As much as you enjoy savoring the taste of trouble,” he said, thoughtfully marking his own spot for later, “I would have thought you’d enjoy sinking your teeth into a good adventure story.”

  “A History of Cathis,” I read the title from the page. “Consider me…riveted.”

  His stare made me wonder if I had food stuck in my teeth. “Bound histories are rare.”

  “Are they?” I studied the tooled-leather cover embossed with a canis’s head.

  “For those who don’t live inside crystal cities or spend their days designing ear baubles, yes, such items are rare treasures.” He stood then and scooped the book from the desk to join another leaning on his lone shelf. Once his prizes were stored, he appraised me. “Are you wearing that?”

  “A female wearing pants at dinner?” I gasped. “The scandal will mark Cathis for all time.”

  He watched me stand. “I fail to find you half as amusing as you seem to believe you are.”

  “As much as a discussion of your failures interests me, truly, I must be going.” I smoothed a hand down my crumpled shirtfront. “I would prefer to dine while my meal is warm and my hosts are merry. If I wait for you to finish your recitation, it might be dark, my meal cold and my hosts abed.” I shivered. “No offense meant to your paladin, but I can’t imagine Mana sharing his bed.”

  Grasping my elbow, Murdoch led me into the hall. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried.”

  Blood rushed into my cheeks and must have stained them red. “That’s not what I meant.”

  His response was no response. He held his tongue while I tripped over mine, a clever tactic. I kept his silence, studying tapestries and decorative carvings hung on the wall while we strolled.

  At last Murdoch stopped before an arching door with a heavy knocker. “Be on your guard.”

  “Why?” I stared at the door as though that might help me see who waited on the other side.

  “The paladin’s mother will be in attendance, and the former maven Isolde is just as likely to cut your throat as to agree with her son’s reasons for sparing your neck.” He straightened and let me take his arm, treating me as his companion. My palms went damp, and I crushed the silly thought.

  “Is she as bad as they say?” Isolde was legendary. A Mimetidae maven widowed and left to rule in her husband’s stead. Gossips spun stories about her cruelty and bravery in equal measure.

  His shoulders lifted, then fell. “She is who she is. She makes no apologies for it.”

  “You respect her for that.” His entire being thrummed with admiration.

  “I do.” His right fist pounded his chest. “I am hers until she no longer wishes to have me.”

  Despite my sudden interest in what being hers entailed, I faltered when a bony hand shoved me aside. A short female with wrinkled cheeks and black hair coiled atop her head marched up to Murdoch. She screwed her knuckle into his chest. “Get on with opening that door. I’m starving.” When his eyes widened a fraction, she patted her hair and began to scowl. “Not one word, boy.”

  In a huff, she waited while he opened the door, shouldered past and entered the dining hall.

  I glanced at him questioningly. He shushed me with a nod and checked the hall behind us.

  A slender female skidded to a halt with a hand over her heaving chest. “Is she in there?”

  “Just arrived.” He picked a thorny twig from the shoulder strap of her dress.

  “Thank the gods.” She took the stick from him. “I was with Mana, tending the rose gardens. I don’t know what possessed Isolde to—” She indicated her hair and wriggled her fingers wildly.

  “Her hair is very…dark.” It was the kindest thing I could think to say.

  She jerked upright as if just realizing that I stood there.

  “Nerys, this is the future Segestriidae maven, Kaidi,” he said warmly to her. Rewarded with a shy smile from her, Murdoch completed our introduction with flourish neither of us warranted. “Kaidi, this is Nerys, Mana’s most apt herbology pupil and the Lady Isolde’s gentlest attendant.”

  Nerys curtseyed. It was as neat and tidy as the rest of her. “Forgive my rudeness, Maven.”

  Ignoring the title Murdoch seemed to enjoy bestowing upon me, I smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nerys.” Her gaze was darting in search of the bolder female. “That was Lady Isolde?”

  “Hmm?” Nerys leapt back to attention. “Forgive me, again, but I must go before she…”

  I turned in time to watch Isolde carve herself a helping of some rich cake and plunk down at the head of the table. A hefty goblet sat to her right, which I bet she had filled with a sweet wine.

  “Go on.” Murdoch held the door, and Nerys flushed prettily.

  “Is she a friend of yours?” If not, the female appeared to wish that were the case.

  “No.” He eyed me strangely. Had such a thought never occurred to him?

  Good. Nerys struck me as calm and peaceable, too much like Murdoch. A mating of two such people would bore their friends to tears.

  Threading my arm through his, I relished his flash of surprise. “Is dinner informal, then?”

  He led me into the room. “Being relieved of her title has cultivated some…eccentricities.”

  I watched her eat cake with her fingers, then lick them clean. “Poor thing.”

  “Don’t let her hear
you say that.” Lleu’s voice slid into our conversation uninvited. He edged past us and sized up a table where ornate clay carafes awaited.

  “I meant no harm.” And I didn’t want to attract her attention, eccentric former maven or not.

  Being the center of one Mimetidae’s undivided attention was more than enough for me.

  “What are you all yammering about?” Isolde pointed at her head. “It’s this, isn’t it?”

  “Your hair is…lovely,” Nerys assured her. “It’s your manners that make people stare.”

  To spite her, Isolde stabbed the fluffy cream dregs on her plate and slurped off her finger.

  “They don’t make females like her anymore,” Lleu observed with a smirk.

  Murdoch shared a pained glance with him. “Thank the gods for small mercies.”

  The affection in their tones left me aching for nights spent around the table with my family. Did they know how lucky they were to share such kinship? Or how fortunate was their laughter?

  “Do you have no sense that you openly gawk at her?” Murdoch asked under his breath.

  “I was admiring her hair.” I was, sort of. I wondered how she managed that coal-black shade. I made a mental note that if her hair was grayed or whitened by age and could be turned so black, I had hope of disguising my too-pale hair. Perhaps I could get her alone and ask her at some point.

  When I got free, and I believed I would, I needed every advantage to remain that way.

  “Who’ve you got there?” Isolde abandoned tormenting Nerys in favor of studying me.

  Murdoch gave me an I hope you’re happy frown. “This is Kaidi of the Segestriidae.”

  Isolde began tapping her fingernails on the table. “Kaidi. Hmm. She looks familiar.”

  “She’s betrothed to Hishima,” Murdoch offered.

  “First thing out of my son’s mouth was her title.” She snorted. “No. This is something else.”

  He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he pinched my arm as if I had a clue.

  “Ouch.” I rubbed at the hurt.

  He prompted, “The maven is waiting.”

  “How is that my fault?” I flashed a smile at her. “No offense, Lady Isolde.”

  “You might try helping her remember how she knows you,” Murdoch scolded.

  His gall set my last nerve ablaze. I had opened my mouth when Isolde began cackling.

  “Aye, I remember you now.” She slapped her thigh. “I saw your fool arse dangling from his window earlier.” Howling with laughter, she pointed at Murdoch. “Best laugh I’ve had in days.”

  “Figures I’d miss that,” Lleu huffed.

  Isolde kicked the leg of the nearest chair from the table. “Here. Sit with me, girl.” I reached for Murdoch’s arm, but Isolde shook her head. “Leave Murdoch be. It’s you I invited. Not him.”

  “Yes, Lady.” I ducked my head.

  Murdoch gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

  Isolde’s fingers tapped faster while she watched us. What she saw there made her snicker.

  Fresh heat sweeping up my neck, I walked stiffly to the chair and sat. “Thank you, Lady.”

  She flicked her wrist. “Call me Isolde. I’m no lady. Never have been, and gods willing it’s an affliction I will never suffer. Being maven was one thing. I’m glad to have passed that duty on to my son. Being called Lady Isolde?” Her lip curled. “It’s an insult to who I am, that’s what it is.”

  “You’re a lady in heart if not in temperament.” Nerys was the picture of serenity. Her words sounded practiced, as if she’d spoken them to Isolde often. I wondered if Nerys believed herself.

  “Are you daft?” Isolde flicked a crumb at her, red mottling her cheeks. “Enough nonsense.”

  Nerys folded her hands in her lap, turning her head to admire a tapestry at the farthest end of the room to give us privacy. Her spine was straight, her bearing graceful. She was placid, lovely.

  There was no good reason why I should not like her, yet dislike her was exactly what I did.

  “And to think, there are those who sneer at my manners,” Isolde mused.

  “I apologize.” I lowered my chin to force my wandering eyes to behave.

  Leaning closer, Isolde asked, “Who taught you to sever spines?”

  “I— What?” Her leap from social impropriety to murder left my head spinning.

  “Spines, girl.” She reached over to jab my arm. “I inspected your work. Very clean.”

  I blanched. “Um, thank you?”

  “Either you’ve been at this a while or you’ve had instruction,” she pressed. “Which is it?”

  I shifted on my chair. “Both?”

  “Figured as much.” She waggled that same finger at me. “Who taught you?”

  “I, well, it’s complicated.” I dug my nails into my palms. “The first time I… It was messy. It got the job done, but the whole thing made me sick. I…I wanted cleaner, better ends for them.”

  Isolde nodded along in agreement, as if I had said nothing untoward.

  “Then one morning, after a particularly rough night, I wandered into the nearest town. It was early enough I would be the baker’s first customer of the day, but my stomach was queasy, and it seemed like a better idea to go for a walk first. As I explored the town, I came upon the butcher’s stall in the market. I watched him stick his hand in a cage, grab a fat hen, drag her out and lay her on his board. One hard whack of his cleaver and it was done, she was dead.” I remembered how cold and methodical he had been too. It was his job, the killing. He took no joy in his work. Pride lit up his face when comely wives complimented the skill of his cuts, but their praise was earned.

  I sensed everyone’s attention on me and went quiet. The story was not meant for their ears.

  Ignoring my discomfort, Isolde jabbed my arm again. “You asked for instruction, I take it?”

  “Not exactly.” I could hardly ask an honest man to teach me how to make cleaner kills. “He had great slabs of varanus on display, and I knew how hearty and thick-boned they are. I rented a room in town near the market and kept an eye on him. It took a few days and cost me most of the gold I had left, but I found where he lived. I tracked him to his stable one day and watched while he slaughtered a varanus. When he was done, he tossed his cleaver aside and went inside to rest. I stole it and an old spade I found leaning against a stall. That same night I put his lessons to use.”

  “Huh.” Isolde scratched her chin.

  “What is it, Lady?” Murdoch’s voice so near my shoulder startled me.

  Isolde dropped her hand, balling her fist. “Call me that one more time, Murdoch, and I’ll—”

  “Mother, do try not to pick fights at the table.” The sound of Vaughn’s voice made her chest swell. I fancied I could see love pouring in to fill her heart to bursting. Such was her love of him.

  “Finally decided to join us, eh?” She indicated her empty plate and lifted her drained goblet.

  “I apologize for the delay.” His smile flashed the tips of his fangs, and Mana flushed.

  Skirting her husband, Mana approached Isolde. “You had to have your way, I see.”

  “I fixed the problem.” Isolde patted her head. “I like it.”

  Mana ran a few strands between her fingers. “We agreed I would apply a suitable shade.”

  “Suitable shade. Bah.” Isolde slapped Mana’s hand aside. “You took too long.”

  “You asked me yesterday.” Mana looked to her husband for help, but Vaughn was grinning.

  Isolde had the grace to glance aside. “Blasted plague sucked the life out of me. I tired of that white fluff. Before the plague, I had some color. My hair was steel gray, and it complemented my sword. White complements nothing and no one. Now black, that’s a fine shade for a Mimetidae.”

  “Steel gray, we can do.” Mana searched out Nerys. “After dinner, we’ll discuss our options.”

  Confusion swirled through my head until I had to shake it clear. “You survived the plague?”
<
br />   “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” Isolde smoothed hands down her sides and hips.

  “That’s not possible,” I said dumbly. Yet there Isolde sat with no detractors.

  Amusement leached from her face. “Careful who you accuse of lying, girl.”

  “Forgive her, La—Isolde.” Murdoch braced my shoulder. “She speaks before thinking.”

  His grip squeezed an apology from me. “I meant no disrespect.”

  Isolde toyed with the fork by her plate as if checking the balance of a dart she might throw.

  “Murdoch, fix Kaidi a plate and take her to her room.” Vaughn rubbed his temples. “Mother, put down the fork. Hishima won’t be as quick to negotiate if his beloved is pricked full of holes.”

  Her fork clattered to the table. Murdoch snatched me from my seat. Mana’s expression made me wince. I had shamed my hostess. I was ruining the goodwill she was busy cultivating for me. I hadn’t meant to act so ungrateful, but Isolde’s bold claim shattered all my intentions to behave.

  One did not simply survive the plague. It was not an illness. It was a metamorphosis.

  No life it touched was left unchanged.

  Chapter 5

  “Seven days.” Murdoch paced his bedroom from end to end. “Seven days.”

  I sat at his desk, savoring a vegetable medley between bites of a meaty substance I could not identify.

  “Must you remind me?” It was hard enough to silence my own reminders, let alone his.

  “You ignored my advice, all of it, every scrap.” Murdoch stopped with his legs braced apart. “What’s worse is Isolde liked you. She engaged you. But what did you do? You insulted her.”

  “Did she truly survive the plague?” I had to know.

  He flung his arm toward the door. “You saw her with your own eyes.”

  “But did I see a female who survived infection, or did I see a female immune to the sickness? I asked Isolde, and you both claim I insulted her. I meant no disrespect. I only want the answer.”

  Murdoch let his arm drop. “She was infected. All the females here save Nerys fell ill within days of one another. Those sick longest passed first. The others were poised to die when a…” He paused. “A miracle saved the lives of the others. Isolde recovered, but it was a very near thing.”