Van groaned at the suggestion of more walking.
Elmot scrunched his forehead in thought, recalling one of his maps. “It must be where people who don’t live here in the downtown go after their day is done. That area would be more centrally located to the farms, drawing people in from the surrounding rural areas. It’s off a main route.”
“Take only your coin pouches,” Jorie commanded, “and a carefully hidden weapon, if you have one. We want to try and blend as much as possible.”
Before Van dashed to her room, she noticed that Jorie wasn’t wearing Zachery. She snickered, imagining Jorie tucking the axe safely into bed after singing it a lullaby.
Van grabbed her coin pouch and her Twin Gemstone, and, instead of getting a weapon—which she didn’t have—she used a tissue to lift the bloodstained patch from the binding of the text and slipped it into her pocket.
The Grotto, a large rectangular dwelling, featured exposed wood and was crowded with what must have been the region’s entire population. Van could barely make out the mural of feasting lords and maidens covering the far wall. In one corner, three brawny men dressed in burlap shirts huddled together at a table, deep in conversation as they mowed down trays of what looked like enormous turkey legs. A circle of hearty women with flushed cheeks, wearing worn farm dresses, sat around a stone fireplace, drinking from tin cups. A bone-thin waitress wearing an ill-fitted, high-waisted wool dress handed out frothy mugs at a table of men playing cards.
“Spread out,” Jorie instructed, “so we’re not so intimidating. Get as much information as you can without being obvious. Afterward, we’ll gather for dinner and share what we find.”
Paley groaned. “I want to eat now.”
Van, Paley, and Brux tried to stick together, but Jorie shooed them apart.
“Go make some friends,” she commanded.
In a flash, Paley was off in search of food.
Brux wandered away, but as soon as Jorie left, he circled back around to Van.
Her heart whirled.
“Something’s up,” he said. “What’s going on with you?”
How did he know? Van flushed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumbled tissue that held the patch. She told Brux how she’d gotten it. “I’m going to ask around to see if anyone recognizes what uniform this patch came from or knows this Rogziel guy—he was involved in the attack on Prince Devon. He knows something about my father, I’m sure of it.”
Brux frowned.
“Oh, I know,” Van said. “It’s a long shot.”
“It’s not that,” Brux said. “It's probably not a good idea to go around asking strangers about a Balish soldier’s bloody patch.” Before Van could object, he added, “You don’t have to ask around. I know what kind of uniform that patch came from. Van . . . your father’s page name . . . it’s Rogziel.”
Van felt stunned. The patch was from her father’s uniform! Her father had taken her mother’s last name of Cross in marriage, because it was the custom of Lodians. Now that her father had sided with the Balish, he obviously wanted to take his page name back. She understood everything. Brux didn’t have to explain. He tried to, anyway.
“When your stepmother married your father, they chose to follow the Balish custom of Genie taking Michael’s last name.”
“You’re saying he loved Genie enough to ditch the Lodian tradition for his Balish bride?”
“No, Van. What I’m saying is—how is it possible you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Van gaped at him, ill at ease. “I know people think my father killed my mother! It’s no secret that everyone, including the Elders, was against their marriage. He was a commoner, and she was royal. I mean, what else is there? What?”
“It wasn’t simply because he was a commoner,” Brux said. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Van. Your father . . . he’s Balish.” Brux sounded as if he were announcing a death. “Part Balish, from his grandfather, who defected from Aduro to Salus Valde. That’s why the Elders were against Michael’s marriage to Aelia. He diluted the Cross royal bloodline—your bloodline. Remember, it’s considered a disgrace to dilute a pure Lodian bloodline, an act against the Elementals that could cause the Lodians to fall out of favor with them. If we fall out of favor . . . well, the Elementals are the binders of Manik’s law.”
Van felt tainted. Contaminated. “How can I be a contender for the Anchoress-in-Waiting, then? I’m . . . I’m not . . . pure.”
“Pure-blooded, you mean. The Anchoress bloodline is carried through the female’s lineage. You could still carry the magic from Aelia—if your mother was the Anchoress-in-Waiting, which she may well have been. Until your father pollut—ah, diluted it.”
Van stared Brux in the eyes. “Did he kill her?” she asked.
Brux’s lips formed a stern line.
“Did he?”
“It is the common belief,” Brux said grimly. “No one could prove it, though.”
“And the patch?” Van asked, despite feeling sick inside.
“It’s from a Balish Palace Guard uniform. If Wiglaf gave it to you, if it is your father’s, Van, I’m sorry. It means he’s dead.”
“Why would you say something like that?” Van blasted. “You’re such a jerk. You don’t know anything!”
“Listen to me, Van,” Brux pleaded. “Uxa told me there were no survivors the night Prince Devon was attacked. All bodies involved in the ambush have been accounted for, all of them.”
Van whimpered like a tortured animal.
“And if Wiglaf—”
“You’re an ass,” spat Van. “Stay away from me!”
Several men near them glanced their way, as Van whirled from Brux to hide her teary eyes and stomped away. Brux was pureblooded; they could never be together anyway. In this world, purebloods married purebloods. And that was fine. She would never do what her father did—contaminate the heir of a royal bloodline with her impure blood.
Van was so angry, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to save her father’s soul anymore. But she still wanted the Coin. To spite him! How could he have hurt my mother like that? Hurt me? He’d never cared about either of them. No wonder he married Genie, another Bale! The rumors about him were true. He was a money-grubbing traitor!
Van refocused on her mission and surveyed the room. She felt awkward about walking up to a stranger to start a conversation. She wandered through the crowd, trying to find someone approachable, but ended up in the far corner of the eatery alone.
Van doubted that Paley had done any better and felt disheartened to see her with two boys plying her with food and drink. Van scanned the room for the others, figuring she couldn’t be the only loser who couldn’t connect. But they had all succeeded: Trey had joined the men playing cards; Elmot stood at the bar, showing off his maps to a few patrons; and Jorie was arm-wrestling a beefy man, surrounded by a crowd placing bets. Brux, to her dismay, had also done well, drinking with four giggling girls who seemed enamored by his attention.
“Why so glum?” asked a voice behind her.
Startled, Van turned and said, “I, um, sorry, I—didn’t see you there.”
A thin man with salt-and-pepper hair leaned back in a wooden chair propped against the wall. He wore a full-length leather overcoat, breeches, and calf-length boots. He leaned forward, slamming the chair down onto all fours, and said, “Not from ’round here, either, huh?”
“No, I—wait, you’re a traveler, too?”
“Yup.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Len Fleeceman. Traveling peddler. On my way to Nickelbury. Made a quick pit stop here for some food and drink. I’ve an excellent assortment of merchandise. Top quality.” His smile reached his ears, displaying clean white teeth.
She shook Len’s hand. “Van.”
“So, what brings you ’round these parts, Van? Not much up here for marketier’s scouts. You lost? Or just passin’ through?”
It never ceased to amaze Van that their clothes, ages, and mannerisms worked so well with their
cover story. “We’re staying at Ox’s bunkhouse. Are you staying there, too?” As soon the words came out of Van’s mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. For one thing, she had just told a stranger where she was staying. For another, she already knew the bunkhouse had no other guests. It deflated her ego to realize how bad she was at conversing with new people.
“We’re after the Runestar,” she said, digging an even deeper ditch for herself. “There’s a rumor it surfaced in Fomalhaut.” Van hoped for a save by adding this last bit of information, which would get him talking about the Fomalhaut region and maybe the Coin.
Len snort-chuckled, spraying from his nostrils. “Now, where’d you hear that from?” He laughed. “Never mind.” He used his sleeve to wipe his nose. “Lemme fill you in on a little secret.” He leaned closer. “The Runestar’s not in Fomalhaut.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope. I’ve got the Runestar,” he said, beating his thumb against his chest. “It’s out back, in my cart.” Len opened a backdoor next to where they stood. “Come have a look-see.”
Len seemed like a pretty decent guy, and Van wanted to snag this opportunity to prove she wasn’t so useless after all. Even if Len didn’t have the real Runestar, if she bought something, it might get him talking about the Coin. As a traveling peddler who was familiar with artifacts created around the time of the Dark War, he’d have loads of useful information.
She followed Len out of the eatery and into a dark alley.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Day 6: 7:35 p.m., Living World
The door clicked shut behind Van, locking her out. She immediately realized the folly of trailing after a stranger into a deserted alley. Now, she could only go deeper into the blackness. She inched forward, barely able to make out Len in the moonlight.
He seemed to wave his arm at her. “This way. Follow me. Not far.”
She kept moving but lost sight of him. “Len?” A scuffling noise behind her broke the silence. She twisted around, squinting in the darkness. “Le—”
Someone grabbed her from the front and clasped a hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. Van tried to squirm, but his grip tightened. He shoved her against the wall in the alley. “Why in the name of the Light are you following some strange man out of the eatery?” Brux growled. “Do you have a death wish?”
Van figured he must have slipped out the door before it closed. Brux loosened his hand, but before she answered, Len lit a torch from his cart parked on the street.
“Everything okay?” Len called back. “Didn’t lose you, did I? Oh, I see you brought a friend. Good! Good! I’ve plenty of merchandise to go ’round. Come on. No need to be shy.” He waved them over to view his wares.
Van glared at Brux, wriggled out of his grasp, and marched toward Len’s cart.
“Any more friends you want to bring over’s fine with me,” Len said. He opened the sides of his cart, lit torches on both sides, and then fussed with the arrangement of his merchandise. “You wanna bring high-quality merchandise home to your parents, I got the selection. I’ll sell cheap—wholesale. Make your parents proud.”
“Where’s the Runestar?” Van threw Brux a smug glance. “He said he has the Runestar.”
“Yeah, sure he does,” Brux said sarcastically.
“Right here,” Len said, handing a piece of jewelry to Brux.
Van wandered to the other side of the cart. Most of what Len had for sale was junk, but Van noticed a book peeking out from under some scarves. Its binding looked similar to the binding of Manik’s text. She pulled it out. “Aw. Cool.” It was a translation manual for the Language of the Ancients.
She overheard Brux snarl, “This is a fake.”
Van hurried back around the cart.
Brux clutched Len’s jacket with one hand and held a dagger to his throat with the other. “What’re you trying to pull?” Brux snarled. “Why did you lure Van outside?”
“Brux, take it easy. He may be able to tell us about the Coin.” Van bent down and picked up the Runestar. If Uxa hadn’t shown her a picture of the real thing, she might have thought it was genuine. Not interested in forged jewelry, she tossed the brooch back onto the cart.
“Don’t—know—nothin’ ’bout—any coin,” Len croaked.
“Brux!” Van stomped over. “LET HIM GO!”
Then she felt it. Before Len gasped and Brux dropped his hands, her eyes had flashed their phosphorescent violet sheen.
“Y-Your eyes!” Len exclaimed, dropping to his knees. “It’s my honor, Princess of the Eternal Light.”
“What are you doing?” Van asked uncomfortably. “Knock it off.”
“As you wish, my princess.” Len rose.
“The violet phosphorescence in your eyes is a mark of the Anchoress bloodline,” Brux said. He sounded baffled. “It must be some kind of mistake.”
Van knew Brux had gone back to thinking his sister was the Anchoress heir.
“There’s no mistake, my princess,” Len said.
“Why do you keep calling me a princess?” Van asked, perturbed.
“You are the descendent of Queen Amaryl,” Len said. “After the Dark War, Salus Valde became a democracy to hide the royal Lodian bloodlines from the Balish. Royalty will always be royalty to us devoted Manikists, yes. I knew you existed—the Anchoress-in-Waiting. I knew it, yes.”
“What’s a Manikist?” Van inquired, crunching her brow.
Brux piped up, “They’re an underground movement of Lodian supporters who live in Balish-occupied territory. They believe the Anchoress bloodline survived the Dark War.”
“Like Hertha?” Van asked.
Brux nodded.
“Oh, we’re much more than that!” Len said. “Much more! Yes.”
His steadfast stare made Van uneasy.
“Manikists are antiestablishment,” Len continued. “We believe the same as King Manik Moor did—in peace and harmony between the tribes, allowing freedom of beliefs. Queen Brigid petitioned to have the Veridicus Libellus destroyed because she believed in the writings of Manik’s text. That the Anchoress heir exists and poses a threat to the Balish rule. Passed her beliefs on to her daughter, I hear. None of the other Balish royals, including her husband or the Balish Counsil, would listen to the queen because she got her information from an ancient text written by an insane Lodian sympathizer.”
“And because she was a woman,” Brux said. “Under Balish rule, females usually have little power, virtually no say in policies of the kingdom.”
Van could tell he was still trying to figure out Len’s angle.
“When the queen continued to voice her concerns,” Len said, “the other royals accused her of being a Manikist, which she was not.”
“It makes sense the queen would be pro-Manik,” Van said, confused. “The Balish royal family are Manik’s descendants.”
“The Moors only believe in money and power,” Brux said. “Nothing else.”
Len leaned in and whispered, “There’s also an anti-Manik underground. Their members are Balish. They believe in the Moor family as the rightful monarchs, but they worship Goustav Moor. They are certain he had a child. They’re acting up right now, searching for his heir, who would be the rightful ruler of the Balish Kingdom. The queen’s death—it wasn’t from a broken heart. You best be careful, my princess.”
“Tell us everything you know about the Coin of Creation,” Brux demanded.
Len stared unwaveringly at Van. “Is that as you wish, my princess?”
Van nodded to placate Brux, despite thinking they didn't need anything from this nutjob.
“Ah, the Coin. I understand why you would want to retrieve your weapon, now that demons have reached our world.” He paused, as if deciding where to begin, then continued. “The Elementals realized early on that the Coin was too powerful for mortals to handle. They took it away, kept in on Mt. Altithronia under their watch, until it needed to be retrieved by the Anchoress-in-Waiting during a time of great emergency. That time did come �
��round again. During the Great War. Queen Cordelia, who carried the Eternal Light of the Anchoress bloodline at the time, retrieved the Coin from the Elementals. She planned to use the Coin’s power against the Balish. She believed it was her responsibility to end the war before demons gained enough strength to rise into our world.”
Van recalled hearing about the Great War between the Lodians and the Balish, which drew demons to the Living World, turning the Great War into the Dark War. She knew Queen Cordelia had not succeeded. Van wanted to know why. Surprisingly, Len had some useful information after all.
“On her way back,” Len continued, “Queen Cordelia was attacked and killed by the Balish at the foot of Mt. Altithronia before she could learn how to correctly harness the Coin’s magic. The Eternal Light of the Anchoress passed to her eldest daughter, Amaryl, who then became the Anchoress Queen.”
“And the Coin?” Van urged.
“The Coin made its way to Amaryl, but,” Len sighed and shook his head, “she was too inexperienced to use it. As you well know, demons did make it to our world, and Amaryl relinquished her power by handing the Coin over to Goustav, who stepped in and saved the day. We all know how that turned out.” Len rolled his eyes.
“The Rebellion,” Van muttered. “When Goustav took the Balish Kingdom away from his brother, Manik.”
“After that fiasco, Manik and the Elementals hid the Coin,” Len said. “It was one of Manik’s conditions before handing the kingdom, and his son, over to his brother. That, and putting his law in place.”
Brux protectively shifted toward Van, as Len’s intensity deepened.
“The Coin, my princess . . . , ” Len said. “Manik saw firsthand how its power could corrupt. With the help of the Elementals, he made the Coin so difficult to find that in order to survive the retrieval journey, the Anchoress-in-Waiting would have to prove herself worthy of controlling its power.” Len lowered his voice and leaned forward.
Brux held up his hand to stop Len from getting too close to Van.
“If you ask me—I think Manik hid the Coin the way he did . . . and the Balish confiscated all the Grigori records back then and controlled what was written afterward, even to this day . . . because what really went down during the Dark War was not what the Balish say. Something happened back then, something the Balish royal family considers a threat, something that gives the Lodians power.” Len hesitated, as if he’d said too much.
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