by Kara Jaynes
Bran stared at him. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that.” He headed for the tent flap.
“Do you think she’s all right?” Kenroc asked suddenly. “Adaryn?”
Bran paused, considering the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. He smiled over his shoulder at the older man. “But this is Adaryn we’re talking about. If things aren’t going her way, she’ll change that soon enough.”
“That’s true.” Kenroc grinned back, but his eyes still looked worried. “Be careful, Bran.”
Bran crawled out into the cold twilight. A cold breeze had sprung up, but Bran hardly noticed. He’d chosen his path and would follow it to its end. Saddling Star, he rode toward Ruis.
24
Grace
Grace climbed down the attic ladder, brushing dust from her skirts. It’d felt like an eternity since she and Bran had hid there, eating food she’d filched from the kitchen. She still went up there to be alone, to remember their time together. She missed him fiercely. She and Father had arrived home the day before. He was upset with her trying to approach the nomads for help. I understand your wanting to help, he’d told her, but this isn’t your responsibility and I won’t have you put yourself in needless danger.
Donning a cream-colored jacket, she wandered out into the gardens. The unrest had grown even greater in the city, and in light of her running away, her father had forbidden her to leave the property. Grace pushed her lip out petulantly at the thought, then grimaced. Her father was only trying to protect her. At any rate, she’d done a poor job of taking care of herself.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. In a couple of weeks, spring would be upon Ruis, according to the calendar, but it was still cold and snowy.
She trudged down a gravel path, thinking of her father’s predicament. People were still going missing. Mostly children, but some adults as well. It wasn’t daily, but frequently enough that the entire city was now on edge. Riots were out of control, and some people were calling the city to repentance. Many were coming to the conclusion that the nomads were behind the disappearances and were now clamoring for retribution.
Was it Donell? No. She shook her head as soon as the thought occurred to her. Bran was certain that it wasn’t him, and she trusted Bran.
What should she do now? “I need to consider my options,” she said aloud, then frowned. She had no options. Her father told her to stay home, Bran was going to take his people south, and that was that. Her lip wobbled.
Maybe she should go south, too. She almost laughed aloud. It was perfect! She would go visit her aunt Luna in Sen Altare, and if she happened to meet up with Bran there, well, she could hardly be blamed for that. Her father would leap at the opportunity to get her to safety. After all, who was to say she wouldn’t be taken by the mysterious kidnapper if she stayed in Ruis? She wasn’t a child, but still . . .
She turned and walked back to the house, her steps feeling much lighter. She would ask her father immediately.
25
Bran
Bran waited until dawn to enter the city, when the gates were open to allow farmers and merchants to enter Ruis. Bran heeled Star to the middle of one of the crowds, hooded and cloaked, shoulders hunched. Nomads weren’t exactly forbidden from entering the city, but he didn’t want to attract any attention. He dismounted once in the city, leading Star by the reins.
With its customary fog of factory smoke, steam and dust, Ruis was as busy as ever, even with the absence of nomads. There were still a few, here and there, but no collars to be seen. Bran smirked, thinking of Aaric. The man was scatterbrained and eccentric, but he’d shown honor when he destroyed the Tower, rendering the collars useless.
“End the oppression! Equality for all!” A woman stood in the street passing out papers as she cried out. Bran had heard about the nomad sympathizers, but she didn’t look any different from the other Oppressors. She smiled warmly as Bran approached, taking in his nomad garb. She handed him a paper. “We’ll see the day when the people of Ruis and the nomads will stand as equals, together.”
Bran smiled awkwardly and continued on, shoving the paper in his pocket. He hoped there were more people in Ruis like her.
He paused when he reached the Flores residence. The manor was an old, massive, rambling structure of brick with ivy climbing up the walls. An intricately designed iron fence enclosed the property with a bell at the gate. Bran had always climbed over it, except for the time he attended the Winter Social, taking care to not disturb the magic that Lord Flores had set on it—probably by his own servants or by paying other nobles to have their slaves do it.
No sneaking today, however. Still leading his black stallion by the reins, Bran marched up to the bell and rang it. A deep-throated clang sounded. A young man darted out from under the eaves and ran to the gate. Bran was pleased to see he was an Oppressor, not a nomad. “You have an appointment with Lord Flores?”
“Not exactly,” Bran said, “but I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
The youth looked bored. “You must have a signed letter by a magistrate if you wish to see him, sir. It’s protocol.”
“Hang protocol!” Bran pressed his face against the slats of the gate, scowling at the youth. “I’m here to end the kidnappings. If you don’t let me in, boy, Lord Flores will be very upset with you, I can promise that.” Probably, anyway.
The young man stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, then nodded and unlocked the gate, ushering him inside. “Please follow me, sir.” He led Bran down a white and rose-colored gravel walkway to the manor’s front doors and inside.
The house was staggering in its decor. The rugs were so thick Bran’s feet sank as he walked across them. Huge elaborate paintings hung on the walls in gilded frames. The furniture was mahogany and many of the windows were over five feet tall. Bran had gaped in amazement at it all when he’d come for the Winter Social, but not now. He kept his eyes on the back of the youth escorting him to the magistrate. He had only one objective today: to gain Lord Flores’ trust.
The boy stopped at a well-polished door on the second story. He knocked smartly, and opened at Lord Flores’ command to enter.
Bran pushed past the youth and entered what looked to be a study. It was probably just as richly decorated at the rest of the house, but Bran only had eyes for the books.
Countless books lined several shelves, making up two walls of the study. It was more books than he’d read in his lifetime, more than his entire clan had read in his lifetime. Jealousy ripped through him before he pushed it firmly away. His clan would probably never see that many books, ever. It wasn’t fair.
“This is a surprise.” Lord Flores was seated in a comfortable-looking chair at a large desk, papers neatly stacked to one side. He placed the book he’d been reading next to the stack. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
Bran folded his arms, watching the older man closely. He’d bet the sky jewel that Lord Flores had a loaded gun in reaching distance and was prepared to use it. “I came to offer you my assistance.”
Lord Flores motioned to a hard-backed chair on the other side of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand, thank you.” Bran tried to ease some of the stiffness out his voice without success.
Lord Flores’ lips quirked upward in a small smile. “This may take a while. Please, sit.”
Bran hesitated for a moment longer, then complied. The chair was rock hard, and he hoped this discussion didn’t take too long for his rear end’s sake.
“What assistance do you hope to offer, and why?” Lord Flores asked. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you. After all, one of your men almost killed my daughter. Twice.”
“I’m here to help you discover who is behind the kidnappings,” Bran explained, “and to discover the reason behind it.”
Grace’s father snorted. “I agree, it’s obviously imperative that we discover who is behind the kidnappings. But why would I allow you to help?”
>
“Because you’ve failed.” Bran winced inwardly. That came out harsher than he intended. He tried again. “If you haven’t been able to discover who’s behind the disappearances, than maybe my magic will help.”
Lord Flores regarded him, his expression thoughtful. He steepled his fingers. “The other magistrates would have grave misgivings if I were to accept aid from a rover. However,” he frowned, “you’re right. We’re no closer to solving this mystery than before. But why would you want to help us? After everything we’ve done? Don’t look at me like that,” he growled. “I know the name you give us. Oppressors. For enslaving you. For tearing your families apart, subjecting your people to our whims and desires. So I ask again, why would you want to help us?”
Because I love your daughter. He couldn’t say that, so he told him the second half of the truth. “No child deserves to be taken from a loving family.” He paused. “I assume the parents weren’t happy to find them gone?”
“Very unhappy.” Lord Flores rubbed his face tiredly. “A gross understatement. I have mothers and fathers demanding to know when their lost children will be found, and other parents demanding I double the guard so their children won’t be taken. I’ve almost tripled the night watch but it doesn’t help.”
“If they’ve been taken by some means of magic,” Bran said, “then I may be able to use my own magic to track them.”
Lord Flores sighed, looking older than he was. “I want to trust you. But how?”
This was it. Bran swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself. But if his people went south, there would be nothing for them to fear. He stood and, untying the cord around his neck, handed the blue jewel to Lord Flores. “By taking this. I can wield magic without it, but I’m not nearly as powerful without its aid. It’s a sign of my trust. I would, however, like it back, after I’ve solved this problem for you.”
“Is this . . .” Lord Flores trailed off, staring at the sky jewel, his expression one of shock. He took the gem almost reverently. “Baldwin spoke of this. He spent years of his life trying to find one, but was never successful.”
“Who’s Baldwin?”
“Mr. Wright’s father. He passed away many years ago.” Grace’s father was still staring at the jewel, holding it gently in one hand. He arched an eyebrow, a wry smile on his face. “You’ve certainly proven your trust—”
“Bran? What are you doing here?” Both men turned to see Grace standing in the doorway. She was dressed for the outdoors, and still had snow and mud on the hem of her dress. Her gaze moved from Bran to her father, and then down to the blue shard in her father’s hand. Her eyes widened in horror. “Bran, what have you done?” It came out a whisper.
“I’m here to help, Grace. Miss Grace,” he amended hastily, standing. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess in Ruis.”
“Give it back, Father.” Grace ignored Bran completely, marching up to stand before Lord Flores’ desk, hands on her hips. “You have no right to take what isn’t yours. The nomads are no longer our slaves. They’re people too.”
Lord Flores eyed her shrewdly, his gaze flickering between her and Bran. “He gave it to me, Grace,” he said mildly. “‘A sign of his trust,’ as he puts it.”
“Bran isn’t stupid enough to give away his most prized possession,” Grace snorted, crossing her arms. “He protects his own with his life.”
“Like he protected you?”
Bran gulped. Skies above, he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Lord Flores was no fool. He’d seen Bran’s heart. He considered leaping across the desk to take the sky jewel and make a break for it, but discarded the thought immediately. He wouldn’t abandon Grace again.
“Yes.” Grace’s chin jutted out defiantly. “He loves me, Father, and I love him too. I plan to marry him.”
Bran stared at her, stunned. She was proposing to him? That was definitely not the nomad way.
Lord Flores threw his head back, laughing heartily. He beamed at his daughter. “You always know how to make me laugh, Grace.”
“This isn’t a joke, Father,” Grace snapped, her back stiffening. “I love him. I always have. He’s a good man, strong, and he tries to do what’s right. And he’s gorgeous.” She muttered the last bit under her breath, but standing next to her, Bran heard it.
“The man doesn’t have a penny to his name.” Lord Flores was still smiling, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. “And he’s a rover.”
“I don’t care. I love him and he’s mine. You know the laws, Father. I can marry whomever I choose, if he’ll have me.” She shot Bran a look that said he’d regret it if he wouldn’t have her.
“I made the law!” Lord Flores wasn’t smiling anymore, and he stood to loom over his daughter. “And I am more than capable of changing it. You know nothing about this man, Grace.”
Bran moved to stand protectively in front of Grace and Lord Flores glared at him. “Don’t get involved, rover. This is family business.”
“I know more about Bran than you do!” Grace barked at her father. She stepped around Bran, shaking a finger under her father’s nose. “He’s a man of character, with integrity and honor. He’s better than all the idiotic nobles in Ruis combined.” She tried to snatch the sky jewel but her father held it away from her. “Give the jewel back, Father.”
“If Bran’s as honorable as you say,” the magistrate said smoothly, “then he’ll get this back in due time. He said he would help us, and I intend to have him keep his word.”
“You’re going to help us?” Grace spun around, a smile on her face. She clasped her hands together. “I knew you’d see sense, you dear.”
Lord Flores stood. “If you would leave us, Gracie, Bran and I have some details to work out. And don’t tell your mother about this. You know how she is about nomads.”
“All right, but you’d better return the shard when this is all over,” Grace said, but there was no longer any heat in her words. “I came to ask if I could go visit my auntie, but I’ve changed my mind.” Still smiling, Grace patted Bran on the arm as she glided past him, leaving the two men alone again.
Lord Flores eyed Bran warily as he sat again, settling back in his chair. “Do you love her?”
“Yes,” Bran replied.
“How long?”
“Since I met her in Sen Altare,” Bran said, and the magistrate snorted disapprovingly.
“My sister, Luna, is entirely too free-spirited. She was always one to spoil her niece and allow her to spend her time with whomever she liked, as well as let her do whatever she pleased. I shouldn’t be surprised.” He smoothed his mustache, muttering under his breath. Bran caught the words ‘Luna,’ and ‘headstrong’ and ‘fool.’
“What do you think of nomads, sir?” Bran asked.
Lord Flores’ brow furrowed. “Why do you ask? I’m an ‘Oppressor,’ I would think you would already have an opinion on what I think of nomads.”
“You’re. . . not like the others.” Bran shrugged.
Lord Flores was silent for a minute. His eyes looked through and past Bran. “I’m . . . not like Kingsley and the other magistrates,” he admitted at last. “Nomads seem backwater and strange, I’ll be the first to say it, but I’ve never approved of slavery.”
“But you kept slaves,” Bran protested. “Why would you live against your convictions?”
Lord Flores shrugged. “I conformed to social standards so my family could thrive in Ruis.” His lips thinned. “I could have left, like my sister did, but I decided to stay and see what I could do to improve the city as a magistrate. With Kingsley as head magistrate, however, I had to keep my opinions to myself, but I think, with time, Ruis will come around.” He shuffled the stack of papers on his desk. “And while I kept slaves, I made sure to treat them with dignity as well as pay them for their service.”
Bran felt compelled to point out slavery was never dignified, but Lord Flores spoke again. “Grace is right,” he said, peering at the nomad with a considering expression. “Laws are such that p
eople are free to marry whom they will. Don’t mess this up, Bran.”
“I don’t plan to,” Bran said evenly, watching the magistrate just as closely.
Grace’s father stood, smiling in a way that seemed almost kind. “You can choose to stay in the stables, or down in the city barracks. There’s no way on this good green earth that’ll I let you stay in the house. You understand, of course.”
Bran nodded stiffly. “I don’t require your assistance. I’ll find somewhere to stay on my own.” He turned and opened the door to leave.
“What do your people think of this, Bran? Of helping their enemies?”
“They don’t approve,” Bran replied, trying to ignore the stab of loss he felt in his chest. “They’re on their way to Sen Altare.”
“You would leave your people?”
“I would save the children of Ruis.” Bran strode away, fists clenched at his side. What was done was done. He just hoped his clan would still accept him after all was said and done.
26
Bran
A few nights later, Bran rose to his feet, shoving his rucksack under some straw. He’d slept in the loft of an inn’s stable a few streets away from the Flores home. His pride wouldn’t allow the magistrate to dictate where he slept, so he’d hidden himself here.
Stretching his arms above his head, Bran yawned until his jaw felt like it might crack, then climbed down from the loft and out into the cold, night air. With it being this close to midnight, most people were indoors, but there were still a surprising number of people out.
Bran set off at a jog through the city, making his way down to the lower district. The air had an ominous feel to it and people gave each other a wide berth. Word of the disappearances was impossible to keep secret in a city this big and word had spread like fire. Everyone walked quickly with heads down and shoulders hunched.