Examining it briefly, wiping away some of the blood from his face to give her a second to look before more blood oozes out, Birka clicks her tongue at him. "That's a nasty knife wound. I'll fix it, but I hope Ida likes the rugged look on a man."
"What?" Glenn's question comes out garbled through the flapping skin that once had been an intact cheek.
"Shush, dear. This will hurt a bit." Birka uses two fingers to make some kind of miniature symbol in the air over one of her rings, and the jade center gem flares into a brilliant light. She sweeps the narrow, pinkish light over the length of his gash, and where it touches him, his cut flesh knits together before my eyes.
I let out a low whistle, impressed. I'd love to say it left him no worse for wear, but in truth, the healing cut leaves a slight scar.
Ida frantically scrubs his face with a cloth and water from a cup that quickly turns pinkish-red from his blood. No matter how hard she scrubs, the stubborn scar remains. Her eyes brimming with tears, she says under her breath over and over, "I'm so sorry..."
Glenn finally jerks his face away, apparently tired of having his tender scar scrubbed vigorously, even if it's by Ida. "Stop that. It's not going away, not until we get Mortals Landing back and can find someone with a proper healing Gift."
Ignoring Ida's crestfallen expression, he turns to Birka. "That's some ring. Are there more? I want one."
She shakes her head and gives him a wan smile. "Sorry, love. I inherited this one, a gift to my father from some powerful Eastern healer."
"Damn."
Birka twists the ring around her finger. "Many of our people with the Gift of healing work with artificers, so I'm sure you can find something similar. They'll each be different, though. Mine leaves the scar pink and vivid. I heard of another one that makes the 'patient' lose their teeth the first time it heals them, so it could be worse—"
"Enough," I cut in. "How did you get that cut? You were supposed to reach that rebel band without being seen doing it. Now you know why."
"Shows what you know." He rolls his eyes at me. "I wasn't followed. The rebels did this, not Dawson or Luna's people. But I wouldn't exactly call it a 'band' of rebels anymore, now that I've seen them."
"What do you mean?" I cock my head, confused and with no patience for riddles at the moment.
"It turns out, only two were left."
I stare at him.
Birka looks back and forth between us for a moment and then says, "Wait. How did you get cut up so badly if there were only two of these so-called rebels?"
I purse my lips, but then I add, "And how could Meredith's information have been so wrong about how many there are?"
He looks down at the floor and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I, uh, when I went in... I wasn't as careful as I should have been. They didn't know who I was at first, and I got cut before we could make a proper introduction."
Ida lets out a chirp-like noise and glares at him, and I think the only reason she doesn’t rush him is that Luka still has her in his vice-like shoulder grasp. She looks both terrified and angry, a mix of feelings I know pretty well these days—the price of loving a warrior.
With his gaze locked onto Ida's, he continues, "More important than some flesh wound, though, is the fact that Meredith's intel wasn't wrong. There were two dozen of them hiding out and fighting back from the shadows, right up until yesterday. And they know of other resistance bands."
I raise one eyebrow at him, wishing he'd stop pausing for dramatic effect. "Then what happened?"
"Three days ago, they lost a couple people when they raided a Wraith armory for some nifty magic toys that would help them a lot in this fight. Yesterday, they say, one of their lost came back to their safe house looking no worse for wear. They'd watched him get zapped with a lightning bolt, but he showed no signs of it."
Birka's lip curls back in a snarl. "They brought him in, inviting him through their wards, right?"
I blink rapidly, surprised. "What does it matter if he was invited in? Wasn't it his house to begin with?"
Birka glances at Glenn, then faces me directly. "Their friend died. Dawson brought him back to life with his damn machine and my son."
Glenn nods. "Yeah. The magic in their wards wouldn't have recognized him and whatever defensive runes they laid out would have gone off, but not once they invited him in."
I take a step forward and lean toward him, riveted and waiting for the inevitable conclusion to this horror story. I know the answer, but find myself asking anyway, "What happened to the rest of them, then?"
Glenn looks up from where he'd been staring at the floor and his gaze meets mine. "He was a shielder. His Gift let him shield anyone from almost any danger for a moment, including himself. Once inside, he dropped a couple live grenades and threw his shield up. When the dust cleared, the nest of rebels was mostly dead, their revenant once-upon-a-time friend was gone, and the four survivors disagreed on what to do next so they split up. Two left to find a new hideout, while the other two went to the group's fallback hideout thinking no one would look for them there."
"They were wrong, I take it." Dawson is nothing if not thorough.
Glenn nods. "Yeah. A death squad shot them dead as they came up to the hideout, or so the two survivors figured from the bogus news story that covered up the double murder."
Birka's shoulders seem to slump, and she lets out a long, tired-sounding breath. "That's horrible."
Glenn purses his lips. "That's what I said, actually. A bit of an understatement, but true."
She snorts at him. "The real tragedy is knowing what we could have done with twenty new fighters backing us up."
“I did say they know of other bands. They’re reaching out for us already, but it’ll take time and there are no guarantees.”
I watch Birka's eyes glaze over as she goes to some other time and place, and I imagine her daydreaming about having followers again. It makes me a bit sad to think that, though. All too recently, she probably had twenty people under her just to maintain her manor's grounds and keep it clean.
It's amazing how much things have changed in so little time.
Ida and I spend a little time telling Glenn that his scar looks good—but not too good. He needs a morale bump, true, but he already has the biggest ego ever. I don't want to over-inflate it even more.
It's a fine line, being there for a friend with a big ego. Unlike me and my limited emotional IQ, Ida has no problem shoveling compliments on him. I hope I navigated the problem well, but I don't have much experience dealing with people on that level.
When he heads to his room a while later, he does seem less upset about it, which is a big relief. I need his mind on the problem at hand, not the one on his cheek.
Just as importantly, for me at least, cheering Glenn up took my mind off the worry I feel for Meredith, for a little while. She was supposed to be here before lunch to update us on her secret mission, whatever it was, but we've heard nothing. With Glenn feeling better, I'm again left to my anxiety and worry.
Within minutes, I find myself pacing around the kitchen and having to work hard to ignore the irritated glares from Birka, though she doesn't actually say anything to me about it.
Luka, meanwhile, just watches me walk in circles. I can't read anything in his eyes—it's a little creepy. I debate forcing myself to sit still, and I do have other things I could be doing that help us far more than pacing and worrying about something I can't change.
Before I can decide, though, the red light above the front door flashes three times. The glyphs Meredith inscribed on it cast odd shadows around the room each time the light flares—but it doesn't change color. Whoever is coming doesn't mean us any harm, it seems. It's either Meredith or someone innocent, though it doesn't guarantee any outsiders won't recognize us and turn us in. We wait, Gifts at the ready and hands on weapons.
There's a quick series of knocks—our "all clear" series—and Meredith comes in. Her face is a mask of stone, unreadable as she turns
to face all of us who are downstairs. She closes the door and then pauses. Always the one for dramatic effect, that one.
Birka snarls right away. "What was this mission you went on, and was it successful? Enough of the theatrics, please, dear."
"Theatrics?" Meredith dons a pained expression. "Never that. Merely giving the moment an appropriate sense of gravitas. My 'mission,' as you call it, was simply using the assets at my disposal to gather critical information."
"What assets are these?" I can't help the faint smile that crosses my face.
"We each bring talents and Gifts to the table, but I don't feel you have fully appreciated what I bring, which is people. The queen may give orders, but I build relationships. One of these has just paid off."
Birka frowns. "Will you please get to the point?"
Meredith beams her a smile. "In the aftermath of missing the ceremony we thought would be Talon's death knell—and the relief of finding out we were wrong—I've spoken with Ella about the sounds she heard in her vision."
I nod, confirming it. "Yeah, I've probably talked to everyone here about that, but you did seem the most interested, once we found out we were wrong about it being Johann’s Bell."
"Right. On a lark, I asked a friend of mine who designs and installs enchanted defenses for homes in the mortal world. Particularly alarm systems, in fact. He was quite certain the sounds Ella heard were from a defense system like the ones he designs."
She pauses, eying Birka carefully like she's waiting for a response before deciding how to proceed.
The queen's face is actually turning red, her fists clenched.
I've never seen Birka be anything but utterly in control of herself, and I have no idea why she's upset at what the princess said. "Birka, are you all right?"
She turns to me, face still flushed, and one corner of her mouth twitches a couple times despite how tightly she's pressing her lips together. She takes a deep breath, like she's going to yell, but she stops before she does so and visibly regains her bearing.
She shakes her head. "No, I am most definitely not all right." Her deadpan voice has a raspy edge to it. "Perhaps you are unaware of the fact that we are hiding for our lives—lives that depend on our utmost discretion."
"No, I haven't—"
"Or it may be that you have simply forgotten that Talon's life hangs by a slender thread, a thread that will surely be cut if we allow ourselves to be captured or killed."
The temperature in the room seems to be rising, as I feel suddenly hot under the collar. I realize I’m clenching and unclenching my fists, and I force myself to stop, keeping my hands open at my sides. "I don't think you're being fair. Princess Meredith surely took that into consideration. Isn't that right, Meredith?"
Ordinarily, the princess would be demure, submitting to Birka's judgment. To my surprise, she is instead looking directly at Birka without flinching, yet without any sign that she is as angry as I feel. It occurs to me that I should not be more upset about what Birka said than Meredith.
With a calm voice, the kind that one might hear any two friends using in conversation at a coffee shop, Meredith says, "I am fully aware of your son's predicament. Of course you are concerned. How could you not be? This is why I didn't ask for permission before I left. With the political games that I play for a living, reading people correctly is what you might call a survival skill. You know the old saying, 'live by the sword, die by the sword.' I have survived those games precisely because I am a better swordsman, if you will."
Birka rears her head back an inch or two in surprise. I don't know what to expect, but I hold my breath as I wait for her reply. I only have to wait a couple of heartbeats before she says, "Indeed. I understand the danger in which you lived on a daily basis even before we became outlaws. But what has that to do with our current situation, much less my son's life? You'll excuse me for mistrusting your unilateral decision to place us all in danger, I hope."
Meredith shakes her head. "Not at all. I expected far worse when you found out what I had been up to. My point was this. Fighting a shadow war of the type I thrive in requires risk, but I’m still alive because the risks I take do not rely on faith, hope, or luck. I weigh the odds, and I trust my instincts about people. My contact in this, I judged to be safe for us as long as the price was right. I paid that price, willingly."
Birka snorts, adding to the long list of behaviors I had never seen from her before. "You trust your gut? You trusted Dawson, as I recall. I believe we all know how that turned out. Once again, I find myself mistrusting your judgment."
I step forward to interrupt.
Meredith beats me to it. "My gut told me not to trust Dawson. It was my hope and my heart that led me astray. That's a mistake I won't make again—ever." Her eyes are hard as steel as she says it.
Before Birka can reply, I finally manage to interrupt. "All of this is well and good, Birka—both your gut instincts and your mistrust of those instincts—but at the end of the day, it's too late to decide against her plan. It's done."
Meredith seems unfazed by the interruption and continues, "As I said before, this contact is a Wraith who specializes in magic-enhanced security systems. He lives among the mortals. I have no idea why he prefers the mortal world to ours."
"Well, I get it." It takes me a second to realize that I said it out loud, and that everyone is staring at me. "That's the world I grew up in," I add defensively.
Meredith continues, "He has no loyalty to Dawson, and frankly, very little loyalty to any cause. He does very well for himself among the mortals, yet he lives in a modest neighborhood. It's nice, but compared to the poorest Wraith house in Mortals Landing, it's a shack. I doubt it has even four thousand square feet."
Grinning as he lounges on the couch, Luka pipes up with. "Like this shack we're all hiding out in, eh?"
Meredith and Birka both wrinkle their noses at the same time and I have to stifle a grin of my own as I watch them glancing around the "hovel" we are hiding in—easily three times the size of the apartment I was renting when Luka first discovered me.
Meredith says, "Perhaps, but my point is that he's not personally invested in the current power struggle, or even the Wraith-Shade shadow war. I have cultivated a relationship with him over the years, one which has paid off on more than one occasion."
Birka, looking still quite upset but no longer like she wants to strangle the princess, lets out a long breath, and with it, much of her tension. Her ramrod-straight back isn't quite so rigid. "Very well. It's water under the bridge. In the future, however, I insist that you discuss with us first anything you plan to do that could affect us all. You can risk your own life to your heart's content, but none of us agreed to that risk."
Meredith finally breaks eye contact, looking down at the thick, tan-colored carpeting. I think Birka has a good point, and it seems she recognizes that, as well. After a brief, awkward silence, she looks up again. "Well, when you put it like that..."
"I do." Birka looked her directly in the eyes, but with her symbolic victory, some of the fire seems to have gone out of her.
"In any case, I want you to know that I did not manipulate him with my Gift in any way. I cultivate relationships, not slaves. That's Dawson's game, not mine. And today, that relationship may have just paid off in a big way."
I want to tap my toe or drum my fingers. The last few ugly, tense minutes may have calmed Birka down a bit, but I still haven't learned anything new. Tapping my toe would be rude, however, so instead, I push the conversation forward. "That sounds promising. So I understand you feel he's trustworthy, but I'd still like to know what this mysterious payoff was. Can we make this long story a little bit shorter?"
"Thank god someone said what we're all thinking." Luka makes a show of yawning, and when I frown at him, he winks at me and smirks.
I turn back to Meredith, shaking my head.
Birka asks, "Did he know when and where my son will die?"
Meredith turns toward me and Birka, which puts
her back toward Luka. "Not precisely. He did, however, recognize a note in the alarm that he thinks identifies the woman who installed the security system."
"How did he hear it, when none of us have?" Birka's tone is no longer angry, but curious.
"Once, while I was questioning her about her visions, Ella hummed the alarm's tone and rhythm for me. That, in turn, made me think of my friend."
I respond to Birka's querying glance with a nod. "I vaguely recall that conversation."
"Apparently, many people in his field leave a signature of sorts on their work, like an artist. Often, they’ll use one dissonant note in the alarm's sequence. He was almost certain that, if I had repeated it correctly, the alarm is part of a security system installed by a Wraith he knows by reputation."
Meredith looks over at me again. "And she in turn can likely identify the location based only on the few clues your vision gave us."
Birka shakes her head at us both. "This is ridiculous. Firstly, why would they leave their mark on the alarm? No one hears it until it goes off. Not good advertising, I'd say."
"And secondly?" I raise my eyebrows questioningly.
"What?"
"You said 'firstly.' Is there a 'secondly'?"
"Yes, there is." Birka shakes her head faintly. "Secondly, it's based on pure speculation. If you told Meredith the sounds correctly. If she repeated it correctly. If he's right about that being a 'calling card.' If he correctly remembered whose."
Luka sits upright from his lounging position and adds, "Fun game. My turn. If he isn't setting you up for the huge bounty on our heads. If we can find the woman he spoke of. If we can make her talk... That's all I have that leaps to mind, but I'm sure there are more if we think about it before running off into the enemy stronghold. Not that it actually bothers me to think you might get us all killed."
Again, that smirk—often cute, right now I want to smash it off his face. It’s too bad he's right. In my gut, though, I don’t think it matters. "The rest of us might be bothered by that, though. But seriously, Birka, all those variables are irrelevant."
Cursed Seer Page 4