by Frost Kay
She peered at his cloak again, noting the green color. Camouflage, that was brilliant. Sage lifted her sword, warning him to stop. Despite the ten feet between them, a trickle of unease slithered down her spine. He wasn’t a typical thief; but something else entirely. The deep cowl of his hood prevented her seeing his eyes, but she still sensed him measuring her as she took his measure. Unease crept over her as she waited for his next move.
“Little one, I am not here to harm you,” he rumbled softly. His voice was deep and smooth like whiskey, with a hint of a growl.
“Says the wolf to the lamb,” she retorted, her gaze never wavering.
One side of his lips pulled up. “You are right to be cautious of men in the woods. It’s not safe for you to be here alone. You should be in your home where you belong,” he admonished.
Sage bristled and squared her shoulders. What right did he have to tell her what to do? “You are neither my father, nor brother, nor husband. You’ve no right telling me where I should be. It’s you who is not safe. Leave my meadow.”
“You and your family have suffered much,” he stated. “We have been studying you for some time, Sage. Your skills would prove useful for Aermia, to heal her and protect her.”
Her guard went up. What was he about? Was this a trap?
Sage glanced around the meadow searching for others, chills skating down her arms, her unease tripling. “You have been watching my family and me?” she probed, licking her dry lips. Time to go. But first, she needed to shift his focus off her. “Who is this ‘we’?” she questioned, stepping toward the forest.
He dismissed her question and answered with one of his. “What do you see as you walk through the city?”
What an odd question. “I don’t understand what you are looking for,” Sage replied steadily. Another step closer to her escape.
“Our people go hungry while our land’s dying. Meanwhile, trouble stirs along our Scythian border. No doubt you’ve heard whispers of those disappearing along it, though none know for sure why or where they’ve vanished.” He paused, considering for a moment. “Are you aware that this most likely means they’ve been taken? Why would someone steal another person?”
“No,” she breathed, not hiding her shock or disgust. Stars above, he was talking of slaves. Being torn from your home and forced to God-knows-where sent a chill up her spine. Scythians were the stuff of nightmares, barbaric and ruthless, with no shred of conscience. History books from every nation corroborated the fact they hated outsiders, besides anyone who didn’t fit the model of ‘perfection’ to which they aspired. A ‘perfect’ Scythian had yet to cross the Mort Wall in the last five hundred years, not since the Nagalian Purge. Why would they steal people?
“And how long do you say this has been going on?” Sage inquired, her suspicion clear, all the while edging toward the forest border.
“The reports of missing Aermians go back the last four years, as far as we understand. The commander has sent a few soldiers, but the pathetic attempts always come to nothing.” Controlled anger laced his words.
It seemed he wasn’t so calm and collected. That told her he most likely believed what he was telling her. Sage pursed her lips, trying to discern if he was being truthful. He didn’t come by her on accident; he sought her out for a reason. Sage’s instincts told her he was dangerous, but she thought he wasn’t interested in harming her. He also had shown no signs he was touched in the head. So what did he want?
Sage gave him a hard stare and spoke her mind. “What do you want from me?”
“Change. You’d be a great asset to the restoration of Aermia and its people.”
“An asset?” she scoffed, how impersonal. Whoever he was working with viewed people as tools and not individuals. “An asset to whom?” she drew out the question, staring unflinchingly at him, awaiting his answer. There were only five more feet until the forest edge, and she fought to keep from sprinting into the woods. Something told her he would be onto her before she could scream, even if she made a run for it.
“The rebellion.” Noting her position, he angled his body toward her. “I will not hurt you, but if you run I will catch you.”
Sage froze, not so much from his threat as the phrase he’d just thrown out there. The word echoed in her mind, yet he had said it like it was of no consequence, as if it didn’t have the potential to change everything in her life.
Rebellion.
She had heard whispers over the years, but had never given it another thought. It had always been young hotheads spouting off treasonous nonsense, acting like that made them heroes of some sort. But never had she seen actual proof of an organized rebellion. That would be a HUGE secret. The rebellion would have to be well trained or very new. Sage scrutinized the mystery man and highly doubted he was wet behind the ears.
This is what their king had driven his people to: treasonous meetings in the woods. The king’s grief superseded the needs of his people. Aermia was rotting from the inside out. Why had no one stepped up? It wasn’t as if he didn’t have two sons that could at least have tried to fill his place, his sons’ inaction made them as guilty. The time for mourning had passed.
Now was the time to fight.
If she joined the rebellion, she could make a difference, but she also wasn’t naïve. Sage wasn’t about to commit to something until she had all the facts. That meant knowing those she was dealing with.
She tilted her head, considering. She could lose everything by agreeing. If caught by the Crown she’d be tried as a traitor and hung. That would leave her family helpless and destitute. She couldn’t be the only one with something to lose—he needed to have a stake in this too. Her heart raced as she decided. “I don’t make deals with strangers, show me your face and actual evidence that what you say is true. Then we’ll talk.”
From beneath his hood sounded a rumbling chuckle. Goosebumps ran down her arms. If his looks matched his laugh, she was in real trouble. Sage held her breath as he reached up and pulled his hood off, revealing a mane of black hair.
No. Not quite black, she thought, rather a deep red.
It reminded her of a dark wine. Not once in her lifetime had she ever seen hair that color before. He also had a strong chin, and thick eyebrows accentuated unique eyes the color of citrine, so bright they looked like liquid gold. A thin scar ran from the end of his right brow, passing dangerously close to his eye, and ended at his chin. She realized he was quite an attractive man, despite the scar. In fact, the scar added to his dangerous air.
“What do you expect from me and when do I get to meet your ‘we’?” she asked, eyebrows lifted.
“Soon,” he said, and a dazzling smile transformed his rugged face. He was beautiful in a wild sort of way. “I will be in touch, little one, then all your questions will be answered.” He bowed, then turned to walk away.
Swamp apples. That wasn’t an answer, and he never gave her his name. “That’s not good enough! I’m not going into this blind. I need a name!” Sage shouted at his back.
He looked over his shoulder and locked onto her with his odd, mesmerizing eyes. For a moment, they stared at each other, until he winked and broke the spell. “Rafe. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
She let the memory fade away as she stared down at the broadsword still carefully clutched in her hands. Lifting a hand, Sage rubbed at her temple, glancing out the window. Realizing just how much time had passed while she was daydreaming, she let a curse slip out. She should have left a quarter of an hour ago. Sage placed the sword in its bed of velvet and rushed to grab her black cloak from the wall.
Opening the door which connected their home and the forge she called out. “Mum, I’m slipping out. I will bring back meat if I can find anything edible at the market. If not, it will be fish.”
“Be safe, my love. We will hold down the fort,” her mother trilled back and then decided she needed admonishment. “Try not to get your clothes so filthy this time. It took hours to get the stench out of them last time.”
Sage looked at her collection of blades, snatching her favorite and attaching its sheath to her waist. With sarcasm evident in every word, she retorted, “Yes mum, you know how I strive to get pushed into puddles if only just to spite you.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, Little Miss, and try to be home before dark please.”
Sage smiled at her mum’s words and tone. “I will. If not, don’t worry. I can always spend the night with Elle and be home early in the morning.” Sage poked her head out the door, scanning left and right. People milled along the lane but it seemed no one paid her any attention so she casually meandered into the flow of people. If she didn’t hurry, Rafe was sure to ring her neck.
Four
TEHL
Sanee was once a thriving, beautiful city. Now it was rotting. In every direction, buildings were adorned with decaying wood and chipped paint. Porches sagged and troughs had green algae growing in them. Rotting fish permeated the air. His city desperately needed care. It was disintegrating before his eyes, but he didn’t know how he could stop its decline.
Oddly enough, in spite of the smell, a sense of peace enveloped him as he walked down the open lane. The familiar sound of pots clanking, donkeys’ braying, and the crashing of the waves on the shore surrounded him. Tehl preferred this to the whispers and delicate giggles of court. The symphony of sounds reminded him of trips to the market with his mum as a boy, and he still found that comforting.
Once he looked closely, though, noting the state of his people, his small moment of peace left him. He had always known the merchants to be jovial, and perhaps plump, yet now they were thin and haggard, ghosts of their former prosperities.
The further he trudged into the city, the more depressed he became. The people in the fishing district were the worst. Their hollow eyes tracked his movements, and the looks they were giving him made his skin crawl. Tehl clenched his hand around the sword hilt each time he met any pair of eyes that seemed hostile. Perhaps the warning in his gaze would discourage them from trying anything.
Beggars littered the streets. There hadn’t been half this many a couple months ago. It was the children who caught his attention. Most of them sat on crates and bins, staring listlessly at the filth-strewn streets. Where were their parents? Their thin little bodies made him ashamed of what he had left at the table this morning. As soon as he returned to the palace, he would put something in motion to care for the children. It was appalling how long it took to build up a successful kingdom—yet how quickly it seemed to fall around your ears.
He spotted Garreth casually leaning against a post, supposedly dozing, so Tehl moved on, noting familiar faces as he went. Tehl looked to the left and glimpsed a familiar set of eyes beneath a straw hat. Gavriel. He looked so different that if it wasn’t for his cousin being a mere eight feet away, then he might not have spotted him. It was incredible how the Elite blended in. Samuel and Gavriel’s training had paid off.
Scanning the vicinity, Tehl paused when a small, faint carving caught his eye. A wooden door showed a rough version of his family crest: a black dragon spewing flames. Rather than clutching the sword in its claws however, they had depicted the dragon with the sword piercing its heart. His brows lifted, surprised at the boldness displayed by whoever had the audacity to openly mock the Crown. He committed the symbol to memory and noted the sign hanging above the door which read Cobbler.
How original of them.
So, the shoemaker was a resistance sympathizer. Though he doubted the man knew anything useful, he made a mental note to have Sam investigate.
Tehl glanced at the sky and blew out a frustrated breath when he realized he’d already wasted a considerable amount of time wandering the streets. He’d be cutting it close. As he navigated the streets and alleyways, darting around horse droppings and the occasional puddle, he kept his eyes and ears open, picking up on snatches of conversation. It both irked and baffled him how little the people understood current events. His brother had hoped to nip this kind of talk in the bud but gossip remained unconquerable. Hearing their hushed conversations of so called heroic deeds, he scoffed. Heroic, his ass. Try self-serving.
People were so careless. If he were so inclined, they would be tried for treason and their whole family would lose everything, all because of a casual conversation. He smiled to himself as he noted with interest that at least one Elite had slipped into each group.
He put the thoughts aside; gossip was the least of today’s worries. The current priority was catching any of the rebel leaders. The capture of even one of their high-ranking officers could be the break he needed, and it would be an enormous step in the right direction. He rather hoped they’d put up a good fight though. He’d been itching to brawl for some time.
Tehl arrived at their exchange location, Lavender Alley, and examined his surroundings with distaste. You’d think a street named Lavender would at least have the decency to smell as delightfully as it was named, but no. Death and decay filled the air, and he didn’t want to know where it was coming from.
As he moved farther into the dank alley, the stone cobbles beneath his boots were black and slippery, and he spotted red beady eyes peering at him from the shadows. Long little pink tails and whiskered noses stuck out of every nook and cranny.
Rats.
God, he hated rats. They were so vile. It was all he could do not to stumble when one darted past his foot.
Do not slip and fall because: One, the rats will eat you, and Two, you will catch a disease, and die a horrible death before you even make it back to the palace.
With these gems rattling around in his head, he pressed forward.
To his left, there was a perfect hiding place. He cautiously made his way to it and faded into the small dark space between the stone walls. Somehow, the smell became stronger here. What was that anyway? Tehl tried not to breathe through his nose, but it seemed to slither into his mouth and squat on his tongue. While trying to keep from gagging, he jerked a cloth up over his mouth and nose. He may have experienced nasty things in his life but this was one of the worst.
It seemed fitting that the rebellion would pick this place. Rats enjoying the company of other rats.
A moment later, movement left of his shoulder alerted him to another. Surveying the shadows, he noticed little whiskers twitching at him from a hole in the wall a mere six inches away.
Damn! Nothing went his way today.
Tehl tried not to move, calming his rapid breathing. Tehl never panicked in dangerous situations. Yet throw in one stupid little rodent, and it was all he could do not to flail his arms and take off running.
He steeled himself. Mind over matter. Logically, he knew that he was way bigger than a rat and he needed to calm the hell down. Just when he gained control, it began creeping toward him.
Gritting his teeth, he hissed at the rat. “Psst…get out of here!”
The furry menace would not be deterred. It scampered right onto his cloak, pausing briefly to sniff it. He hoped he smelled so offensive the whiskers would be singed right off its dingy face. But he had never had good luck. The rat continued crawling across his shoulder, sniffing here or there.
Don’t get comfy, he thought to it. His cloak would not become its next home.
A flutter of activity distracted him from the creature invading his space. Two cloaked figures approached from the dead end of the ally.
Where did they come from?
It was a dead end. Something exchanged hands, and words were spoken in hushed tones, much too soft to pick up. He strained his ears, trying to catch their conversation, but his mind went blank when a tiny nose nuzzled his neck. He shuddered.
Disgusting.
Needle-like claws scratched along his neck as whiskers tickled his ear. It was imperative that he remained stock-still. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, he chanted in his mind.
If any of the Elite—or my brother—hear of this, I’ll never hear the end of it.
He realized he’d been so pre
occupied by the nasty vermin making its new home at his neck, he’d missed the meeting. One figure disappeared into the dark while the other cloaked figure paused for a moment, and then started toward him, taking soundless steps on the diseased cobblestones.
The little bastard then sniffed his ear again. Goosebumps broke out on his neck, and he shivered. Abruptly, sharp pain exploded from his ear. The little bugger bit him! Pain and heat radiated around his ear, down his neck, and across his cheek. Tehl shook his head once, dislodging the fiend from his ear and hissed out a breath. Stars above that hurt.
At the sound, the rebel making his way toward him paused. The figure cocked his head as if listening.
Tehl forced himself to hold his breath, praying that his position hadn’t been compromised. He focused on blending in.
Be one with the stone, be one with the blasted stone.
The rebel wasn’t very tall or broad shouldered, petite even, childlike. His thoughts screeched to a halt. The rebellion wouldn’t use children…would they? The idea made him sick. The figure before him could easily be a boy of thirteen or fourteen, and the more he turned it over in his mind, the more it made sense. What a perfect way to pass messages. No one ever paid much attention to where children ran off to, and no one would suspect a child as a rebel informant. It’d be brilliant if it wasn’t so disgusting. If that was the case, which he suspected it was, he’d have to be very careful. He could never hurt a child.
He inched his hand into his cloak, clutching his dagger. Maybe he could instead scare the youth into doing what he wanted. All he needed to do was convince the child that he himself was not the enemy.
The cloaked rebel scanned the alley. After a moment, the young rebel began moving toward him again, ignorant of the danger lurking in the shadows. His whole body tensed. He didn’t want to threaten the boy but he wasn’t sure he had any other choice. If he fought, he risked injuring the child.