“That’s because they are blind and foolish. Look at this peach. So what if you couldn’t make it grow with some Gift. You can still pick it as well as anyone else. Probably better, even. You’re the only one skinny enough to climb the highest branches,” he teased, earning a giggle. “If you ask me, folks put too much value on Gifts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, have you ever seen a Sartor tending a garden? Or an Armis baking a pie? If you have a Gift, you’re pretty much stuck for life. Why can’t people just do what they love, no matter what Gift they have?”
She pouted, squeezing the peach until the skin burst and juice dripped down her arm. “It’s not fair! I wish I had a Gift. If I had one, the Magi wouldn’t have hurt me . . .”
“True,” he said, refusing to lie to her, “but life isn’t really fair is it? That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be happy. Tell me, Mara. What do you love to do?”
“Well, I love playing with Ansel. And I like hunting, but I can never get close enough with my dagger.”
“So why not try out a bow and arrow?”
“But I’m not a Tellum!” she said, clearly outraged by his suggestion.
“So what? Who cares if you’re just a dreg? Even if you shoot nothing but dirt and air, isn’t that better than never trying at all? I’m not a Farber, but I still love carving these little toys.” He reached over, placing the fox carving in her lap.
Mara ran a finger over the fox. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. You can keep that one… add it to your collection. When you’re better, I’ll make more for you to leave on doorsteps for the other children. But you have to promise not to let them see you. Let them think the wood sprites left them a present.”
“Really?” She threw her arm around his waist in a loose embrace. “Thank you, Tobias!”
They sat in silence, watching the sun slowly set below the trees. “Tobias . . . why didn’t the Magi give you a Gift? I think you should have been a Farber.”
“I wish I knew . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat, then shook his head and gave her a small smile. No sense in dwelling on ‘what-ifs.’ “Does it really matter? I’m still me, even if I can’t lift boulders or talk to animals.”
“I guess,” Mara said, her voice uncertain.
“You should probably run home now. I’m sure your mother is worried sick.”
Mara nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Tobias, for everything.” Then she turned and hurried away, holding her arm gingerly so it wouldn’t jostle her shoulder.
He sat back against his hut and crossed his feet, watching her disappear into the trees. Unease gnawed at his gut. If the Magi was targeting Mara, he would need to do something to divert the man’s wrath before he crippled her for life, or worse.
A figure stepped out from the shadows, his back bent, as if it were being crushed by the weight of his guilt. The man brushed back the dark cloak concealing his white robes and fixed Tobias with a vicious scowl.
“Magi,” Tobias said in a tone that was less than respectful, but kinder than he deserved. He lifted his chin, staring defiantly back at the man responsible for Mara’s wounds.
“It was justice, you know. Our laws demand retribution when a dreg harms a Gifted.”
“She is a child, and it was an accident.”
The Magi’s eyes hardened. “An accident that could have been prevented if she had learned her place. If you truly valued her wellbeing, you would encourage her to accept her lot in life with grace and humility. Instead, you fill her mind with nonsense, teaching her that dregs are just as important as Gifted. That will get her killed one day.”
“They are! Your agenda can’t change that.”
“And just what is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know, but the Order is hiding something. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why else would you refuse to Gift perfectly healthy infants?”
“If the mind is diseased, would you still call the infant healthy? You know nothing!” he scoffed, brushing off Tobias’s words as though they were gnats. “My patience wears thin with you. So far, I’ve tolerated your presence, allowing you to live in Stonehollow, unmolested, but perhaps the girl isn’t the only one who needs to be reminded of their place. Should I withdraw my protection, and let you learn your lesson?”
“Your protection? Your protection is as useless as an Ignis in the ocean if you feel threatened by a child.”
The Magi stared at him for a long moment before whistling out the side of his mouth. Like dogs heeding their master’s call, six broad-shouldered figures emerged from the woods, moving closer to trap Tobias against the wall of his hut.
“Gentlemen, this dreg believes that it’s acceptable to speak to a representative of the Order with defiance and disrespect. Make sure he doesn’t repeat his mistake.” The Magi turned to Tobias before he left. “I do hope you enjoy your lesson. Let’s hope you won’t need another one.”
Tobias bit back a scream as the first blow sent the air rushing from his lungs. He would accept the punishment quietly. No matter what happened to him, he knew Mara would be okay. She was stronger than she knew.
Wynn
Wynn crouched outside a small tavern on the northern border of Lingate, glaring at the clouds that hadn’t stopped weeping for three days now. She’d survived this long, and she wasn’t about to drown in a downpour now. Maybe once the weather cleared, she’d head south to visit Pete. It had been too long since she saw his old face, and a few days being pampered instead of fighting for survival sounded pretty good.
The yeasty smell of bread made her stomach clench, drawing her eyes back to the window where a freshly-baked loaf sat, just begging to be taken. And she would take it if that pockmarked arse of a cook ever turned his back. It was as if he could sense her out here, watching . . . waiting.
Stealing to eat was shameful, but in Lingate, no one much cared for honorable things. Wynn fought down the familiar burning resentment and crept closer, ducking behind a tree when two men passed by. It’s amazing what people will miss when it’s concealed in shadows. She could’ve cut them both in the amount of time it took to draw a breath. Fools. They’d have to sharpen up quick if they wanted to survive in a land that preyed on the weak.
Wynn breathed a sigh of relief when the two men turned the corner, heading toward the entrance of the tavern. She’d been on the run for ten years, and since then, she’d gotten exceptionally good at hiding and avoiding people, both necessary skills for life as a dreg. It might be lonely, but lonely meant safe.
The Pistor in the kitchen finally turned around, and Wynn darted forward, snatching the loaf of bread before tucking it inside her cloak to keep it dry. Her stomach growled, and she ripped off a hunk of crust and rammed it into her mouth as she scampered off, congratulating herself on a job well done. She’d go find a dry spot for the night and hunker down until the weather cleared.
A pained, sniffling sound made her stop just past a heaping pile of refuse behind the tavern. What was that? It sounded like a wounded animal. Wynn reached for her dirks—a pair of long blades she had lifted off a lazy oaf who still had his baby fat— and crept closer. It might be greedy, but she wasn’t going to pass on the chance for meat.
Wynn titled her head, listening. The sound came again from under a nearby wagon, left unattended. Foreign, by the looks of it. Probably another group of idiotic travelers, too trusting for their own good. She’d bet her last bit that the wagon would be long gone by the time its owners found the bottom of their cups. That would serve them right.
Another sniffle cut through the steady patter of rain, and Wynn crouched, squinting into the darkness. Two huge, amber eyes peered back at her. A tiny girl—who couldn’t be more than twelve-years-old, thirteen at the most— huddled under the wagon. Though coated with mud, her clothes were a touch too fancy to be a commoner, and the style was too far off the typical dress they wore in Lingate. A foreigner then, she decided. Probably Gifted,
too. Wynn’s stomach writhed. The last thing she should do was talk with a Gifted.
But the girl looked so pathetic, water dripping down her body like someone had tossed her in a well head-first. She shivered, rubbing her arms as if desperate for some warmth. Wynn knew she should scram before she got caught, but something about the girl’s expression tugged at the gaping black hole that had become Wynn’s chest. Before she could stop herself, Wynn inched closer, pulling the bread out of her cloak. “Hungry?”
Those amber eyes flashed with hope, and the girl nodded, inching closer.
Wynn cut the precious loaf in two, giving the larger half to the girl, who tore into it with all the manners of a starving wolf pup. “Slow down, I can get ya more if ya need it. I’m Wynn. What’s yer name?”
Talking through a mouthful of bread, her answer came out muffled, sounding like, “Tobamin.”
“What was that?”
She swallowed, nearly choking without a drink to wash it down. “Tovaline.”
Figures she’d have some sort of fancy name. Wynn eyed her clothes with renewed interest, trying to figure out where she came from, and how such an obviously weak child managed to survive this long in Lingate. “Sure is a mouthful. How about I call ya Tova? Nice and short, so my tongue doesn’t trip over it, okay?”
“Fine.” Tova’s eyes widened when she finally got a good look at Wynn’s appearance, taking in the scars that crisscrossed her arms and face. And those were just the visible ones. She’d probably faint if she saw the scars hidden beneath her clothing.
Heat rose to her cheeks, and Wynn tugged down her short black hair to cover the missing tip of her ear. Most people reacted the same way. Shock. Horror. Fear. A few would show pity, but those were the worst. What’s done was done, and there wasn’t anything she could do to change her looks. Pity just made her want to run and hide. “So, are ya a runaway?”
“No . . .”
“Get into some trouble then?” Tova’s expression grew guarded, and her eyes darted to the two dirks looped into Wynn’s belt. “Look, I’m not going to hurt ya, but I can’t help unless ya tell me what’s going on.”
Indecision warred on the girl’s face before she sighed, shoulders slumping, making her appear even smaller. “My father threw me out because I’m a dreg.”
Wynn rocked back on her heels, her eyebrows rising to her hairline. A dreg! That changed everything. “Ye’re a dreg?”
“Yes. Are you . . . are you going to kill me?” Tova asked, her voice squeaking.
“Why would I go and do a thing like that? Ye’re obviously in a bad way, and these are dangerous times for dregs in Lingate.” Wynn paused, hoping she wouldn’t regret the next words out of her mouth. “If ya want, ya can travel with me a bit for protection. I might be a dreg, but I know my way around the pointy end of a blade at least. I can keep ya safe.”
“Okay.” Tova gave her a shy smile.
“Let’s go find a place to sleep.”
Finding shelter for the night turned out easier than she’d planned. A quaint homestead squatted next to the main road just south of the tavern. Wynn and Tova waited until the owners were asleep, then snuck into the barn, climbing into the hayloft. Sleeping on the hard, wooden boards wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least it would keep them dry.
Wynn spread her blankets over the floor and pulled a flask from inside her cloak. She took a sip, then offered it to the girl. “So, where’re ya from?”
Tova grimaced and nestled under the blankets, making no move to take the flask. When she spoke, her voice was curt. “Do you want the long version, or the short?”
“Ah, I get it. Ya don’t like people prying in yer business. I can respect that.”
“I’m sorry. That was rude.” Tova chewed on her lip, appearing to hold an internal debate with herself. Finally, she said, “I grew up at Dumont Castle in Aravell.”
Wynn let out a low whistle. That explained the fancy name and clothes. “And yer dad threw ya out?”
“He won a delegate seat in the senate. They think he could be Magnate someday, and he couldn’t risk his political career by harboring a dreg daughter.”
“Well, he sounds too prissy to deserve ya. For what it’s worth, ya got lucky being born in Aravell. In Lingate, they leave their dregs out for the wolves.”
“Wolves!” Tova’s eyes rounded. “How did you survive?”
“A kind lady found me first. Miriam. She raised a bunch of us kids.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s dead. The Order got her . . . they got all of them.” Wynn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images that played through her head. She could still hear the screams and smell the blood, clinging to her memory like a parasite. She turned to face the wall, blocking out her companion. “I think ya should go to sleep now.”
Either Tova realized the subject was too personal or was too tired to pry because all Wynn heard was a sigh and the rustle of fabric. Soon, soft snores filled the barn. Wynn stretched out on the blanket next to her, resting her back against a bale of hay, trying to figure out what to do. She could barely scrape by for herself . . . how was she supposed to look after another?
Tova looked so small and dainty, like a springtime flower popping up through the frost. She would be crushed so easily in this harsh land. Wynn brushed her hand against her abdomen, forever cursed to be empty, and tears prickled her eyes. If her baby had survived, she would be a little younger than Tova was now. Maybe the gods had finally taken pity on her, by sending the girl. If this was her second chance, Wynn would make the most of it.
The next morning, Wynn stretched, trying to soothe the ache in her limbs. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided that breakfast would be their first stop. She knew just the place where they could swipe a few pastries before heading south to visit Pete. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Morning, Tova.”
Silence greeted her words. Wynn’s eyes flew open as panic replaced grogginess. Tova was nowhere in sight. She bolted from her resting place, rushed down the ladder, and ran outside, head whipping around for signs of the girl. Except for the house and a few trees, empty land stretched in every direction. “Tova!”
Had she slipped out and gotten lost? What if the Order found her, or worse, one of the clans? Tova would be killed on sight! Wynn squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle. Everyone she’d ever loved had died. The thought of losing someone else, even if they were a stranger, sent bile up her throat. No, she couldn’t go through that again. She would find Tova, and if anyone had harmed her, she’d kill them. Slowly.
Wynn stopped and took a deep breath, checking for the signs she’d missed. Tiny footprints in the drying mud pointed north. She followed as they wound their way past the tavern where she had stolen the bread, leading almost a half-mile from their make-shift camp. Tova stood in a clearing up ahead, looking vaguely lost, as though she were waiting for something.
Every muscle in her body relaxed and she practically flew the distance, sweeping the young girl up in a crushing hug. Tova tensed, and Wynn released her, cheeks pinking. She held the girl at arms-length and looked her up and down, reassuring herself that she was unharmed. Wynn’s lips pulled down in a frown, and she said, “Where were you? Did you get lost?”
“Umm . . . yes. I’m sorry if I caused you worry. I couldn’t find my way back.” Tova stared at the ground, looking appropriately abashed.
“It’s fine, Tova. Just don’t wander off anymore without letting me know first, okay? I can’t help ya if a disciple snatches you up.”
“Why do you care? You don’t even know me.”
“I . . .” she paused to gather her thoughts. Why did she care so much? Tova was nothing more than a stranger, yet the panic she’d felt moments before suggested a deeper connection. Maybe she was just tired of being alone after all these years, and she needed to feel companionship again. “It’s a long story, love. All I know is that we dregs have to stick together.”
She threw her arm
over Tova’s shoulder, leading her south. “Come on, there’s someone ya need to meet. And don’t ya worry. I’ll teach ya everything I know about how to survive.”
Mikkal
Mikkal decided that punching his charge in the face and dragging his unconscious body back to the safety of the castle would most definitely violate his vows as a Shield. That didn’t stop him from fantasizing, though, as Prince Silvano Miore’ made yet another poor life choice in a long line of foolish decisions. Going to a party the night after an assassination attempt was just asking for trouble. He stepped into the prince’s path and silently pleaded for him to change his mind.
Prince Silvano crossed his arms over his broad chest and sighed. “Don’t look at me that way, Mikkal. Father is sending us away tomorrow, and I refuse to spend my last night in Crystalmoor cowering in fear. Besides,” he said with a wink, “I have to give Olielle something to remember me by, and you know I can’t stand to disappoint the ladies.”
Rolling his eyes, Mikkal threw his arms in the air as if to say, sure, go ahead. How was he supposed to protect a prince that insisted on running headfirst into dangerous situations?
Prince Silvano placed a hand on Mikkal’s shoulder and grinned. “Don’t fret, my friend. The sea gods haven’t claimed me yet, and they won’t get me tonight, either.” The prince brushed past and sauntered up the road toward the grand estates lining the cliff on the far side of the castle. It wouldn’t be too bad if the prince wore a disguise outside of the palace, but his propensity for all things theatrical overruled good sense. In his silken doublet and red cloak, he stood out like sea glass against sand.
They stopped before the largest mansion in the row, surrounded by a stone wall, designed more for aesthetic than function. Ivy climbed the front of the house, adding a splash of color to the pristine, white walls. Silvano crossed the lawn and bounded up the steps before rapping on the door.
A woman, wearing an off-shoulder light blue gown, answered a moment later. Her face lit up in a smile, and she launched herself at Silvano, pressing a kiss to each cheek.
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