by Lois Greiman
Savaana thrashed after her. Exhaustion dragged at her legs, threatening to pull her under. Raw cold chafed her, slowing her motions, dulling her senses. Something splashed. It took her a moment to realize she had fallen into the water, but she failed to care. It felt heavenly to sit. To give up. To lie back in the waves and let the current—
Clarette turned back with a frown, then stumbled through the water to drag at her arm.
“Just…just let me stay,” Savaana whimpered, but her sister only pulled harder.
“You can’t die until you replace my gown,” she snarled, and hauled Savaana to her feet.
After that it was little more than a nightmare of fatigue and fear, of scrapes and curses and near drowning. But finally Clarette staggered to a halt.
“Why are you stopping?” Savaana glanced behind them. “Do you think we’ve come far enough?”
Clarette didn’t bother to turn toward her. Didn’t bother to raise her voice or venture a guess. “I think it’s a moot point,” she said, and dropped like a rock into the churning waters.
Chapter 28
Sounds settled slowly in around Sean. Like sunlight through distant leaves, they trickled in. Voices, anxious, murmured, shifting erratically. Pain, but only in a muffled sort of way.
“I think he’s coming to.”
“Stand back. Stand back now. Let me in.” Light filtered through his eyelids, muted and soft. “Sir, sir can you hear me? What happened? How badly are you hurt?”
Sean opened his eyes slowly. Candlelight flickered across a smooth-featured face. Fair hair, pale skin, long side whiskers. Beyond him, the walls were papered with posies planted in stripes.
“Aren’t physicians supposed to be old?” he asked.
Concern chased uncertainty across the man’s youthful features. “I fear he may have obtained trauma to the head. Lord Reardon, might you make certain my carriage is brought ’round. I think it best that we transfer him back to the city until we determine all the—”
But suddenly a host of memories swarmed in. Horses, dancing, knives, carnivals, top hats!
“Clarette!” Sean sat up with a jolt. His head spun like a weathervane. A demon stabbed his side. He pressed his hand over his coat, trying to contain the throbbing agony.
“Here now.” The physician’s hand was on his shoulder. “Don’t concern yourself with—”
“Where is she?” Facts swam past, slippery as minnows, merging with memories and half-forgotten dreams.
“Easy now. There’s no need to—”
“How long have I been unconscious?” His voice sounded rusty to his own ears.
“There’s no need to fret, sir. I can assure you—”
“How long?” he snarled, and caught the physician by his starchy cravat.
“It’s difficult to say for certain. Lord Tilmont said you passed out. We brought you inside, hoping you’d come to. We’ve stanched the loss of blood but…”
Sean found himself standing though he wasn’t at all sure how it had happened. The room spun in a lazy circle. He searched the vicinity. But faces around him seemed vague and oddly unimportant. A woman in a mint green gown, a young man built like a pugilist. A fair-haired gentleman. A—
He swung his attention back to the gentleman. “Tilmont.” The name came with some difficulty, but once he said it, he knew he was right. “Where is she?” His words sounded raspy, but the baron shook his head.
“What do you know of this?” Sean demanded, and stumbled toward him, determined to learn the truth, to set things right, but his feet were strangely uncooperative.
The baron caught him around the middle just before he fell. Something cold and hard was thrust into the waistband beneath his jacket. It almost felt like a pistol.
“Easy now, Gallagher,” he said, then quieter. “We don’t even know who she is, lad, and you’ve got other things to concern yourself with.”
“What do you mean?” Sean asked, and stumbled away. Perhaps he should have noticed the doctor nodding to the pugilist. Perhaps he should have seen that one step forward before he felt a brawny arm lock around his neck from behind.
He struggled weakly.
“Careful now. Careful, Lord Wesman,” cautioned the doctor. “We don’t know the circumstances for certain. Perhaps he acted in self-defense.”
“Or maybe the other chap killed himself,” suggested the pugilist from behind.
“No need to be facetious,” said Reardon, stepping imperially from the midst of the crowd.
“What—” Gallagher began, then remembered the shadowy man bending inside the rented vis-à-vis. Remembered the thrust of the knife, the sharp report of the gun as the stranger turned it on himself.
“He did. He did kill himself.”
“The judge will make that decision,” Reardon said. “Let’s get him outside.”
The pugilist goose-walked him toward the door. Weak and disoriented, Sean shifted desperate eyes toward Tilmont. A terrible silence filled the room.
“Here now, Lord Wesman,” the baron said finally.
The pugilist paused, then turned toward Tilmont. There was a moment’s delay, a resounding crash, and then the pugilist dropped to his knees. Sean stumbled backward. The shattered remains of a chair lay scattered across the floor.
Sean snapped his gaze to Tilmont’s.
“Stay if you like,” said the baron, holding a broken chair leg in one hand. “But I thought you were in something of a rush.”
Gallagher turned toward the door. The crowd parted before him. The night air felt chill against his face. Rows of carriages lined the curved driveway. He rushed unsteadily between them until he spotted a lone horse.
“Stop him!”
The order was barked from behind, but he had already flung himself into the nearest saddle. The animal reared, pulling at his tether. Sean’s head reeled. Dammit, the steed was still tied and men were already racing toward him.
“You’re like a bloody child,” Tilmont said. Appearing from nowhere, he ripped the tether free and tossed it over the restive animal’s withers.
Sean was galloping in less than a heartbeat, fleeing into the night, though God knew where he was going.
Chapter 29
“You should have told me you were injured.” Savaana was huddled against a boulder in a washed-out cove etched into the sharp shoreline. Clarette sat up. Newly conscious, she cupped her forehead and steadied herself.
“You take this role of older sister too seriously,” she said, and glanced at the bandage now secured around her upper arm.
Savaana knew the wound should be cleaned, but there was little she could do about that just now. Thus she remained as she was, freezing cold and watching.
“So you admit the truth,” she said.
“What truth is that?” Clarette wrapped her arms around her lower legs, tucking her knees beneath her chin.
“That we’re sisters.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“And I didn’t say I was older.”
Clarette shrugged. “You don’t have enough patience to be younger.”
Savaana considered how best to untangle such a statement, but the subject seemed too foolish to pursue. “You have the moon,” she said instead.
Clarette gave her a high-browed glance. “And you have the starlit night.”
Savaana scowled, wondering if her sister was hallucinating, before remembering her penchant for sarcasm. “Your moon,” she said, “where did you get it?”
Clarette only stared, so Savaana lifted her own chemise, baring goose pimpled flesh.
“Attractive as you are,” Clarette said, “I’m afraid my interests gravitate toward someone with less bosom and more—”
Savaana turned, showing her back and waiting, breath held. Truth to tell, in all of her years, none but the Irishman had mentioned the crescent on her back. She had only his word to go on, for as she told him, she’d never seen it herself.
Silence echoed between them, and for a moment Savaana
thought her sister would say she saw nothing, but when she turned back, Clarette shrugged.
“So?”
She lowered her garment. “Surely you’ve noticed yours.”
No response.
“You’ve a small moon under your right shoulder blade.”
Clarette’s expression was bored, but beneath that attitude there seemed to be a layer of uncertainty, of nervous curiosity. “It may have been mentioned a time or two.”
Their gazes met.
“What is it?” Savaana asked.
“A birthmark. Nothing more.”
“It’s blue.”
Another shrug, saying volumes with its elitist boredom. But Savaana couldn’t be fooled forever, not even by her sister.
“It was two and twenty years ago when I was left with Dook Natsia, the Magic Gypsies. Grandfather said I was not yet four years of age at that time.
“How old were you then?”
“A lady doesn’t reveal her true age.”
“So you don’t know either.”
Clarette neither denied nor confirmed it.
“The Beloreich were ousted from power in 1795,” Savaana said. “Prince Radu of the Ludricks killed the king, his cousin, shortly after that.” Even now it was not a simple task to keep the emotion from her voice, for she had long wondered who she was. Had ruthlessly questioned any who might be able to shed some light on her circumstances. Not until a few years ago had she begun to suspect her heritage. After that, she learned all she could of the tiny Delvanian empire near Romania’s border.
“The Beloreich?” Clarette’s teeth were clenched against chattering and her lips looked to be an odd shade of lavender.
Shifting her feet beneath her, Savaana reached for her sister’s hand. It felt as cold as a gravestone between hers. She rubbed vigorously, trapping her eyes. “Their symbol is a crescent moon.”
Clarette scowled. “When I first met you I had no idea you were a student of foreign culture.”
“Grandfather’s family came from Delvania many years ago.”
“Ahh, so he was the one who put these crazy ideas into your head.”
“He said that when my mother came to the camp, she spoke a language he could not quite understand. Delvanian, perhaps. Said she wore a necklace of priceless gems. Said she carried a baby in her arms.”
“So naturally she was royalty and I was that baby.”
“Top Hat said her name was Princess Eliane.”
“Top Hat.”
“The little man in the woods near Reardon’s mansion.”
“The man who tried to kill us?”
“I don’t think…” Savaana began, then drew a deep breath and continued where she’d left off. “I believe our mother was being pursued. I think she was desperate to keep us safe.” Or did she just want to believe that? Had she just dreamt it so often that it now seemed to be true?
“So you’re sticking with the sister story.”
Savaana considered defending her beliefs, clarifying her ideas, but she was so tired. “It’s the only one I have,” she said.
Clarette snorted. “Well, you don’t lack imagination.”
That much had always been true. Imagination and resolve. That’s what Grandfather said. And she was not about to give up now. She glanced toward the east. Their cover of darkness wouldn’t last forever. “Stay here through the daylight hours,” she said. “If I’m not back by dusk, head north toward Knollcrest.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I think the Ludricks are chasing us, but there may be others who…” She scowled, then shook her head, thoughts churning. “Don’t trust anyone.”
Clarette chortled. Her teeth chattered. “Too late to start now. What others?”
Memories roiled through Savaana’s mind like midnight waves. Wisps of scents, fragments of songs, images, so fleeting they were gone before she could visualize them. “The giant…I think…” He had frightened them, yes. Had caught them. But he had also looked at her with such tenderness, such hopelessness. Hadn’t he? “Perhaps they were trying to save us.”
Clarette raised her brows. “So you have gone mad.”
“It’s possible.”
“Save us from whom?”
“Radu’s men. Aren’t you listening? The ones who want the Ludricks in power.”
Clarette scowled and jerked her hand from Savaana’s grasp. “And to think I once pined for a sister?”
“Did you?” Savaana breathed.
“No,” she said, and wincing, rose to a crouched position.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m not being left behind to freeze to death in this godforsaken wilderness.”
Savaana shook her head. “I’ll come back for you. Until then—” she began, but Clarette interrupted.
“It’s going to be dawn soon. If we’re going, we’d best do so now.”
“You’ll only slow me down.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to carry me,” Clarette said, and grimaced as she stepped away from the river.
“Stay here,” Savaana ordered. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“And let you run off with the necklace?”
“What are you talking about? You have the necklace.”
“Well, maybe you plan to let me freeze to death, then come back and take it from me.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
“Maybe. But you told me to trust no one,” Clarette said, and slowly ascended the hill.
Savaana glared after her. “Don’t be daft. If all I wanted was the stones, why wouldn’t I have taken them and left long ago?”
Clarette shrugged as she stepped over a log and pushed aside a frond of drying thorns. “Maybe you’re not very intelligent. Maybe you wanted to make sure I was dead so you’d have the diamonds to yourself. Maybe—”
“You’re staying here.” Grabbing Clarette’s arm, Savaana braced herself for a tempest. Their mother had managed to save them both. Damned if she herself was going to fail them now. But her sister was silent for several seconds before speaking.
“Maybe I don’t want to die alone,” she said, and something inside Savaana crumbled.
They stared at each other. “Tell me if you’re weak or tired,” she said, and turned to climb the slope.
Clarette followed in her wake. “I’m weak…” she said, “and tired.”
“God help me,” Savaana rasped, but grinned silently at the tiny flicker of hope in her heart.
It seemed a lifetime before the woods finally thinned. A meadow of sorts lay ahead, dotted with a few lone trees and the jutting corners of rocks. A glimmer of morning was just lightening the eastern sky as they struggled over another log and gazed upon the relatively open moors ahead. It would be easier going now, but caution, or something like it, kept them hidden in the shadow of the old growth. Eyes rimmed with white, they stared out at the retreating darkness.
“What now?”
Savaana shook her head. “There must be a road somewhere up there.”
“What if they’re waiting for us?” Clarette’s voice was no more than a cracked whisper, but her hand felt strong as she steadied herself on her sister’s shoulder.
Savaana felt terror tangle with her other senses, but she peeled it away, buried it inside. Just another performance. Reaching up, she covered her sister’s hand with her own. “Then they’ll have to deal with the Beloreich,” she said, and meeting Clarette’s eyes, felt a swirl of familial pride unfurl inside her.
“Well, I hope they get here soon,” Clarette said. “Because my arm is throbbing like a bridegroom’s winkle.”
The tender moment was shattered. Savaana tilted her head. “I meant—” she began, then realized she was simply experiencing her sister’s dubious sense of humor. “I think I understand why your husband left you,” she said, and glanced ahead. “Better to stay to the woods or chance the open?”
They gazed out on the meadow together. Dotted with sharp boulde
rs and the occasional tree, it looked green and inviting compared to the dark undergrowth through which they’d been struggling.
“We’d make better time in the open.”
“And we haven’t seen any sign of trouble for some hours.”
In the end they stepped tentatively out of the woods, heading north, but the going wasn’t as effortless as they had hoped. Half-hidden rocks tried to trip them at every weary step. But finally they came across a trail of sorts. The grasses were worn down, exposing a rough thatch of shale. The path headed uphill in a wending fashion, leading into the trees again.
Their course was easier now, but Clarette’s breath was coming hard. The path widened, dividing around an enormous oak.
“Let’s stop for—” Savaana began, but suddenly something leapt at them. Clarette gasped. Savaana jumped, but the creature darted past, materializing into a dark stag that disappeared into the underbrush.
“Holy hell!” they said in unison, then laughed together at their odd similarities. Weak with relief and exhaustion, they dropped to the ground behind the oak.
They were silent for several moments, simply resting.
“How are you faring?” Savaana asked finally, then heard a branch snap.
They caught their breath in unison. Savaana leaned sideways to peek past the tree’s craggy trunk. A man rode alone through the scattered woods. It was still too dark to make out his face, but the brass buttons of his short jacket gleamed dully, and in his right hand he held a long curved sword. Within minutes he would be upon them.
“What is it?” Clarette breathed.
Savaana drew back into hiding. “A rider. Near the top of the hill.”
“Coming this way?”
She nodded, and in that moment they realized they were caught. They couldn’t leave their hiding place without darting across the open area of the path. And he was heading toward them, searching. They eased sideways, making certain they were well hidden behind the oak.
Clarette’s eyes were wide in her pale face. “Do you think he’s a Beloreich coming to save us, or a—”
“Can you ride?” Savaana hissed.
“Isn’t this an odd time to inquire about my equestrian skills?”