Vibora didn’t answer immediately, pushing herself upright. “He’s not always like this. The power—you’ve felt the constant pulsing—it does this to him.”
“You want to give him more? You think that’s going to make him treat you better?”
A brief spasm of pain ran through Pira’s body, but it wasn’t the worst she’d felt. Almost as if Vibora had shocked her simply because it was the expected outcome of her disobedience.
“I know my brother would never have treated you like that,” Pira said.
Vibora recoiled as if Pira had slapped her, then shook her head. “Your brother left me to die, Pira. Sapo saved me. He healed my wounds and killed the Mage who hurt me.” She struggled to her feet. “Jacaré left me to die.”
Chapter 37
* * *
Leão
Leão wanted to doubt his senses. The first pulse of energy danced along his skin like a mosquito, the barest hint of awareness. When it became a perpetual hum, Leão dismounted from his stolen horse and led the animal off the road.
He found a quiet spot, near enough to hear the traffic that passed down Cruzamento’s main road, but relatively out of sight. It was almost impossible to ignore the thrum of essência once he recognized what it was. The force tugged at him like a string tied through his navel, and he fought the instinct to run to its source. Instead he built a small fire and sat cross-legged, with his hands resting palms up on his knees.
With his body oriented toward the town, Leão listened. What he found both did and did not surprise him. The pulse was many layered, a discordant melody of high and low tones held by a clumsy musician. One person was ill suited to maintain so many notes at once. It was a poor opus compared with the perfect symphony of blended power that created the barrier.
Leão tried to pick out one thread, one alto note that rang like a stone dropped in a cavern—the tone he associated with Pira’s Earth affinity.
He didn’t find it.
Instead he was able to pluck one high, clear note, almost a descant to the rest. He didn’t know it, but there was something about it that felt familiar, like he’d heard an echo of it somewhere before.
Focused on that bell-high chime, he tried to match it to his memories. It wasn’t anyone from Olinda, he knew that for certain.
Which meant he could only have heard it on this side of the wall.
His eyes snapped open with realization. It wasn’t the exact pitch he’d heard in Camaçari, but the texture and timbre were the same. Just like Pira’s and Jacaré’s had the same grainy, familial roughness that exposed their relationship. There was a tie between one of the people enslaved in Cruzamento and that spotty power he’d felt outside the prison.
There was something more there. Something he was missing. He listened again, hoping to find the connection between the two different essências in two different places.
The pulse of power revealed one other thing he didn’t want to face: He was incredibly overmatched. With that much energy under a Keeper’s control, Leão didn’t stand a chance against whoever was waiting in Cruzamento.
He racked his mind for some of the lessons he’d learned from his grandmother—like how to defeat a Mage who was significantly stronger than you.
Chapter 38
* * *
Dom
Dom dunked his hands into the Keeper’s Fountain, watching as white dust swirled into the flower-laden water. It turned milky, clouds twisting away from his palms as it washed away the evidence of his day’s work.
Working side by side with the masons, mixing cement to shore up weak places of the estate’s wall, had left his hands dry and coated with a layer of mortar he was certain would be ingrained in his skin for decades.
Physical labor was hard but surprisingly rewarding.
He leaned back against the onyx, feeling the afternoon’s heat burn through his trousers, relaxing his fatigued muscles. Dom toiled all day, working himself to exhaustion, so that when he fell into bed at night, he was too tired to think of the impending war, Rafi’s absence, his inability to protect their people, and Brynn and her potential engagement.
“So,” Maribelle said as she entered the clearing, a basket over one arm. “I’ve crossed a few names off my list. I know for certain who our spy is not.”
Standing, he snatched the basket off her arm without an invitation and searched for anything fast and simple to eat. His mother had recently learned that two units of Belem’s men were moving north, and with the daylight failing, he needed to get back to the house to work through the details with Raul. The problem was that no one seemed to be sure whether Belem would be crossing into Santiago via Camaçari, or if he’d cut through the countryside and come from the west. Either way, Dom didn’t want to be caught unprepared.
“Who’s left on your list?”
“I have a few suspects,” Maribelle answered as she sat in the spot he’d vacated. She tilted her chin back, letting the sun shine on her upturned face, as if posing for a portrait.
For a moment Dom just looked at her, studying the clean lines of her profile and her full lips. There was something different about her in that moment—nothing sensuous or sly—and it made her almost likable. Almost.
He reached into the basket for a second meat-and-cheese-filled pastelzinho, but Maribelle slapped his hand away and took one for herself, bouncing the hot pie from palm to palm.
“I saw you talking to Raul in the barn. Which list is he on?”
Maribelle regarded him over the top of her pastry. She took a bite, and melted cheese dribbled across her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, but it seemed to stretch and spread. “I haven’t eliminated him as a possibility. He could be the spy.”
“How are you eliminating people at all? Where are you getting your information? I see you every day. You’re rarely alone. When do you have time to ask questions and find answers?”
“A girl needs her secrets.”
“Then tell me who’s not on your list, Maribelle,” he said as he jammed his hands through his hair.
“Oh, poor boy.” Maribelle smirked. “Are you upset about the spy or about that little conversation you had with Brynn in the library? Must be awful to think that a servant girl might choose a butcher’s son over you.”
“How do you know about that? The library was empty.”
She sucked the grease off her fingertips one at a time. “People talk.”
“Which people? Give me something, Maribelle, or I swear on Mother Lua’s name, I’ll personally escort you to the border and leave you there.”
“Don’t threaten me, Dominic,” she said, dropping the crust of her pie at his feet and idly brushing the crumbs off her hands. “You need me a lot more than you know.”
“Prove it.”
“Fine.” She hesitated, closing the basket’s lid before she spoke again. “Three nights ago I received some information from one of my sources. Your spy passed information—specific details about your food storage, well locations, and estate defenses—through one of my relays.”
The pastelzinho Dom had so quickly devoured threatened to make a reappearance.
“Don’t worry, I was able to stop it from spreading beyond my source. A coded message was tucked under a table leg at the Duke’s Dagger. The inn was crowded, as always, so my relay wasn’t able to see who left it behind, or who wanted to make off with it.”
“Which means any number of people could have put the message there.”
“True,” she conceded with a nod. “But it was in a code specific to Belem’s spies, and only a few people who serve at your estate were at the inn that night.”
“Who?” Dom’s fingers twitched; he wished she’d stop dragging out this game and get to the point.
“One groom from the stable, two maids, Raul, and one other soldier.”
Raul. Raul who we’ve all trusted so fully. He’d be a perfect person for Belem to use.
“The other names?”
“I’ll get th
em to you, but I need something in return.”
Dom snorted and dropped onto the fountain’s edge. “I’m not surprised.”
“It’s nothing painful,” she said, biting her bottom lip but failing to hide a smile. “Send a letter to your uncle Fernando, asking him to pick up a package for me the next time he has a ship in the Wisp Islands. I’ll write out the details for you later.”
“There’s a trick in this. I can feel it.”
She moved in front of him, wedging herself between his knees and smoothing her fingers up his chest, then interlacing them behind his head. “Sometimes tricks can be fun, Dominic.”
“Maribelle . . .”
Her voice was low, her breath fanning across his cheek. “You should kiss me now. Put on a show for whichever spy your mother has watching us.”
He wasn’t surprised that she knew, or at least guessed at, his mother’s plan, but still he hesitated.
“What’s wrong? Are you worried your precious Brynn will hear about this little tryst?” She pressed a slow kiss below his ear.
It shouldn’t have mattered to him what Brynn thought. She was practically engaged to someone else.
But she hasn’t said yes. Yet. There has to be a reason for that.
“Send a message to Fernando,” Maribelle continued. “I promise the package will only benefit Santiago and your uncle.” She must have sensed his inattention, and pecked him quickly on the lips.
He jerked away. “Fine,” he said, knowing his uncle wouldn’t take aboard a package that would cause any harm. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 39
* * *
Johanna
Four men stood across the road that led to Performers’ Camp. Bright sashes tied around their hips held their swords loosely, never getting in the way of a quick draw. Matching bands wrapped around their brows. Hands loose at their sides, faces stoic. They would have seemed dangerous to anyone but Johanna.
She knew those guard dogs for what they were, playful beasts more likely to slobber on you than bite. Fireswords, all of them, and her friends.
At the sight of the men Rafi took her arm. She jumped at the contact. They hadn’t done much touching during their march—or talking, for that matter. Jacaré had discouraged any sort of conversation, constantly hassling them to move faster and quieter.
The silence had been nearly as heavy as Jacaré’s words, and she’d spent the majority of their hike weighing the truth and its consequences.
The Storyspinner in her screamed to follow her heart and fight for love, finding some sort of compromise that would allow Rafi to continue ruling Santiago and her to stay near the wall. But too many tales were doomed from the opening lines, especially when the lovers were working at cross-purposes.
It might be better for everyone if Princess Adriana went back to being dead.
Stepping away from Rafi’s touch, she broke into a light jog. “Didsbury!” She aimed for the man in the middle of the line.
His stance loosened; his head bobbed forward in surprise. “Johanna?” Then his face broke into a wide smile and he threw open his arms.
Johanna leaped into them; bands of lean muscle pressed her close and lifted her off the ground.
The other men’s voices broke into excited welcomes and questions.
“Light, it’s good to see you!”
“Where have you been?”
“Give me a hug.”
She was passed from one embrace to another, lips planting hard kisses on her cheeks. They were all warmth and homecoming, till they remembered she hadn’t come alone.
“Who’d you bring?” Didsbury asked, edging in front of Johanna, his body creating a physical barrier between her and Rafi. “Is that . . .” His voice trailed off, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword. It wasn’t a threat exactly, but it certainly wasn’t a welcome.
“Rafael DeSilva,” Rafi said, nodding at the men.
“The future Duke of Santiago,” she said, finishing for him.
Didsbury’s brow creased with concern. “Why’s he here, Jo? Why’d you bring him here?”
He’s my betrothed. While it was technically true, she wasn’t sure the legalities had any hold on either of them. Santiago was Rafi’s home and his heritage. Staying with her in Roraima would cost him both, as well as his family, and Johanna knew too well that price of that particular sacrifice. She’d never ask him to make that choice.
“It’s a long story,” she said, feeling Rafi’s eyes on her. “And it’s not one to be told on a trail.”
“It better be a good one.” His voice was limned with concern rather than interest. “I’m surprised he’d leave his home with war on the horizon.”
“What? War?” Johanna’s words were a snap, and both Rafi and Jacaré jerked to attention.
“Duke Belem’s planning to attack Santiago. He’s closed his borders. How did you not know?”
Rafi’s mouth worked, but it was Jacaré who spoke. “May we enter Performers’ Camp? It seems we have a lot to discuss.”
The other guards sidled closer to Didsbury, and Johanna noticed that the band around his sleeve was red instead of yellow. She touched it with a questioning finger. “You’re the head of the guard now?”
He nodded; his lips, which tended toward smiling, curved sharply in the other direction. “Ask your other friend about Benton,” he said, nodding toward Jacaré. “We’re a little short on the details.”
Jacaré had told her that he and his crew had visited Performers’ Camp in search of information about her whereabouts, but that was it.
Johanna edged out of the box the guards had made around her. “May we come down to camp? Please. We need information.”
“You need more than that,” Didsbury said, his mouth ticking toward a grin. “You need a hot meal and a bath.” He nodded for Rafi and Jacaré to follow. “We can offer you, all of you, that hospitality at least.”
Wagons speckled the valley floor like bright beads in a palm. Fingers of green, studded with black knuckles of rock, cupped Performers’ Camp and sheltered it from the winds that blew out of the north, and hid the ocean to the east.
Johanna drank in the sight. Her eyes passed over the Council House at the center of camp, unconsciously searching for a red-and-yellow wagon.
It wasn’t there, of course. Its bones lay in a crumbled heap in a mango orchard, far to the south.
“We heard about your family.” Didsbury seemed to know what she was looking for and gave her arm a light squeeze. “Mother Lua will see their souls home.”
She nodded, grateful that it wasn’t a tale she’d have to tell. They walked past the bell pole, and her gratitude spread. Instead of announcing their arrival with three peals, Didsbury led them into camp like family instead of visitors.
Jacaré carried himself as always, watchful and wary. Rafi seemed to mirror the Keeper’s attitude, but nothing could hide the emotions in his dark eyes. He caught her gaze for a moment, then it dropped to the arm draped around her waist.
She almost stepped away, moving to his side instead, but she stayed with Didsbury. Distance, she counseled herself. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.
“You three can clean up at the springs, and we’ll gather Elma and the Council at the House.” Didsbury sent one of the Fireswords as a runner and the other two to watch the trail. “She’s been asking for you. Seemed to know you’d be here soon.”
“Hmm.” Johanna couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for the old hedgewitch. If it weren’t for Elma and her supposed ability to see the future, Johanna’s family would have stayed safely in Performers’ Camp.
Had Elma sent them away knowing that it would result in their deaths?
Johanna didn’t like the answer to that question, no matter what it meant.
Chapter 40
* * *
Rafi
War. Belem. Home. Mother. Dom. War.
Rafi didn’t want to believe what the guard had said. It was only a rumor, and rumors got blown out of
proportion.
But what if it’s not? Oh Light. Mother will manage the food, but Captain Alouette’s dead, so preparing the state for attack will fall to . . . Dom?
So lost in his thoughts, Rafi didn’t notice when their guide, a blond boy of about ten, stopped. Rafi trod right on the boy’s heel and earned a dirty look in return.
“I’m sorry,” Rafi said, finally taking in his surroundings.
“This way,” the boy said, waving them into a series of caverns tucked under the mountain’s feet at the northern edge of the valley. They entered through a natural cave and went down a half dozen man-made steps. The rock was dark and porous, light peeking through crevices above and pocking the ground beneath.
Two benches, each built into the tunnel’s wall, held mounds of neatly folded towels and a stone bowl full of soap shavings. Water lapped a few paces away, a hint of steam rising in the distance.
“Leave your boots and stuff here. No one will steal it,” the boy said with a growl in his voice. “The pools are down that way. Didsbury said to have you wash up and give you some clothes from the castoff pile. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Jacaré clapped Rafi on the shoulder as he walked past. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but you’re not going to be able to go anywhere now or in the next few hours. Clean up and rest.”
Anger flashed through Rafi, replacing his fears instantly. “Don’t give me advice. We’re not on the same side.” He gave the Keeper a shove that forced him back onto his heels. “I heard what you said to Johanna. You can’t possibly expect her to stay here now that the world knows who she is. Everyone, everywhere, will be after her for their own gains.”
“Does that include you, Rafi? Or are you willing to give up your dukedom to live the quiet, powerless life she wants?”
The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) Page 14