The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

  “Can’t say. Human females…” Rivley shrugged.

  “But of any ’cambire I know, you’ve had the most success with females. Any number of them have gone breathless under your attention. You just don’t choose to go after many of them.” And the one Riv did choose, Mary Clare, had to be the most difficult of all humans to—“How do you and Mary Clare do so well together?”

  Rivley fairly scrubbed the metal leg.

  Daeryn leaned across and nudged him. “You and Mary Clare on the outs again?” When Rivley scowled in his direction, Daeryn kept his gaze steady. While he’d never gotten on with Mary Clare, he respected Rivley’s feelings for her. To a point. She didn’t live by ’cambire rules.

  Rivley nodded.

  “The right one hasn’t come along for you,” he said. “She will.”

  Rivley went back to spreading oil over the leg’s joints.

  If Riv, who tried his damnedest with Mary Clare, couldn’t succeed, then why did Daeryn think he had any chance with Annmar? Annmar wasn’t just a human female, she was also a city one. With city rules. ’Cambire denning wasn’t even heard of there. This morning, he’d told Rivley about his amiable breakup with Maraquin. “Surely Annmar can’t blame us for dropping off when we both hurt so much.”

  But apparently Riv didn’t think their injuries were a worthy excuse. The avian set aside the spider leg and picked up another, ignoring Daeryn.

  Daeryn sighed. Even if all he’d done was normal by his standards, it had scared Annmar off. Worse than scaring her off, he’d made her cry. “Even trying to stop trouble, I cause it.”

  “Might be easier to stick with our kind.” Rivley cast him an eye roll.

  “For that, I’d have to go home—”

  “Don’t you dare.” Jac stood in the doorway. She lifted a wad of black fur in each hand. “Leaving now for any reason will land you deep on my shit list. Make no mistake, I will hunt you down.”

  Daeryn snorted, but her point stuck. He’d be viewed as a deserter. Almost as bad as a pack member going off-mark. His gaze trailed to the mangled carcasses in Jac’s hands. “Are those pests?” He shot to his feet, but Rivley was faster, his spider leg clattering into the bucket as he grabbed Daeryn’s arm. His steel grip stopped Daeryn from stepping forward.

  “She’ll bring them to you,” Rivley said. “No need to walk on your injured foot.”

  Hell. He’d nearly given the game away, all over finally seeing this damned pest. Daeryn gave Rivley a look of thanks and sank back onto his crate.

  “Believe me, it’s not worth hurting yourself over.” Jac sniffed and offered them each a body she’d kept from touching her bib-and-brace. “Not enough to call a carcass, let alone a stoat or a rabbit or whatever combination it might be.”

  Daeryn pinched an ear and one foot and pulled it this way and that, trying to get the shape, but the damned thing was torn up. Rivley’s was the same. The thick fur and incisors were exactly as he remembered them. In fact, the teeth seemed even bigger in this slack jaw. The remaining limbs bore a running mammal’s muscles and paws. “Couldn’t you have brought better ones?”

  “Hardly. Of the eleven the day guards found, these are the best. The others…” She grimaced and shook her head.

  Daeryn gave it a sniff. The scent was spot-on—that weird clean smell. “Once I can get out there, I’m checking the lot. I swear those things had two heads apiece.”

  “The way those ropens shred them, we’ll never know,” Jac huffed. “That’s how they can claim they killed twenty.”

  “Were they counting heads or pelts?” Rivley asked. “Who checked the count?”

  “Miz Gere and Famil.”

  They handed back the carcasses. “It’s like they don’t want us to identify the vermin,” Rivley said.

  Jac’s eyes narrowed. “Huh. Suppose that shouldn’t surprise me on top of everything else I had to put up with.”

  Uh oh, sounded like there was more to report than Jac had revealed at the morning meeting. “Tell me.”

  She blew out an exasperated puff of air, clearly ready to vent now that she’d slept a few hours. “Though Paet finally kept to his assigned section, the bastard found every excuse to complain: how the team should be run, the fields divided and the assignments rearranged. He reported catching almost as many as Maxillon, but how many more pests would be dead if he’d just focused on hunting them?”

  Guilt churned Daeryn’s gut. He darted a look to Rivley, who’d stepped back out of Jac’s line of sight. His best friend shook his head. Daeryn clenched his hands and did the same, showing sympathy while his instincts screamed. With his foot healed, he could run. He could resume his leadership. With their team numbers increased, the bastards would behave and they’d clear their fields. “Maybe tonight will be better? Second time out, getting the lay of the sections, the rhythm of the rotations.”

  “Maybe.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she didn’t look him in the eye, but most telling was her agitated scent. Jac was hedging her bets. Daeryn knocked her boot with the tip of one crutch.

  Her lip curled. “Instead of being able to do much hunting of my own, I’m trotted around in circles,” Jac blurted out. “And the bastard delights in sneaking up on me. You’d think it’d be impossible with wings the size of bedsheets, but that leathery skin is as quiet as owls’ wings. I feel his gaze first, and it’s like Paet knows I have. By the time I turn, he’s swooping down, landing and changing, always one step ahead of me. Once, he caught a creature feet from me.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “It made me ill, seeing him tear…”

  “Are these bat things flying canines or felines, then?” Rivley asked before Daeryn could, though he hoped his voice wouldn’t have come out pitched that high.

  “Canine.” Jac wrinkled her nose. “Both show so much wolf in their changing forms, it’s like being among my gran’s pack again, and believe me, that’s not a pleasant feeling either.” Her body shuddered like it was in ’cambire form. “Anyway, the point is Paet treats the job like a lark, and Maxillon nearly so. Far into the middle section, we’re seeing vermin regularly.” Her head lifted. “We’re not stopping them, Dae.”

  His gut twisted tighter. “But you’re catching—”

  “Paet had me so turned around, I wasn’t sure until I’d slept. I just told Miz Gere more have to be arriving. On the wing, those ropens have the better view, so I’ll ask them to compare last night with tonight’s numbers.”

  “Maraquin?”

  “Will hunt tonight.” Her gaze dropped to his foot. “But not you. Or Terrent.”

  Hell, for the first time in the two and a half years he’d been on the team, Jac’s voice actually carried a note of regret. At least he’d had plenty of time this morning to think about how to help, and how to return. “I spoke with James. He’s available and said he’d grab a nap this afternoon. The pests are turning up by midnight?”

  She nodded. “I spotted Maxillon hovering then. I caught my first a quarter hour later.”

  “I’ll tell him at dinner to find you by then. Put him in the middle section with Mar, and you hunt the north section to keep an eye on the bastards. Are the pests always coming in from the northeast?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re using those paths we take into the Davies’ woodlot.” Her eyes had taken on a glint and Jac added pointedly, “I haven’t been up there again to check.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” He swung a hand to brush off any hard feelings. “I’m just trying to get a better grasp on their habits. Focus the guards up north. Check those woods if you have the chance.” His plan was falling into place. “I’ll see how I do tomorrow with the foot, but it’s looking good for me being out.”

  Her head tilted like she was going to laugh, but Jac pressed her lips into a line and nodded. She began to turn, stopped, her nostrils flaring to sniff. “Who is…?”

  Daeryn did the same. “Females.” Daeryn snatched up the crutches and got to his feet, but Rivley and Jac were already at
the doorway. Beyond them, Mary Clare and another girl approached, both carrying paper-wrapped bundles. Who was the second? The strong smell of new fabric covered her scent, so he peered at—

  By the Path, it was Annmar, her earthy, sweet grass scent muddled by a new bib-and-brace. She wore the garb of most farmworkers, with a straw hat covering her head, but her hair still hung in curls, drawn back from her face. Her blue eyes darted from Rivley stepping aside, to Jac…who didn’t.

  “If you think that works as camouflage,” Jac said in a low voice, “you’re wrong. Everyone still knows you’re an Outsider. Even those who can’t smell the stink of city.”

  Mary Clare’s face twisted in anger, but Annmar said, “I’m not hiding.” She didn’t drop her gaze. “Let me do my job, and I’ll stay out of your way so you can do yours.”

  Jac’s hands lifted slightly, each still holding the black fur of a pest. “Damned right you will.” She pushed by Annmar, knocking one of her packages to the ground. Jac didn’t stop to help, but paused at the doorway. “The sooner those labels are done, the sooner you’re out of our fur.” With that, she bounded away across the farmyard.

  Mary Clare’s mouth sagged open, and she turned to stare after Jac. Then she shook her red curls and picked up the paper bundle. “Damn, if she doesn’t have some nerve. But you did great, Annmar. That’s as close to telling off Jac as anyone gets.”

  Daeryn met Rivley’s gaze. “Er, I’d suggest steering clear of Jac. She’s facing other problems.”

  “Yet she’ll still make time to pick on me?” Annmar asked with a wry smile.

  “Apparently,” Rivley said.

  Giving a brief look to the avian, Mary Clare’s lips crooked in a grimace, then she turned to Daeryn. “You’re up.”

  He tapped the crutches. “Came over on these.” He glanced between the two girls, trying not to stare at Annmar. She looked less formal, younger, more approachable…right, maybe if Maraquin had left once they’d agreed they wouldn’t have sex with each other anymore…and he didn’t have Miz Gere’s warning to honor. Too late Daeryn realized he was still tapping his fingers. He cleared his throat. “My foot is healed.”

  Mary Clare gave a squeak of excitement and jostled Annmar with a half hug.

  “Annmar, thank you,” Daeryn said. “I appreciate what you did.”

  “You’re welcome.” She nodded, her face devoid of emotion.

  “I, er, I’m sorry about putting you off this morning.”

  She turned. “We…I have to go…put these away.” Hugging her packages, she headed to the machinery storage opposite the workroom.

  Mary Clare threw him a questioning look, but scooted after Annmar. “Wait.”

  They had a whispered conversation, then grasped hands. The two walked past the equipment to a jumbled mess at the base of the old staircase. Ah, her room access. She’d opened it for Mary Clare. Those two had fast become friends.

  Yet the sight of the girls together left a hollow feeling in him, like he’d missed a meal. “Er, that didn’t go well, did it?” Daeryn slowly returned to his seat on the crate.

  Rivley dropped back onto his crate. They fell into silence except for dirt hitting the metal bucket under Rivley’s wiping.

  Minutes later, Mary Clare scampered down the staircase. She made a beeline for Daeryn and shoved him in the chest. “You rat.”

  “Hey.” Daeryn caught himself, just managing not to tumble to the floor.

  “I made her tell me. Just what were you thinking?”

  He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I obviously wasn’t, as both of you have pointed out. I said I was sorry. What more can I do?”

  “Stay away from her. Don’t mess this up. For Miz Gere, or for me.” Mary Clare pivoted and stormed out of the bunkhouse.

  “Hell,” he muttered. “Did those words come from Annmar, or just Mary Clare dreaming she can put me in place again?”

  Rivley jumped up, dropped the parts on the canvas and dashed out the door. His rising whistle sounded. Daeryn scowled. That was a familiar call. Rivley was doing whatever it took to get back with Mary Clare, dammit, rather than helping him.

  He could still go forward with his plan for tonight, but for after, how was he supposed to get Annmar’s permission to reveal the healing if he had to stay away from her?

  chapter twenty-six

  From her room’s high window, Annmar peered past the yellowing leaves of the walnut tree in the center of the yard. Rivley and Mary Clare were hugging.

  Out in the open for anyone to see.

  Mary Clare indicated they had been together, but Annmar hadn’t realized they still were. Despite misunderstandings.

  Had she misunderstood what was between Daeryn and Maraquin? Annmar laced her fingers together, squeezing them to her aching heart for a moment, then wrenched her hands apart. Somehow they found their way into the pockets of her trousers. Each fist buried itself deep, the feeling of it a small comfort. Rivley had said many things while she pulled her emotions together, but never that Daeryn and Maraquin were, or were not, a couple.

  Daeryn appeared, giving Rivley and Mary Clare a wide berth while he crossed to the farmhouse. He swung the crutches, one foot lifted between them.

  He was healed. By her.

  A shiver ran up her spine, just as one had when Daeryn told them. Oh, if she could talk to him, see his foot again, compare it to her drawing and what she imagined. And in turn, show him the mark that had formed, and confide her Knack discoveries in the friend she’d made while eating cake, and sharing his stories and her sketches.

  Why hadn’t she just started talking in the workshop? She could easily have accepted his apology and continued the conversation with neither of them mentioning the unmentionable. Hadn’t she had plenty of practice doing that with Mr. Shearing?

  What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been. And there he went, her chance to find out delayed. Or was it? Annmar peered down from her window, willing herself to see…something. Anything. Like with the blackberry.

  Daeryn’s figure grew dark, fur coating him, thick and glossy. Heart racing, she darted her gaze to his foot—paw!—hoping for a flash of blue. He disappeared.

  Annmar jerked back. Oh, he’d walked beneath the entry porch. Darn. She’d seen nothing, and to go to his sickroom again would invite more embarrassment.

  Her fingers tapped at her mouth. This vision had appeared in the familiar way those in Derby had, but at her calling. And yet it wasn’t like Jac’s teeth or Rivley’s feathers, the bits Mary Clare said were Knacks showing.

  She turned to watch Mary Clare and Rivley and called up her Knack again. Mary Clare didn’t change, because she was a girl, a human. Rivley, on the other hand, seemed to be wearing a fluttering cape. Annmar focused harder. What she’d thought was draping material sharpened to bluish-gray plumage. He lifted his matching head, showing prominent brows with brilliant orange eyes on either side of a hooked nose.

  In an instant, his image snapped into shape. A hawk. Rivley was a hawk.

  Automatically, Annmar reached across the drafting table for her sketchbook. It fell open where she kept her pencil. She snatched it and started drawing his chest of orange and white horizontal bars. Minutes later, Rivley left the farmyard.

  She traced the completed sketch with her fingertips. At last she’d managed to see one of the boys in his full ’cambire form. Her mouth crooked into a wry smile. Probably better she’d caught Rivley since she didn’t need more reminders of Daeryn gracing her sketchbook. With a sigh, she closed the pages and retrieved the larger label sketchbook. The images of plants weren’t nearly so exciting as ’cambire visions of people she knew, but their drawings would keep her in Blighted Basin and earning money.

  She and Mary Clare had returned too late to go to the fields. Tomorrow, after Market Day, Mary Clare would be free, and besides, she’d told Annmar, the special cooks had sent over another box of preserves. Something among those should be familiar enough to draw this afternoon.

 
Annmar descended her spiral stairs, both hands free now that she didn’t have to hold her skirt. She liked moving in trousers, plus with the security of the solid leather boots, walking became free and easy. Coming around the last of the stair treads, Annmar spotted Rivley kneeling beside a dismantled spider machine. Curiosity rose in her, and she focused her gaze on him. A shadow of his hawk plumage outlined his body, and the feathers tracking his arm movements drew her eye.

  Her booted foot scuffed on the floor.

  He started, rose and rounded in one fluid motion, his amber eyes narrowing in the piercing glare of a hawk. Her hand flew to her mouth, her breath sucking in. How fierce, as if attack was imminent. But just as fast, Rivley stepped back.

  “Girl, uh, Annmar.” The image passed, and he became the solemn Rivley again. “Your room access will take some getting used to. In all the time I’ve assisted Master Brightwell, we’ve had this area to ourselves.”

  That explained things. He hadn’t heard her until she left the protection of Mistress Gere’s room boundary. Annmar released her breath and crossed to the workshop.

  Rivley returned to his machine parts. The long metal joints glistened with a bluish sheen, similar to Miss Lacey’s shimmery skin. That was the lanolin-vegetable oil Rivley said they used.

  “Is Henry’s machine repairable?” she asked.

  Rivley squatted again. “I’ve broken down the external components, cleaned and oiled the legs and the dung depositors.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He laughed. “That probably does sound funny to a city girl. The spiders apply what we call dung, a smelly sludge the growers make from compost.” He picked up a telescoping rod. “This keeps the smell contained. The grower leads the machine between the rows while the depositor inserts the dung into the mounded soil, next to the roots of the crop, where it can work immediately.”

  He compressed the rod and pointed to a hole in the tip before letting loose. The rod sprang to its full length, accompanied by a glow of blue darting over the metal.