With a sigh, she gathered the farm clothes, folded them and opened her trunk.
Blue lights flashed in the bottom.
Annmar dropped the lid with a bang, but heaved it open again. Mother’s watercolor of the River Derwent was illuminated by blue light flowing over the looping pencil strokes.
“Thank heavens!” Her Knack might not work on the doodem, but it worked on something. She picked up the painting she’d brought from Derby—one that had not shown a bit of blue the night she arrived—and dashed away the happy tears threatening to blur her vision. She wished to see the lines now, though something told her this gift wasn’t going away. Annmar gathered the complete stack of Mother’s artwork she’d saved, sat on the rug and spread the dozen papers out around her, excitement warming her.
Every one of them had some touch of the blue light. Blue swayed the tree limbs overhanging the River Derwent where she and Mother had walked each Sunday. Blue twitched the whiskers of a hare they’d spied eating grass shoots, bringing it alive again. Blue ruffled the feathers of a bird landing on a branch. Every naturescape conveyed life in the creature or plant Mother had drawn.
At last Annmar turned to the one hardest to look at, though the portrait was the best of all: a sketch of the two of them. She had to wipe her eyes three times before she could study it properly. The simple drawing showed them sharing a hug on a happy day. The luminated threads circled with their arms, tightening in love. Warm feelings welled up in Annmar, and all over again she could feel Mother’s arms around her, squeezing, and hear the whisper of her soft voice saying, I love you.
A good cry later, Annmar felt better. She gathered the vibrant artwork, scanning each again. She’d saved these pieces because their vitality showed even without the view of a Knack, but now she knew where Mother had applied special touches. Yet disappointment settled in Annmar’s heart. These scenes were all of Derbyshire. None depicted the Basin, or anything about Mother’s life here. So though she confirmed the blue light of her Knack had been part of Mother’s Knack, too, she still knew nothing more about her family or her gift—
Wait. She had found someone to tell her more. Old Terry.
Even if the strange lady didn’t know about her parents, she knew plenty about doodems. Annmar’s intuition said Old Terry knew some connection between the figures, that fascinating sparkling tunnel and Annmar.
* * *
“So?” Daeryn rolled off his bed that afternoon when Rivley came into their shared room from Market Day.
Rivley didn’t look at him, just gave a glance around and turned to his wardrobe.
Damn. That frown at Daeryn’s clothes-littered half of the room said the avian was in no better mood than he was. Perhaps worse, depending on what Miz Gere had said when Riv went to her office. Daeryn also turned away. Right, he should have picked up this afternoon, but anything he’d started today seemed to fall apart. Which made asking if Riv had seen what he’d seen…
Daeryn flung a few things at his open drawers. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”
“We went to Market Day.”
“You know what I mean. Who did she talk to? What did she think of Chapel Hollow?”
Rivley threw a frown over his shoulder before picking up a towel.
He shouldn’t have, but a rumble vibrated from his throat.
With the hair on his crown rising, Rivley darted to the bathing room and slammed the door.
Fine. He’d let the persnickety cluck clean up…and put Rivley in a better mood by shoving his stuff into the wardrobe. Though, why did it matter when Riv spent most of his time up in the rafters of their thirty-foot ceiling?
By the time Rivley finished his spray wash, Daeryn lay on his bed, pitching a ball of socks at the wall and catching it.
Rivley put away his things. “Say, I need a nap.”
“You’re going to tonight’s bonfire.” The socks hit the wall. “You’ll watch her?” It wasn’t so much a question as a request.
“Mistress Gere only asked me to while we were off property.” Rivley shrugged. “No need tonight.”
Daeryn shoved himself up. What, no need? No, not when… Great Creator, he ought to just spill his asinine adventure.
Rivley frowned. “Besides, you’ll be there. See for yourself what she does.”
He grunted. That was the problem. “Claiming my foot was good enough to move back here set up a fuss with Mrs. Betsy.”
“Sit at the fire. That’s where Annmar will probably be anyway.”
“Except Mrs. Betsy sent for Miriam, who said she better not see me out before breakfast.”
“Then, you’re here. Not my problem. I have plans.”
“Mary Clare?” When Rivley didn’t answer, Daeryn got to his feet with a growl. “Damn it all, this is more important. You’ve said yourself there’s no future with Mary Clare. So help me with Annmar by keeping one of your hawk eyes alert to make sure no other males try to get in close with her.”
“You should have thought of that before your cock invited that wolf to bed.”
Daeryn sprang, but Rivley blocked the punch and slammed his fist into Daeryn’s gut. Daeryn lashed out again and caught him on the shoulder. They parted. Daeryn bent and charged him again, but Rivley twisted into hawk form and flew overhead. Missing him, Daeryn smashed into the wall, his vision blacking at the edges. Before he could get up, Rivley’s full human weight landed on his back, and he pinned Daeryn in a headlock. He struggled, but couldn’t break the hold.
“Look,” Rivley panted. “I appreciate that you’re frustrated. We both will be until the obligations of the gildan are resolved. Work together, you said. I’m game. To be pack, if that’s what it takes. If you want her, tell me when you’re up for fulfilling the gildan. Then after, you work on winning her.”
Only Daeryn’s rough breathing sounded in the quiet room. Hell, it made sense, laid out like that. “Fine,” he finally spat when he got his breath.
Rivley released him.
Daeryn ducked his head, turned away and stripped off his shirt. He changed, fur sprouting over his back, rear and legs as his trousers fell. He dropped to all fours, shook himself and leaped. From chair back to wardrobe top to rafter, his muscular hind legs sprang with each jump until he landed on the high dormer window ledge. He shot back a glare, and Rivley met it. Damn him. Daeryn dove out the window onto the nearest apple limb.
He headed for the woods at the north perimeter and ran until he reached the next landowner’s field. He scraped through its hedgerow and continued on, stretching muscles over his back, bunching shoulders and thighs to leap logs and skirt rocks. On and on he raced, lacing through woods and thorny hedgerows, until he ran out of adrenaline and anger, miles from Wellspring.
I’ve done it now. And not just diving into a fight with Rivley. Daeryn’s head drooped. To admit what he’d seen in the Market meant telling everything. The tale of the healing that wasn’t his to tell. How he’d nearly died sneaking out to hunt. And worse, he’d gone against Miz Gere by following Annmar around when the girl had made it clear she wanted him at a distance. He slowed to a padding trot to even his breathing and his head.
His decisions hadn’t been those of a leader. He’d failed Miz Gere, his team, his best friend and…himself.
Over a girl who might never invite him to court her.
Why didn’t he have the foresight to listen to Rivley right from the start? Or even when Miz Gere made him lead? This was his chance to get his head on straight, prove himself again. To be the leader he wanted to be again.
And he’d botched it.
Daeryn leaped up an outcropping and stood on the warm stone, letting its heat penetrate his footpads while he stared off into late September’s fading foliage.
Rustle.
His head jerked around, his ears twitched, just as the mouse ventured forward, crackling another dry leaf with its tiny foot. Daeryn half-settled on his haunches, tightening his rear muscles with a wiggle of anticipation. At the next crackle, he
sprang.
The warm body fell limp with a quick neck snap and, in three bites, was gone. Daeryn licked his tongue over one paw and wiped it across his whiskers, first one side, then the other. That’d been good, but now his stomach growled, demanding more. He glanced around. Plenty of mice could be found between here and Wellspring.
The trip back was slower, calmer, and productive. He followed several trails of vermin scent. They steered clear of the worn paw paths, instead darted along hedgerows, behind fallen logs and into old burrows. Unfortunately, he didn’t scare up any, adding to his list of misses today.
Another failure was somewhat welcome: Rivley wasn’t in the workshop. Daeryn couldn’t face him yet. He left a note asking if Riv could devise a tiny lantern and harness, not explaining why he needed one. The unusual request should be enough to spur Rivley’s creativity. Later, with an apology, Daeryn would give over the story.
With the late afternoon light slanting through the clouds, Daeryn climbed a spreading oak in the cemetery on the edge of Wellspring. He set his claws into the bark of a nearly level branch he’d rested on before. Though his eyesight wasn’t even close to Rivley’s, he had a clear view over the shorter orchard trees to the regular Saturday evening bonfire set in an opening beyond the bunkhouse.
It’d been lit. Daeryn lifted his nose. James attended the flame, along with several of the planta boys, though their scents weren’t as strong. Maraquin’s was. She flounced down the hill, arriving early to have dinner before her guard shift. When Zar came along a minute later, Daeryn knew Jac had decided to reduce the breaks after dark.
Better catnap now, otherwise he’d be little help after a night awake and a day of worry. His instinct was to do it here. When Annmar joined the group, he’d dress and ask to have a word alone. If she didn’t appear, he’d find Mary Clare to help him. He’d plead a case for Wellspring needing guards so Annmar would let him reveal the healing. Then before midnight, he’d grab Zar to get Jac, tell his tale and permanently turn over the lead.
Hell, another night of the vermin increasing and no one would care how he’d returned. But Daeryn couldn’t wait.
chapter thirty-two
Not long after the bell rang for dinner, Annmar put the lids on the jars. Ten label mock-ups completed. Enough to request another meeting with Mistress Gere. Hopefully, she wouldn’t think Annmar had rushed the work, since this was only the third day of the trial. Another glance through the sketchbook confirmed the latest labels were every bit as good as the first—and her new tradesman’s mark graced each. Annmar closed the book. She would ask tonight.
Annmar gathered her personal sketchbook and pencils in her satchel and wrapped Mother’s shawl around her shoulders, then left her secure room. When Mary Clare had escorted her back, she’d assured Annmar there’d be no going into tunnels on Wellspring land. Mistress Gere’s wards worked on the room and her property. “Because your home is here, within Wellspring’s fences you’re protected,” Mary Clare said. “Her Knack works really well for people, just not on simple wild animals, including the vermin. She’s figuring that out, along with some of the best guards in the Farmlands shire.”
A stab of guilt hit Annmar. Whether it was embarrassing or not, she had to talk to Daeryn to learn the details of his foot’s healing and, if it wasn’t too forward, see it again. He’d honored her request not to tell anyone, but the growers’ discovery of the increased crop damage made it clear Daeryn needed to work.
He wasn’t among the workers lined up at the table under the farmyard walnut tree. Annmar didn’t see anyone whose name she knew, but she recognized several people from today and the night she rang the alarm. Some said hello, but her skirt and satchel received several headshakes when they thought she wasn’t looking. Annmar curled her toes in her new boots. Yes, they viewed her as prim, odd, an Outsider. Well, likely she wouldn’t get questions about her Knack. She plucked a roasting stick from a pile and speared chunks of onion, peppers, squash and other vegetables from platters. Then she followed the others down to the flames leaping in a clearing.
Annmar couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a bonfire. Maybe when she was little, when she and Mother joined other families for a holiday treat. They’d never considered it after Mother’s illness left her so tired she slept every spare minute.
Mary Clare stepped from the group, a grin on her face. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would with all that canned food you carried up yesterday, and your scare earlier.”
Annmar weighed telling her about her newest discovery of the blue lines on Mother’s artwork and her plans to learn more, but too many people stood within hearing distance. “I wasn’t sure myself, but jam and tomato sauces aren’t very filling, no matter how varied the flavors are. How do we cook these?”
“I was just preparing mine.” They added half-cooked sausages from a pan in the fire to their sticks—Mary Clare said they’d flavor the vegetables—and stuck their dinners to roasting in the flames. Nearby some others discussed the Market Day lectures.
“That bloke had some crazy ideas,” Wyatt said. “Outside ideas, if you ask me.”
“Exactly.” Gunther snorted. “Why would a collective like Wellspring purposefully put our members out of work?”
“We won’t.” Wyatt bounced on his toes, like Rivley did, and punctuated his point with a finger-stab in the air. “Though it’s being done Outside, they don’t have the agrarian dedication that comes with good bloodlines. This is what Basin folk are engineered for, to use his words.”
Famil flipped her braids over her shoulder. “Routine raising of crops is well within our abilities, once we get past this thorn in our sides.” She pushed to Master Brightwell’s side. “We can devise some machine ourselves to fight the pests, right, sir?”
“Working on it.” The inventor lifted a chin toward his workroom. “About to ask Constance to promise you won’t pull off Rivley before we’re done.”
“By the Path.” Wyatt made a half bow to him. “Of course not.”
Annmar turned her stick. From what she’d seen of Master Brightwell’s inventions, he would create something to rival any machine from Derby. And Rivley would help with a solution.
Several others clapped Master Brightwell on the shoulders, but he waved them off. “Just have a dash of it working at this point.”
Their questions ended when a sizzling erupted from the fire. Flames flared around a three-legged frypan.
Mary Clare yanked Annmar away, while others tried to rescue the sausages.
Beside them, Jac cursed. “I had only ten minutes between rotations, and now I’ll have to go without dinner.”
Annmar glanced at her stick. She could try. If she managed a partial peace with Jac, then she might not find it too trying to stay beyond the trial, even if she never did fit in. “Take mine.” She offered her stick of roasted vegetables and meat. Jac frowned, but Annmar stepped closer. “I can fix another. You have to work.”
Jac’s tongue flicked over her lips, then after a long moment, she took it. The spitting fire nearly drowned her muttered, “Thanks,” before Jac stalked to the other side of the fire.
Mary Clare wore a grin, but Annmar put a finger to her lips. “Ah…yes,” Mary Clare finally said. “Some accident like this happens just about as often as Wyatt argues Outside politics. But nothing ever changes in the Basin. My pa says because Outsiders can’t get in, neither can their ideas. But Ma counters the new ideas mostly don’t fit because we’re too strange.”
Yes, the spider machines did look odd, but they did their job. “I don’t think so.”
Mary Clare lifted a brow.
“Well, some, but I’m getting used to it.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. I’d like you to stay.” She inspected her stick. “I think these are done.” She inched off a browned sausage and handed it to Annmar.
I’d like you to stay. Mary Clare made the decision sound so simple. Annmar ate, keeping a little sigh from escaping. If she stayed, she wouldn’t be an
anonymous cog in someone else’s plan. Her work—including help she could give others through her Knack—would be her choice, though earning a living here wouldn’t be any easier than on her own in Derby. Having grown up in the Basin and with her large family to help her, Mary Clare didn’t understand. If only Annmar had family. Could Master Brightwell’s guess of Mother’s name be right? Or—a buried hope dared to speak up—could she find her father? Now a sigh did escape, and Annmar avoided Mary Clare’s glance.
Locating one man was an impossible task with no information. He might be surprised to meet her, but if her father was still alive, then as Old Terry said, she’d learn a thing or two about herself. Annmar shook off dwelling on her history and pulled vegetables from the shared stick. She just had to hope one of her ideas for searching turned up a clue.
They filled more sticks and squeezed among several growers to cook them.
“Miz Gere says the test rows look good,” a girl said. “If the pea nuts continue to avoid the attention of these pests, then we’ll plant a field or two come spring.”
For a second Annmar thought Mary Clare had spoken. But she hadn’t. So this girl, who sounded so much like her she must be her older sister Mary Beth.
“I heard that pea nuts got a high nourishing level,” Henry said. “And, better, I like how they taste.”
Mary Beth shrugged. “You like how everything tastes. It’s more important that the pea nut grows easy. Outside species can be tricky in Basin soils. What I can’t figure,” she said, “is why the pests have ignored it.”
“No kidding. Those gobblers are taking what they can from every other crop,” Henry said.
“Gobblers?” Mary Beth snorted. “For once, I have to agree with you. Gobbling is what the gobblers are doing.”
The groaning over losses began, and though she empathized, Annmar didn’t trust that her comments would be welcome yet. She was still too new and didn’t need to make awkward mistakes when they had worse concerns. She turned her roasting stick over a patch of glowing coals. The gorgeous orange and yellow flickering couldn’t be captured, even in oils. Jac’s mane of curls made a better subject, swinging in drapes as she rose from her seat with a grower girl, or Mary Beth’s woven braid, glinting as she twirled it over a boy’s nose.
The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance Page 26