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

by Wanrow, Laurel

  How did flirting come so easy for some girls and not others? Annmar had never been comfortable behaving in that manner. She’d done none of the wily acts her roommates did to attract a beau’s attention, certainly not under Mrs. Rennet’s watch. So what had attracted an industrial magnate like Mr. Shearing to her?

  “Sweet biscuit?” Mary Clare handed her a giant pale disc. “It’s as big as a moon.”

  Annmar hadn’t even noticed she’d left. “The moon?” She nibbled the sugary edge. It dissolved in her mouth.

  “Mm-hmm.” Mary Clare brushed crumbs from her lips and nodded eastward. “Can’t see it from down here, but it’ll be high enough soon. Say, what’s with you?” Mary Clare edged into her, then darted a look around. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Jac leaving for her guard duty. The wolf girl sauntered off, and Mary Clare’s gaze returned to Annmar. “Don’t even spare her a thought. She’s not worth it.”

  Annmar shook her head. “It’s not her I’m thinking of. Why did I grow up such a good girl? So sheltered?”

  “City norms? They do sound more restrictive than the Basin’s.”

  Annmar glanced sideways at her. “You don’t act like some Derby girls, but you’ve had beaus.”

  Mary Clare snorted. “Boys. Not necessarily beaus. None long enough I’d give them the honor of the title. I have older sisters. That helps to know what you’re doing and not make mistakes.”

  “Your mother’s guidance, too. From what you say, she must be less uptight than mine was.”

  “Surprising, since yours came from here. I’m developing a theory about her leaving. My guess is”—Mary Clare leaned close and dropped her voice—“she had an unapproved match.”

  “What?” Annmar squeaked.

  Mary Clare’s eyes widened. “She got pregnant, right, and her parents wouldn’t approve if he was a different species—”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Mary Clare slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her. “Aw, honey. Your Knacks. Artistic talent of your mother’s level is unusual, but not outrageously so. Healing is another story. Surely you’ve figured out it’s beyond the usual human talents. Your father had to be something different, even by Basin standards.”

  Annmar leaned into her comfort. “Maybe still is. Mother was young, thirty-six. He should be alive, but I’ll never know. Mother never gave me any explanation of my father, or I suppose more correctly what Old Terry today called him, my sire.”

  “She didn’t say that.”

  “Did. Considering Mother was from the Basin, a non-human sire could be a possibility.”

  “No clue who he is?”

  She shook her head. Once she knew Mistress Gere’s painting source, she’d tell Mary Clare. “I’m just an oddity with no history.”

  “Annmar.” Mary Clare gripped her shoulder. “You’re not an oddity. No more unusual than any Basin-born. We’re alike that way.”

  “Alike?” Annmar wrinkled her nose. “But you know so much about country life—”

  “And you know so much about life in the city. I would be a fish out of water there, and I want so badly to visit.”

  Annmar eyed the redhead. Mary Clare had a point. “Well, society is complicated, but most urban dwellers do master its rules. I could teach you.”

  “Just like I can teach you about the Basin. It’ll grow easier, really. Why do you doubt we’re alike?”

  She should just tell her. “You also know so much about boys. And I…don’t.”

  Mary Clare smiled. “Boys are easy, too.”

  Annmar shifted her gaze off, flicking glances around to the groups and couples, some flirting, some showing off in hopes of flirting. It’d be years before she could do that. She sighed. Or at least months.

  Mary Clare nudged her. “Step one, you talk to them. You find the one interested in the things you are.”

  Annmar glanced around again. “I can do that.”

  “Good for you. Practice on Henry. He’s so young, he’s safe.” She took Annmar’s stick. “Henry?” The blond boy turned and, with a big smile, edged closer. “Can you show Annmar the table with the sweet biscuits?”

  “You bet. Need to head that way myself.”

  Mary Clare gave her a little push, and she followed Henry up to the food table. She felt silly nodding along to his chatter. What should she say? Then he offered her a biscuit. “These are good, but my favorites of Mrs. Betsy’s are the apple tarts. Which are yours?”

  Annmar blinked. She had to say something. “I…uh…I haven’t been here long enough to have those, but I like these fine.” That answer came easily enough. She took the biscuit, and suddenly her tongue loosened. “They look like the moon, though not tonight.” She held hers skyward toward the crescent moon.

  “I can fix that.” Henry grinned and took a bite of his, then held out the bitten treat. “You should see the waxing moon over the cemetery headstones. It’s downright spooky looking, the very thing folks think of come Samhain.”

  “Oh, I’d love to draw that. Where do you mean?”

  “Over in that first row of trees near the property line.” He pointed, and they walked a few steps. “If you’re going to draw, I’ll fetch you a crate to sit on.”

  Annmar scoured the shadowed ground. No pests in sight. With what everyone said about their habits, she must have time for a few sketches. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  “It’ll be a minute. I promised biscuits to a couple of the others. And Rivley. He’s a little off at me and needs some buttering up.”

  He gathered the treats and left. Annmar wandered among the trees, still checking the ground while peering eastward, looking for the right spot. Having some of these branches frame it would be good, over the split-rail fence.

  “Ann Marie?” a woman called behind her.

  She whirled. A figure separated from the shadow of a tree trunk. She was short and small-framed, with waist-length hair flowing over her shoulders. A taller, broader man appeared behind her. He nodded serenely and leaned against the tree while the woman advanced alone.

  Annmar’s moment of fright dissolved. “Hello,” she called to the woman.

  “I’m Patrice,” she said. “We have not met.” Patrice didn’t offer her hand, and neither did Annmar, not after her experience with Old Terry.

  “No, but I remember you.” Very well. The tree nymph moved in the same lithe way her image had in Annmar’s peach jam-induced vision. Her gray tunic, shining silver in the moonlight, clung to the same swells and curves visible among the same shifting strands of hair. Oh, what freedom this woman possessed to display her body this way. She looked so natural, so right. “I’m pleased to see you again.”

  “The pleasure is mine. This may be my only chance to speak with you.”

  Annmar cocked her head. “Are you…we not allowed?”

  “Nothing like that.” Patrice smiled. “First frost always puts a damper on our activities. One never knows when that may be. Besides, I don’t venture outside my tree much.”

  “But I saw you…”

  The tree nymph pinched her fingers together like she was holding a pencil. “You drew me out.”

  “I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  Patrice laughed lightly, a fluttering of leaves in the wind, and stroked a hand over Annmar’s cheek in a motion that was as smooth as peach fuzz. “I liked showing you myself,” she said softly. “My tree, my flowers, my fruits.”

  In that simple reciting, all the special feelings of Annmar’s Knack discovery came flooding back, like a shared secret. “You were my first drawing of this kind. It’s special to me.”

  Patrice nodded solemnly. “You left me something special in return.” She swept her hair over one shoulder, then petted its length to her hip. “Thank you for my hair.”

  “But it was yours all along, and beautiful. I enjoyed drawing it.”

  Patrice laughed again. “You are such the innocent. As autumn advances, our nutrients shift to shutting d
own. Normally, this takes a toll on my hair, making it lose luster and thickness. Because of your intervention—your drawing—my vitality is renewed. I feel full of life, instead of worn from my season.”

  A shiver of excitement ran through Annmar. Patrice’s revitalization was a plant-style copy of Daeryn’s healing.

  “I’m honored.” Patrice smiled gently. “There aren’t many like you who come here. The plantas, of course, but they sense our needs rather than really communicate. I hope to see you again, sweet Ann Marie.”

  She waved and tiptoed away, drifting to the man. He took her hand, smiled and nodded to Annmar. In that instant, his image flashed. A beech, tall and stately, growing on the southern edge of the farm. They walked past the farmhouse, headed to his tree.

  Annmar rubbed her hands over her arms, brushing the light blouse sleeves against her goose bumps. There aren’t many like you. But there were some. Annmar would find them. Her drawing had helped Patrice. Certainly she had healed Daeryn. She had to talk to him.

  The tree couple disappeared behind distant rows of orchard trunks. Above the trees, the crescent moon glowed, brightening the night sky to bluish and paling the stars within its range. Annmar crossed to the split-rail fence, where a branch framed the moon in an interesting twist, its leaves fluttering in the slight breeze. Perfect. She tugged her sketchbook and a pencil from her satchel. Tonight, she’d just enjoy a bit of her usual sketching.

  Dried leaves crunched behind her, the sound of running footsteps. She turned to warn Henry not to trip, but the figure was too big for the boy. And coming fast.

  chapter thirty-three

  Backing to the fence, Annmar clenched her art materials, her heart racing. “Henry?” she still asked, not wanting to believe she was alone with one of those wild-looking men—a ropen.

  “Nah, it’s Paet,” he rasped out, stopping yards from her and bending over to catch his breath. “The wolf bitch needs your help.”

  “Jac? My help?”

  He pointed, opposite the direction he’d come from. “Fruit trees past the house. Other side of the gate. Jac’s there.”

  Annmar edged toward the farmhouse, if only because it put distance between them.

  He drew a gasping breath and half-turned away. “Hurry!” he called over his shoulder and trotted off in the direction of the bunkhouse.

  She stumbled a few more steps, her gaze on him. He wasn’t coming with her. Thank heavens. If Jac thought she could help, Annmar didn’t want to let her down. But she didn’t want to go anywhere in the dark with that ropen. She strode along the fence, ducking under the branches spreading from the peach trees lining it. Except for her footsteps, the orchard between the house and the cemetery was silent. The gate wasn’t far, just past the kitchen garden at the front of the house. Would she hear Jac once she was there? Or should she call out?

  Wait a second. Annmar stopped to listen, scanning the moonlit headstones beyond the fence rails, on down to the gate’s stone pillars. The fruit trees on the other side of the gate belonged to a neighboring farmstead, not Wellspring. No sounds of farmworkers came from the gate, those trees or along the empty road leading to town. Just a lone carriage stood silhouetted at the end of the cemetery, its horse stamping in the harness.

  A shiver ran down her spine. Why would Jac be outside Wellspring’s gate? Annmar didn’t know much about the night guards’ duties, but she did know they only guarded the farm property.

  Something about this wasn’t right. She spun on her heel and ran back the way she’d come, her pounding feet matching her heartbeats. A shadow sprang from behind a peach tree.

  She screamed as Paet grabbed her arm and jerked her around. Wild hair framed a dark face that showed only the whites of his eyes and teeth. “Yer goin’ the wrong way.”

  Annmar shoved him. “Let—let me go!”

  One big hand swept under her arm and clenched below her elbow. Lifting her to tiptoes, he marched her toward the gate. “Help out a poor worker, missy.”

  Did he mean himself or Jac? She didn’t know. She struggled to push out of his hold.

  He gripped her even harder. “Come on, now,” he cajoled. “Just talkin’. You’ll be nice and comfortable.”

  “No. Stop it!” she shrieked. He held her too tight. He was walking too fast. Annmar clenched her fist and swung at his belly. Her knuckles bounced off hard muscles.

  Paet laughed. “Don’t try my patience, girly. We need a break, and someone’s handing us one.”

  The stone pillars of the gate loomed ahead. She couldn’t leave Wellspring. If he got her away from the farm, the other workers… She fisted her stinging hand and hit him again. “Help!” she screamed. “Hel—”

  He slapped her. Annmar’s head snapped sideways.

  “None of that,” he snarled. He lifted her and shook her hard. Her head rattled like a loose knob, and she lost her breath. Then he dropped her. Everything stopped with a jolt of hurt. She gasped. It was seconds, or possibly longer, before she realized his hands were on her again.

  He yanked her to her feet. Her head split with pain. No, this wasn’t happening. She tried again to shove him away. “No, don’t. Don’t,” she whimpered, but Paet batted her arms and slapped her again. Lights sparked behind her eyelids.

  Paet picked her up. The fetid mix of sweat and guano filled her nostrils.

  “This ain’t the easy job he claimed. We’ll be chargin’ more to get you over—”

  Grrrorrr.

  Something slammed into them. Paet dropped her. He tripped, and his weight crushed her to the ground, squeezing the breath from her lungs, and before she could suck it in again, she was tumbled over and over in a confusion of beating fists and fur.

  They rolled away, and she was free. She screamed.

  The snarling and growling figures spun into her again. She curled into a ball, trying to protect herself. Fur, stink, a jabbing elbow, then something wet spattered over her hands and face.

  She had to get away. She scrambled aside, but the world spun when she tried to get to her feet. She stumbled to a tree and held on to the trunk. The ground tilted.

  “What’s going on?” someone shouted from afar.

  “Help,” Annmar screamed, not loud enough. She sucked a breath and forced out a louder yell. “Help!”

  “You’ll…be sorry,” panted Paet. “I aim…to get my money.”

  A fierce snarl answered, and involuntarily, Annmar’s gaze rounded to Paet struggling to escape the darting, twisting animal. The shadowy beast jerked forward and sank its teeth into Paet’s arm.

  Daeryn. The round ears and long body had to be Daeryn, though the wrinkled snout and bared teeth looked nothing like the docile polecat she’d drawn. Her furious attacker howled and swatted Daeryn.

  Paet had tried to carry her from Wellspring. From his confusing talk about money, he still might if he had the chance. She screamed for help again and again, while tripping from one tree to the next. She held to their trunks, trying to clear her head. The polecat had latched on to Paet’s shoulder, but he was small, too small against the large ropen. Could she make it to the bonfire and help?

  But in those seconds, the ropen punched the polecat and sent him sailing a dozen feet away. Daeryn landed with a thud.

  Oh! Annmar teetered, unsure what to do. Another call from the orchard made the ropen’s head turn. He saw her. “Help,” she shouted and ran the best she could.

  Paet thundered after her. Her arm snapped back, held tight in his huge hand. He jerked her to the fence and shoved her at the opening between the rails. She tripped into the post and wrapped her arm around the wood. It felt like honey under her fingers, and the air around it was thick and clingy. Paet pulled. She held on. She had to. If she could just stay on this side—

  Then he slapped the back of her head and everything went black.

  Chapter thirty-four

  The center of Daeryn’s face throbbed. He struggled to clear his head. Which direction to face? To attack? Annmar wasn’t screaming anymore,
and he couldn’t find her scent.

  He heard others calling in the orchard, but couldn’t wait. Shadows moved at the fence. He lunged for them at the same time a wolf charged past and slammed the larger figure.

  Maraquin. Following her snarls and Paet’s spitting curses, Daeryn leaped. Another huge body dropped from the sky. It swung for him, claws sinking into his hind limb. Daeryn twisted, muscle tearing and burning, pain roaring out on a growl as he grabbed Maxillon’s leg and held on. More people jumped in, Henry yelling and James swearing, all blurring while he clung to the spinning body that jumped, kicked and shrieked without touching the ground. Wyatt appeared, agilely dodging and throwing punch after punch into the ropen. A furious Jac pummeled in and knocked Daeryn aside.

  He fell, then struggled to his paws. Somewhere behind him, Rivley shouted for Mary Clare, then he too dove into the fray, his yells joining Maraquin’s snarls from the left. Daeryn bunched his muscles and lunged. Bodies canted, turning as one, several darting forward in a burst of speed, but he collided with a waving elbow.

  “Shit, Dae, I nearly had him again,” James bellowed in disgust, but he smacked a hand to his bleeding thigh and hobbled sideways. “Get ’em,” he yelled.

  Daeryn spun around, his head continuing to wheel. A dark figure sailed over the fence…no, two figures. One ropen carrying the other. Daeryn darted forward, but one of the wolves galloped past. She jumped the rails. The second wolf followed. Wyatt and Riv scrabbled over. Daeryn passed Henry and ducked under. He could just make out the blurry ropen flapping its huge wings above the gravestones.

  “Hold on,” Wyatt called. “Only way we’re gonna catch them is on the wing. Rivley, with me?”

  What? That was just bald-faced dangerous for diurnals to shift at night.