“They did not tell me,” Arrow answered honestly, “but have asked me to aid the shifkin in finding the truth.”
Lucy was frowning, unhappy, and opened her mouth to say something, cut off by Zachary.
“The Erith don’t share secrets,” he commented, voice even. Lucy glared at him for a moment before turning back to Arrow.
“Zach said you need to get a sense of Marianne. What do you need?” There was a challenge under the words. This woman disliked her. Arrow was used to that. The dislike of the Erith was more unusual, but not unique.
Arrow tilted her head slightly, considering the question. She was outside the house yet could feel the energy of the house brushing up against her skin. “A little time to meditate,” she told Lucy.
“We’ll go for a walk,” Zachary said, ignoring the fact that Lucy was not dressed for walking. Lucy gave him a sharp glance, cast a look at her heeled shoes and gave a slight sigh.
“Let me get my coat.” She disappeared into the house.
“Lucy shared the house with Marianne,” Zachary offered. Arrow nodded, not sure what to say. “We won’t be long.” Perhaps he had noticed Lucy’s glance at her feet.
“I should not need long, thank you.”
The pair, an awkward match to Arrow’s eyes, even without all her senses engaged, made their way down the driveway, Lucy a little unsteady on her feet in her heels, Zachary making no move whatsoever to steady her. There was an odd undercurrent to that relationship that she could not pinpoint. Not the tension of secret lovers, which had a different texture to it. Something, though.
~
Shaking off distractions, Arrow stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind her, artificial light yellow to her eyes, standing for a moment to absorb the energy, opening her senses a fraction. This was the first time she had been in a human’s home, the unfamiliar hum of electrical current, human magic of the wards and the scent of artificial perfume all vying for her attention. Under that were the personalities of the residence’s owners, vivid and bold. Satisfied there was enough here, she slid her messenger bag from her shoulder and sat cross-legged on the black-and-white stone-flagged entrance hall, slipping into a meditative trance.
The snick of the door closing, loud in her too-sensitive ears, snapped her out of the trance and back to the first world.
“You could have gone further into the house.” Zachary sounded almost amused. The back of her neck prickled at having him standing behind her.
“There was enough here, and I did not want to intrude,” she answered, getting off the floor with slightly stiff limbs. She could not meet his eyes.
“Did you get what you needed?” Lucy asked, sharp undertone to her words, perhaps angry at the casual violation of her home.
“Yes, thank you. I have a clear sense of Marianne.” And still could not look at Marianne’s widower.
“You would,” he said darkly, that old anger back. “She had been living here for ten years.”
“Ten years?” Arrow found herself holding the Prime’s eyes. The residence had already told her that Lucy and Marianne were far from simply room-mates. This place had been inhabited by a couple, both strong, passionate personalities. That Marianne had broken faith with her mate had shaken Arrow, as the Erith believed ‘kin mated for life, something about the bonds they created making it impossible to break. Arrow had always been a little sceptical of that, as most magic could be undone with enough effort. The sense of vibrancy in the building had felt immediate, fresh, and new, not ten years in the making.
Her understanding questioned, Arrow kept her senses open and looked again. Ten years was little time to a long-lived race like the ‘kin. And the apparently-human woman before her had had powerful magic grafted to her bones. A longevity spell, Arrow guessed. Somehow Marianne and Lucy had kept their relationship fresh over the course of a decade. And apparently managed to hide the existence of the relationship from the Erith, given their concern about the effect Marianne’s death would have on the Prime. With Erith relationships themselves sometimes tortuously complex, no further enquiry had been made, as far as Arrow knew.
“Yes.” That sharpness was back in Lucy’s tone, drawing Arrow’s attention. For all that she appeared delicate and fragile, Arrow thought that Lucy Steers had a tough core. The human woman reminded Arrow forcibly of one of the very few Erith who had befriended Arrow at the Academy, another seemingly delicate female, ready to laugh and stubborn enough to stare down the stars. “Apparently ‘kin don’t divorce.”
Arrow had been right about the toughness, the human confident in her claim on the Prime’s mate, standing her ground against him. Arrow could not help wondering how many times Zachary Farraway, the most powerful shifkin alive, had been spoken to in that way, with so little respect and biting hurt.
“I’ve explained.” Zachary’s voice was low, and underneath his words an almost subliminal hum lifted hairs along Arrow’s neck. Shifkin anger. She had been right not to trust the facade. The anger was core-deep. She wondered if the Prime knew any magicians that could cloak themselves from discovery and kill with weapons that left no trace and realised that, even if he did not, personally, know any, he had resources to find them.
“Yes,” Lucy said again, shoulders slumping, fight draining from her. She rubbed her hands over her face, careless of her makeup, and Arrow saw that underneath the perfect grooming, Lucy’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.
Arrow searched for something to say as the silence wore on. Her senses were closing slowly, tension grating her nerves.
“What now?” Lucy broke the silence, speaking to Zachary.
“Now Arrow will retrace Marianne’s steps and we’ll deal with her killer.” The hard determination on Zachary’s face said more clearly than any words that the killer would not survive the meeting. A chill ran through her, though it was nothing more than she had expected. The Erith were equally harsh on murderers. Lucy’s head jerked, part denial, part acceptance, jaw set.
“Retrace?” Arrow’s attention caught. She lifted her brows, something about the way he had said it catching her attention. “Marianne Stillwater was missing?”
“For four months,” Zachary confirmed, his age showing for a fleeting moment. Arrow’s breath caught. He was the Prime, connected to his people in ways she did not fully understand, and he had not known where his mate was for four months. An eternity. “And I did not feel her die.” That admission was quiet, holding Arrow’s attention. Erith knowledge suggested that bonded ‘kin were closely connected. He should certainly have felt Marianne’s death.
“She disappeared,” Lucy confirmed, hugging herself, arms wrapped around her middle, staring at nothing. “No note, no message. Nothing. Just gone.”
“What was she doing before that?” Arrow asked, curiosity overriding manners.
“Her job.” Lucy’s tone was sharp, sharper than either the question or her grief warranted. She took a breath, shook her head, apparently realising that Arrow did not understand, tone still edged as she went on. “We ran a business together. Art gallery. I deal with the paperwork and accounts, mostly, and Marianne finds art to display and tracks down specific items for clients. Found.” Her voice choked on the last word.
As interesting as that sounded, it did not appear inherently dangerous. Experience had taught Arrow not to dismiss minor details.
“Was she tracking down a particular piece when she went missing?”
“No.” Lucy’s tone was curt, and she did not look at Arrow. “She’d just finished a series of jobs for a new, well, new-ish, client. He’d had her running about a bit. Looking for paintings and some wooden carvings. She’d been to Hallveran and across to the north island, too.”
A long journey. The north island was a human-only enclave involving at least two full days’ travel each way, as both Erith and ‘kin had forbidden human aircraft over their territories. Marianne would have needed a permit to visit, so there would be an official record of her visit.
“Was s
he successful?”
“Marianne was always successful in her hunts.” Lucy’s hostility slipped, mouth curving with a smile, pride in her partner evident.
“And she had not taken on any more tasks?” Arrow pressed, something snagging her attention in what Lucy had said, or not said. Or perhaps it was that small smile, which made the human woman seem almost familiar although Arrow was quite sure that they had never met. Or perhaps it was the odd hostility, which had not lessened.
“No.” Lucy’s smile was gone.
“She hadn’t been to the mountain in that time,” Zachary offered, “though she usually visited about once a month.” Arrow wondered how many of Zachary’s immediate muster had known about Marianne’s other life, if her mate regarded her as a visitor to what had once been her home.
He had adopted a deliberately casual pose, hands shoved in his pockets, feet slightly apart, shoulders relaxed. As if he were taking part in an everyday pleasant conversation and not discussing his dead mate’s last movements with his mate’s mistress and an Erith agent. Another facade. Arrow wanted to give it more attention, but Lucy stiffened and tilted her head pointedly towards the door.
Not sure what more she could learn for the moment, Arrow decided to follow the woman’s lead.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Steers.” Arrow turned to the Prime and he waved her ahead of him through the door.
“Lucy.” Zachary nodded in place of a goodbye, and followed Arrow out of the house. She walked along the drive to the gates, Zachary keeping easy pace beside her, waiting for him to speak.
He remained quiet until the gates had shut behind them and he had glanced back to check that Lucy was not observing them.
“Marianne could be stubborn,” he observed, although Arrow did not think that was what he wanted to say. Even with ten years to grow used to his mate’s betrayal he seemed overly calm. He turned a critical gaze to her. “We’ll be hiking across the mountain after her trail,” he took her compliance for granted, “and you’ll need better gear. Go here,” he produced a small piece of card from his pocket, a business card, “and speak to Peter. He’s one of the local muster.”
“Prime.” Arrow took the card, skin heating. It was somehow humiliating that her lack of preparation had been so obviously noted. The Prime’s mouth twitched, unexpected humour bringing further heat to her face. He said nothing directly, simply told her to meet him at the township hotel early the next morning and walked away.
~
With too much to think about, and the unfamiliar road, she managed to take a wrong turn when leaving the estate, ending up on a narrower road that was definitely not the one she needed. Turning the car around was an exercise in concentration and she was about to leave, return to the city and find the outdoors shop that the Prime had recommended, when the faint trace of old wards caught her attention. The entire estate was bounded by old wards, human-made. These wards, though, had a taste of Erith magic about them. Old and not renewed for many years. Dormant and close by. A glance at the vehicle’s clock told her that there was no time to investigate and do everything else that needed to be done if she was to keep her appointment with the Prime the next day.
Marking the location in her mind, she drove away, finally finding something to smile about as she realised that buying new clothing would mean that could avoid the Taellaneth’s stern laundry mistress for a little while longer. And she would have new clothes, without holes or worn patches, for the journey across Farraway Mountain. Anticipation and apprehension mixed together. A wholly new environment, unknown magic and companions who had every reason to hate her. It promised to be a challenging journey.
CHAPTER 8
Arrow caught the edge of her borrowed snow shoes on an unseen obstacle yet again, stumbling and catching herself, this time, before she fell. The weight of her backpack shifted fractionally, again, just enough to be awkward, and she paused, face warming at the sideways glance from the nearby ‘kin, adjusting the straps once more before forcing her feet to move on. The Prime himself had provided her with the snow shoes and given her brief instructions how to use them. Easier to move across the mountain for the most part, he had said. Awkward was how Arrow would describe it, though she was grateful that they held her up and stopped her sinking into the snow with every second step.
A morning’s walk had taken them past the site of Marianne’s death, Arrow having no difficulty in finding the shifkin’s trail now, and further onto the mountain. The Prime had chosen a very small group to accompany him; only four other ‘kin. Matthias and his mate, Tamara, were in their animal forms, running ahead. The other two, males that Arrow recognised from her encounter outside the municipal offices, were walking with loose, easy strides, not hampered by the packs they carried, the snow shoes, or the weaponry that she could see. They carried long knives strapped to their thighs, rifles in their packs and at least one handgun. Used to the White Guard’s presence, Arrow still felt disturbed by the human-made weaponry, wondering what dangers the ‘kin expected within their own territory.
The Prime himself carried a pack, no weapon visible, and was taking the lead at the moment, bright red jacket a vivid beacon for her to follow. He moved as easily as his companions and had not even looked back when she stumbled this time.
Silently thanking the Prime for sending her to the outdoors shop in Lix, Arrow found a moment to be grateful that at least she was warm. The shifkin shop owner had been quiet and efficient, sending Arrow away with what seemed a daunting pile of items, and doubtless delighted to part the Erith from some of their funds. As far as Arrow was concerned, it had been worth it. Despite the freezing air, her heavy breathing creating clouds, her fingers and toes were warm and mobile.
She was also, for the first time she could recall, wearing colour. The shop owner had insisted she needed a coloured jacket to stand out in the snow. Bypassing purple, the Erith colour for mourning, she had given in to a clear, rich, blue, sombre enough that she did not feel foolish, like a servant playing dress up, and vivid enough to satisfy both the shop owner and a secret part of her that she had not known existed, but which revelled in the wardrobe change. Seen first in the shop, the blue had reminded her of the velvet-soft flowers that had grown in the garden around Nassaran’s cottage, and wearing the colour now felt like carrying a tiny piece of him with her. She thought she might need his patience and wisdom on this journey.
The silver thread that was Marianne’s trail, clear in her second sight, and direct since she had picked it up earlier, suddenly swerved, taking a loop that Arrow did not think was physically possible for any creature. A little further ahead the trail wound back on itself then dived into a huge knot, reminding Arrow of a ball of yarn, with not one single thread leading out from the knot.
Focusing on the first world it looked no different than the forest they had been walking through all morning. Giant trees poked up into the sky, bark black against the light, smaller trees huddled among them, thick covering of snow over every piece of ground, drifting in piles against wide tree trunks.
She must have made a sound as the Prime had stopped, too, the pair of ‘kin in human form taking a few steps out to either side, relaxed and watchful.
“The trail has been compromised,” Arrow told the Prime. He had known, she saw, and was watching for her reaction.
Aware of his scrutiny, she looked again, opening her second sight more, and winced.
“There has been magic used. A lot. Someone has hidden Marianne Stillwater’s trail.”
“Can you follow it?”
“Not yet.” She unfastened her pack and slid it off her shoulders, trying not to sigh in relief as she set it down. It had grown heavier with every step. “The trail has been wound up, and there is nothing beyond it.” She hesitated before going on at the silent query from the Prime. “The spells used were designed to confuse a tracker hunting by sight or smell.”
“We were unable to follow the trail,” Zachary confirmed, voice even. One of the other ‘kin
gave a low growl, an unhappy sound that silenced quickly at a sideways glance from his leader. A little shiver ran through her. Shifkin did not easily admit defeat. Although the Prime appeared calm and confident, they needed her, or another skilled magician, to go further. Being needed did not mean she was safe.
“Can you break through it?”
“I do not think that breaking it will be wise. There are … traps laid in the spellwork.” The ‘kin growled again, and she realised her hand had lifted, unconsciously, one finger tracing the power lines that only she could see. She stopped, shoving her hands into pockets.
“Traps? Booby-trapped spells?” The Prime was sceptical.
“Indeed. If the spells are tripped then everything within twenty paces will vanish,” she told him, wincing a little at the power coiled into the spells. Someone had spent a long time creating this web of spells.
The Prime’s scepticism vanished and she remembered that he had been part of the last great battle fought between ‘kin and Erith, so had seen first-hand the destructive power of battle magic. There were pockets of ground near the highway to Hallveran that were still devoid of life many years later, places where even people with no magic sensitivity at all avoided walking.
“What do you need?”
“A little space and some time,” she told him, careful to keep her shoulders rounded and not to meet his eyes, avoiding any possible perception that she thought she was in charge. Somehow, from her few interactions with the Prime, she thought he was confident enough in his own abilities to not bother. He was a little like the elder in that respect. However, the two ‘kin with him were prickly of their leader’s dignity, lips curling to show glimpses of bright white teeth when they looked in her direction.
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