Cast in Secrets and Shadow

by Andrea Robertson

  When they reached the campsite, Ara expected to see an intruder, but only Nimhea and Lahvja were there, standing next to their partially filled packs.

  “I can’t believe I let you comfort me,” Nimhea snarled at Lahvja. “You could have stopped him.”

  The princess looked nothing less than a vengeful goddess. Drawn to her full height, she rippled with strength and radiated fury. The fiery roots that had grown since they’d dyed Nimhea’s hair framed her bronze face like a coronet of embers burning against her darkened curls.

  Lahvja lifted her hands, trying to pacify the princess. “It wasn’t my place. Only Eamon could reveal what was in his heart. I knew he would make a choice, but not what that choice would be.”

  “But I could have helped him.” Nimhea’s anguish tried to break beneath the rage, but she forced her grief back. “He was my brother. He didn’t need to be alone in his struggle.”

  “It was his burden to bear,” Lahvja said quietly. “And he’s still your brother.”

  Nimhea glared at her. “He betrayed me, and he won’t be forgiven. But he was right about one thing. You’re worthless. All you do is talk in ridiculous puzzles without any meaning.”

  Lahvja shrank back as if Nimhea had struck her.

  The cruel words stole Ara’s breath. She waited for Nimhea to stop attacking and apologize. But the princess plunged on.

  “You’re as much a traitor as he is.”

  A gray cast painted over Lahvja’s olive skin.

  “Nimhea!” Ara put herself between the princess and the summoner. “That’s enough.”

  Nimhea’s eyes blazed, her entire body trembled, and Ara could see her rage was born of sorrow. But no matter its source, it would only do harm here. The princess’s features were so contorted with anguish Ara barely recognized her. A sick twist of foreboding took hold of her stomach.

  “It’s time to go.” Ara put her hand on Nimhea’s shoulder, trying to tear her from the storm of anger she was lost in. “Help me ready the horses. Teth, finish packing up the camp with Lahvja.”

  Teth nodded, but looked at Nimhea as if she’d turned into a three-headed ice wyrm. He glanced at Ara with concern. She gave a slight nod to indicate that it was okay to leave her alone with Nimhea.

  To Ara’s relief, Nimhea didn’t resist her gentle push in the direction of the horses. She glanced back and saw Teth talking to Lahvja, who was weeping. Ara bit her lip. It was so much to take in: Eamon’s betrayal, Nimhea’s misguided rage, Teth’s new role. She didn’t know how they would face so much change, so suddenly. But they had to.

  The horses stirred when Ara and Nimhea approached, snorting and tossing their heads, sensing the volatile moods of the young women. Nimhea went to her mount and put her arms around the horse’s neck. She didn’t cry but stood there trying to calm herself. Her horse shifted uneasily, but then bent its head to snuffle in Nimhea’s hair. Ara stayed nearby, watching the princess closely.

  When Nimhea’s breath had slowed, Ara asked, “What started that?” She tilted her head toward the camp.

  “I came to my senses.” Nimhea wore a twisted smile. Her gaze held a challenge that Ara decided not to take up. She would press Nimhea about her treatment of Lahvja, but not now.

  The princess shifted her weight and abruptly averted her eyes. “I don’t want to tell the Resistance about Eamon. Not yet.”

  Ara had been so focused on Teth becoming a Loreknight her thoughts hadn’t yet considered all the consequences of Eamon’s betrayal.

  Of course they had to tell the Resistance. Its leaders—Suli, Edram, Xeris, and Ioth—expected and needed to be informed of what had transpired on their journey—both for good and ill. Eamon could compromise everything the Resistance had achieved. He could name key players, share their plans. If he confessed all to the Vokkans, Saetlund’s rebels could be rounded up and executed. He also probably knew where the Loresmith quest led next, putting Ara and her friends at risk for capture as well.

  But instead of saying all that, Ara asked, “Why not?”

  She sensed that Nimhea needed to face what she was feeling. That there were words that must be spoken out loud.

  “Because they’ll kill him,” Nimhea said after a tortured silence. “Even with what he’s done—” She groaned and put a hand on her stomach. “I feel sick whenever I think about it.”

  “So do I,” Ara said, reeling from the truth of Nimhea’s statement. Of course the Resistance would want Eamon dead after what he’d done. But like Nimhea, Ara couldn’t bear the idea of Eamon being hunted down and killed.

  “I condemn Eamon’s choice,” Nimhea told Ara. “But I cannot mark him for death.” She paused, then added, “Not yet.”

  Ara leaned against Cloud, finding reassurance in the gelding’s solid form. The punishment for a traitor was always death, but her heart shouted against that fate for Eamon. At the Loresmith Forge she had borne witness to his sorrows and transformed his tears into something wondrous.

  “We’ll have to discuss it with the others,” Ara said. She thought it better not to speak Lahvja’s name until Nimhea’s anger had more time to settle.

  The princess frowned, but said, “I suppose we do.”

  They finished saddling the horses and returned to the camp.

  “The packhorses are ready for whatever you’ve finished up,” Ara said.

  “We’re nearly there,” Teth called out. He sat cross-legged on the ground, fletching his arrows. Lahvja was gathering their rolled tents and buckled packs.

  “I think you mean Lahvja’s nearly there,” Ara replied.

  Teth held up an arrow. “Can you blame me?” The rounded feathers at the end of its shaft gleamed, throwing off hues of green and blue within the black.

  “I suppose not.” Ara crouched beside him.

  “You didn’t seriously expect me to leave without trying this first?” Teth finished the fletching on the last arrow.

  He picked up his bow, notched an arrow, and let it fly to thunk into a stump about one hundred paces away.

  “Hmm.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Ara said.

  Teth shook his head. “The balance and power of the bow is the best I’ve ever used. And the speed of the arrow is uncanny, but I thought the stump would, you know, disintegrate or something.”

  Laughing, Ara said, “What do you have against the stump?”

  He made an impatient sound. “It just doesn’t seem very magical.”

  “Keep shooting,” Ara told him.

  After he loosed two more arrows, Teth sighed. “Still no magic. The bow is exceptional, though.”

  “Keep shooting,” Ara repeated.

  Frowning at her, Teth obliged. The fourth arrow. The fifth. All clustered in a tight grouping in the center of the stump.

  “Again,” Ara said.

  “I’ve used all my arrows,” Teth countered.

  “Have you?”

  Puzzled, Teth reached for the quiver. His eyes widened when his fingers brushed the fletching of another arrow.

  “How?”

  He pulled the quiver over his shoulder and stared at it. Five arrows remained inside. He looked at Ara, brow furrowed with suspicion, then slipped the quiver back in place. He began to shoot again.

  Soon there were ten arrows in the stump. Then fifteen.

  “Gods,” Teth whispered.

  “The tears never stop flowing.” Ara’s throat tightened. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

  How could you, Eamon?

  Teth was silent. He lowered his bow and reached for Ara’s hand. She held it in a light clasp, feeling the dual connections between them. Teth to Ara, the embers that smoldered between them, and Loresmith to Loreknight, a profound bond that Ara had hardly begun to understand.

  Would it be too much? When the next Loreknight was chosen, this bo
nd would no longer be for the two of them only. Eventually, they would be eleven: ten Loreknights, one Loresmith. Ara couldn’t imagine what she would feel when linked to ten companions. She worried it would overwhelm her spirit, leaving no room for the connection she had with Teth.

  “Hey!” Teth broke through her tense thoughts. “What about all my magic arrows in the stump? Anybody could come along and steal them.”

  “Now you think thievery is a problem.” Nimhea walked up to them. “What’s this about magic arrows?”

  “When your arrows hit a target, they become mundane,” Ara told him quickly. “Should someone come across that stump, they would find ordinary arrows. And evidence that someone really hated that stump.”

  She’d been so wrapped up in the situation with Eamon that she’d neglected to tell Nimhea what had transpired at the Loresmith Forge.

  “There’s other news,” Ara said.

  Nimhea lifted her eyebrows.

  “Teth is the first new Loreknight.”

  “What?” Nimhea’s voice was like the crack of a whip.

  Ara caught Lahvja watching them, then the summoner returned to lugging their packs to the horses. Ara sensed that she knew exactly what was happening as well as what Teth had become.

  Nimhea’s eyes fixed on Teth’s bow, then moved to the slim quiver at his back. She blanched, then reddened, and began to shake her head.

  “No.” Nimhea was looking at the ground, as if telling the world it was wrong. “He’s a—he can’t—he doesn’t—”

  “I’m going to help Lahvja before you start forming full insults.” Teth hurried away.

  Nimhea lifted her gaze; her eyes bored into Ara. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Ara expected to meet renewed anger in the princess’s eyes, but instead encountered uncertainty tinged with something that resembled grief.

  “I can’t.” Ara hadn’t anticipated Nimhea’s reaction. “The gods name Loreknights, and Eni chose Teth.”

  “Does he even want to be a Loreknight?” Nimhea asked slowly.

  “He accepted Eni’s decision,” Ara told her. “But he’s still getting used to the idea. We both are.”

  Nimhea opened her mouth to say something else, then snapped her jaw shut and went to the horses without a word.

  When they had all mounted, Ara held her hand up. “Before we go, we need to decide how to handle Eamon’s . . . departure. Nimhea would prefer we wait to tell the rebels until we know more.”

  “If we tell them, they’ll have him killed,” Nimhea said in a flat voice.

  Teth frowned. “I can’t argue with that, but you’re forgetting something.” He turned to Lahvja. “You said Eamon was going to his masters.”

  Lahvja was careful not to look at Nimhea when she answered. “I can’t be completely certain, but I believe he’ll be taken to the Temple of Vokk. There lies the heart of the wizards’ power in Saetlund, where they work their blood magics and torment the innocent who resist Vokk’s control.”

  “And therein lies the reason you can’t hide this from Suli and the others,” Teth said. “The Resistance has an agent operating inside the imperial ranks. As soon as word spreads that Prince Eamon is in Five Rivers, the agent will pass that information to the rebels.”

  Nimhea sucked in a hard breath. “Then Eamon is dead.”

  “Don’t kill Eamon yet,” Teth said sharply. “He’s alive until he isn’t, and if we decide we want to keep it that way, then let’s focus on that.”

  Blinking rapidly, Nimhea asked, “How?”

  “Your best bet is the Below, specifically Lucket, because of my personal ties to him. We need to contact him as quickly as possible; time isn’t our friend,” he continued. “I guarantee he’ll know where Eamon is before the rebels’ agent, and if we get word to him first, we’ll win his favor for keeping him ahead in the game. He might be able to influence the rebels’ decisions.”

  “This is not a game,” Nimhea growled. Her horse pranced nervously.

  “In the Below everything is a game, especially life and death,” he told her in a flat tone. “Lucket can smooth things over for us with Suli.”

  “I agree with Teth,” Ara said. “Lucket is our best option.”

  “Any objections?” Teth asked.

  Nimhea and Lahvja stayed quiet.

  “Good.” He put his heels to Dust. “Let’s get to Marik.”

  3

  I’ll go into town and make contact with the Below,” Teth said. “Marik is a large enough town that the Below will have runners. It should be no more than a day or two before Lucket gets our message.”

  Ara nodded, but her jaw clenched. There was no way of knowing if that would be fast enough. The possibility that Eamon might already have given the Vokkans sufficient information to find the Resistance as well as hunt down his former companions put a terrible strain on her spirit. She needed something else to focus on.

  “While you’re gone, we’ll figure out where we’re going next,” Ara said decisively. “Eamon may already know what that destination is. Whether he does or not, we have to do everything we can to get there first.”

  They’d taken refuge in a loft above abandoned stables set on the outskirts of Marik. Moldering behind a working farm that boasted newer, pristine stables, their ramshackle hiding place was just outside of the town proper. Hay and must suffused the air.

  Teth smiled wistfully. “I’d be delighted if it turned out to be Marik and we didn’t have to go anywhere.”

  Lahvja leveled a gaze at Teth that made him laugh nervously.

  “Sorry. Bad joke.” He cleared his throat. “Any special requests when I go for provisions?”

  “I need a few things,” Lahvja told him. “I’ll make a list.”

  She rummaged for a quill and ink in her pack.

  Teth’s brow furrowed. “I can only carry so much.”

  “Nothing I need is large or heavy,” Lahvja said as she scribbled.

  Ignoring the conversation, Nimhea examined the space, unpacked her bedroll, and found a place for it in a far corner of the loft. Ara noticed when Lahvja’s jaw tightened.

  Ara eyed Nimhea, noticing again the telltale flashes of red and gold at the roots of Nimhea’s darkened hair grew more obvious each day.

  With a wave at the princess’s head, Ara said, “We need to cover that up again.”

  Teth nodded. “I’ll get dye with the other provisions. Keeping our identities secret is more important than ever. Imperial patrols will no doubt be actively searching for us now that Eamon is in the capital.”

  “Wonderful,” Nimhea muttered, wincing at the mention of her brother’s name.

  “I’ll try to do a better job with your hair this time,” Ara promised, hoping to distract Nimhea from thoughts of Eamon.

  Handing her list to Teth, Lahvja said to Ara, “Let me do it. Vijerians dye their hair frequently. I have practice.”

  Relieved at the offer, Ara grinned. “I’d be delighted for you to take over.”

  “If Teth provides the basic dye I can add herbs that will make it look more natural and more flattering,” Lahvja added.

  Nimhea threw her the barest of glances. “The way Teth and Ara did it is fine. Don’t bother.”

  Crestfallen, Lahvja began, “But—”

  “And I’d prefer Ara dye my hair,” Nimhea finished.

  “Very well.” Lahvja’s lips set in a thin line.

  Up to this point, the summoner had been distressed by Nimhea’s behavior, but Ara could see frustration and a hint of anger at the corners of Lahvja’s eyes. As for herself, Ara was about fed up with Nimhea’s attitude. It was time to decide what she was going to do about it.

  Teth coughed to break up the awkward silence. “I’ll try not to be gone too long.”

  After Teth departed, Ara guessed ten words passed among the three women in the lof
t. Nimhea descended to the stables, supposedly to spend time with her horse. Lahvja took the scroll Eamon had left and began to read it. Left to her own devices, Ara attempted a nap with mixed results. Her body and mind ached with exhaustion, but thoughts intruded every time she began to drift away.

  Abandoning her bedroll, Ara climbed down from the loft and headed outside. When she passed the horses, she glimpsed Nimhea curled up in the back of her mount’s stall, fast asleep. Or at least she appeared to be.

  She gets to sleep, but I don’t? How unfair.

  For a moment Ara wished Nimhea’s horse would poop on the princess’s head. She quickly took back the wish, knowing that a head covered in manure would only make Nimhea’s mood worse.

  Still, the image in Ara’s mind was hilarious, and she had to cover her mouth until she got outside and could let laughter burst from her chest.

  It was a fine day, and the fresh air revived her. She didn’t roam far. The stables were surrounded by what might have been gardens but had been reclaimed by native plants and wildflowers. Ara closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. Bees buzzed in the meadow, and songbirds trilled their springtime melodies. Opening her eyes, Ara sat down, then lay back to gaze at the blue sky.

  Sunlight warmed her skin, and a soft breeze that carried a tang of ocean salt bent the tall grasses.

  Is the weather always this heavenly in Marik?

  Rill’s Pass had beautiful summer days, but they were scarce, and even the loveliest weather in the Fjeri Highlands didn’t compare with this silken air flowing over her skin, carrying the perfume of unknown flowers.

  A butterfly alighted on her bent knee, took off and danced a little jig in the air, then landed again.

  Ara laughed at the butterfly’s antics.

  It took off, performed its dance again, and landed on her other knee.

  She tilted her head, watching the creature with growing suspicion.

  Eni? It could be. Eni can appear anywhere, in any form. Doubtless, they’re still keeping an eye on us.

  As she watched, the butterfly flitted back and forth, trading one knee for the other.

  Aren’t they?