Fairy Keeper (4 page)

Jack and Bentwood were still in the office, voices low but rising. Jack said, “But we’ve worked together for years, Graham… you know I’ll come through…”

Bentwood raised his gravelly voice and grunted, “History isn’t something I can count on…”

Sierra didn’t want to be around to find out what they were arguing about. She slunk down the hall, leaving Phoebe to eat something in the kitchen, and slipped into their room cloaked in darkness now. She didn’t need the light. Their room was tiny, and they had lived there since they were born.

Sierra reached the trunk in the corner, eased open the lid, and then dug in her fingers. She sifted through the quagmire of socks Phoebe liked to knit for her, but Sierra hit the bottom of the trunk without finding the leather bag she kept ready in case they had to run. It held only a few items but enough to get them started. She tried again, mixing the socks around like she was stirring a pot of soup, but the bag wasn’t there. Cold seeped into her bones. The only person who could have taken it was Jack.

In that moment, everything caught up to Sierra. The cuts on her stomach were shallow, but they burned, and her shirt stuck to her wounds. Her head pounded from Jack’s slap―and shame and anger warred in her heart when she recalled her own father hit her in front of Bentwood. Somehow that made it worse. She might not have been surprised that Jack hit her―she knew him, after all―but it still made her stomach queasy to consider it. The bruise along her cheekbone ached from where she hit the table during the quake, but her heart ached more. She collapsed on the edge of their straw pallet and put her head in her hands. If Jack knew she had an emergency stash for escape, he surely knew her first move after something like today would be to run and take Phoebe.

A hundred pound weight pressed on Sierra’s shoulders, but Phoebe was waiting. It didn’t matter if Jack planned to follow. They had to go.

Sierra grabbed another leather bag and stuffed a spare pair of pants and shirt for each of them in there, as well as some underclothing and socks. Lots of socks, with the rain and ice this time of year. At least winter was almost over. No money, not in this house. Jack was too distrustful to keep many coins around anywhere, but that was okay. Many travelers bartered for their shelter and food anyway. Sierra figured they could always wash dishes or care for stable animals. She couldn’t get to any of the food in the larder now. She thought of the meat and onions in the pan, and her stomach growled. She glanced down the hall and wondered if she’d get a meal from that feast if they lingered a while longer. Not likely. She thought they might as well take the pan with them, why not? It wasn’t like their journey would be covert, not now.

Sierra picked up her pace and jogged into the kitchen, wondering if she could swipe one of the towels to use as a bandage. She stopped short, seeing Jack, Phoebe, and Bentwood at the table. Phoebe sat between them, eyes bigger than the moon, her face like melted wax. Jack gave a booming laugh. That wasn’t his real laugh; it was his business laugh. He wasn’t happy. He clapped Bentwood on the shoulder, and Bentwood eyed Sierra steadily. She dropped the bag behind her, hoping no one noticed. Phoebe was taking quick, shallow breaths, and Sierra stepped toward her involuntarily.

She looked at the two men, her eyebrows drawn together.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was lower, rougher than expected. The threat in her tone was obvious, judging by the way their eyebrows moved: Bentwood’s went up; Jack’s went down.

Jack stood and said, “Congratulations are in order. Bentwood has accepted your sister into his alchemy crew to settle payment for a deal agreed upon just today. Given the unexpected change in our situation, he has been very generous to renegotiate terms.”

Jack’s eyes flinched for only a second when he met Sierra’s.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. A common practice among dark alchemists was to send family members to work for a neighboring alchemist. They almost never returned. It was considered a lifelong appointment. The workload was heavy and dangerous. Each master had total control over the new employee’s life. Children began at the bottom of the alchemy crew, no matter who their parent was. Sometimes, secret recipes for elixirs or poisons could be earned and passed along from the master. More often, the exchanged workers became elixir runners, sent to secretly deliver unlawful elixirs such as Flight until they could prove themselves worthy of a better job. The next step up was delivering―or administering―poisons, but that required more trust. In the end, the job the child ended up having didn’t matter. Mostly, competing dark alchemists kept one another’s family members to prevent betrayals. It was a treacherous business, selling poisons and elixirs. Having the child of your neighboring dark alchemist was good insurance. Children, no matter how grown, made excellent hostages.

Sierra had expected her sister would be spared. Bentwood was already their priority client. No one else could do for Jack’s business what Sierra could, and she had been arrogant enough to assume Phoebe would be safe because of that. But no. Phoebe was only ten years old. Bentwood was a monster who lived a two-day-journey away. The taste of bile sat rank in Sierra’s throat.

Bentwood glowered at her. “What, you want to take her place, little fairy-girl? Jealous? My crew’s the top in the country.”

Rage and disgust clawed at her throat as she remembered the bruises she’d seen on his runners, their ribs poking through ragged clothing. They were fast, all right, because they were terrified. His people had twice the death rate as everyone else’s.

“She’s just a child,” was all she could force out before she swallowed a growl.

Along Phoebe’s temples, blue swirls of vein stood out like pale lace against her fair skin, and her arms and legs were like sticks. He was three hundred pounds. If Sierra fought him, he’d kill her and still take Phoebe as a pawn in his business. She’d be one random runner out of hundreds who dispensed his illegal elixirs and poisons in taverns and on the wharf. She couldn’t possibly help his profits, but he’d get what he wanted: assurance of Jack’s continued cooperation and future supplies. If it wasn’t Flight, Jack would find some other elixir to sell. He’d already created all sorts of hand-crafted poisons, too. He had a gift for mixing exactly the right compounds in the perfect way to do what he wanted. Dead fairies or not, business went on.

“Not ‘just a child.’ She’s a child with keeper heritage, Keeper Quinn,” Bentwood replied. “When she grows up, she’ll marry someone in my port and have children who will also live in my port. Children who could very well be keepers themselves.”

She thought about grabbing Phoebe now and running, but Phoebe was too frail. Compared to Bentwood, though, so was Sierra. Some fights couldn’t be won with brute strength. Jack had taught her that truth a long time ago. She wouldn’t let another man push her into a fight she couldn’t win.

Bentwood shrugged. “There are children younger than her tying nets in the harbor for their fisherman fathers. There are children cooking over fires and watching baby brothers and sisters. Elixir running is hard work, but she comes from sturdy stock.” He waved his hand at her.

Sierra bared her teeth. They’d take Phoebe away and force her to work at a job that would kill her soul. Gentleness defined Phoebe, more so than even Corbin, who was kind to everyone. Compassion was her perfume. If she had to take part in destroying lives by dispensing Flight or poisons, it would kill her. Sierra calculated the heaviness of the skillet, in case she needed to hit Jack and Mr. Bentwood.

Jack said to Sierra, “This would have happened eventually.” Surprisingly, he sounded like he regretted that. “But your stupidity sped things up. Tonight, Bentwood had agreed to accept payment of a certain number of future Flight batches in exchange for allowing me to immediately expand our business closer to his territory.”

He expelled a harsh breath that flared his nostrils and pointed to a dead fairy all alone in the middle of the table. “Now I had to pay by sending an… employee… that I was not expecting to send any time soon in order to fulfill our agreement.”

Phoebe was watching Sierra with horror-filled eyes. Sierra closed her own eyes for a minute so she could think without the distraction of her sister’s distress. Panicking now wouldn’t help either of them. Jack wanted to expand his trade parameters. He was ambitious enough to not back down from the deal. Without fairies, he didn’t have Flight. Without Flight to trade, he needed something else to offer, something valuable.

Desperation grabbed at her. Sierra blurted, “I’ll go. I’ll go work for Elder Bentwood.”

Bentwood looked interested, but Jack waved her suggestion away, like she had feared he would.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I need you here, especially now. Without fairy nectar, we would have no Flight. Having a wider business area will scarcely be helpful if I have no product to sell. We will discuss the issue about the fairies
later
.” He glowered at her now.

Sierra cast about for anything that could save Phoebe. Anything, it didn’t matter what it was.

Then a thought burst into her mind, like a spring of fresh water welling up in the desert.

“The queen!” The words popped out of her mouth, sure and forceful.

She took a deep breath and tried to sound calm, less like the terrified fourteen-year-old she was. “She’s not dead. She’s only missing, which means I can find her again.”

True, she didn’t know that, and really didn’t particularly believe that, but she also didn’t know for sure if the queen was dead and lost to them. What mattered was if Jack believed it. Sierra explained how she found them, and Jack’s eyes grew dark and thoughtful.

When he didn’t interrupt, Sierra continued, remembering something Corbin told her a long time ago. “When a queen leaves her hatch and goes too far away for too long, the little fairies left behind, the servants, they die. They need her magic to live. I’ve never heard of a queen leaving her hatch on purpose. Someone or something could have stolen her, but the hatch would have attacked a human and left a mess. So this must be a bigger problem than my hatch.”

The words were coming faster now, and he was still listening. “I think she’s out there, Jack, and I can bring her back. If I can find her and bring her back, she’ll start a new hatch and you’ll have nectar again. Your product will be fine. You can make rivers of Flight for hundreds of people. You won’t need money right away. You don’t have to trade Phoebe off.”

Sierra paused, swallowing the crack in her voice. “Please don’t send her away so young.”

The words spurted out like blood from a cut artery, edged with desperation.

Mr. Bentwood leaned back in his chair, studying her father, his arms crossed, and his expression tight. His face clouded, like a man who believed he’d been cheated out of a great deal.

Jack stroked his beard. After an eternity, he said, “Fine.”

Sierra clutched the back of the chair in front of her to stay standing.

Bentwood jerked to his feet, his chair falling backward with a clatter that made both girls jump.

“You can’t change our deal!” His voice was like thunder. A flush spread across Bentwood’s scarred face, bringing the white line in sharp relief.

Jack, though, looked coolly at the bigger man and remained seated. He raised one finger in the air, which was more effective than a slap. The girls waited for what would follow.

Without changing his expression, Jack continued, looking right at Sierra, “You go look for your fairy queen. But I cannot change my plans for Phoebe.”

Sierra’s breath left her body all at once. She might loathe Jack, but she couldn’t say she came from stupid stock. He knew a deal was a deal, and if he backed out of his promise, he could lose stature and, most importantly, power. Maybe even his life.

Phoebe’s skin was so pale from shock that she looked translucent. Her lips pressed into a thin line; her pupils were so dilated that her eyes looked like burned holes in her head. Coldness descended from Sierra’s bones and merged into her heart. It was a quiet, icy place there, a place without fear.

“Then I won’t help you start another hatch. I’ll die before I stand by and let her get sent to a man like that!” Sierra spat out each word like an arrow, pointing right in the face of Bentwood.

Bentwood’s face changed from red to an ugly scarlet, but Jack stayed calm. He knew her. They were a lot alike in some ways, which scared Sierra when she considered it. He was a cold-blooded killer, and she didn’t want to end up like him one day.

Father and daughter stared into each other’s eyes, and understanding passed between them. Whatever thin connection he might have felt for Sierra as his daughter was severed. This was all about business, but that was more respect than she had ever received from him.

“Very well. I’ll make a bargain,” he said. “You’ll have two fortnights to find your fairy. One month. And if you do not bring back a queen in that time―I really don’t care if she’s yours or not―then your sister moves to Elder Bentwood’s city. There, she will work in his distilleries and run for him, whether you are here or not. If you
do
return with a queen before the deadline, Phoebe will go to Elder Bentwood
next
year, when our new trading period begins. I think this is a fair compromise, don’t you?”

Bentwood’s face was past scarlet and moving toward purple, but Jack sat without apparent concern.

“Could I have longer?” Sierra dared to ask. She had no idea where her queen could be. More time could only be helpful.

“We have only enough nectar stored for one more month’s supply for Elder Bentwood to take with him until you either return or do not. I will send that nectar with him now as a sign of good faith. But one month is all I will ask him to wait. When the nectar runs out, so does your time.”

Sierra could tell Bentwood wanted to argue. But even if she succeeded, he still had a promise to get Phoebe next year, which was more than he’d been offered before. The whole situation made Sierra clench her fists in fury. Phoebe wasn’t even good runner material. She was too slow. She was too small and weak to lift the heavy cauldrons in the distilleries too. But he had wanted to be officially tied to a source of the most sought-after elixir in the area for years. Phoebe’s keeper heritage was the icing on the cake.