The Lords of Valdeon (24 page)

Nothing. Piles of clothing and her drawings of Seth as a child littered the ground where he’d thrown them. He sunk down among her things in utter defeat. Weeks of waiting for a rare chance to search her room had turned up absolutely nothing. He’d convinced himself she'd hidden something important in her chamber. A clue to her past or the whereabouts of her Edmund would make the waiting worthwhile.

Then he noticed the nightstand beside her bed was a few inches out of place. Sliding across the short distance, he edged the tip of his finger between two floorboards slightly askew under its legs. One of them was loose. He pushed the nightstand carefully to the side and pried the board up. Inside a small, hollowed-out space in the floor were Anne McCloud’s secret treasures.

He reached in and pulled out a stack of letters. They were tied together with an ornate pink ribbon. He ran his fingertip along the thick grade of the envelope. Expensive parchment, much nicer than any even Elder Newcastle used. He carefully flipped the bundle over and spread them apart for a quick glance. Ranging from sixteen years prior to a month before her death, they were all addressed to his mother in care of a post box in Port City on Eastland Isle. The handwriting was identical on each envelope and sent from the same address — Cottage on the Cliff, Isle of Carlotta.

Eastland Isle was a major air and sea port stop, connecting several island nations with the mainland and each other. He could understand why his mother had set up a post box for her secret correspondence there. Search as they might, it would take a hundred years to find someone on one of the many islands if they didn't want to be found. His mother's connection to the Isle of Carlotta wasn't as straightforward. Not much was known about the tiny island, except it rested a few miles off Valdeon's southern coast. How in the green, green fields had Anne McCloud come to know someone there?

It was best to read them away from prying eyes. He stashed the letters in his coat and reached in again. This time he pulled out a drawing sketched inside a banner from the Horner Isle festival. His mother — a beautiful young girl of seventeen or eighteen at the time of the portrait — smiled from the page. Ringlets draped along the material of the pretty dress she wore. It was a much different style than any he had seen her wear.

A handsome man dressed in a uniform of some kind had his arm wrapped around her waist. He held Anne against his chest, blocking Seth’s view of the military insignia there. Their joined hands rested in his mother’s lap. They looked happy. What had happened to make them part? Seth let out a long sigh. He had happened.

He held no doubt this was Edmund, Seth’s father. The resemblance was striking. They shared the same cheekbones and strong chin. Even diminished in pencil and time, his father’s amber-flecked eyes commanded full attention.

Rolling up the drawing, he tucked it inside his coat with the letters. The man who’d raised him would be home soon. No argument would be good enough to explain to Fergus why he had trespassed into Mother’s room.

Satisfied her hiding place was empty, he almost missed the tiny crystal necklace. It glittered like the sun off the ocean’s wave. A heart crystal, the very rarest of all gems. Could this be a love token from her Edmund? Seth absently lifted the silver chain over his head and let the stone fall inside his shirt.

"What are you doing in here?"

Fergus stood in the doorway. His body leaned forward in a rigid stance as if he were a cornered animal ready to spring. The headmaster’s fierce gaze avoided the bed and stayed focused upon Seth. Guilt. He wore it like a cloak. Was his cold heart feeling remorse? Anne's death may have been avoided if Fergus had stayed home the night of her murder. He hoped the headmaster hated himself for it.

"Well!"

The frantic pitch of the headmaster’s voice grated upon the last thread of patience Seth maintained. The growling scourge of Marianna was frightened. A frown began to work its way onto Seth’s lips. This man was a coward and a bully. Too many years had been wasted pandering to his temper. Those days of dependence upon the headmaster were over. He wouldn't fear his empty threats ever again.

"I wanted Mother’s guitar."

"Take it and get out. I won’t have you dawdle inside your room all day. Go help Emma with the shopping, while I earn the livelihood for this household."

Seth grabbed the smooth handle of the guitar. It was thick with dust. He pushed past Fergus and headed toward his room. Resting the instrument upon the bed, his movements were slow and deliberate. Fury pressed at his self-control again. The strange, new power prodded impatiently, wanting to escape and take its vengeance upon the growling voice in his ear.

Suffocating in his rage, Seth left his room and headed toward the stairs. Fergus blocked his path. Arms gesturing wildly, the headmaster's body swayed in strange patterns of color. Distorted words passed through his growling lips. Seth grabbed the handrail to keep from tumbling down the stairs. His head buzzed with power. He pushed past his uncle, desperate for fresh air.

A hand gripped his arm. Seth tore it off his sleeve and twisted. Then he pushed the body away as if it were a lifeless lump. Fergus sprawled across the threshold of Anne's chamber, cradling his right arm. Seth stared blankly at the man. He'd pushed his uncle without thought or effort. He wasn't a killer, yet he ached to do the deed. It would be easy to make the groveling man before him submit. And why not? Hadn't he made others suffer? It would be a form of justice.

"I'm leaving. Don't follow."

The power intertwined with his words. Pictures hanging on the walls shook upon their nails. Plaster cracked and buckled beneath them. Seth stumbled down the stairs. He was suffocating in the living memories of this house. Reaching the door, he yanked the handle. It gave way, sending metal clanging to the floor.

Staggering along the iron rod circling town square, he headed west toward the edge of town. People crowded the busy marketplace. He tried to weave between them, but the control he had on his body was slipping away. Great gulls! He was going to hurt someone else. This time it might be an innocent.

Strong hands gripped Seth's shoulders, pulling him away from the path of a fast-moving wagon. Citrus and spices encircled him. Though Seth couldn't see his rescuer, he knew it was Leo. Falling against the man's body, he shook in helpless fits of rage.

"Deep breaths, Seth. The anger will leave when you are calm again."

Leo's words penetrated the buzzing in Seth's mind. He took a deep breath, taking in the citrus. The animal rage began to calm as if some memory brought about by the scent had sated its desire. He continued to breathe in the fragrance. The buzzing left his ears. He was in control of himself again.

"What is happening to me?"

Leo released his shoulders and stepped away. He was dressed in long, tan trousers with high boots and a white, billowing shirt. The sword Seth had seen the night at the pub was not on his belt. Leo looked quite ordinary in the afternoon sun.

"The question you ask is not an easy one to answer, my young friend. We must help you control your temper. Physical activity is good for this, yes? Dante and I load our wagon with supplies we've purchased for our farm."

He slapped a hand on Seth’s back and guided him toward the front of McTavish's store. Dante was already loading supplies onto their flatbed wagon. Two isle ponies whinnied from the front as they approached. Seth hurried to lend a hand. Leo had helped him for the second time. Loading supplies was the least he could do.

"Dante and I have let the McPherson Farm to the west of town. Do you know it, my young friend?"

Leo’s eyes suddenly shifted to the front of Seth's waistcoat. The necklace had worked its way from under his shirt. Glistening like a hundred stars, the heart crystal caught the sunlight and every passing glance. Seth quickly tucked it back in.

"That’s a pretty thing, Cub. Where did you get it?" Dante waved a finger at the spot where the necklace rested beneath his clothing.

"It belonged to my mother, sir."

Dante nodded. He gave Leo a quick glance and then continued to load the wagon. Leo’s hands were shaking as they gripped the side of the buckboard. He'd recognized the necklace. It held some meaning for him. Seth bit at his lip. He wanted to know what relationship Leo had with his parents. What was the significance of the necklace Seth wore? Did his father suffer from the same fits of power? His nerve faltered.

"How did you move so quickly? I mean at the pub? Did you learn how to move as you did in the army? It was almost beautiful."

"Soon I will show you a bit more, yes?" Leo gripped his shoulder with a warm smile.

The Valdeonian’s eyes shifted quickly toward the square where Constable McTavish escorted a drunken sailor outside the borders of town. Turning his face away from the two men, he leaned into the wagon and shifted a barrel of flour a few inches.

"Dante and I must return to our farm. You will come to visit us soon, yes?"

He jumped onto the driver's seat beside Dante. They pulled away without waiting for a reply. Seth stared after the intriguing man. Leo was entitled to his secrets. Heaven knew Seth had his own.

Walking down the Main Row, he headed toward the airship port. The entrance to his private sanctuary was hidden under the frame of the docks. The letters he carried weighted down his pocket. Hope was renewed. These secret letters must contain the answers he sought. Curiosity hurried his steps off the row and into the shadows of the port. Beatrice McFadden darted out of the structure as he circled around one of the pillars. Her hand covered her mouth as she wept. Eyes blurred with tears, she almost knocked him over. He caught the girl's arm to steady her.

"What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Ask Riley Logan if you must know!"

Seth pocketed the linen she refused to take from him. Stepping aside to let her go, he watched Beatrice make her lonely way back toward town. Tom Logan had been right about her crush.

He looked toward the cliffside. Riley must be there. Welcome news indeed. He hadn't seen his best friend since the night they'd landed in trouble with the constable. Mr. Logan had kept his promise to keep Riley busy on the farm.

A hand touched his shoulder. Staggering forward, Seth stumbled toward the ground. Riley gripped the back of his coat and pulled him upright.

"Sorry. Is the pest gone?"

"If you mean Beatrice, yes, she's gone and in tears."

"Well, serves her right I'd say. Following me around, calling me names." Riley tossed a stray rock at one of the pillars. "I can't wait to leave this rat hole. And I tell you this, Seth, I won't ever come back."

A loose board hung in the middle of the fence blocking entrance to the cliffs. He pushed it aside and shimmied through. The Sea Steps had been assembled and fastened to the rocky surface a few years after the colony was first formed. Spanning the height of the thousand-foot cliff, the steps ended upon a wharf. A lonely boathouse stood at its far end. Empty windows faced toward open sea. Seth spent many an hour inside this forgotten hideaway.

Intended for seafaring visitors, the steps had been decommissioned shortly after they had been completed. Amity raiders had used them to reach the surface in the most brutal attack in Haven Bay's history. Many settlers had been murdered and their woolies slaughtered.

Seth started down the steps, not stopping until they came to a large section of missing planks. The thick wooden beams used to support them extended empty toward the horizon. Beneath them, the sea raged in hungry anticipation. He placed his boot tips on the side beam anchored into the cliffside. The chain railing bolted into the cliff wall pulled taught under his grip. It smelled of rust and bird droppings. Sliding along the rock, he climbed to the next section of steps. These were intact and still strong. He landed on the first step with a thump. Riley landed beside him.

"Why are you in such a foul mood?"

Riley shrugged and continued the downward journey to the wharf. Seth waited. Something was bothering his friend, but nothing this side of a miracle would drag it from him before he was ready to talk.

"Dad will be glad to have me gone." Riley's voice was picked up by the constant breeze and carried over the waves. "The woolies got out again. They saw the fresh bunches of hay we bought from the McDermott farm and stampeded right over me. Dad thinks I'm useless. I’m a shame to him. Now don’t shake your head, Seth. I heard him say it. Well maybe not in those exact words, but that’s what he meant."

Seth gave his best friend a sympathetic nod. He understood perhaps better than anyone how much a word spoken in anger could wound. Mr. Logan was a kind man. Seth had no doubt he would mend things with Riley.

"You weren’t meant for woolie farming. We’ll find our own lives on the mainland. Come on. I have something to show you."

Boots pounding on the boards of the wharf, they headed for the boathouse. Seth yanked open the water-warped door. The familiar odor of brine and dust washed about them. Light from the sea-facing windows cast friendly patches of sunshine upon a long table and benches. Crates of unopened paper supplies stood beside a desk in the corner, waiting for a clerk who would never come.

Seth slid down onto one of the benches and pulled out the portrait of his parents. He handed it to Riley. His friend's eyes took in the picture for a moment and then lifted to search Seth's face.

"Dad said your mum told him this Edmund fellow was in the army. He looks just like you."

"There’s more." He pulled the unread letters from his coat pocket. "They’ve been written in Valic. That’s the language they speak in Valdeon."

"Oh. Can you read it?"

"Mother taught me." He unfolded the first letter and began to read aloud.

My dearest Anne. We've searched for Edmund, but the regimental commander refuses to give us any information regarding his whereabouts. They’ve promised to pass along one of my letters, but I haven't received word as of yet.

Courage, my dear friend. Edmund will come to you. He will be thrilled to find you carry his child. Do nothing rash. Your friend always, C.