The Storyspinner (19 page)

Chapter 52

Pira

The three remaining sentries built themselves a large fire at the head of the trail. The night had cooled, but not enough to warrant such a blaze, so it seemed they were trying to remind their visitors of their presence.

It also served as an easy way to identify each of their positions.

Pira snuck through the trees and rocks that bordered the trail, watching as two of the men tossed blades between them with practiced precision. She hated to be impressed, but she was. A little. Even with her excellent eyesight, she could barely make out the gleam of the metal in the firelight. The men seemed to know exactly where each blade would land and continued the pattern, making a rhythmic hiss and thump as blades slapped their palms.

She made no noise, not even crunching the dry leaves underfoot, and yet the third man turned away from the fire and his friends. Pira froze, feeling his eyes on her. He stopped a stone’s throw from the tree where she had hurriedly crouched.

“James, whatcha doing?” one of the men asked, continuing to toss his blade without hesitation.

The man shifted his weight, stones grinding under his feet. “I thought I heard something.” He took a tentative step toward Pira’s position.

“A squirrel, probably.”

In the light of the waning moon, Pira saw confusion on James’s face. He looked around, studying the shadows right over her head. After a moment he rubbed his forehead and turned back to his friends.

“Maybe it was a skunk. They creep around at night sometimes.”

Pira waited till she was sure the sentry was distracted before moving down the hill, through the farmland, and to the tents and wagons. The shadows of the bonfires danced along each home’s sides, bobbing and swaying to the cacophony of instruments and voices. Even after dark they were still violent with colors and pattern.

There was something about the camp and its dwellers that felt almost wild with activity. People danced and sang and flipped and shouted, while children darted between wagons, chasing dogs or walking on their hands. Even the small cluster of farm animals seemed a little too unsettled in their pens; they paced and munched. And bleated in Pira’s direction.

She moved away from the goats, hugging the sides of the manger—one of the few permanent, wood-framed buildings in the entire valley. There were other low-roofed cottages and barns, but she’d bet her best pair of boots that the two-story hall at the center of camp was where this so-called “council” met.

Pira hoped to sneak close to the building and listen to their conversation. They’d have to say something about Arlo and his family. If she was lucky, they might reveal where the princess was hiding.

The wagons and tents were laid out in orderly spokes, radiating from the hall. She’d have to work her way around the circle, keeping low to the ground and hugging the shadows, moving slightly inward when the chance presented itself. She darted to a stable, and from there to a large chicken coop.

Scouting out her next move, she saw a small cottage with herbs drying above a railed porch. The door to the cottage swung open, and a cloth-shrouded shape stepped onto the porch. The person’s head—Pira couldn’t tell if it was male or female—turned in her direction.

“Come out, come out, little Keeper!” a wavering voice called. “I’ve been waiting for you all day. And bring that pretty boy with you. He’s on the other side of the coop.”

Pira peeked around the corner and watched as a long shadow detached itself from the coop’s back wall.

“Are you coming?” Leão asked as he walked past her.

Chapter 53

Rafi

“What is wrong with you?” Johanna shouted as she dusted off her clothes. “Don’t you know how stupid it is to gallop your horse down a dark trail? Feel free to break your own neck, but don’t break mine!”

“You’re dressed in dark colors. I didn’t see you till I was almost on top of you.” Rafi slid out of his saddle and picked up Johanna’s satchel, which had sailed into the nearby bushes. “Breaker wouldn’t have run you down.”

Rafi had returned to the dining hall, hoping to get to the bottom of his uncle’s mysterious words, only to find his mother in a panic.

“Go now. Use the gate on the south side of the estate to avoid drawing any attention. There’s only one guard on that part of the wall.” Lady DeSilva had practically shoved him out the door that opened onto the yard. “Find Johanna and make sure she’s safe.”

Rafi wanted to argue, but there had been real urgency in his mother’s tone and he jumped to obey.

He’d saddled Breaker without calling a groom, then led the horse behind the barn to keep them hidden from view. He rode hard, both because it was what his mother wanted him to do and because it felt good.

The stars and moonlight had been enough for Breaker to make his way safely down the well-known trail, but neither of them had expected Johanna to appear out of the darkness.

He held out her bag, but the strap was broken. “It looks like your satchel didn’t survive the fall unscathed.”

“Neither did my hand.” She held her scraped palm up for him to see. Blood ran down her pale skin and disappeared into the sleeve of her tunic.

Rafi’s gut clenched like he was anticipating a kick to his midsection. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make sure you were safe.”

“A lot of good you’ve done me.” She rolled her hand up in the hem of her shirt and held it tight against her chest. “Whenever you’re around, I seem destined for injury.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Johanna snorted and started down the trail toward the orchard.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to get as much distance from you as possible,” she said without stopping.

“I’m supposed to bring you back to the estate with me.”

“Ha! I won’t go anywhere with you willingly.”

Has there ever been a girl so stubborn and pigheaded in the history of Santarem?
She marched along a dark forest trail, head held high, a slight limp in her gait, but with no concern whatsoever about things lurking in the shadows.

“Johanna, don’t be stupid about this.” Rafi jogged to catch up with her; Breaker followed as he was trained to do. Rafi grabbed her uninjured arm, pulling her to a stop.

She shook off his grip. “Are you going to throw me across your saddle if I won’t agree to ride with you? Is that the kind of man you are,
Lord
Rafael?”

“No,” Rafi said, shocked at her words. “Never.”

“Then let me go.” She turned for the trail again, but this time her back was hunched and her limp more pronounced.

Rafi felt sick, like that blow he’d been expecting had landed. She looked so pitiful and small, dwarfed by the trees.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

What choice did Rafi have? He mounted Breaker and trotted after Johanna. Giving her a bit of space, but still close enough to protect her if any danger was going to present itself.

She ignored him. The sound of her scuffling footsteps and Breaker’s hoofbeats made him uncomfortable. He started to talk, hoping the sound of his voice would loosen the knots that coiled in his chest.

“It’s a nice night. The days still hold plenty of summer heat, but it cools off in the evenings.”

She ignored him and picked up her pace.

“Soon the leaves will start changing and this whole forest will look like it’s on fire.”

He continued on, speaking about the weather and the lack of hunting, and finally shifting to the drought and the state of the farms. Saying it all aloud, hearing the words float off into the night—rather than in whispered conversations with his mother and private meetings with his other advisors—was a pleasant change. He aired his worries about his people not having enough to eat and being forced to import commodities from surrounding states.

“I know Inimigo will sell to me at a good price. He’s willing to do anything to secure a better relationship between our states, but I hate the idea of trading with him.” Then without thinking, he admitted the thing that weighed on him the most. “I wish my father were here.”

Embarrassment and sadness choked Rafi, and he couldn’t say anything else for a few moments. He slid the reins between his fingers, noticing the rough spots where he’d bent and looped the leather over and over again. That too reminded him of his father.

“Me too.”

He cleared his throat. “My father always knew exactly how to handle every situation. There was never a question about his honor, and no one doubted his decisions were the right ones. I’ll never be as good of a duke as he was.” He laughed humorlessly. “I’ve already made such a mess.”

Chapter 54

Johanna

“My father always said it wasn’t how you started, but how you finished that really mattered.” Johanna felt a twinge of sympathy. She understood the weight of responsibility, how it could bow your back with worries and clutter your mind so you couldn’t think of anything else, and Rafi had many more people depending on him.

“I liked your father,” Rafi said quietly. “His stories were a good balance to your mother’s beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” Johanna meant it, but the compliment also made her feel self-conscious of her own skills.

“You have her gift.”

“If that was true—which it’s not,” she said, and looked at him over her shoulder, “then why are you always so bored during my performances?”

“Who told you I was bored?”

“You didn’t have to
say
anything!” She faced him while she spoke. “You don’t clap; you don’t smile; you don’t laugh. Everyone else is completely absorbed, but you look like you can’t wait to get out of the room.”

“I clap!”

“Like you have to, like you’re being polite.” She turned back around, disgusted with herself. Performers never beg for adoration, and she had no idea why she wanted it from Rafi.

“You don’t understand,” he huffed. “I feel like I always need to apologize to you for something or other.”

She stopped, and Breaker took a step to the side to avoid riding her down. “When have you
ever
apologized to me for anything?”

“I just did!”

“No. You said you felt like you needed to, but you haven’t actually done it.”

Rafi jumped off Breaker’s back, landing next to Johanna. “I said I was sorry about almost riding you down tonight.”

“You didn’t mean it. It was a forced apology.”

“Well . . . I was trying to help you!” He stepped closer to Johanna, towering over her petite frame.

“Well nothing! You’re not sorry you don’t like my performances, you’re not sorry you almost killed me tonight, and you’re not sorry about that day in the forest.” Johanna didn’t mean to bring it up, but once she got started, she couldn’t quit. “You’re only sorry that there’s a mark on your honor. In my opinion, you’ll never earn it back until you feel honest . . . remorse . . . for attacking me in the woods. I don’t think you ever will because you don’t think you were wrong.”

“It looked like you were poaching, and game has been so slim this year that stopping you was the first thing that crossed my mind.”

“You could have stopped me without knocking me out.”

“You fought back and I defended myself. ”

A victorious smile curled Johanna’s lips. “And you still are.”

Rafi closed his eyes and let a long slow breath out his nose. “You’re right. I’m not sorry that I tried to stop a poacher.”

She opened her mouth to counter, but Rafi held up one finger. “I am sorry, so terribly sorry, that I hurt
you,
Johanna Von Arlo.” He touched the back of her hand lightly, a gentleman pleading his cause. “The moment I realized how badly I’d hurt you was one of the most awful of my life. I’ve never felt so much raging guilt, and I
beg
you to forgive me.”

Johanna was hyperaware of the feel of Rafi’s warm fingers on her skin, the gentle touch, true regret in his eyes.

“I know I haven’t earned it yet,” he said, stepping toward his horse and breaking the contact between them. “I hope someday I will.”

The hard feelings she’d been harboring fled, replaced by something soft and fluttering.

He swung into the saddle and stretched out a hand toward her. “Would you allow me to offer you a ride home?”

Johanna took his hand and mounted behind him. “You better. At this rate, I’ll have to start walking back to the estate as soon as I get to the wagons.”

Rafi laughed, and Johanna tightened her grip around his waist just a bit.

Chapter 55

Jacaré

“They’ve been gone too long.” Jacaré set aside the saddlebag he’d been repairing.

Tex, relaxed as always, reclined against a large log they’d rolled near the fire. His eyes were closed, his arms folded behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. Pure, undiluted calm. “They’re fine. No one down in that camp is going to attack them.”

Jacaré wished he could believe that, but the memory of Lord Venza’s daughter laid out on a cold slab of stone was too haunting. “Did you forget that we’ve discovered two dead girls who could have passed as the heir’s doubles? And just a few months ago, Arlo was murdered. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Talk this out with me,” Tex prompted, though he left his eyes shut. “We found an assassin’s dart at the site where the guardian was killed. You assume that it was meant for the guardian, yet his death was the result of a fall from the high wire we could see stretched across the top of the glass.”

“Assassins don’t typically leave weapons behind.” Jacaré stood, needing to pace. “If he shot at Arlo during a performance, and missed . . .”

Tex nodded reaching the same conclusion. “He wouldn’t have been able to retrieve the dart while so many people were around.”

“Right.” Jacaré stopped walking. “I think he missed, but succeeded in making the kill. Arlo saw the dart or the shooter, lost his balance, and fell.”

“Lots of assumptions,” Tex said with a grunt.

“Think about it: The dart was poisoned. Whether Arlo died from the poison or from the fall, the assassin guaranteed the kill.”

A crackle on the trail alerted them that someone was approaching. Tex dropped his arms to his sides but didn’t come to his feet. He still looked relaxed, but was ready for whatever was coming their way.

The Firesword, Benton, nodded to the men as he joined them at the fire. “Evening, men. Where are your younglings?”

He asked the question politely, as if for the sake of conversation, but his eyes darted to the picket line where the horses were hobbled, and to the bedrolls near the fire.

“You know how young ones are. Always looking for an excuse to be alone.” Tex waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I surely do. I remember those days.” Benton sketched a smile. “Too bad, though. I was hoping to take care of all of you at once.” With the last words, he threw two knives, each on a direct path for the men’s hearts.

And yet that was where Benton failed. Tex and Jacaré were more than men.

Benton found himself staring at the night sky, his own knife at his throat. Jacaré knelt on the would-be assassin’s chest.

“Assumptions, eh, Texugo?”

“Hmpf. ”