The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (27 page)

chapter thirty

It’d been difficult
for Daeryn to furtively follow Annmar and Rivley, even traveling the tree limbs and roofs. A few people spotted his polecat form, and he’d run into one cranky ’cambire crow pinching shiny trinkets from a table and stashing them in a tree crook.

He’d come to terms with Rivley accompanying Annmar since she seemed more interested in shopping than the avian himself. But the absence of the ropens probably contributed more to Daeryn’s fur lying flat.

When Annmar ducked into a small, covered booth, he leaned into a tree trunk’s shadows. He was foolish, stalking her like this, exactly what Miz Gere had forbidden him to do. He should go, before he got into trouble in some way. If one of Mary Clare’s sisters checked the sickroom, she’d likely report him missing to Mrs. Betsy. She wouldn’t look kindly on Daeryn making extra work for her on a Saturday.

He pushed off the rough bark and eyed the branches for a path back to the chapel. Another shake didn’t rid Daeryn of his irritation. He’d spent the last half hour reminding himself Rivley barely even knew Annmar’s name. Was only being the gentleman he was. Doing what Miz Gere had asked. What Mary Clare had demanded. In no way was he moving in on the female who filled Daeryn’s thoughts.

Daeryn couldn’t be disgruntled. He would just have to wait. Give Annmar time to reconsider him. To understand he wasn’t a louse. Just a ’cambire. She’d had no experience with ’cambires, but each day at Wellspring she would gain more. He could be patient.

He could be patient back up at Wellspring. But instead of leaving, Daeryn scanned the street again. Rivley was searching in every direction. Why couldn’t the birdbrain see her—

Whoa
. Daeryn jumped down two levels of branches to see into the booth. He knew where Annmar had gone, yet could barely make out the girl in a straw hat. Her figure wasn’t shadowed, but transparent.
Help her,
he wanted to shout, but what came out was a yip.

Rivley jerked around.

Daeryn’s hackles rose at his own idiocy, and he froze, willing Rivley to locate his quarry. Annmar could
not
have agreed to be bewitched.

* * *

Who are you?

The lady’s question echoed around Annmar in the darkness.
Your name, my pet. Your dam? Your sire?

Oh… I’m Ann—

“Annmar?” Rivley’s sharp cry pierced the secluded burrow. “What are you doing?”

Annmar’s eyes flashed open at his pinch to her arm, the sudden brightness startling her. Hadn’t she been underground in a sparkling tunnel with—she looked down—this old lady? Where was the secret place every bit as interesting as Chapel Hollow’s busy streets?

Rivley tugged her against him and tried to brush aside the old woman’s hands. “Let the girl go.”

The lady didn’t. Instead, she squeezed Annmar’s hands in her cool, rock-like grip. The earthy smells rose stronger, damp and rich, strangely as comforting as Rivley’s warm chest.

“She’s not yours,” the lady hissed.

Rivley’s lips parted. An irritated clicking burst forth. “Nor is she property. She’s working for Mistress Constance Gere. Do you wish to take up the matter with her?”

The old woman startled back.

He wrested Annmar free. “I thought not.” He ran his fingers over her hands and forearms, warming them and chasing away the dampness. “Are you all right?” he murmured, then without waiting for an answer, glared at the woman. “What do you think gives you the right to lure over a fledgling?”

The lady snorted. “Came over quite willingly. I’d have her as my apprentice in a wink, she’s so attuned.”

“Without her consent?” he snapped. He backed out of the booth, Annmar secure under his arm. “You think that’s fair?”

“Don’t kid yourself. She’d enjoy the experience. Learn a thing or two about herself along the way. And you need that, don’t you, my pet?” Her bright eyes bored into Annmar’s while she slowly paced after them.

Annmar shuddered in the warm sunshine. She darted a look up to Rivley’s fierce features, then back to the soft and inviting old lady. She squinted, trying to see…oh, my. The lady shielded herself from view. Annmar pushed harder, but it didn’t work.

The lady smiled, almost knowingly. “Here.” She pressed something into Annmar’s palm. “You take this.”

The stone-like object fit naturally into her closed fingers, calming her. She tucked it into her pocket to keep it safe as Rivley pulled her away.

The old lady called after them, “If you wish to learn more, you come talk to Old Terry.”

* * *

To hell with
the consequences. Daeryn descended the tree and was weaving among legs and hooves toward the booth when Rivley emerged with his arm around Annmar’s shoulders. Feathers crowned Riv’s hair, and Annmar’s head was ducked, her confused scent whirling before her, more earthy than usual.

What had happened? Daeryn ducked aside, managing to hide under a table.

The lady handed Annmar something, and as she touched the girl, he caught sight of Annmar’s eyes.

They were blue. Not Annmar’s paler blue, but for just a second a bright blue that shone in the shadows of her hat.

A shiver ran down Daeryn’s spine. She
had
been ensorcelled. His gaze darted to the old lady—not just a witch, but with her transparent figure forming back to solid, a hedge-rider. Those folk crossed physical boundaries with ease and snared anyone they could.

Rivley tugged Annmar away, her eyes normal now, and they walked off, not drawing any attention. Even if Daeryn followed, he’d get no answers. Not without revealing his errant spying, damn this stupid predicament. He scanned the booth, and when the hedge-rider sat again, she took something from a bucket with her muddy hands.

Ah. She was also a mudcrafter, what Rockbridge dwellers called the rare Knacks who worked with doodem argilla. The gray clay was rare. The one time he’d gone to Rockbridge’s argilla deposit, guards had chased him off.

So she’d given Annmar a doodem, harmless enough, but unheard of for one scratching out her living with a scarce resource. Clearly, she hoped to tempt Annmar to return.

Not if he could help it.

* * *

Back at Wellspring’s
stand, Annmar sank behind the crates Rivley pointed to and, without a word, took out her sketchbook. Underground tunnels formed on the pages, complete with dangling roots and scurrying insects. She drew and drew, working through the strange and beautiful sights until the sound of Mary Clare’s escalating voice broke through her concentration.

“I’ve been up and down this street a half-dozen times.” She pushed Rivley’s fingers from her lips with a bounce and gestured wildly. “Looked into every stand. Up to the Town Hall and the panels.”

Several customers peered over the piles of produce. Rivley touched her elbow and quietly said, “You didn’t come. I was to watch her, not you.”

Watch her? Mary Clare’s gaze cut to her. They were talking about
her
.

“Excuse me. I’m right here,” Annmar said. “Sorry you had to mind me like a child.” When they exchanged frowns, she bit her lip. “Fine, I’m not sorry. I suppose I needed Rivley’s help, but she seemed so nice and showed me the most interesting place. I wish I could have asked her questions, but…” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “How did she do that to me?”

“
What?
”
Mary Clare screeched. “Who did what to you?”

Rivley shushed her, but now everyone was looking. The farmworkers frowned and went back to work. The customers took longer to pry their gazes away.

Annmar closed her book and edged closer to Rivley’s legs. “Sorry.”

“It’s not
your
fault,” he hissed. “MC is—” Rivley snapped his mouth closed on what he’d been about to say.

Mary Clare grasped a handful of his shirt and yanked him to her, stretching up on tiptoes to push her face to his. “We had customers. All asking about the crop damage by those pests. Plus, the growers were still culling through the produce for bite marks to make it look like we’re fine. I couldn’t leave for breakfast. Now just tell me what happened.”

Rivley didn’t answer.

Mary Clare scrunched up her face and blew out her breath through her nostrils. She let go of his shirt, whirled and squatted in front of Annmar. “What. Happened?”

Why were they acting like this? The tunnel was so interesting—Annmar shook herself—but not
normal
, not a
proper
place to be. The strangeness of whatever had happened gripped her, heightening her nerves a little late. She leaned forward. “A lady took me underground”—she snapped her fingers inches from Mary Clare’s nose, nearly causing her to fall over—“like that. No warning.”

Mary Clare opened her mouth, but the knotting in Annmar’s stomach made her speak first. “Magic,” she whispered. “Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t, or that it will be all right. That was some confusion…or entangling spell, the type of thing everyone expected would happen to the stupid, Outside city girl. Heaven knows what she wanted from me.”

What had Old Terry wanted? In Derby, Annmar knew the dangers: not paying her debts, offending Mrs. Rennet, men like Mr. Shearing hoping to despoil her. She could avoid them. Wouldn’t that be preferable than this mystery she had no control over?

Mary Clare started shaking her head. Annmar scooted away from her flood of feelings at exactly the same moment Rivley stepped back.

Annmar clenched her fists at her sides, her whole body stiff. “You’re right. I need a watcher to make sure I don’t make a mistake. A guard to pull me to safety. A teacher to show me how to act with a Knack I don’t understand. Will I always be laughed at, scorned, threatened, or fear for my life in Blighted Basin? What good is even thinking about staying here when I can never be myself? Never rely on myself to live independently? I’m so stupid about this I can’t even tell good from bad. What that strange woman did scared Rivley to pieces, but I felt fine. Happy, in fact. I’ll never fit in here, even if I do master my Knack, learn about my mother, find my father, or…or…” She looked around, then waved at her bib-and-brace. “Wear these clothes. None of it changes who I am.” She drew a breath and let it out.

There. She’d told them. Everything. Annmar slowly unfolded her fists. She picked up her dropped sketchbook and hugged it to her chest.

After several moments of silence, Mary Clare licked her lips. “I’m sorry you’re upset. But you’re not stupid. You recognized the danger. You’re aware of what you need to learn to protect yourself. You can learn to do these things.” She straightened.

Annmar stared at Mary Clare. There had been no persuasive feelings, no coaxing phrases. Mary Clare just laid it out. She believed Annmar could succeed at making a life in the Basin. More than anything, Annmar wanted to trust her, but right now it seemed beyond the help of even magic.

Mary Clare’s eyes were narrowed when her gaze met Rivley’s. She jerked her head westward, toward Wellspring. “Are you ready to go home, Annmar?” she asked.

Home. Annmar glanced in the direction of the train station. After this strangeness, going
home
was tempting… When she nodded, Rivley helped her up, but Mary Clare inserted herself between them. She linked arms with Annmar. “
I’ll
make sure we aren’t separated.”

Chapter thirty-one

The walk uphill
to Wellspring cleared Annmar’s anger, but not her confusion. In her room, she stripped off the bib-and-brace and maize work shirt and changed into her familiar undergarments. At her wardrobe, her hand fell on her travel skirt. She started to remove it, then stopped.

What did she have to go back to in Derby? Mrs. Rennet might rehire her, but she’d have to face Mr. Shearing again on Monday morning—

Annmar shuddered. Besides, where would she live? Her spot in the boarding room was let to a co-worker of Polly’s. After buying the clothes, there was little gold left to support her through finding something else. Polly had been right, at the start of the week, Annmar hadn’t been living on the margin. But now she would be.

Her heart sank at the dark feeling. So…she would finish the trial. And if offered the full position… She couldn’t make that decision with her head in such turmoil. She rubbed her arms. Blighted Basin was such a strange place. It was one thing to navigate it with family, friends, knowledge of who you were, and what magic you carried.

Magic as wild as whisking to a tunnel sparkling with pinpoints of blue light.

But Annmar didn’t have these things. No matter how intriguing Old Terry’s underground journey had been, right now she didn’t even want to leave the safety of her room.

And yet, if she didn’t, she’d never know what might be possible.

She drew a breath. While she finished the trial, she would continue to seek her answers. Her Knack had strengthened, thanks to drawing. Its doings had just created more questions.

Her gaze drifted to the cluster of jars yet to be tried on her side table. Mistress Gere expected ten to a dozen labels a week. Annmar could complete another three preserves today. Perhaps finishing early would encourage Mistress Gere to forward Annmar’s request to the owner of Mother’s paintings. Or might the delay not be Mistress Gere’s fault, but because the owner was her father? Annmar dismissed the idea. Her search couldn’t possibly tie up that neatly.

Annmar dressed in the work skirt and blouse she’d worn yesterday, before buying the farm clothes. She didn’t need those garments out and reminding her of today. She plucked up the trousers. Something dropped from the pocket and
thunked
onto the rug.

The figurine Old Terry had given her. Annmar scooped up the little animal and checked to confirm it hadn’t broken. It hadn’t. The figure was a zoolet, an animal. A squirrel. He was sitting up, tail in a pleasing S shape curled protectively up against his back. In his paws, he held something close to his chest. A nut? Annmar tilted the small body up for a better view. No, the object was a mushroom.

“Different figures for different stages of your life,” Old Terry had said. So this meant something, but what? Annmar rolled the squirrel over and over in her hand, trying to focus her Knack on it, to see what the lady might have meant. Nothing happened. Maybe she had to believe in their Creator religion to have the doodem mean anything. She set the squirrel among Mother’s figures, adjusting their positions with her fingertips, studying them. Still nothing.

With a sigh, she gathered the farm clothes, folded them and opened her trunk.

Blue lights flashed in the bottom.

Annmar dropped the lid with a bang, but heaved it open again. Mother’s watercolor of the River Derwent was illuminated by blue light flowing over the looping pencil strokes.

“Thank heavens!” Her Knack might not work on the doodem, but it worked on something. She picked up the painting she’d brought from Derby—one that had not shown a bit of blue the night she arrived—and dashed away the happy tears threatening to blur her vision. She wished to see the lines now, though something told her this gift wasn’t going away. Annmar gathered the complete stack of Mother’s artwork she’d saved, sat on the rug and spread the dozen papers out around her, excitement warming her.

Every one of them had some touch of the blue light. Blue swayed the tree limbs overhanging the River Derwent where she and Mother had walked each Sunday. Blue twitched the whiskers of a hare they’d spied eating grass shoots, bringing it alive again. Blue ruffled the feathers of a bird landing on a branch. Every naturescape conveyed life in the creature or plant Mother had drawn.

At last Annmar turned to the one hardest to look at, though the portrait was the best of all: a sketch of the two of them. She had to wipe her eyes three times before she could study it properly. The simple drawing showed them sharing a hug on a happy day. The luminated threads circled with their arms, tightening in love. Warm feelings welled up in Annmar, and all over again she could feel Mother’s arms around her, squeezing, and hear the whisper of her soft voice saying,
I love you
.

A good cry later, Annmar felt better. She gathered the vibrant artwork, scanning each again. She’d saved these pieces because their vitality showed even without the view of a Knack, but now she knew where Mother had applied special touches. Yet disappointment settled in Annmar’s heart. These scenes were all of Derbyshire. None depicted the Basin, or anything about Mother’s life here. So though she confirmed the blue light of her Knack had been part of Mother’s Knack, too, she still knew nothing more about her family or her gift—

Wait. She
had
found someone to tell her more. Old Terry.

Even if the strange lady didn’t know about her parents, she knew plenty about doodems. Annmar’s intuition said Old Terry knew some connection between the figures, that fascinating sparkling tunnel and Annmar.

* * *

“So?” Daeryn rolled
off his bed that afternoon when Rivley came into their shared room from Market Day.

Rivley didn’t look at him, just gave a glance around and turned to his wardrobe.

Damn. That frown at Daeryn’s clothes-littered half of the room said the avian was in no better mood than he was. Perhaps worse, depending on what Miz Gere had said when Riv went to her office. Daeryn also turned away. Right, he should have picked up this afternoon, but anything he’d started today seemed to fall apart. Which made asking if Riv had seen what he’d seen…

Daeryn flung a few things at his open drawers. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”

“We went to Market Day.”

“You
know
what I mean. Who did she talk to? What did she think of Chapel Hollow?”

Rivley threw a frown over his shoulder before picking up a towel.

He shouldn’t have, but a rumble vibrated from his throat.

With the hair on his crown rising, Rivley darted to the bathing room and slammed the door.

Fine. He’d let the persnickety cluck clean up…and put Rivley in a better mood by shoving his stuff into the wardrobe. Though, why did it matter when Riv spent most of his time up in the rafters of their thirty-foot ceiling?

By the time Rivley finished his spray wash, Daeryn lay on his bed, pitching a ball of socks at the wall and catching it.

Rivley put away his things. “Say, I need a nap.”

“You’re going to tonight’s bonfire.” The socks hit the wall. “You’ll watch her?” It wasn’t so much a question as a request.

“Mistress Gere only asked me to while we were off property.” Rivley shrugged. “No need tonight.”

Daeryn shoved himself up.
What, no need? No, not when
… Great Creator, he ought to just spill his asinine adventure.

Rivley frowned. “Besides, you’ll be there. See for yourself what she does.”

He grunted. That was the problem. “Claiming my foot was good enough to move back here set up a fuss with Mrs. Betsy.”

“Sit at the fire. That’s where Annmar will probably be anyway.”

“Except Mrs. Betsy sent for Miriam, who said she better not see me out before breakfast.”

“Then, you’re here. Not my problem. I have plans.”

“Mary Clare?” When Rivley didn’t answer, Daeryn got to his feet with a growl. “Damn it all, this is more important. You’ve said yourself there’s no future with Mary Clare. So help me with Annmar by keeping one of your hawk eyes alert to make sure no other males try to get in close with her.”

“You should have thought of that before your cock invited that wolf to bed.”

Daeryn sprang, but Rivley blocked the punch and slammed his fist into Daeryn’s gut. Daeryn lashed out again and caught him on the shoulder. They parted. Daeryn bent and charged him again, but Rivley twisted into hawk form and flew overhead. Missing him, Daeryn smashed into the wall, his vision blacking at the edges. Before he could get up, Rivley’s full human weight landed on his back, and he pinned Daeryn in a headlock. He struggled, but couldn’t break the hold.

“Look,” Rivley panted. “I appreciate that you’re frustrated. We both will be until the obligations of the gildan are resolved. Work together, you said. I’m game. To be pack, if that’s what it takes. If you want her, tell me when you’re up for fulfilling the gildan. Then after, you work on winning her.”

Only Daeryn’s rough breathing sounded in the quiet room. Hell, it made sense, laid out like that. “Fine,” he finally spat when he got his breath.

Rivley released him.

Daeryn ducked his head, turned away and stripped off his shirt. He changed, fur sprouting over his back, rear and legs as his trousers fell. He dropped to all fours, shook himself and leaped. From chair back to wardrobe top to rafter, his muscular hind legs sprang with each jump until he landed on the high dormer window ledge. He shot back a glare, and Rivley met it. Damn him. Daeryn dove out the window onto the nearest apple limb.

He headed for the woods at the north perimeter and ran until he reached the next landowner’s field. He scraped through its hedgerow and continued on, stretching muscles over his back, bunching shoulders and thighs to leap logs and skirt rocks. On and on he raced, lacing through woods and thorny hedgerows, until he ran out of adrenaline and anger, miles from Wellspring.

I’ve done it now.
And not just diving into a fight with Rivley. Daeryn’s head drooped. To admit what he’d seen in the Market meant telling everything. The tale of the healing that wasn’t his to tell. How he’d nearly died sneaking out to hunt. And worse, he’d gone against Miz Gere by following Annmar around when the girl had made it clear she wanted him at a distance. He slowed to a padding trot to even his breathing and his head.

His decisions hadn’t been those of a leader. He’d failed Miz Gere, his team, his best friend and…himself.

Over a girl who might never invite him to court her.

Why didn’t he have the foresight to listen to Rivley right from the start? Or even when Miz Gere made him lead? This was his chance to get his head on straight, prove himself again. To be the leader he wanted to be again.

And he’d botched it.

Daeryn leaped up an outcropping and stood on the warm stone, letting its heat penetrate his footpads while he stared off into late September’s fading foliage.

Rustle.

His head jerked around, his ears twitched, just as the mouse ventured forward, crackling another dry leaf with its tiny foot. Daeryn half-settled on his haunches, tightening his rear muscles with a wiggle of anticipation. At the next
crackle
, he sprang.

The warm body fell limp with a quick neck snap and, in three bites, was gone. Daeryn licked his tongue over one paw and wiped it across his whiskers, first one side, then the other. That’d been good, but now his stomach growled, demanding more. He glanced around. Plenty of mice could be found between here and Wellspring.

The trip back was slower, calmer, and productive. He followed several trails of vermin scent. They steered clear of the worn paw paths, instead darted along hedgerows, behind fallen logs and into old burrows. Unfortunately, he didn’t scare up any, adding to his list of misses today.

Another failure was somewhat welcome: Rivley wasn’t in the workshop. Daeryn couldn’t face him yet. He left a note asking if Riv could devise a tiny lantern and harness, not explaining why he needed one. The unusual request should be enough to spur Rivley’s creativity. Later, with an apology, Daeryn would give over the story.

With the late afternoon light slanting through the clouds, Daeryn climbed a spreading oak in the cemetery on the edge of Wellspring. He set his claws into the bark of a nearly level branch he’d rested on before. Though his eyesight wasn’t even close to Rivley’s, he had a clear view over the shorter orchard trees to the regular Saturday evening bonfire set in an opening beyond the bunkhouse.

It’d been lit. Daeryn lifted his nose. James attended the flame, along with several of the planta boys, though their scents weren’t as strong. Maraquin’s was. She flounced down the hill, arriving early to have dinner before her guard shift. When Zar came along a minute later, Daeryn knew Jac had decided to reduce the breaks after dark.

Better catnap now, otherwise he’d be little help after a night awake and a day of worry. His instinct was to do it here. When Annmar joined the group, he’d dress and ask to have a word alone. If she didn’t appear, he’d find Mary Clare to help him. He’d plead a case for Wellspring needing guards so Annmar would let him reveal the healing. Then before midnight, he’d grab Zar to get Jac, tell his tale and permanently turn over the lead.