“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. ”
Chapter 56
Pira
Pira was on guard, her fingers itching to draw the dagger in her boot, but Leão walked toward the cottage without looking back.
What other choice did she have but to follow? Leão was the closest thing the Keepers had to royalty.
The door stood ajar, and Pira peeked inside. A small cot hugged one wall, a cheerful fire crackled at the hearth, and at a tiny table in the corner Leão sat with the oldest woman Pira had ever seen.
“Come in, dear thing.” The woman waved with a gnarled hand. A face grooved like maple bark smiled out of a bright yellow hood. “Close the door behind you. It gets awfully cold in the evenings.”
Pira hesitated in the doorway, but the smell wafting from the hearth drew her in. “Is that maracujá jelly?”
“And fresh scones to put it on.” The woman nodded to a plate on the table and to Leão with a half-eaten pastry in his hand. “I knew you’d come today, but I didn’t know when, besides after dark. Seems you’ve got good timing, as the scones are still steaming.”
Pira didn’t have many issues with self-control. It was a trait her brother possessed and she’d worked hard at achieving. But maracujá on anything was difficult for her to turn down. Her mouth watered, thinking of the sweet-tart flavor and the way the heat from the scone would make it slide across her tongue.
“They’re good,” Leão said with a near groan, and held up a second one, a bit of preserves ready to drip off the side. He caught it on his finger and licked it clean. “Best thing I’ve eaten in weeks.”
“How do you know they’re not poisoned? For all you know, this woman wanted to lur
e us here for that purpose.”
The old lady raised her eyebrows but didn’t argue her innocence.
Leão took another bite. “Then I’ll die full and happy.”
Pira restrained the urge to dive across the room and snatch the entire jar of jelly away. Instead, she sniffed the contents, held it up to the light—not that any alchemist worth their salt would leave visible evidence—and finally smeared a bit on the inside of her wrist.
“Don’t feel obligated to eat, dear.” The woman lowered herself onto the hearth, leaving the other chair empty for Pira to take. “I wanted to offer you Keepers something you might enjoy.”
“How do you know who we are? How did you know we were coming?” Pira asked, feeling the short hairs on her head prickle with suspicions.
“You may call me Elma.” She smoothed her shawl, like it was some rich piece of silk rather than a scrap of homespun wool. “I see many things. Sometimes the future, sometimes the past, always the truth.”
It had the ring of a phrase well rehearsed. Pira was not impressed.
“And . . .” Leão prompted as he reached for another scone from the half-full plate.
“She can’t sense it,” Elma said, eyeing Pira. “She’s not like us.”
“She can sometimes. If she really tries.”
Pira did not like being the center of a conversation she wasn’t taking part in.
“What are you talking about? Sense what?”
“Elma’s essência. She’s one of us.”
* * *
Pira leaned against the fireplace, the heat of the stones seeping through her hunting leathers and warming her back. She felt full and relaxed, and just a bit sleepy.
“I couldn’t possibly leave them behind, no matter what the Keepers demanded,” Elma said, wrapping up her tale. “So I didn’t side with either group. My husband and I moved to this little valley, insulated from the battles and bloodshed, and raised our children and grandchildren.” She let out a long tired sigh. “Then I lived on to help raise their children and grandchildren and whoever else found our little sanctuary. I’d never do anything to hurt the Performers. They are my people, more so than the Keepers. They are my family.”
A fist pounded on the cabin’s door, shattering Pira’s calm and shaking the small windows on either side. Leão’s scone fell with a liquid plop as he drew his weapons.
“Relax,” Elma said, pressing a gentle hand to Pira’s. “It’s one of the sentries.”
The Keepers exchanged glances and remained ready.
“Elma! Wake up!” a voice yelled as its owner jiggled the door. “The men camping on our boundaries have captured Benton and are holding him hostage.”
“Just a moment, Didsbury.” The old woman limped across the room.
She opened the door wide, allowing a clear view into her home. The young man on the porch, one of those who’d greeted the Keepers on arrival, blanched. He fumbled at his sash for the hilt of the short sword, his fingers missing the grip.
“Oh stop, Didsbury. Leão and Pira are my friends.” She shook her head in disgust. “You young people always reach for weapons instead of asking questions.”
“But . . . but . . .” He pointed at Pira and then Leão, who was scraping his jelly off the table and licking his fingers. “How did they get in here? We were watching their camp.”
“They walked, obviously.” Elma reached for a tall stick behind the door. It was a knotted piece of wood, but it shone with evidence of frequent use. “I told you they were my friends. They have skills similar to my own.”
Didsbury nodded, as if Elma’s answer made perfect sense.
“Let’s go rescue the rest of your group.” Elma held out her arm for Didsbury to take and beckoned with her stick for Leão and Pira to follow. “Or more likely rescue my Performers from them.”
Chapter 57
Johanna
Thomas sat near the fire, a book from their small collection clutched in one hand. He jumped to his feet as Breaker trotted into the clearing.
“Lord Rafael.” His look of surprise shifted to amused suspicion. “Thank you for delivering Johanna home. I hope it wasn’t inconvenient.”
Johanna heard the insinuation in Thomas’s tone and sent her brother a glare he wouldn’t miss.
“Oh no. It was my pleasure.” Rafi helped Johanna slide out of the saddle, holding her hand till she was steady on her feet beside the horse. “There has been word of . . . brigands on the roads again, and we—my mother and I—decided it would be in Johanna’s best interest if she wasn’t alone in the forest.”
Thomas’s forehead bunched at the words. “Really. I’m surprised they’d stray this far from the main roads.”
“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to risk Johanna’s safety.” He looped his reins around his saddle horn, and then unwrapped them again.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Good night, then.” Rafi gave Johanna a quick smile and nod before riding away.
Johanna watched him disappear into the darkness before turning to face whatever her brother had in store. She couldn’t ignore the scathing look.
“It was his pleasure to bring you home?”
“Stop it, Thomas. He didn’t mean anything.” She took her cloak out of her satchel and gave it a few good shakes. “He was just being polite.” I think.
“The way he looked at you wasn’t polite.” Thomas patted the log beside him.
“What does that mean?” Johanna wanted desperately to go to bed, but the opportunities to talk to her oldest brother were too few for her liking.
“There was . . . longing in his eyes.” He set his book down, and Johanna knew she was in for a grand admonishment. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Because if he didn’t care for you at all he would have sent one of his guardsmen to escort you home, but he did it personally. Mark my words: That means something.”
A small smile crept onto her face at the thought. It might be pleasant to mean something to someone. Even if that someone is Rafi.
Especially if that someone is Rafi.
She could feel Thomas’s appraisal. “What?” she asked.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that maybe you liked him, too.”
“Oh please,” Johanna said with a laugh. “Matters of the heart are the least of my concerns.”
Thomas’s face fell, and their conversation turned to uglier topics. “I’m assuming you heard about Mama?”
“Lady DeSilva told me herself. ” Johanna stared into the flames, her cheeks reflecting their heat. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life.”
“I won’t pretend to understand what happened or what she was thinking, but could you maybe go easy on her? She’s having a hard time.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tears pricked Johanna’s eyes. “You should’ve seen the boys at the estate, Thomas. They ate and ate till I thought they’d be sick. I hated to stop them from getting full. Who knows when we’ll have enough to feed them like that every day? But we would be closer if she’d stop swilling away every extra coin.”
Thomas folded his hands together and rested them on his knees. “She’s broken, Jo. When we committed father’s body to the flames, there was a moment when I thought she was going to throw herself on the pyre. But she didn’t. She looked at each of us and stepped away from the edge.” Leave it to Thomas to make their mother look like a martyr. “Give her a little leeway. She lost the love of her life and the profession she lived for all in the same week.”
Johanna held on to her anger with iron claws, trying to ignore her brother’s calming influence.
“She’s selfish! That’s what she is.” The tears spilled over Johanna’s cheeks. “She is so absorbed in her sadness that she can’t see how hard we’re working.”
The wagon door creaked, and Johanna knew without looking that her mo
ther was standing right behind her.
“Mama.” Thomas stood quickly. “We—”
“I wanted to let Johanna know I laid out a different dress for tomorrow.” Marin’s voice rasped like tree branches against a house. “I didn’t think it was right for her to wear the same gown day after day, especially as she’s working so hard.”
Johanna closed her eyes, ignoring the two-pronged stab of guilt and shame.
“I’d better get some rest so I can find a new job tomorrow.”
The slam of the wagon door didn’t cover the sound of Marin’s quiet crying.
Rather than facing her mother, Johanna crammed into bed with Michael, and Thomas wedged himself into the narrow space on the floor. It wasn’t a restful night, with images of her mother and a dark-haired lordling flitting through her dreams.
Chapter 58
Jacaré
Jacaré kept their attacker immobilized while Tex took the man’s belt pouch and searched his pockets.
“Where I’m from, people who kill without warning or reason are called assassins,” Tex said as he dumped the pouch on the ground. “As far as I know, you haven’t given us a warning and we haven’t given you a reason. So that makes you an assassin.”
Benton’s smile was too bright for someone being tied to a log. He turned his head and yelled, “Help me! Didsbury! James! They’re attacking me.” He added a high-pitched scream that cut off when Tex cuffed him across the mouth.
The blow was hard, but Benton laughed. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Neither is killing people,” Jacaré said as he finished off the knot.
“Jacaré,” Tex called. “You need to see this.” In his palm lay a sigil ring. The metal had been scorched black, making the emblem at the top difficult to see. Tex tilted it to the light of their fire. “When I saw those lines on the dart, I thought they were just scratches . . .”
Jacaré took the ring and gripped it till he felt the metal dig into his skin. He opened up his hand, knowing what he’d see: a straight line and a jagged one. Mirror images of the mark branded onto Elisa Venza’s neck.
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