Joshua was certainly dead, and she held little hope for her mother, Thomas, or Michael. Adding Dom, Captain Alouette, and Rafi to the death toll made bile rise to her throat. Choking it down, she forced herself to stay in control, knowing without question someone would come hunting these murderers soon.
Not that Johanna intended to lie around playing the delicate captive. She’d escape, run back to the estate, and help lead the group that would bring her family and friends’ killers to justice.
The ropes binding her wrists around Breaker’s neck weren’t painfully tight, but the only way to get free herself would be to flip them over the horse’s head. There wasn’t enough length to make that happen.
“She’s awake, Jacaré,” a female voice said from behind her.
The man guiding her horse looked over his shoulder and met Johanna’s gaze. The sun glinted off the planes of his high cheekbones, kissing his face with morning light. “Pardon the accommodations, Princess. We’ll untie you in thirty minutes when we rest.”
“I’m not a princess,” Johanna said through gritted teeth. “You slaughtered my family and friends for no reason.”
“We had nothing to do with the deaths at your camp. We arrived just in time to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” she shouted loud enough to make Breaker’s ears twitch. “What kind of rescuers tie you to a horse and drag you away from your home?”
Johanna jerked on the rope, lashing it back and forth. Breaker shied and she used the movement to slide out of the saddle. She ran alongside the horse, trying to flip the tether over his head, but it was too tight.
The man appeared at Johanna’s side, hauling Breaker to a halt. “Calm down. We mean you no harm.” He sliced through the rope, grabbing Johanna’s elbow as she took one stumbling step forward.
“Then let me go.” She failed to yank her arm out of his iron grasp.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I—”
Johanna whipped her elbow toward his jaw. He dodged the blow, but his grip loosened enough for her to break free.
Praying the mass of trees would hide her, she darted for the forest. At the edge of the trail something caught her feet and sent her sprawling into the spiny branches of a palo barracho tree. The conical thorns raked her from arm to hip, leaving bloody gashes in her flesh.
Rough hands rolled her away from the trunk. The pain fueled her anger; she kicked and thrashed against her captor.
“Please don’t fight me,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you tied up or chase you down. If you understood how important our mission was, you’d come along without question.”
“I’ll never stop fighting,” Johanna growled, and redoubled her efforts.
“We don’t have time for this.” He knelt across her thighs and pinched her knees. Her skin burned at his touch, and then went cold like a million frozen pins had punctured her flesh. She couldn’t move her legs. They were dead.
“What did you do to me?” she shrieked, trying and failing to wiggle her toes. She’d once misjudged a trapeze release and smashed her thigh into the platform. It hurt and had been hard to move, but after a few moments she’d regained the feeling. This was different—the loss of sensation was complete.
He ignored her question. “Look around, Princess. The forest is unusually dry. Predators sneak into villages and attack people instead of livestock. Something is amiss in this land and the problems will only get worse.” He hefted her into his arms, unfazed by her weight. “You are the one person who can save Santarem.”
“You’re crazy. I’m just a Performer. My family was all Performers.”
“You’re wrong. Your name is Adriana Veado Von Wilhelm, and you are the heir to a power that will save your people.”
Johanna shook her head, denying his claim, but there was something deadly serious in his blue eyes.
“My name is Jacaré, and I am a Keeper.”
Chapter 82
Rafi
Servants scurried from the kitchen and barracks to the horses in a controlled panic. Everyone had an assignment they needed to fulfill, a job that needed to be done before the riders could pursue the attackers.
“They have a six-hour head start,” Rafi said as he strapped a bedroll behind the saddle of his borrowed horse, fingers fumbling in his rush. “They’ll probably stop at sundown to rest, especially if they’re unfamiliar with this area, and then we can press on. Our knowledge of the landscape will give us an advantage.”
Dom caught the roll before it hit the ground and handed it back to his brother. “She’s fine, Rafi. If they wanted her dead, we would have found her body already.”
“I know, but . . .” His voice faded as horsemen approached. Snout and a small group of soldiers entered the courtyard. Two packhorses carrying canvas-wrapped bundles trotted at the end of the line.
The tracker’s face was grim as he approached. “Lord Rafi, we recovered two bodies from the wagons. Marin and Thomas, sir.”
Rafi pressed his forehead against his horse’s flank, not caring who witnessed his moment of weakness. I promised her I’d protect her family. I promised and I failed. “Thank you,” he said, once he pulled himself together. “I know that couldn’t have been pleasant.”
Snout shifted, looking around the yard. “There’s one more thing, sir.” He held out a cloth-wrapped package. “I wouldn’t open it here. Marin was holding it when she died. I think that makes it something important.”
Underneath the canvas Rafi could feel a rectangular box, perhaps ten inches long and two deep. He tucked it into the saddlebag, hoping to give it to Johanna personally. Soon.
“I’ll be ready to ride shortly, my lord.”
As soon as the tracker walked away, Lord Inimigo approached.
“I’d like to offer you some assistance in your search,” he said, dispensing with all courtesy.
Rafi’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. “I could use a man with campaign experience to ride with the other group.” It was a lie. Rafi didn’t want Inimigo anywhere on either trail. If Inimigo was involved—and despite Belem’s strange actions Rafi wasn’t convinced he’d acted alone—he’d likely hinder the group as much as help.
Inimigo gave a snort. “I have too many ducal duties to ride off after a group of brigands, though I do envy your youth and position.” He patted Rafi on the shoulder, as he would a small child. “However I’d like to lend you one of my best trackers and bowmen.”
Two linesmen, Rafi could accept. If they got in the way or caused problems, he could order them home.
What other choice did he have? Inimigo would likely send someone to trail after them. At least by accepting the soldiers into his group, he’d know where Inimigo’s people were.
“I’d appreciate your assistance. See that they’re outfitted with everything they need from my stores and are ready to leave in the next ten minutes.”
“I knew you’d agree. They’re ready.” Inimigo raised two fingers in the air and signaled for some people to join them.
Rafi gritted his teeth when he saw who approached. Father said Inimigo was a master schemer, and I stumbled right into his game. “I can’t possibly accept your steward. I’m sure you can’t afford to lose Vibora’s assistance.”
Rather than a split skirt or breeches, Vibora was dressed head to foot in slim-fitting leathers. They looked accustomed to wear and were tailored like Rafi’s own. She approached with a long-legged stride her shorter, collared companion had difficulty keeping up with.
“Before she came to my service, Vibora was a tracker of some renown.”
Rafi scrambled for a way to rid himself of Inimigo’s aid. “Raul’s group could use another experienced—”
“No, no. She’ll be traveling with your group.” Inimigo leaned close to Rafi and lowered his voice to a whisper. “As will this servant, Lucas. He’s an excellent archer and completely obedient
to Vibora. Their skills are my gift to you.”
Damn him. Rafi couldn’t refuse a gift without slighting Inimigo.
The young man, perhaps five years older than Rafi, kept his head bowed, eyes focused on the ground. If not for the thick collar around his neck, Lucas’s chin would have rested on his chest.
“What was his crime?”
Vibora answered. “He was a pickpocket, Lord Rafael.” She put a finger under the servant’s chin and raised his face. Dark circles ringed eyes that matched the defeated slump of Lucas’s shoulders. “He’s completely reformed now. Subservient, quiet, and skilled.”
“And you trust him?” Rafi asked.
“Of course, my lord.” She released Lucas’s face, and it drifted down to his chest.
Excellent. A conspirator and a criminal riding at my back. “If there is anything either of you need, please see to it immediately.”
Inimigo waved the two servants away.
“Your affection for the Performer hasn’t gone unnoticed, son.”
The hair on the back of Rafi’s neck stood. Even if some unforeseen disaster occurred, and Rafi was forced to marry Maribelle, this man would never be his father.
“I want you to find her and get her out of your mind.” He squeezed Rafi’s shoulder. “Marrying Maribelle is the quickest path to secure peace for our states and the rest of Santarem. I know you. I know this honor debt will hang over your head for the rest of your life. It would be a shame for you to spend weeks and weeks looking for this girl, when your estate so desperately needs your presence.”
Rafi wasn’t surprised that Inimigo knew about the obligation he had to Johanna. He wouldn’t be surprised if Inimigo knew all the details of the Punishment and the events that had led up to it.
“Search for these kidnappers. Bring them to justice, if you can, but don’t spend more than a month on this chase or Santiago could suffer from neglect,” he said, accenting his words with a nod. “Rafi, my son, think on my words. Do the right thing for you and your people.”
Four weeks. Search for Johanna, determine if she’s truly the heir, prepare for a war or a wedding. Rafi felt it then, the exhaustion, the strain, the responsibility.
“That’s reasonable.” He stepped away from Inimigo’s touch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have duties of my own to attend to before I leave.”
Rafi walked away, feeling Inimigo’s eyes following him, and decided he’d better get used to it.
Chapter 83
Jacaré
Besides finding the heir, nothing had gone according to plan. Yes, they’d managed to save her from meeting her family’s fate, but not without earning her distrust.
I handled this all so poorly, Jacaré thought as he drove his horse forward. If she hadn’t run, if there wasn’t someone chasing us, if that person wasn’t a Keeper . . .
Tex hadn’t said it plainly, but the fire that burned the Von Arlos’ wagons had been magically fueled. The support beams should have taken hours to collapse and the windows had melted in their frames. Nothing burns that fast naturally.
Johanna leaned over Jacaré’s horse’s neck, coughing against the dust their travel kicked up, her thin shoulders shaking as she cried. Her shirt was torn, blood soaking through in places along her arms.
With a sense of self-loathing Jacaré tightened his grip around her waist and used the contact to heal a few of her injuries. He didn’t dare mend them all or revive her legs, fearing she’d run again.
She shivered as the magic worked its way through her body, closing wounds and easing the worst of the aches.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he said next to her ear. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive earlier, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that. My name is Johanna.”
“When we stop, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
“I don’t want your promises,” she said, shouting to be heard over the horses. “I want my family back.”
Tex had stopped in the middle of the trail and waited for Jacaré to ride up beside him. He looked over the top of Johanna’s head like she wasn’t there.
“We need to rest. The horses have been running for twenty-four hours straight; Pira and I are exhausted. Leão’s about burned out.” His white eyebrows danced together, creating harsh lines on his face. “He’s not powerful enough to raise animals from the dead, especially when he looks like he’s got one foot in the grave himself. ”
They all turned to look at the two riders behind them. Leão rested his forehead on his horse’s neck and ignored Pira’s efforts to hand him a drink.
“He shouldn’t be so drained. With his level . . .”
“Even when you had—” Tex cut off his words and frowned at Johanna.
She wiped her eyes. “If you don’t want me to listen in, just let me off here. I’d be happy to walk back.”
Tex ignored her. “Even before it would have been hard for you to push on like Leão’s doing now. Let’s find a safe spot, rest for a few hours, and push through the night.”
Jacaré’s instinct was to keep moving. Whoever killed the Von Arlos would soon realize—if they hadn’t already—that Johanna wasn’t with her family when they’d been killed.
He didn’t want to slow down for anything, but he accepted Tex’s advice.
“Fine. We’ll rest for four hours.”
Chapter 84
Johanna
By the time Jacaré called for them to make camp, the sun hung low and heavy in the sky. Like an unpicked peach, the deep orange ball blotted out the horizon and threw a fuzzy halo over everything in Johanna’s line of sight.
The campsite was tucked away from the road in a stand of young balsa trees. They lacked the height of those at the Santiago picnic grounds. The slightly minty smell of the leaves was the same, but it didn’t disguise the stench of smoke in Johanna’s hair.
They’re all gone. She pinched her eyes shut as memories splashed across the canvas of her mind. No more bony elbows in my back. No more empty bellies and belly laughs.
“Aren’t you going to tie me to a tree?” she asked as Jacaré helped her off the horse. The feeling had returned to her legs a few hours earlier, but she wished it hadn’t. Every muscle, bone, and tendon ached.
She had no doubt her captors were Keepers—there was no way to explain her numbed legs and healed scrapes without magic—but they were so different from what she’d envisioned. The stories Johanna told were full of epic deeds and unerring sacrifice. Of men and women larger than life and unfailingly kind.
She should have known better than to believe in fairy tales. These people were real and scary, and much more human than anything she had ever imagined.
“I don’t want to treat you like a captive, Prin—Johanna.” He led her to a tree and watched as she slowly lowered herself to the ground. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t save your family.”
“Sorry,” Johanna said with a snort. “Sorry doesn’t bring my family back to life. Sorry doesn’t save two little boys from being speared on the tip of a sword.”
“What if . . .” Leão paused as he dismounted, moving like he was wounded. Pira hovered at his side as if expecting him to tip over at any moment. “What if they aren’t all dead? There was a small boy in a tree. Your brother, I think. He was uninjured.”
“Michael.” She breathed his name, not daring to hope.
“He was blond and he climbed very quickly.”
“He’s alive?”
Leão nodded, then shot Jacaré a hesitant glance. “There was another boy, older, who was very near death. I wasn’t supposed to leave any evidence behind, but I couldn’t let him die. I healed him, but it nearly drained me to do it.”
“Oh, Leão.” Jacaré ran a hand over his tired face.
Johanna’s heart pounded against her rib cage, threatening to punch through her chest. “Joshua? He was blo
nd haired and fine boned. You were able to . . .”
She didn’t need to continue. The sorrow in Leão’s eyes was too plain.
“There was nothing I could do for him, but the one with dark hair, close to my age? He’ll survive.”
Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes seemed to dam the tears. Of course not Joshua, you fool, no one can bring back the dead. At least there’s Dom and Michael and . . .
“The lordling who was with me on the trail, is he all right?”
“I simply knocked him out as I did you.” He offered a little lopsided grin. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
“It’s all right.” She looked up and met the eyes of one of her captors. “Thank you.”
And thank you for giving me something to go back to.
Chapter 85
Jacaré
Jacaré offered Johanna a bowl of the stew Tex had prepared. She eyed it warily before accepting the dish.
“You know the tale of Donovan’s Wall?” Jacaré said as he sat down across the fire from her.
“I don’t need a bedtime story. I need to get back to my family—what’s left of it.”
“But the story, you know it?”
“Of course,” Johanna huffed. “It was built thousands of years ago to keep out an untold evil.” Jacaré knew he’d offended her storytelling sensibilities. He’d seen enough at Performers’ Camp to know the people took pride in their art.
Jacaré nodded. “That was its original purpose. But three hundred years ago the Keepers migrated north of the wall and added a magical barrier to protect those who remained here.”
“From what?”
They had found the land beyond the wall inhospitable, rife with predators uncommon to Santarem. It was cold and the soil was poor, but they discovered the remnants of a settlement in a small valley ridden with thermal caverns. The Mages were convinced the people had been wiped out by some sort of plague, and the Keepers built Olinda over the remnants of a long-dead culture.
The Storyspinner Page 27
