Chapter 11
A nother day passed, and another, and I barely saw Hunter. I was not sure if he was busy or avoiding me; I suspected the latter.
Then it was the day before midsummer, the pause before the storm. This time I rose early for breakfast and did not allow Hunter to slip away unnoticed. My ankle was still sore, but not enough to prevent me from blocking his exit. Of course, it seemed he himself was unwilling to depart so hurriedly. Perhaps he regretted our harsh exchange, or perhaps he knew how little time remained. He sank onto one of the plain wooden chairs in the kitchen and met my challenging look without heat.
“What are you planning for tomorrow?” I asked. “Just for your jump off the tower, I mean. How are you intending to survive the fall?”
“Surely you would have guessed that by now.” Hunter dragged his traveling-case off the shelf where he had stored it. Rummaging within, his expression darkened. “Wait. Where is it?”
“What?”
“I had a Weaver’s flying cloak.” His eyes widened. “Did you steal it?”
“No!” I sat back in my chair, eyes wide. “I want to keep you safe, not jeopardize you! Who else knew about it?”
Hunter frowned. “I showed it to Samara, but—”
“Why would you do that? She must have taken it.”
Hunter jumped to his feet and paced the length of the kitchen. “I need to get another cloak. Do we have enough time?”
“Perhaps. Though would it not be a bit obvious if you showed up with a full billowing cloak?” Some of the most talented Weavers were able to imbue their flying cloaks with a bit more power, but the majority of them simply took the momentum from a fall. Anyone who took a tumble from any height would drift safely to the ground. The shop next to my parents’ place marketed them for adventurers, mountaineers, and young children.
“I was planning to modify it,” Hunter said. “Stuff it under my clothes or trim it short or something.”
I snorted. “You cannot trim a Weaver’s cloak. Any disfigurement ruins the enchantment.”
“What do you suggest I do, then?”
“No idea.” I finished off my glass of water and turned to the door. “But I suspect my parents will be able to come up with something.”
“Thank you.” Hunter’s eyes were dark and serious. He started to say something else, stopped, and instead blurted, “I’m sorry.”
I just nodded. As I let myself out of the house, my heart was lighter than it had been in days.
Not a cloud marred the stunning blue sky. The recent rainy weather had been replaced by a dry, heavy heat, the sort that settled across Baylore and warmed the very cobblestones. Summer was here at last. Tomorrow was Sullimsday, and every merchant for hundreds of leagues around was taking advantage of the lucky happenstance that midsummer coincided with the Sullimsday Market. A cheerful clamor rose from the streets, which were packed with travelers and minstrels and vendors; city guards wove through the bustling crowds, festooning the walls and lampposts with flowers. Before the night was up, the city would be a riot of color. Sultry aromas of baking fruit laced with cinnamon and butter intermingled in the still air. Music drifted through the streets above the bustle, and nostalgia tugged at me as I recognized the keening pipes common in Larkhaven.
I was tempted to linger in the shops, to sample the fresh-baked scones and run my fingers across the silken petals of lilies and irises and chrysanthemums clustered beneath the windows. Instead I had no choice but to continue down Market Street until I reached my parents’ street. Their block of the Weaver’s Guild was just as lively and overcrowded as the rest of the city, with every shop’s windows and folding walls open to draw in the sunlight. A hundred excited customers jostled one another to get into shops packed with enchanted goods, most dressed in the plain, functional clothing favored by country folk. I had to wait my turn to shoulder my way into my parents’ shop, sweat beginning to itch down the back of my neck as the crowd pressed closer.
It took a moment for my parents to notice me. My mother’s eyes went right past me, and I had to prod my father’s shoulder before he turned.
“Cady!” His voice was a bit too hearty; I could see the stress was getting to him. He had never been fond of crowds. “It’s wonderful to see you and all, but could you have chosen a better time?”
I winced—he would not be pleased to hear my request. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t urgent. But my employer has something planned for Midsummer’s Day, and he’s relying on a piece of magic he doesn’t even have yet.”
Blinking rapidly, my father set aside the charmed clock he had been fixing. His attention was focused on me at last. “I can see it means a great deal to you. What do you need? I can’t do everything, you know. I’ll be up half the night already with the rush orders people have placed for tomorrow. I truly cannot understand why people are willing to pay such a premium for something they could have bought cheaply two days before.”
I laughed nervously. “Well, you won’t be happy about this. I’m really sorry. I need a flying cloak, one that either doesn’t look like a cloak or can be convincingly worn under clothing. Or anything else you can come up with that would save someone from falling to their death off a very high tower.”
Though my father did not comment, I saw him making the connection. He must have heard about Hunter’s well-publicized stunt. I hoped he would not think poorly of me now he knew who I was involved with. “Well. Cloaks are not our area of specialty, of course, but I hardly know if the clothiers down the road would have something of that description.” He knotted and unknotted his greasy polishing cloth, brow furrowed. “There is a certain level of workmanship that must be put into the finished item by the same person who weaves the enchantment. I believe most of the magical clothiers spin, weave, and sew their own wares. However…”
He set the cloth on top of the dismantled clock and hurried forward to help the apprentice with a large box he was struggling beneath. When he returned to my side, his expression had cleared. “I believe taking an enchanted flying cloak and sewing it with a new enchantment, also intended for holding oneself aloft, should do the trick. I’ll consult with your mother as soon as this madness dies down.”
I clasped my father’s hand in silent thanks. “That would be incredible. How will I ever repay you?”
“By joining us for dinner a bit more frequently,” he said with a strained smile.
In the chaos, I nearly forgot the other reason I had been so eager to visit my parents. I was halfway to the door before I turned and rejoined my father. “Have you heard any word from that friend of yours? The Drifter?”
His eyes widened. “I meant to tell you that!” he said. “Still no sign of Taldo, and the city guards haven’t found a trace. But they did inform me—under strict orders not to spread rumors—that three other Drifters have recently gone missing in Baylore. One was no more than a child. That makes me suspect a hate crime of some sort—just thinking about it makes me sick.”
I nodded grimly. Perhaps we should confront Samara about the disappearances; she might know something more. “I have to go now. If I drop by tomorrow morning, will you be able to come up with something? I’m so sorry to ask this of you. It was foolish of me to wait until the last minute.”
My father squeezed my shoulder. “Think of this as repayment for what we did to you, all those years ago. A small favor to make up for the future we stole from you.”
I smiled wanly. Turning to leave, I caught my mother’s attention at last and waved as I wriggled my way through the crowd to the door. She blinked, nodded, and immediately resumed the conversation she had been in as though I had never been there.
The sweaty room had left its smell on me, a dull reek of sweat overlaid by sweet hay from the villagers’ clothes. Now that Taldo’s disappearance—and the disappearance of others, no doubt related—had returned to the forefront of my mind, Hunter’s stunt seemed nothing more than a childish ploy. It seemed vulgar of him to draw attention away
from the more pressing worry.
My mood lightened as I strolled through the festive streets. Everyone was cheerful, and amidst the babble I heard a few snippets of conversation about the wandering prophet’s spectacle. Perhaps I should wait until after Midsummer to bring up the matter of the vanishing Drifters. I had a feeling everything would change after tomorrow. It would be a shame not to enjoy this final day.
No one was home when I returned, so I baked a pair of apricot tarts and tidied up our few possessions. There was not much housekeeping to be done; most of the rooms were still empty, and our belongings were too sparse to cause any sort of clutter. Eventually I retreated to our bedroom, where I lay on the feather bed and began reading the book on Icelings. My ankle was aching again, so it was a relief to rest.
I was still there when Hunter returned home. After a brief moment of stillness in which I assumed he followed his nose to inspect the cooling apricot tarts in the kitchen, he flew upstairs and leapt onto the bed, nearly landing on my sore ankle. “Have you heard the news?” He kissed me furiously. “The young Prince Donas has declared my stunt a public event! Everyone who is anyone will be jumping over themselves to attend. The royal family will witness it, and all five heirs.”
That startled me. I burst out laughing, both hands over my mouth. I couldn’t stifle the noise. Poor, deluded Prince Donas!
“What’s so funny?” Hunter narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you up to something?”
“No! But I was spreading word of your stunt to everyone I spoke to at the ball, and clearly it worked better than I had intended.”
Hunter pulled me into his arms and gave me a squeeze. “You actually talked to people? Of your own accord?”
I elbowed him. “I’m not completely useless! Though it was Lieman who set me up with an endless line of dance partners, so technically I was coerced into talking to them.”
Hunter kissed the back of my neck. “Either way, it’s brilliant. And the prince? Did you pretend to court him, or something?”
Shaking my head, I reached for Hunter’s hands and wove my fingers through his. “I told him explicitly that I was not interested in romance.”
“Which was probably what charmed him,” Hunter said. “You truly were beautiful that night. I don’t know how any man could have stayed away.”
“Except you,” I said.
He turned me around to face him. “After tomorrow, everything will be clear. I won’t have to hide anything from you. And I can make promises that I’ll actually have a chance at keeping.”
Though I did not know what he meant by this cryptic reply, my heart beat a bit faster. It was something of great significance, I was certain.
“Now, let’s see how you look in another one of those new gowns. I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight. Somewhere we won’t be recognized.”
By this, I thought he meant somewhere we could act as a couple. We did this occasionally, treating ourselves to fine dinners in the least-known restaurants we came across, with owners who would swear not to speak of the night in exchange for a promise of rich spending on our part. Then we would share a bottle of wine and hold hands on the table, and Hunter would kiss my cheek when the waiter had turned away and speak to me with such sweet tenderness that I could almost believe he loved me.
“What should I wear?” I asked lightly. The following morning was always painful, as life returned to its usual rhythm, but I could not resist the temptation.
“Try the red dress,” Hunter said at once. Lips soft against my neck, he helped me out of the dress I had been wearing and spun me into his arms for a rough embrace. Then he slid the red dress over my head and tugged it straight.
“I’m going to look silly,” I said. “Red isn’t my color. It’s far too angry.”
In response, Hunter kissed me. When I had laced up the bodice, he took my shoulders and walked me over to the mirror. “See? Beautiful.”
It was not as offensive as I had feared, but I did not look like myself. Just for today, it would suffice.
At dinner, Hunter ordered each of the most elaborate dishes on the menu—quail eggs in a rich onion sauce; breaded river eel with butter and herbs; soft, billowy rolls; roasted asparagus and beans; and much more.
“I’ve been greedy,” Hunter said. “In all these years, I never bothered to ask what you wanted. I’ve dragged you all about the countryside, following my whims and spreading my fame, and what have you gotten from it all?” He was in a rare mood. “Why have you never abandoned me?”
“You know why,” I muttered.
Hunter squeezed my hand beneath the table. “But what do you want? Truly?”
“I hardly know,” I said. I speared a bite of quail egg and slathered it in sauce; I took my time chewing, giving myself a chance to think. “Remember, I grew up in a community of Weavers, where everyone was expected to follow the family tradition, apprentice a prominent craftsman, and enter the business in whichever area they chose. The bright ones could spend a few years at the University and gain further insight into magic as a whole.
“In that company, I was useless. I had nothing to offer my family, no future to aspire to. I was always the disappointment. I suppose all I’ve ever wanted is to prove myself worthy. I wanted to leave home and make my own future.”
“And have you succeeded?” Hunter swirled the wine in his glass, watching me intently.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Where am I now? We’re wealthy, of course, but living under a false identity. How can I be recognized and valued for myself when I’m instead masquerading as the sister of the famous wandering prophet?”
Hunter’s expression was grave. “Do you wish you had left me?”
“No. I have never regretted staying by your side.”
I might have imagined it, but I thought Hunter’s eyes glistened momentarily. “I don’t deserve you,” he said very softly.
After dinner, we made our satisfied way home. The nighttime air had retained the sun’s heat, and throngs of people were still weaving their way through the streets. In a crowd like this, we were invisible. Hunter took my hand and twined his fingers through mine, pulling me close to his side. We ambled along, not speaking, though occasionally Hunter would squeeze my hand and meet my eyes with a wistful smile.
The central square was packed with entertainers—a trio of fiddlers dominated one corner, and a queenly harpist the other; a troop of jugglers and Flamespinners drew most eyes to the heart of the square, while a stage-set resembling a caravan hosted a bevy of fortunetellers and Minstrels. We paused for a while to listen to the harpist, admiring the strings of enchanted lights encircling every flower garland.
When at last we continued home, the full moon had risen, gilding every surface in silver.
“I want you to remember tonight,” Hunter said softly as we turned into our garden. In the moonlight, the sculptures—horses and coyotes and strange mythical beasts and enchantresses—seemed to come alive. What had before appeared to be clutter was now elegant and gleaming.
With a soft click, Hunter unlocked the door and followed me into the silent hall. As we made our way up the stairs, he slipped an arm around my waist and drew me close.
“You’re scaring me,” I said. “The way you talk, it’s as though you won’t be around after tomorrow. Are you leaving? Or worse?”
Hunter kissed the top of my head and pulled the bedroom door closed. “Nothing is certain. But this is today, not tomorrow. We’ll worry about midsummer when it comes.”
“I really don’t trust that professor,” I said, unable to stop myself. “If you’re planning anything that relies solely on his honesty, I’m certain it will go wrong.”
Hunter cut my protests short with a kiss. “That’s not your concern.” He swung me into his arms and carried me to the bed, where he dropped me amidst a cloud of pillows. I laughed and dragged him down beside me.
“No fair!” he gasped, flailing his arms against the sea of blankets. I took advantage of his distraction to fli
ng a pillow his way.
Eventually he managed to disentangle himself from the bedclothes and crawl on top of me, where he began kissing and nuzzling his stubbly chin into my neck until I shrieked and tried to wriggle away. His lips moved to my mouth, his kisses growing deeper and more insistent until I reached around his chest and pulled him closer still. He fumbled at the laces of my dress, eager fingers probing beneath the plunging neckline.
It was dark, apart from the shaft of moonlight streaming onto the far wall, but I could see every contour of his finely-muscled torso when I tugged his tunic over his shoulders. At last my dress was loose, and I kicked my legs free of the billowing skirts. Hunter traced a finger down my neck to my breast, and farther still to the pale flesh of my stomach. I knotted my fingers through his hair, hungry for the sweet, delicate taste of strawberry tart on his lips. Our bodies came together, hot and trembling, and he consumed me.
Chapter 12
S omeone rapped at our door when the sky was still the hazy grey of predawn. I gently removed Hunter’s arm from around my waist, threw a dressing gown over my nightdress, and hurried downstairs. If it was one of our wealthy neighbors—or, worse still, Samara—I would never recover from the shame.
Yet I was fortunate. It was my parents’ young apprentice, bleary-eyed and clutching a package to his chest.
“I’m supposed to give this to you,” he said, thrusting the package into my hands.
“How did you find me?” I was amused by his bewildered expression.
“Your mum told me to ask them at The Queen’s Bed where you lived. They didn’t like me too much there.”
I stifled a laugh at the thought of this small, red-eared apprentice dressed in work leathers and tattered boots marching into The Queen’s Bed to talk to the formidable innkeeper. “Well, I appreciate it very much.” Inspired, I fetched a small purse of coins from the table beside the door and handed it to him. “This is for your services. Now run along home—today will be a big day!”
At the sight of the money-purse, he was startled into full wakefulness. Staring at the bulging leather pouch, he bowed twice and shuffled backward down the steps. He had likely never been paid so much before. “Thank you, Milady,” he mumbled, a few moments too late.
Hunter's Legend_A Baylore High Fantasy Page 10
