by Claire Luana
“What?” Excitement lanced through Wren’s body like lightning. “What is it?”
“I think it’s a cormorant. Sea bird.”
“How do you know?”
“The beak is longer. Hooked on the end. But I’m no expert. Let’s ask old Mac. He fancies himself a real ornithologist.”
“A what?” Wren asked as she hurried after Bran, setting her tea down on the counter.
They crossed to the smithy, where a gnarled old man was hammering the dents out of a breastplate.
“Mac, Wren, Wren, Mac.” Bran did the introductions. “Wren has a question that might stump even the most avid bird-lover.”
“Oh?” The man raised a furry white eyebrow, straightening.
Wren took the chain off, holding out the ring. “Do you know what kind of bird this is?”
Mac wiped his dirty hands on a cloth before picking up a pair of spectacles from a far table. He peered at the ring. “Cormorant,” he said.
“Ha!” Bran said with a broad grin. “I knew it!”
Pike and Callidus had drifted over and were standing behind them now.
“What’s going on?” Callidus asked.
“Not just any cormorant.” Mac was still turning the ring over, examining it. “See the etching around the eyes? It’s supposed to denote a patch of white, I reckon. This is no ordinary cormorant. It’s a hooded cormorant. They’re natives of the Odette Isles. Rare birds. Big birds.”
“The Odette Isles. You’re sure?” Wren’s blood was racing in her veins. The Odette Isles were one of the places the rutilated quartz could be found. But more than that. They were close by.
“’Course I’m sure! I grew up there.”
“Do you know if the Imbris clan has any property on the islands? Say, a summerhouse or cabin?” Wren asked.
Mac rubbed his scraggly white whiskers. “That does sound familiar. One of the little islands...Fletch Island, yes, that’s what it’s called. They own the whole thing, I think. We didn’t go there.”
Wren sprang at the man, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Mac,” she said. He smelled like smoke and oil.
Mac patted her on the back. “Nice to find someone as enthused as I am about birds.”
She released him and took the ring from his offered hand. She turned to Pike and Callidus, practically jumping up and down.
“Did that old man just tell us what I think he did?” Pike asked.
Wren nodded, clutching the ring to her chest. “We just found Lucas.”
Chapter 28
Wren needed Lucas. And Alesia needed him too. And to get him back on the throne, they needed the Red Badger. Her checkered past with Ansel melted away at the prospect of seeing Lucas again, at the chance of righting the wrong she’d done to him and to Maradis. She’d make a deal with the Huntress herself if it meant getting to him. Plus, Bran had confirmed Ansel’s story. It seemed she had misunderstood him all those years ago. Wren shoved down the flood of emotions that threatened to surface. How different her life might have been if she hadn’t run that day. She wouldn’t be a confectioner. She would never have known of her Gift. Never would have met Sable or Hale or gotten mixed up in King Imbris’s plans. She never would have met Lucas. Would she have stayed with Ansel and the Wraiths? Would she be in this camp with him right now at his side? Or maybe they never would have left Maradis, would have fought the Jackabees and the other gangs for their turf. Maybe they’d all be dead.
Wren shook off the endless possibilities. It wouldn’t do her any good to think of what might have been. She’d made her choice. That first one, and all the rest that had brought her here. This mess was her life. She would make the best of it.
“Let’s go talk to Ansel,” Wren said, looping the chain over her head, tucking Lucas’s ring back into her blouse.
“You’ve finally come to your senses?” Callidus asked.
“I’ve finally come to my senses.” Wren nodded. “Thanks for your help.” She waved to Mac, who made a dismissive motion with his hand. His gap-tooth smile followed them back across the camp and into the dining hall.
Ansel was leaning against the hearth, staring into the fire. The flames were glinting off his red curls, and now that she wasn’t so shocked or angry, she could see what a handsome man he had become. Strong, capable—a real leader among men. No, his business was still not entirely respectable, but Ansel’s ability to make a person feel secure amongst the thrill of danger was always one of his most magical qualities.
She was grateful he had put his shirt and leather armor back on. She didn’t think her ragged heart could handle the sight of the tattoo again. She closed her eyes, fighting through the image of Ansel’s chest filling her mind’s eye.
Lucas, we’re coming, she thought desperately. She needed him now more than ever. His sure, calm presence, his soothing smell of rosemary. At the thought of seeing Lucas again, her memories of him took flight like a flock of birds freed from their cage. He would know what needed to be done. He would help her find her true north once again.
“Commander.” Bran pulled up short, his spine lance-straight. “It seems our guests have reconsidered the use of our services.”
Ansel turned, his piercing gaze sweeping over each of them before resting on her. “All of ya agree?”
“We do,” Wren said, swallowing.
“Finally.” Pike shook his head. “We need you and all your men. And ships to carry you. We have a destination. The Odette Isles. You know them?”
“’Course,” Ansel said. “A day’s sail from Horseshoe Bay, where ya anchored. But few travel those islands. It’s said they’re cursed, haunted by spirits who call ya to your doom on the rocks.”
Pike waved a hand. “Superstitious nonsense. You’ll still sail there, right?”
“If the money’s right, we’ll sail into the teeth of hell itself.” Ansel grinned wide.
“My kind of man,” Pike said. “Now, there is the matter of price—”
The old woman who had been treating Thom appeared in the doorway, interrupting Pike. “Ansel dear, I thought your friends might like to know that the young lad is doing much better. He’s awake and lucid, if they’d like to see him.”
Callidus put a hand to his chest, relief etched on his face mirroring Wren’s. “Pike, do you mind handling this while I visit Thom?” Wren asked.
“I’d like to go as well,” Callidus said.
“Off with you,” Pike said. “This is the fun part, anyway.”
Wren and Callidus hurried after the old woman.
Inside the small cabin, they found Thom sitting up in bed, drinking broth from a wooden bowl. Wren rushed to him, throwing herself around him as Thom held out the bowl, trying not to spill. “Easy there.” He laughed.
She pulled back, amazed. His color had returned and he no longer had the sheen of sickly fever about him. Even his voice sounded better, not so raspy and dry.
“How dare you scare us like that?” Wren said, giving him a playful punch on the arm.
“Easy on the invalid!” Thom cried, but he smiled.
“Glad you’re back with us,” Callidus said.
“You’re not going to be back to your old self for another few days,” the old woman said. “Plenty of hot food and clean water, lots of sleep. And sprinkle some of this in his food before every meal until it’s gone.” She handed a leather pouch to Callidus.
“Thank you for helping him,” Wren said. Seeing Thom back to himself was a huge weight off her shoulders.
“Anything for a friend of Ansel’s,” the woman said before pushing back through the door and leaving the three of them alone.
“So,” Thom said, picking up his bowl of broth. “What’d I miss?”
After an hour of heated negotiations between Pike and Ansel, they had a settled on a price for the service of the Red Badgers. From the somewhat nauseous look on Callidus’s face when Pike had given him the number, Wren suspected it was the better part of the Confectioner’s Guild’s coffers. But if
it helped them win Alesia back, no price was too steep.
Ansel had sent a rider to Port Gris to locate Captain Griff, who would bring ships to carry them from Horseshoe Bay.
They had dinner in the dining hall with Ansel and his mercenaries. Even Thom made it to the table, Callidus hovering over him like a mother hen as he walked creakily to the bench.
Wren found she rather liked the men and women that made up Ansel’s little band of mercenaries. They were nothing like she had expected. Respectful, good-natured, funny as hell. They laughed and joked throughout the meal, ribbing on each other good-naturedly, even poking fun at Ansel. Their life here was tidy and comfortable. Warm. It reminded her of the Wraithhouse.
Wren, Thom, Callidus, and Pike were given their own little cabin just outside the main ring of houses, and before heading off to bed with the others, Wren took a deep breath and walked over to Ansel. She needed to do this. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“’Course,” Ansel said, getting up from the bench and walking with her to a quiet corner of the dining hall. His nearness threatened to overwhelm her. His aura of power and confidence had always drawn her in like a moth to the flame, and she felt its pull even now. Steady, she told herself. You’re not that little girl anymore. “It seems I owe you an apology. I talked to Bran, and he confirmed what you told me. I’m sorry I put you through that. All of you. Thinking I was dead, having to leave Maradis... It wasn’t easy for me either, just know that. Hearing those words from your mouth...they broke me. For...a long time—”
“I’m sorry too,” Ansel said. His words were soft. “I shouldn’ta said those things. Even if I didn’t mean the words, even if they were a lie... ya shouldn’ta heard that. I’d only ever wanted ya with me, Wren.”
“I know that now,” she managed, a lump growing in her throat.
“I was a stupid kid tryin’ to survive. To take care of everyone else when I couldn’t even take care of myself. But ya didn’t need me, Wren. Ya made it. Seein’ the woman you’ve become”—Ansel reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, sending a shiver through her—“it brings joy to my soul. You’re a survivor. Ya didn’t realize your strength back then. But I see it now. To know that you’ve found a place....it makes me glad.” His hand dropped.
“Thank you.” Her words were a whisper. She cleared her throat. “You too. This place, these fighters...it suits you. I never thought a den of killers could be so...inviting.”
Ansel chuckled. “I’ve always been good at hospitality. I’m glad we’ll be goin’ with ya. Fightin’ at your side. It’s a good cause. We’ll fight for anyone who pays us, but we prefer a worthy cause.”
“It is. The emperor...it’s not right what he plans to take from Maradis. From its people.”
“And you think this...Lucas Imbris will be able to help the cause? To rally the people?”
“He’s nothing like his father. He’s kind, and honorable—you’d like him.”
“Sounds like ya know him well.” Ansel cocked one red eyebrow.
Wren’s hand drifted to the necklace around her throat. “I do. I... He’s...” She cleared her throat and looked him in his bright blue eyes. “I love him,” she declared, the words a shield against Ansel, against the havoc his presence had wreaked in her heart.
A sad smile drifted across Ansel’s face. “Then we better go get him.”
Lucas stood with the icebox open, a frown on his face. The kitchen was shadowed around him but for the single oil lamp, the floor chilled beneath his bare feet. What time was it—4, 5 a.m.? You’d never know it from the heavy dark sky. He’d woken hungry, but nothing in the house looked good. They’d quickly eaten through the best of Greyson’s provisions and were now back to canned food and sardines. He settled for a glass of water, poured from the pitcher on the island. He sat down on the stool, staring morosely before him, the darkness twisting the furniture into strange shapes.
A few days before, he and Trick had celebrated their decision to return Maradis and fight alongside the Falconer, their hearts soaring. The excitement had very quickly fizzled as they realized how long they’d have to wait. It would be at least the two weeks before Greyson returned with his next shipment, and even after they got to Nova Navis, they’d have to figure a way to smuggle themselves back into Maradis without being caught. Once they were at the city walls, they could use Trick or Ella’s keys to access one of the secret passageways back into the city. But it was a long trek between Port Gris and Maradis, with no doubt at least a few Aprican checkpoints to cross.
Lucas sighed. He’d been thinking on it for days, his mind racing and spinning. But without more information from Greyson, they couldn’t plan anything.
He ran his finger around the rim of the glass, his mind wandering to Wren, his memories of her sugar scent and the silk of her skin. Where was she now? Had she fled Maradis too? Or was she living in the city under Aprican rule? Did they know she’d had a hand in getting him and his siblings free? Worries crowded at him. They hadn’t been able to say goodbye, not really. He’d been in and out of consciousness from the wound on his back as Trick’s friends had transported them in a wagon to the port. He remembered the murmur of her voice, the flicker of her wide chestnut eyes. His groggy move of pulling the ring from his finger and pressing it into her hand. That was it. There was nothing else until he had come to on Greyson’s ship. Now, the ring seemed a fool’s errand. How could she ever figure out such an obscure clue? He wished he had a way to get her a message. Or to find out her fate.
He rotated his shoulder in its socket, feeling the pull of the skin of his back where the wound had been sewn shut. It was mostly healed now. Trick had removed the stitches a few days ago. Ella had offered, but he hadn’t trusted the gentleness of her hand.
A light flickered in the dark windows outside the house and Lucas’s head jerked up, his eyes searching for what he’d seen. He sat still, his breath stuck in his chest. He peered into the darkness, slowly scanning the wide set of windows on the main floor of the house. Nothing.
He let out a shaky breath. The flicker must have been his imagination.
But there it was again. Like a flash of a lantern. He leaned forward, squinting.
Glass shattered behind him as the back door exploded inward, kicked off its hinges.
Lucas flew to his feet and twisted just fast enough to catch glimpse of a man in a pale blue uniform. And then a sharp pain bloomed on the back of his head, and his world went dark.
Chapter 29
They had left that afternoon, sailing the majority of the way to the Odette Isles under the dark of night.
Captain Griff was a short, thin, tough-as-nails woman with steely eyes and wild, red hair. She’d brought six ships with her to ferry Ansel’s men to the Odette Islands, and then on to Maradis. The ships were sturdy two-masted brigantines with crisp white sails and scrubby ginger crews. It seemed most of the sailors were Novan. The sailors and the mercenaries had clearly sailed together before, because the excruciatingly long process of boarding all the men and supplies had been interspersed by cries of recognition, claps on the back, and good-natured ribbing.
As they neared the Odette Isles, a layer of heavy fog fell over them like a quilt. The mood on the ship dampened with each passing minute.
Pike stood by the wheel of the Phoenix, talking to Griff, Ansel, and Callidus. It was a strange group they had collected, each skilled in their own way, each dangerous. Wren stood off to the side, not sure if she belonged. Would they include her at all in the planning once she had retrieved Lucas for them? That was her primary use here, wasn’t it?
“Strange place, the Odette Isles.” Dash appeared at the rail next to her. With his clothing changed to nondescript trousers and shirt and his long, brown hair pulled into a ponytail, she hardly recognized the Aprican legionnaire anymore. Somewhere he’d gotten hold of a toothpick, which was stuck in the corner of his mouth, just like the first day she’d seen him. He was handsome, with kind eyes and an easy manner. Wre
n could see what Olivia liked in him, and the feeling unsettled her. Callidus may had agreed to give him the free reign of the vessel, and to consider his assistance with their plans to retake Maradis, but he was still a legionnaire. Wren couldn’t forget. He couldn’t be trusted.
“Everyone keeps saying it’s haunted,” Wren said.
“I don’t believe in such things.”
“Me either,” Wren said. “There’s plenty of horror in mankind alone. Don’t need to add supernatural horrors to the mix.”
Dash looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t meet his gaze, instead staring back into the endless fog.
“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it?” he remarked.
“Sometimes I think I’m especially unlucky,” Wren said, trying to ignore the irony that her Gift presented. “But other times life surprises me. Not sure anymore that I’ve had it any worse than anyone else.”
Dash said nothing, instead leaning down on the rail, looking out into the silent dark water beneath them. The occasional crack of a sail in the wind, the creak of the rigging, and whispered conversations of those on deck were the only sounds that accompanied them through the mist. It was eerie.
“I’m sorry you’re here, Dash,” she said. “It wasn’t our intent.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I might not have gotten to know Olivia otherwise.” A secret smile curved across his face.
Wren turned to him. “Don’t hurt her, Dash.” Her voice caught in her throat. After all Olivia had been through, after all she had lost, Wren thought another betrayal might break Olivia. Gods, it would break her. They were all stretched thin by grief and hardship and sorrow. They needed people they could count on. Trusting him was such a risk. Not just for the cause. If Dash betrayed them—
“I won’t.” Dash rested his hand on hers, and though Wren tensed, he looked at her with such earnestness in his eyes that it overwhelmed her. His hand was large and warm, a strange comfort atop her frigid fingers. “You have my word.”
