by Eileen Wilks
They'd discussed what would happen if Cynna's Find was successful—who would go on the trail of the medallion and who wouldn't. Cullen had some firm ideas about that. Fortunately, Brooks had already decided he and McClosky would be more hindrance than help. Timms would go with Cullen, Cynna, and whoever the gnomes sent; Brooks would stay behind to keep an eye on the Wright woman's condition. McClosky would stay in the City, too, of course, where he could talk trade to his heart's content.
Cynna had accepted all that with a nod, adding only that she might not know right away if she'd be able to Find the thing. If her initial Find didn't work, she'd just keep trying, refining the parameters, moving to other locations, until it did.
Cullen had assumed that, but the others probably didn't know enough about how she used her Gift to realize how many trials it could take. He'd asked if it would help her to draw on his diamond. She'd said no. He'd asked if she needed him for anything. She'd said no. He'd said in that case, he'd head out, check out the market, see what he could learn. She'd looked relieved.
Dammit.
Cullen stopped at a stall displaying stacks of paper. Handmade, he judged, and not of high quality. Paper mills probably required more tech than was possible in Edge, and imported paper might be pricey, or not widely available.
The gnomes had come up with acceptable clothing this morning. Cullen wore leather pants such as the guard here favored with a loose jacket in a finely woven indigo wool. It had pockets, thank God, He'd missed pockets. From one he pulled out the cheap pen he'd borrowed from Cynna—she had six or seven in the bottom of that huge bag of hers—and began with the questions.
He'd been doing this all morning. The pen gave him a reason to talk to people. Supposedly he wanted to learn who might be able to duplicate it and who might be interested in selling such pens. In fact he was picking up gossip, putting together a picture of the society, and enjoying giving the gnome tailing him a hard time. The little fellow skulked about so obviously.
Edge was largely preindustrial, but magic made it more comfortable than, say, medieval Europe. They had decent health care, since healers were common. There was even a public health service to deal with broad issues such as clean water and epidemics. The sanitation system in the City was excellent, far better than in any comparable preindustrial society on Earth. Even the slums had clean water, waste disposal, and public toilets.
Printing presses existed, but most books and pamphlets were set the way Gutenberg did it. Metal was expensive. Edge had plenty of ore and magic helped with the smelting, but tempering and working the metal were done by hand. For the very best weapons you went to the Ahk, who were highly skilled artisans and spellcasters in all matters of weaponry and battle. Cloth was pricey; the best stuff was imported. You could tell someone's status by the quality of their clothing and their footwear. The poor wore sandals.
So did Cullen, at the moment. Of course, he qualified as poor, since he owned literally nothing here.
Plastic, of course, was nonexistent. Everyone he'd shown the pen to was fascinated by the substance. Some were dubious; some, excited. Cullen figured McClosky would have a great time with his trade treaties. Edge was going to have one hell of an effect on U.S. and global markets… assuming everyone here didn't die.
Great timing he had. Cynna was doing her sorting today. The fate of all of them—of pretty much everyone in this world, save the sidhe—rested on her ability to get a good pattern so she could Find the medallion. Or so they'd been told. And he decided he had to get into her last night.
Oh, but he'd been honest, hadn't he? He'd told her he was doing exactly what he wanted, that he was serving his own needs, not hers. Aced that.
He was used to being selfish. "Thanks," he told the skinny, dark-skinned man at the paper stall. "I'll be in touch if I'm able to get the pens made." He ambled along.
Years. He'd spent years acquiring the wrong sort of instincts for what he needed now. He knew how to keep things light, how to keep a woman from expecting too much. He didn't know how to make a woman trust him. He'd never wanted that before.
And Cynna was not exactly prone to trust. He understood that. He wasn't, either. She'd modeled herself after the one dependable adult in her life, hadn't she? She'd even adopted her aunt's religion, though from he could tell, she was blissfully unaware of that reason for her choice.
First her father deserted her. Never mind that Daniel Weaver hadn't intended to leave; the truth Cynna had grown up around was abandonment. Her mother had left her, too, slowly and infinitely more painfully. In a real sense, Cynna had lost her mother long before the woman staggered into the path of a taxi. Naturally Cynna wanted to be like her aunt… who'd died the way she'd lived. Alone.
Cullen scowled. Aunt Meggie had a lot to answer for. Even a lupus could survive alone. He'd proved that, but survival was thin gruel compared to actually living.
The market sprawled over several streets. Upscale and imported goods—imported meaning out-realm—were sold in permanent shops, but pretty much everything else was available from small stalls and wandering vendors. The section closest to the river was devoted to produce, with the fish market close by; another section offered both cloth and clothing.
There was no slave market. That was one of the things he had wanted to learn. The practice of slavery was outlawed by treaty throughout Edge, and the gnomes put real teeth in their law. Trafficking in lives earned the death penalty.
Point to the gnomes.
Cullen lingered awhile in an area devoted to charms, potions, and common spell ingredients. Some of them were clearly bogus, but others were intriguing. He'd persuaded one of the gnomes to supply him with some walking-around money, but it wasn't enough to buy the two charms that truly interested him, so he left without making any purchases.
From there, he turned onto a narrow, unpaved street. Still plenty of mage lights, but the people wore the kind of coarsely woven wool he'd been given by the Ekiba. Some looked downright ragged.
Most on this street were human. Especially the ragged ones.
Cullen stopped at a tiny stall and bought lunch—spiced, shredded meat of some sort mixed with cabbage and wrapped in flat bread. He bought two, chatted a bit, asked where to buy a drink to go with them, and wandered in that direction, putting together what he'd learned so far.
First, gossip was widespread about a gate to Earth being opened, and people were excited about the possibilities. Second, that's about all they knew. There were rumors that the people seen arriving on the barge had included Earth-realm humans, but most discounted that. Why would a trade delegation gate in anywhere but the City?
No one mentioned the chancellor's medallion. No one recognized Cullen. They assumed he was human, but from one of the other realms. It turned out that the majority of humans living in Edge weren't Theilo—the fall-through-the-cracks people—but were descended from them. And most Theilo hadn't come from the Earth realm. A few humans had migrated here by choice, but they were the exception. Which made sense, given the prejudice against them. That was more a matter of bias and stereotyping than violent oppression, but enough to keep them on the lowest rung of the economic ladder.
Back home, lupi had been actively hunted by humans for generations. That was now illegal—but only when lupi were two-legged. So it was odd that he found himself resenting the humans' plight here. Maybe he was constitutionally drawn to underdogs.
While sorting his thoughts—and watching his watcher; the little fellow was amusing in his attempts to duck out of sight—he'd wandered away from the mostly human area. He'd forgotten to get a drink and was in need of one, so when he saw what was unmistakably a tavern, he headed for it. He'd have some ale, he decided, listen a bit, and get back to the Chancellery to see how the sorting had gone.
A tall male something with an extra set of arms blocked the door and rumbled at him. His charm said, "Depart, human scum."
Cullen stopped, looking up at the ugly face looming over him. " 'Depart, human scum?'" h
e repeated incredulously. "You have got to be kidding."
"Humans are not allowed in the Gypsum."
He could have pointed out that he wasn't human. Instead he smiled sweetly. "But I'm thirsty. Of course you'll step aside."
The whatever-he-was growled.
It was the growl that did it. Cullen's wolf did not like being growled at, and he was in a mood to indulge the wolf. His smile widened. Wouldn't the oversize idiot look funny when the weak little human Changed? "I'm a peaceable fellow, so I'll give you to a count of three to get out of my way. One…"
A tinkling laugh interrupted him. He glanced over his shoulder, scowling… then caught a whiff of who approached, and his body went on alert in a completely different way.
She wore green today—a pale, silvery green, her gossamer gown styled like a sari, only without an blouse beneath. The exposed breast was small and round and lovely, the aureole a pale, virginal pink.
And her scent…
"Quit playing with the poor half-half," the sidhe woman said, her voice rich with amusement and derision and suggestions. "He doesn't know what you are, of course." She tilted her head to one side. "I am not sure I do, either. Not in the sort of… detail… with which I would like us to be acquainted."
The sorting had gone well. Tedious, but well. The first Find, not so great.
"No luck?" Ruben said softly.
They were in a kitchen garden, the only spot within the Chancellery where she could get her bare feet on the ground. That wasn't essential for a Find, but it helped when she was pushing her limits.
"No." She shrugged. "It's either too far away or it's warded. Time for Plan B."
"Your energies is not depleted?" Bilbo asked anxiously. He and two other gnomes waited just beyond Ruben on the cobbled path.
"No." She felt great, in fact, though she'd just done a full Find. She wondered if Edge's magic was keeping her replenished better than Earth's magic did. Or maybe it was the great sex last night. That, as any Wiccan would tell you, worked a treat to top off your magical tank.
"This will take longer," she warned them, and lowered herself to the ground. "I need to do some prep first."
Cynna had chosen a patch of creeping thyme for her grounding, in part because she'd do the plants no harm by standing, sitting, or stomping on them. The scent was pleasant, too. She closed her eyes and let herself drift on the mixed scents of the garden, the slightly damp, spongy feel of the plants and the earth beneath them, until she felt centered and ready.
Also horny. Squirmingly horny. Last night had reminded her body of what it had been missing, and it wanted more. But she could use that. Arousal was energy, and a lot more fun than pain. Theoretically she could use that, too, but she'd never been moved to try.
Her skin felt tight and lively. She ached pleasantly between her legs, bringing her attention to her root chakra.
Why wasn't Cullen here?
Shut up, she told her mind. Hadn't she told Cullen to go do his thing? She didn't need him to hold her hand when she did a Find. She'd wanted him out of her way, in fact, wanted time without him cluttering up her thoughts… and here he was anyway. And here she was, all annoyed because he hadn't shown up in spite of what she'd told him.
How very girly of her. Cynna sighed.
Once more she gave her attention to the thyme, the air, the sensations of this moment. After a few moments she had the calm, centered feeling back and brought her attention to her newest kielezo, the enspelled tattoo for the medallion. Carefully she trickled power into a kilingo, a spell that would connect the kielezos.
The usual way to Find a trail when she couldn't get a fix on the object itself was a slow, painstaking business. She had to keep Finding and Finding, moving around until she picked up whatever traces the object had left. In the last couple years, though, Cynna had been experimenting with another way, one that included time as a factor. In effect, she'd be hunting a space that "remembered" the medallion having passed through it about a month ago.
One of her kielezos stood for time has passed. That was her dial. Back home she'd set that dial by the number of nights that had fallen since the person—it was usually a person she had to Find—had gone missing. Here that wouldn't work, so she'd asked the gnomes to give her something that had been made in a single "day"—as precisely one day as possible. They'd given her a bit of knitting. She'd sorted it, abstracting the portion of the pattern that meant lifetime. Now she had to connect four kielezos: one for the path, one for day, the medallion's kielezo, and the one for time has passed.
She "drew" a firm line between the medallion's kielezo and path, then connected the two with time has passed, then tied the latter to day with a thread of power. She'd adjust the day kielezo through intention alone, setting the number of days she wished it to represent. When the connections felt right, she stood.
Cynna flexed her bare feet, absorbing the feel of dirt and plants and earth. She raised one heel and dropped it firmly. Then the other. Knees flexed, feet never fully leaving the earth, she stamped out an ancient rhythm, and as the rhythm built, she drew on her Gift, a process as simple and natural as taking a deep breath… hold it, hold it… power built and built behind her intention, gathered by her feet on the earth, focused by the arms she raised slowly… slowly… the patterns from the linked kielezos lifted with her amis, humming invisibly in the air around her.
Five and five and five and five and five and five, she told the day kielezo. She snapped her arms overhead. Exhaled. And Found.
There. Oh, yes. There, and all along there, heading that way. She had it.
Cynna grinned, a little dizzy, a lot tired. Triumphant. "I've got a trail. It's weak, but I've got it. The river. The medallion left on the river, headed south."
Ruben smiled. "Good job." There was, maybe, a whisper of relief in his voice.
The gnomes' relief was a lot nosier, but quickly subsided into orders and bustle. The trail definitely headed away from the City. They'd be traveling again. Bilbo assured them all would be ready for their departure in a bell-time, which was a little over two hours.
"I hope Gan shows up in time." She was a bit worried about the former demon.
Ruben looked at her. "Did Mr. Seabourne say when he would return? Or should we send someone for him?"
"Oh. No, you don't have to. He's back." She didn't have to do a full Find to know that. She didn't even need his pattern. With objects or people she knew well, she just had to wonder where they were. If they were close, her Gift told her. "I'll tell him we'll be leaving ASAP."
Cynna did take one wrong turn on her way back to their rooms, but otherwise navigated the maze quickly. It still took her long enough to wonder why she'd immediately offered to fetch Cullen. Just because her body wanted more of him didn't mean the rest of her was ready.
Maybe she was making too much of last night. What had changed, really? Sure, they'd had great sex, but it wasn't the first time they'd set off fireworks… as the little rider not yet pooching out her stomach testified. She cared about him, yeah, but she was supposed to care about a friend. Last night she'd felt vulnerable, but that didn't mean… she hadn't fallen for him, for God's sake.
Infatuation. That's what it was. It would fade in time.
Cynna was tired and wired when she reached his door. She knocked, forgetting to keep it soft. Her knuckles shoved the door partway open. "It's me," she called out, pushing it open the rest of the way. "Guess what?"
Her feet stopped just over the threshold. The weirdest feeling swept over her, like she'd mainlined a fire-and-ice slushy. And she said, "Oh, you're busy. Well, this will just take a minute." She strode forward, fire and ice fizzing in her veins.
Cullen was naked from the waist up. So was the elf-woman clinging to him. He had turned to look at her when the door opened, his eyes heavy and dazed. One of his hands covered one of the woman's dinky little breasts… perfect, dinky little breasts. The elf-woman had turned her head, too, but immediately dismissed Cynna, going back to what sh
e'd been doing. Licking Cullen's neck.
Big mistake.
Four strides and she swung into a crescent kick, her back leg swinging out and up, the inside angle aimed for elf-bitch's face.
Cullen blinked—and went into fast-forward. He blurred, dammit, moving impossibly fast to shield the elf-bitch with his body while his arms swung up, executing a perfect forearm block.
The ball of Cynna's foot smashed into his left forearm. He didn't follow through with the sweep that might have overbalanced her, so she used her momentum to pivot and come at the bitch again.
She wasn't there. A second ago she'd been standing smugly behind Cullen, her lovely lip curling in disgust. Now she just… wasn't.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE chancellor's barge was way different from the one they'd been on before. They were headed downriver now, and the river had narrowed some, so the current was strong and fast. The barge was hitched to a pair of sea oxen, but they were as much for steering as for propulsion.
It was a luxurious vessel compared to the other one. The wood was dark and polished to a fare-thee-well, with intricate carving everywhere some gnome had found a spot to stick a knife. There were cabins, too, thank God, though even the ones supposedly sized for non-gnomes were tiny. Cynna had one to herself. Most of the others had to double up, and some slept out on the deck.
They were a large party. Tash led a small squad of the guard—always referred to in the singular for some reason—for their protection. Wen was along to keep the Ekiba comm channel open, and Bilbo had brought three more gnomes along. Cynna didn't know who or what they were. She'd been given titles to address them by, but what did "Third Assistant of the Red Jasper Collar" mean? Privately, she thought of them as Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
