The Story Hunter

by Lindsay A. Franklin

He looked at her with concern. “You’ll catch your death.”

  “I wanted to feel the snow.”

  “Here? In this exact garden?”

  “I just . . . wanted to feel the snow.”

  He held out his hand. “Braith. Will you come inside with me?”

  The barest of smiles touched her lips. “Yes.”

  He wrapped her hand in both of his. “You’re freezing.” He led her under the trellis and stopped.

  Braith glanced up, then shifted to face him. The unspoken question hung between them.

  “It looks dead,” Kharn said softly. “But it’s not.” He touched the barren twigs. “Come springtime, these same vines will be in full bloom. Velvet-petals, are they not?”

  “Red ones.”

  “Red ones.” Kharn’s eyes were so tender it was almost painful. “Winter will not last forever, my love.”

  Braith’s lashes fluttered closed as the thoughts rushed in—thoughts of her parents, Dray, those who had been lost in the attack on the palace, the broken pieces they had only just begun to put back together. “I feel . . . damaged. And alone.”

  Warmth encircled Braith’s shoulders, and she opened her eyes to find Kharn clasping his fur-lined cloak around her. “You are neither of these things, Your Majesty.”

  Braith’s smile broke through her gloom. “I believe that may be the first time you have called me that.”

  “Is it? I must have forgotten myself.” He grinned a moment, then turned serious again. “There has been so much loss. Death and pain, heartbreak and brokenness. Can we not have something glad?”

  “I would very much like something glad.”

  “Good.”

  He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a beautiful strip of black grazer hide. He twisted it this way and that, and the silver sparkle within the band caught the wan afternoon light.

  “The weavers.” His eyes twinkled. “Tanwen said you needed silver. It is a wonder the way they make things.”

  Braith could only nod. “Do you—” The question was choked by the lump rising in her throat. “Do you still wish to ask this question, Kharn? After everything that has happened? I would not fault you if . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

  “Braith, I wished for many things when you and I were chained to the walls of Frenhin’s cave. I wished to rescue the Tirian people from her clutches. I wished that we would make it out safely. I wished for brisk-leaf paste.”

  Braith laughed, in spite of herself.

  “And I wanted to be unselfish. I wanted to be like you, always putting your people before your own desires. But do you want to know what I wished for most often?”

  Braith raised her eyes.

  “I wished for the chance to do this properly. To ask you the way I ought to have before our world turned upside down.”

  He lowered himself to one knee and held up the glittering leather engagement band. “Braith, if you will have me, I’ll see to it that you are never alone. If you will let me, I will spend every day of the rest of our lives helping you see yourself the way I see you—not broken or damaged but strong and beautiful. Capable. Kind. The best person I have ever known.

  “Braith En-Gareth, will you marry me?”

  The queen brushed the tears from her cheeks, then held out her wrist—still marked by not-quite-healed sores from the irons. “Yes, Kharn Bo-Candryd. I will marry you.”

  He broke into a smile and tied the band around her wrist. Then he rose.

  Braith pushed back one of his sleeves and ran her fingers over his mostly healed abrasions. Then she pushed back his other sleeve—and found he already wore a deep-brown engagement band that shimmered slightly with gold.

  She looked up, an incredulous eyebrow raised. “I thought I was supposed to put this on for you. After I accepted.”

  He grinned and shrugged, not looking nearly as sheepish as he ought to. “I knew.”

  Braith reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. He caught her hand and held it to his face. Then he drew her close and brought his lips to hers—gently, with the promise of so many more kisses to come.

  After a moment, Braith stepped back and smiled up at him. “Winter will not last forever.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  TANWEN

  When Father and I went back inside the cottage, Diggy was sitting on a soft blanket before the hearth with Dafyth. Mor leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, watching them.

  Diggy covered her face, then popped out from behind her hands. “Boo!”

  Dafyth’s tiny giggles pulled smiles from everyone. But Mor’s eyes were sad. He crossed to the blanket, then reached down and picked up the little lad.

  Dafyth squealed and clumsily clapped his hands together.

  “He likes you,” Diggy said as she stood and brushed the dust off her trousers.

  Mor raised an eyebrow. “He likes everyone.”

  “Lucky that includes you.”

  Mor tilted his face down to look at the baby. Grief washed over him again. “Your parents loved you so much, little one.” He ran a hand over Dafyth’s feathery orange hair and held him a moment more.

  Then he sighed and handed the child back to Diggy. “We’ll have to find a safe place for him.”

  Diggy’s frown moved in like a storm cloud. “What do you mean?”

  “It shouldn’t be with Zel’s family,” Mor went on. “They disowned him because of his storytelling gift. I don’t think Ifmere had any family to speak of. Else she would have stayed with them when Zel was cast out. But we will find someone—maybe in Zel’s hometown. Someone will take the lad in and raise him like Zel would want.”

  In a single motion, Diggy tucked Dafyth into the crook of one arm and drew a dagger with the other hand. “No!”

  “Sakes, Diggy!” Mor shouted.

  “Diggy!” I cried. “Put that away! You’re holding a baby, for stars’ sake!”

  She looked startled. No doubt her mind was catching up with her instinctive reaction. She sheathed the dagger, but the pained storm cloud on her face didn’t break. “Mor, we can’t just give him away.”

  Now it was Mor’s turn to look startled. “What do you mean?”

  “Well . . .” She looked around the room, first at me, then to Father, then back to Mor. “We’re a family now. We belong to him.” She nuzzled Dafyth’s head with her chin. “And he to us.”

  Mor looked at me for help, but I shrugged. “Sorry, Mor. I think she’s right.”

  “You want to just . . . keep him.” Clearly this idea had not even occurred to Mor. “But how? How will we raise a child while we—” He hesitated.

  “While we what?” I almost smiled. “Have you been making plans for the future without the rest of us?”

  He shot an annoyed look my direction. “Not plans, exactly. But I had some ideas. I thought we might travel. If you wouldn’t miss your hearth and your many pillows, that is.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. The Lysian is still docked in Physgot. I asked Queen Braith, and she said it’s mine, since the Cethorelle sank. She said she might be able to use us for the crown’s business but that we would still be able to . . .” His gaze darted to his boots, and I could swear his ears turned pink.

  “Be able to what?”

  “I thought we might travel around and tell stories.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You want to be a story peddler?”

  “Not like how you were with that mountainbeast, Riwor.” He peeked at me. “But the right way. Stories of our own making. With a little something extra thrown in.” He slid a glance over to Diggy.

  “Me?” She tilted her head. “But I’m not a weaver.”

  Mor snorted. “Diggy, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what you are. But you’re not not a weaver.”

  “‘Not not’ doesn’t make sense.”

  Mor sighed and turned to me. “Help?”

  I thought for a moment. I recalled the one time I had seen Mor tell a proper st
ory, not use his gifts in the other ways we knew how—the tapestry story he had woven in Meridione.

  And suddenly, my mind began to churn with ideas. The different ways my strands might be able to bring a little sparkle to Mor’s tapestries. And what if he and I linked, then told a story together? We hadn’t tried that before—actual storytelling while using our linked gifts.

  And then adding Diggy and her wild, unique gift into the mix?

  “It would certainly draw a crowd,” I said at last.

  “It would be more than storytelling,” Mor added. “Almost like a show.”

  “And you want to travel on the Lysian and do this all over the world while carrying out the queen’s business?”

  “Aye. Some of Ven’s crew said they would turn legitimate. Join the navy and sail with us. Jule has his own fleet, of course, but some of our crew from the Cethorelle would come. War and Aeron want to join. Dylun, too, as long as he’s allowed to continue his research on ancient strands. I think he and Insegno have planned a lifetime’s worth of research trips.”

  I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Did you talk to everyone in Tir about this before me?”

  And for some reason, I glanced at my father. Who looked. . . guilty. Sheepish, even.

  My jaw dropped, and I rounded on Mor. “Him? You asked my father before you even mentioned it to me!”

  Mor held up his hands. “I wanted to be sure before I got your hopes up.”

  “Fine plan, Captain Bo-Difflesnout.”

  “Hey, it’s proper to ask first.”

  My stomach backflipped. “To ask . . . ?”

  Mor grinned. “Don’t worry, Tannie. When I propose to you, it’s going to be on a sandy Spice Island beach while we sip chilled spike-fruit juice. Or on a Meridioni cliff, watching a colormastery sunset. Or maybe on a golden Haribian plain, the sun warming our backs.”

  When. When he proposes.

  “It won’t be here in a cottage while this prickle-back”—he tossed a look at Diggy—“and your father watch.”

  “Rude.” Diggy made a face, then resumed nuzzling the top of Dafyth’s head.

  But Father was smiling. I knew Mor had asked for his permission, and I had a clear idea of what Father’s answer had been.

  “So, that was my plan.” Some of the enthusiasm faded from Mor’s expression, and now he looked sheepish again. “What do you think?”

  I didn’t skip a beat. “I think it sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  His grin blossomed. “Really?”

  “Aye. Really.” I turned to Father and noticed that Cameria had joined him. “Will you come with us?”

  “No.” He nodded to Cameria. “We will return to Urian to be with the queen. She needs us.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. I wasn’t entirely sure how I would part from him now, after all that had happened. “Will you maybe come with us sometimes?”

  “When the queen can spare me.” His eyes twinkled. “And when my daughter invites me.”

  I laughed, then whirled back to Mor. “All right. My answer is yes. Of course, yes! Let’s go adventuring!”

  “You’re forgetting something.” Mor nodded beyond me, and I turned.

  Diggy bounced Dafyth on her hip. She stopped and looked at us. “What?”

  “Diggy, if we’re going to do this, we can’t take in the lad.” Mor stared at me. “I mean, can we?”

  Diggy didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Don’t be daft. Of course we can. Father raised us both aboard ship.”

  It was true. Mor had told me so himself. It was why, though he was from Physgot on the peninsula, he was not at all like the peninsular folk who were my kin. He’d been raised on a ship, soaking in an upbringing from all over the world.

  Dafyth could have that life too.

  “We can’t leave him,” Diggy insisted. “We can’t just give him away.”

  “Because we belong to him.” I grinned.

  She was right. Keeping Dafyth with us felt right, and nothing looked as natural on Diggy as that sweet baby on her hip.

  Mor nodded, and I could see the idea begin to settle comfortably in his mind. “Aye, that’s right. And him to us.”

  Diggy burst into a smile—the biggest, truest smile I had ever seen on her face. “We’re a family.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  TANWEN

  My shoes clacked against the stone floor of the palace, and I bit back a curse at the throbbing in my feet. What I wouldn’t give for a soft pair of grazer-hide slip-ons or even my sharkskin sailing boots, which had barely left my feet for the past ten moons aboard ship.

  Who had invented high heels, anyway?

  I paused in front of one of the corridor windows. I could just barely see myself in the reflection on the glass. I probably would have once been embarrassed by the tousled, wind-blown look of my curls, but somehow, it suited me now.

  I was just missing my tricorn hat.

  The shadowy reflection of Mor’s face appeared over my shoulder. His mouth twitched. “Stop fussing. You look beautiful.”

  The deep-purple, crystal-beaded gown had been a gift, sent straight from the palace, along with our invitation. Braith must have known my traveling trunk was full of trousers and blouses and leather waistcoats now—nothing suitable for a special occasion such as this.

  I wheeled to face him. “I’m not fussing. I’m just . . .” I smoothed my hands down the front of the corset and didn’t finish my thought. Instead, my gaze fixated on him. He was decked out in the dress uniform of a queen’s navy captain.

  His smile grew. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Well, that’s not my fault. A girl can only make so many wind strands, you know. A ship lives and dies by the wind—isn’t that what you always say? I got us upriver as fast as I could.”

  “Are you two sniping again?”

  Mor and I turned at the sound of Diggy’s voice. She strode down the hall toward us, wearing a navy-sailor dress uniform that had been fitted to her tiny frame. She adjusted the fire-haired toddler on her hip.

  “Didi.” Dafyth played with Diggy’s long black braid. He giggled and tugged. “Didi!”

  Diggy unlaced his tiny fingers from her hair, then kissed his hand and bumped noses with him. “Aye, that’s Didi’s. And it’s attached to my scalp, if you don’t mind, little sailor.”

  Dafyth giggled again.

  Diggy looked back at Mor and me. “We aren’t late yet, but we will be if you two stand out here arguing much longer.”

  We allowed her to lead us toward the throne room. But before we reached it, a young lass with blonde braids rounded the corner, a bucket in one hand, a mop in the other. She jerked to a stop to avoid crashing into us, but then her eyes went wide.

  “Oh!” Her bucket and mop fell.

  Before either could hit the floor, Diggy reached out and grabbed the mop with her free hand. Mor shot an invisible strand of . . . air? I wasn’t sure. But it caught the bucket of water softly, creating a cushion for it to land on without spilling a drop.

  “It is you!” the little lass cried. “Oh, I wanted to come to your show yesterday. I really did. We’d all heard you was downriver. But I was working. Couldn’t steal away.” She took the bucket and mop and held them up. “Getting everything ready for today.”

  Mor caught my gaze and smiled.

  Aye. I knew what he was after.

  “Would you like us to tell you a story now?” I asked the girl.

  Her eyes popped even wider. “Course I would.”

  “Once there was a little girl,” I began. A shimmering strand of blue unfurled from my palm. “She had to work very hard to take care of herself.”

  The blue strand circled the girl, lifting her blonde braids. She snickered.

  “But this little girl had big dreams and plans,” Mor continued. A strand of black satin leapt from his palm and joined the dance with my blue strand.

  I smiled at it. “Somewhere along the way, while she was chasing those dreams, this
girl discovered what truly mattered to her.” A glittery purple strand ribboned from my hand. “Her family.”

  “Her friends.” A green swathe of sheer fabric from Mor.

  “Taking care of those who needed her.” I didn’t glance at Diggy and Dafyth when I said it. I didn’t want to tear up right at the end.

  “Standing up for what’s right and serving something bigger than herself,” Mor said, adding two more strands to the mix.

  A whole kaleidoscope of dazzling, colorful strands swam throughout the hallway. The little lass stared up at them.

  “And this girl learned an important lesson.” I lifted my hand, and the black-satin strand sailed toward Diggy. “No matter what has happened in a person’s past . . .”

  Diggy reached up with her free hand and grabbed the black ribbon from the air. She met my gaze, then Mor’s, and she jolted the strand in her hand. The black dye scattered from the fabric and disappeared into the air. The cleanest, purest white was left in its place.

  A faint smile crossed Diggy’s lips. She released the strand, and it rejoined the others. “There is always hope for the future,” she said.

  At that, the strands circled together and transformed into a crown of flowers—a whole palette of colors and a silky white bow with long ribbons down the back.

  The flower crown dropped into my hands, and I placed it on the little girl’s head. “There. That’s for you.”

  She gasped. “For me? To keep?”

  “Aye.” Mor crouched down so he was at eye level with her. “Find us after this is all over”—he nodded toward the throne room—“and Tanwen will share her cake with you.”

  “Excuse me, Captain Bo-Lidere,” I said sternly. “Are you giving away my dessert now?”

  Mor shared an overly sheepish grin with the girl. “Oops. Guess I’ll have to share mine with you instead.”

  The lass giggled.

  The throne room doors opened from the inside, and a familiar face appeared. He was dressed in fine leather, his beard perfectly groomed and his hair combed back.

  “I thought I heard you out here,” Father said.

  I rolled my eyes. “You must have been standing right by the doors, then.”