by Claire Luana
She dashed down the alley and cut through the streets, away from the Jackabees, away from the Wraiths and Ansel and the Port Quarter. She kept running and running until her legs burned beneath her, until she crossed into the Guild Quarter. She never looked back.
“Wren.” Callidus snapped his fingers before her and she started, her eyes focusing on his pinched face. “What’s gotten into you?”
The color had drained from Ansel’s face, his brash bravado swallowed by the shock of her presence.
“Wren?” he asked, taking a shaky step towards her. For a moment, he was that boy again. The boy offering a hand in the rain, a chance. But it had been a mistake then. It would be a mistake now.
“No.” She shook her head, backing away. “No, no.” She bumped into the chest of the man behind her, the man whom she had ridden with from the bay. She turned to Callidus, to Pike, feeling wild and panicked, penned in by these walls of men around her, leather and muscles and swords. “We’re leaving. We are not working with him.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Callidus asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ill?”
Thom was the one who looked ill, standing slightly to the side of them, his pale face covered with a sheen of sweat.
“He can’t help us,” she said, her voice shrill, sounding hysterical in her ears.
“A moment.” Pike grinned widely at Ansel, who was standing in stony silence, his muscled arms crossed before his chest.
Pike drew her aside, turning their backs to the other men. “Get ahold of yourself,” he hissed. “There is no other option. Don’t ruin this.”
“He can’t be trusted,” she whispered back, her breath ragged. “He will betray us.”
“How do you know? Do you know him?”
“He betrayed me once. I’m not going to let him do it again,” Wren said. “The answer is no. I’m out. We’re out. We find another way.”
Callidus was inching closer to them. “What in the Beekeeper’s name is going on?”
“Wren has history with this man,” Pike said.
“We can’t work with him,” Wren said, tugging on Callidus’s sleeve.
Callidus’s gaze darkened. “Wren, we were just hauled over half of Nova Navis blindfolded on horseback, and you’re telling me you want to turn around, pack up, and go find another horde of dangerous men to help us retake our country?”
“Please,” she said. “If you’ve ever trusted me, trust me now.”
Callidus seemed to consider and Wren held her breath, clenching her hands into fists at her side to keep them from shaking. Please, Callidus, she thought. Trust me.
Callidus’s shoulders slumped and he pushed his drooping hair back from his forehead. “Fine. We’ll find another way.”
Wren heaved a tremendous sigh, the tension draining from her.
Pike rolled his eyes and threw up his hands, letting out a string of curses in a language that sounded like Centese. “Just because you cupcakes refuse to work with him, doesn’t mean I do. You don’t think I’ve grappled with worse than this pretty boy? I’m staying.”
Wren’s mouth dropped open and Callidus glared at him. Pike was their manpower, their ride to find Lucas. But there had to be another way. Her mind spun, grasping for something, any way to get out of this. To keep their alliance with Pike and take back Maradis. Without allying themselves with someone who had thrown her away like a scrap of paper in the wind. She looked over her shoulder.
Ansel twisted his bottom lip between his fingers while he watched her, and the familiarity of it took Wren’s breath away. “We don’t wanna do business with anyone who doesn’t wanna do business with us. But, Wren, I’d like to talk to ya.”
“No, thank you,” she said firmly, taking a step back. It didn’t matter. She’d find a way later. They needed to leave. She patted Thom’s shoulder, motioning for him to move. “We’ll be on our way.”
And then Thom toppled forward, crashing to the ground.
Chapter 26
It was Ansel who caught him. In a blink, the mercenary darted forward, catching Thom and lowering his lanky limbs to the ground.
Wren’s mind moved sluggishly through the haze of surprise.
“What’s wrong with ’im?” Ansel asked. “He’s burning up.”
Callidus was at Thom’s side next, helping Ansel roll Thom onto his back.
“He’s got pneumonia, best we can figure,” Pike said.
“We told you not to bring him,” Wren scolded Sal, the bearded man, who was now craning his head to take in Thom’s prone form.
“We have a healer here who can look at him. Unless you’re still planning on leaving this moment,” Ansel said, looking pointedly at Wren.
She bit her lip. Staying meant getting sucked into Ansel’s orbit. But they couldn’t drag Thom back to the ship now. Not until he was stabilized. Against her better judgment, Wren nodded quickly. “Help him. No favors. We can pay.”
Ansel motioned to a few of the other men, who picked up Thom’s limp body and carried him towards one of the strange huts. Wren followed, getting her first glimpse of the little town.
About a dozen wooden houses in a semi-circle were built right into the hillside, their roofs covered in grassy earth. They faced the leeward side, sheltered from the western winds. Forming the other side of the semi-circle were outbuildings that looked like a barn, a smithy, and a smokehouse. In the tidy open area between them were cooking areas, firepits, and in the distance, fenced fields that housed both livestock and sparring men.
Wren and the others followed the men who carried Thom into one of the huts. Inside, they found a cozy room adorned with oil lamps and dried herbs. A wizened old woman prodded at Thom, who had been transferred to a table. “Can’t have all ya in here,” she barked, shooing them back out the door. “I’ll summon ya if anything changes.”
Anxious not to leave Thom but recognizing sense, Wren backed out the door.
Ansel was standing outside, his eyes roving over her form. “Why don’t ya come with me? Warm ya up, get ya a bite to eat and some ale.”
“We don’t need anything from you.” Wren crossed her arms over her chest.
“Speak for yourself,” Pike said. “I’m starved.”
Callidus looked over his shoulder at her before following in Ansel’s wake. Wren stood frozen for a moment, her mind vacillating between the little cabin with Thom and the larger cabin the others had disappeared into. She finally huffed and followed after the others. She was thirsty. She supposed some water wouldn’t hurt.
The large cabin on the end seemed to be used as a dining hall. Inside were low-slung tables and benches. It was surprisingly tidy, and a ginger-haired woman in an apron and kerchief hurried over to the table they had gathered around. Wren glowered at Pike and Callidus as she slid onto the bench next to Callidus, daring them to say anything. Thankfully, they didn’t.
“Got a venison stew with pearl onions and carrots,” the woman said. “Shall I bring four bowls?”
“Ya, please, Greta.” Ansel flashed his smile at her, and the chipped tooth made Wren’s heart stutter. How had he come to be here? From the Red Wraiths to the Red Badger, worlds away? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to talk to him. To be sucked in. She knew how charismatic Ansel could be. She didn’t want him softening her with platitudes and explanations. She knew what he had done. She had heard the words with her own ears. She knew what he was.
The serving woman returned with four bowls of hearty stew, along with a board full of cheese and crusty potato bread. “The boys hunt all the meat local. And Greta is one of the finest cuisiniers in Nova Navis,” Ansel said. “Enjoy.”
Wren looked down at her stew. It did look delicious: hearty chunks of meat and little onions glistening like pearls. She took a bite and was surprised at the complex mix of spices—pepper, tarragon, and...was that a hint of nutmeg?
“So,” Ansel said. “Why ya lookin’ for mercs?”
“None of your business,” Wren said.
> “Ya made yourself clear earlier,” Ansel said, “but it can’t hurt to have some idle conversation. Or shall we all sit here in silence?”
Wren glowered.
Pike and Callidus each cast her glances that she knew meant ‘stop being so rude,’ but she didn’t care. They didn’t know Ansel. She did. This is what he did.
“We’re considering a...countereffort against the new Aprican emperor,” Pike said. “We need men.”
Ansel whistled. “I hear the people are fallin’ to his side like dominos. You’d be up against tremendous odds. Highly disciplined fighting forces, nearly unlimited financial resources. City fightin’ is difficult terrain if it came to an actual skirmish.” He smiled around a bite of bread.
She took another bite of stew. Between the stew and the heat of the fire, a warmth suffused her that she hadn’t felt in days. Her muscles began to uncoil, loosening the tension that had filled her at Ansel’s nearness. Could she really get back on that boat and sail to gods-knew-where? Without Pike as their ally? Would they even be welcome back on the vessel if Pike insisted on working with Ansel and Callidus refused? And could Thom make the voyage to the Beekeeper-knows-where they would head to next? How long would he have to convalesce here? They’d already been gone from Maradis a week.
“How many men do you have?” Pike asked.
“’Bout two hundred,” said Ansel. “But they fight like a thousand. Each man—and I’ve got a few ladies—is handpicked and trained by me. Loyal. Fierce.”
“Two hundred,” Callidus said. “The Apricans have thousands.”
“About ten thousand, I hear,” Ansel said. “Though some of those’ll be headed home now that the city is won. Alesia has at least five. If those men could be rallied, the right plan put in place, the right man to command ’em, the Aprican occupying force could be crippled.”
“Especially if the emperor began to think the city was subdued,” Callidus said, exchanging a glance with Pike. “He might let his guard down.”
“We’d have to find a way to...neutralize certain defenses,” Pike said. The bread. He was talking about the bread.
“When you are hired, how do you and your men get from place to place? I didn’t see any sailors around here?” Pike asked.
“I know a captain over in Port Gris,” Ansel said, referring to the capital of Nova Navis. “She’s got a fleet that’s carried us in the past. I trust her.”
“She?” Pike raised an eyebrow.
“Oh ya.” Ansel grinned. “Quite a firecracker. Hell of a sailor.”
“And how much have you charged, in the past, for you and your merry band?” Pike asked.
“He can’t be trusted,” Wren muttered into her soup.
Callidus turned to her. “Should we really discuss this now?”
“I don’t care if he knows I think he’s a two-faced snake,” Wren said.
“I admit,” Ansel said, “I ain’t always been one hundred percent upstandin’ in my business dealings. But I don’t know what ya think I’ve done. Ya disappeared into thin air. Far as I knew, ya were dead.”
“Is that before or after you sold me to the Jackabees?” Wren was on her feet now, her hands planted on the table.
“What?” Ansel’s face drained of color. For the first time since they had arrived, she thought she saw some of that young boy he had been years before.
“Maybe we should leave these two to talk,” Callidus said, standing.
“I’m not done with my stew,” Pike protested, but he let Callidus haul him up.
“Greta will get ya more if ya ask nicely.” Ansel motioned back towards the kitchen.
Pike took his bowl with him and the two men pushed through the double doors.
Suddenly, the room felt very small. Even with the table between them, blocking Ansel from Wren, the air felt charged. Ansel’s ice-blue eyes were fixed on hers, pinning her to where she stood. She had been through so much, yet still this man made her feel like a little girl, foolishly following her first crush anywhere.
“I was there that day,” Wren said. Her voice was steady, much to her relief. “When you went to confront the Jackabees with Nik. I had a bad feeling, so I followed you. I saw when they ambushed you. I saw when they beat you. And I heard when Harlson asked for half your territory. And me. And you gave both to him without a second thought.”
Ansel pushed up from the table, pacing away from her, and then turning. “I was lyin,’ Wren. If I’d said no, they’da known...” He looked down, tracing the pommel of his sword. It was fashioned in the shape of a snarling badger head. “They’da known how much ya meant to me. I’d have said anythin’ to protect ya. I gave up half our territory, just so they’d let me go—so I could get back to the Wraithhouse and warn ya. But when I got back, ya were gone. Nowhere to be found. We thought they’d taken ya. We...I went crazy. I rounded up the rest of the Wraiths and we went for them. That night. The Jackabees. To find ya. It was bloody. There was so much fighting; a lot of the Wraiths died. But ya weren’t there.” Ansel rubbed his jaw, his eyes distant. Like he was still seeing the blood of those children. Like he still had it on his hands.
He continued. “Nik, he said ya were already dead. That they’d found ya and beaten and dumped your body in the bay, over by the piers. I took a few of the lads who were left, and bloody and hurtin,’ we searched everywhere. We never found ya. We thought ya’d died. Been picked clean.”
Ansel’s words struck Wren like arrows from a quiver. Could that be true? That he had thought she’d been dead? That he had searched for her? That it had all been a desperate ruse...?
Her world was tilting on its axis, shifting beneath her. She had hated Ansel for so long, his betrayal had festered inside of her, poisoning her like a cancer. Don’t trust anyone...they betray you. No man will ever think you’re worth fighting for. Could it be possible that she had been wrong?
No! Her mind rebelled at the notion. Ansel was playing her like he always had. She was a fool to fall for it. “You’re just saying that,” Wren said. Her voice was shaking now.
“Am I?” Ansel stepped around the table, looming over her. She wanted to shrink back from him but held her ground. “Maradis was ruined to me. The wraiths had gone to hell, and I couldn’t be in a city that killed ya. Me and a few of the lads stowed away on a boat. Made our way to Port Gris. Turned out I had some family here. A grandmother I hadn’t known. Started rebuildin’ my life.”
Wren found herself shaking her head. Lies, they were lies. They had to be. For how could she even think about trusting him again?
“Bran is here, one of my seconds. Ya remember him from the Wraiths? Ya don’t believe me, ask him what happened that day with the Jackabees. Ask him...whether he thinks I woulda handed ya over to Harlson.”
Wren’s heart thumped in her chest. Branley. She did remember him.
“And if ya don’t believe him...” Ansel started unbuckling his leather breastplate under one arm, pulling it over his head.
Wren jumped as it thunked onto the table. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Ansel pulled his white shirt off, tossing it into a ball on top of the armor. His face was flushed. “If ya don’t believe me, or believe him, believe this. I got this to keep ya close. Always.”
Wren’s breath left her as she stared at Ansel’s taut torso, lean and strong from years of sparring and fighting. Across the center of his chest, right over where his heart must have been, was an intricate tattoo rendered in black ink. A tattoo of a wren in flight.
Chapter 27
Wren was drowning. Drowning in Ansel’s words, his presence, in the stark black ink of the tattoo, proclaiming that the anger she had felt for the past four years had been for nothing. Had been...a misunderstanding. Wren backed up. “I need some air.” Her feet propelled her past Ansel, through the door out into the damp chill Novan afternoon.
Pike and Callidus were outside, huddled close to a fire, Pike finishing his second helping of stew.
“Did you figure out whe
ther you hate him or not?” Pike asked, his dark eyes furrowed.
Wren ran her fingers through her hair, its ends knotted from the blustery ride. “Maybe? I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s someone else I need to talk to.” Wren squinted towards the paddocks beyond the little village, where men and women were sparring with whirling staves. “And I think I see him. Wait here.”
“Can’t wait,” Pike called in a simpering voice after her.
Even back in their Wraith days, Bran had been big. Now, he was huge, with thick cords of muscle raining down blows upon his opponent in a merciless tempo. His round face was ruddy with effort, and his dimpled cheeks were covered with a thick beard braided at the ends and tied with little silver beads.
“Bran,” she cried, stepping up on the lowest rung of the fence circling the field.
Bran looked her way, shock registering in his hazel eyes.
His opponent took advantage of the moment and whacked Bran hard in the ribs.
Bran doubled over with a grunt of pain, resting one hand on his knee, the other held up in a sign of surrender. “Low blow.” He coughed before standing and taking in a deep breath.
“Never take your eyes off the fight,” his opponent said with a wide grin.
“Right you are. Now you’re learning,” Bran said. “Switch partners. I need a minute. I think I see a ghost from my past.”
“A wraith,” Wren called.
Bran let himself through the gate and swept her up in a bone-crushing hug. “Gods, it’s good to see you.”
“Ribs...” Wren croaked.
“Figure it’s payback for that little swipe.” Bran set her down, a wide grin breaking across his face. “I knew we had company...but I never in a million years would have thought...”
“The feeling is mutual,” Wren said.
“Can I get you something hot to drink? You’re freezing.” He ran his hands over her shoulders in a vigorous motion. “Some things never change. You never had any insulation on you, did you?”
