by Claire Luana
“None left for the rest of us after you took it all.” Wren punched him in his sizable arm.
Bran guffawed, and the sound warmed her. It was good to see him. She had locked Ansel and the other Wraiths into a little dark corner of her mind after she had fled, but those memories were all resurfacing now. They had been her family. And with the exception of Nik, she had loved them like family. Well, with the exception of Ansel. That had been more complicated.
Bran led her into one of the small cabins. The interior held a main living room with two worn chairs pulled close to the fireplace. Bran went to work setting the fire and Wren wandered about, examining the sparse furnishings. Everything was faded and worn, but somehow inviting. On the windowsill, Wren found a crude carving of an elk, one of its horns broken off. “You still have this?” She turned to Bran, running her hands over the rough cuts of the wood. She could almost feel the boy’s chubby fingers, frustrated that he couldn’t get the chisel to work just right. She remembered him making it, sitting by the little cast-iron fireplace in the Wraithhouse while a particularly nasty storm drummed its fingers on the metal roof.
“Had to gauge my progress. This here’s some of my latest work.” He pointed to an exquisite carving of a braying elk over the mantle, its proud antlers rendered in lifelike detail.
It drew her and she ran her fingers over the grooves of the elk’s fur, the velvet of the antlers. “It’s extraordinary,” she breathed.
“Can’t go on killing people forever,” Bran said, setting a kettle over the growing flames. “One day I’m gonna give this all up and open my own shop.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Wren said, sinking into one of the chairs, its sagging cushions enveloping her. “Except the killing part.”
“So.” Bran sat too. “Our little Wren, flown home. How, after all these years? Why?”
Wren closed her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here, that Ansel was here. We came looking for mercenaries for hire. I’m a member of the Confectioner’s Guild, and some of the Guilds are looking for aid to try to take back the city.”
“Confectioner? Like candies?” Bran wrinkled his nose. “You’re too real for all that fancy stuff.”
“Says the man carving intricate elk statues,” Wren joked. “In truth, I didn’t find it. Confectionary...it found me. It saved me. After...”
“Yes, that. After what. Why did you leave? Ansel...it almost destroyed him. “
Wren’s mouth dropped open. “Are you... It’s true? You went looking for me? Fought the Jackabees?”
“Hell yes. Ansel was like a man possessed. The red wraith come to life. He bashed Harlson’s head in with a rock. That snake Nik said they had beaten you and left you for dead. We pawed through garbage along the piers for days, but after we couldn’t find you, we had to face facts. You were dead. Few of the other lads drifted away to join other gangs, few of us stayed with Ansel. We realized we couldn’t go back to the city, not with what Ansel had done. It had upset the balance of the gangs. And we’d had it with Maradis anyway.”
Wren pressed her lips together. So Ansel’s story was true. The rumbling of boiling water from the kettle was the only sound between them, and Bran got up, removing it with a towel before moving into the corner to pour. When he returned, he placed a blissfully warm mug into her chilled hands before sitting down.
“Where’d you go, Wren?” Bran asked softly. “Why’d you leave us?”
She looked at him. There was old pain in his eyes, and fresh pain too. They had thought her dead, and now it seemed she had left them. “I overheard Ansel saying he would trade me to the Jackabees. Hand me over like nothing. So I ran.”
Bran softened. “You really thought Ansel would do that to you? You and Ansel... He felt like a king with you at his side. Didn’t you know how he looked at you? He never woulda traded you for anything.”
Wren looked into the fire, tears prickling in her eyes. “Sometimes it’s hard to see...what’s right before you.”
“Well, isn’t that the way of the world?”
“And the tattoo...” She looked at Bran. “On Ansel’s chest? Is it really...?” She trailed off. Seeing Ansel and Bran again...it brought it all raging back, the raw want and need of the Wraithhouse, the way her heart seemed only to beat for Ansel, her eyes always searching for him. The memories of her time with him were so vivid—the color brighter, the smells more pungent. Perhaps it was the potency of young love, or the heightened pain of his supposed betrayal, but when she thought of Ansel, her feelings buffeted her. Even after all this time.
“For you? Of course the tattoo’s for you. Failing you was his biggest regret. I reckon once you two get over the shock of seeing each other, the fact that you’re alive and well and happy will bring him great joy.”
“I’m sorry,” Wren said, guilt washing over her. How had she gotten it all so wrong? “For leaving. For putting you through...what you went through.”
“Sounds like you went through quite a bit yourself. It was a long time ago. We were stupid kids playing at being gangsters. We ended up right where we were supposed to be.”
“Good,” Wren said, taking a sip of her tea. She coughed. “Does this have whiskey in it?”
“’Course! What kinda operation you think we’re running here?”
She laughed.
“Seems like you landed yourself in a good spot too, current circumstances aside,” he continued. “Do you have someone taking care of you? You married?”
“Married? No,” Wren said. “There was...is...someone...” She sighed. “I don’t know where he is right now.”
“That sounds like a story,” Bran remarked, taking a sip of his own tea.
Wren let out a little laugh. “It’s been a strange few months. We’re trying to find him, but all I have to go on is this.” She pulled the chain out from the neck of her dress, showing him the ring.
“What’s this?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. A clue. As to his whereabouts. But it’s about the most generic clue ever. The stone is rare but still it could be found in a dozen places. The falcon...it’s his clan crest. Could mean anything.”
“That’s not a falcon,” Bran said, turning the ring in his hand to study it. “The beak is wrong.”
“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, Wr
en.”
“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.
