He nodded to her. “I’ll talk to Famil about the day team joining us and extend Terrent’s offer of training.”
“Ma’am?” Terrent raised his hand. “What’s your other plan?”
“A long shot.” The lady waved her hand dismissively, but the tight line of her lips said she was counting on it. “One of the speakers at Saturday’s Market Day has several new engines his company is selling for improved agriculture. I didn’t bother to invite him for a visit here, since we have our system well established, but he mentioned a machine for eliminating agricultural pests. I’m riding out east to meet with him, and if it sounds feasible, I’ll invite him to see Wellspring’s problem firsthand.”
A machine to get rid of the pests? Seemed incredible some other Basin inventor might have done better than Master Brightwell in the last week. Would it really work?
* * *
A bell rang somewhere. Annmar counted the rings. Five. Slowly, consciousness came, and this time her head was clear. The dinner bell rang five times. It must be evening. Her rumbling stomach confirmed it. She rubbed her protesting belly and smiled. Mary Clare had arrived with her breakfast at the end of Miriam’s visit, but she didn’t remember eating or Mary Clare leaving.
Best to take things slow. Annmar blinked her eyes open. Thank heavens the rafters were in focus. Hadn’t someone said something about clearing the cobwebs for her? That had been long ago. Or had it?
She stretched and straightened her legs. Something moved in her bed. A hazy memory returned, a memory of petting and holding a thin cat with rough fur. That’s right, one had been keeping her company. She rolled over and peered at the mound of chocolate-colored fur nestled against her orange bedcovers. Extracting her arm, she reached to her knees and stroked its side. The cat was longer than any she’d ever seen, with its face tucked under a shorter-than-normal tail. “Good afternoon, my kitty friend.”
The cat’s head lifted. Within a mask-like pattern, its eyes blinked open. The animal flinched, flipped to its feet and leaped down the bed, tail springing straight up.
Annmar scrunched back into her pillow. This wasn’t a cat. The face was too pointed, never mind the sleek body three times as long as it was tall. Yet when she looked into its face, the familiar eyes belonged to…
“Daeryn?”
Eyes squinting, the animal’s ears pressed flat. Its head sank, giving a little jerk up and down.
Had he…nodded? “That is you.” Daeryn. This was a polecat. Her drawings had been correct, but not the same as seeing one uninjured, acting normal. Or as normal as a polecat in someone’s bed would act.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Oh, Lord, just stop thinking already. But her head didn’t hurt, her vision wasn’t cloudy, and neither were her thoughts. She lowered her hands and looked around to confirm they were alone before fixing her gaze on…him. “What are you doing in my room?”
His shoulders lifted.
That was a shrug. He half-crouched and jumped to the foot of the bed, then to the floor, all before she knew that’s what he had in mind. He disappeared behind the end of her bedstead.
She half-sat up, and as she started swinging her legs around, a hand pulled down the extra quilt that hung on the end of her bed. Annmar gasped and scooted under her covers. A moment later, Daeryn’s tousled brown hair came into view. The quilt swung through the air, and he stood, the fabric draped over his shoulders and held closed in the front.
He squinted at her, his expression the same as the polecat’s, looking very sleepy. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
What was she supposed to say to that? He’d been in her room. Sleeping in her room. In her bed! Oh, Lord, what would Mother… Nothing. Mother wasn’t around to worry about anymore, as Mary Clare had pointed out. Annmar had no one to answer to, Blighted Basin society included. Their lack of rules completely befuddled her. How did these people function?
Still. This was highly improper. She glared at him, and he seemed to shrink beneath the quilt, drawing it closer to his body. He was likely naked.
She heated, the blush running from her chest up over her face and…down. Thinking of it just brought on more heat. Mercy, in her bed. Had he been…
“You…uh, you haven’t been in…here as…” She swallowed.
His eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “Only as a polecat.” He took a step back. “I wouldn’t do that… Not to you.” He turned and walked to the door. “I’ll leave.”
Yes, he most certainly was naked under there, and a part of her was curious. She was nineteen, a grown woman. Her first look at him had been brief—she swallowed—but good. “Hold on a minute,” she gasped.
He paused in the open doorway and half-turned to face her.
“I don’t understand what you’re doing in my room.”
“Sleeping here.”
“Why?”
His brows and shoulders lifted at the same time. He looked as confused as she felt when he stepped out and closed the door.
Annmar listened. Outside her room, Daeryn’s retreating footsteps echoed on the wooden floorboards, then paused for a second. She held her breath. Was he coming back? The footsteps shuffled, and because she was listening for it, the creak of a door sounded faintly. Then nothing.
She fell back onto her pillow. “Damn.” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. Proper ladies never swore. Not even when they were as disappointed as she was now.
chapter FIVE
As if in one of those dreams where his head muddled and he couldn’t find his way through a burrow, Daeryn walked slowly along the familiar corridor, seeing only Annmar’s wide blue eyes staring at him in disbelief.
How had he let this happen? For days, her restless movements had woken him when she didn’t even wake herself…wait. Annmar had looked at him. Seen him.
She was recovering, if not recovered.
He should be happy for her…and he was. Or would be once he wasn’t feeling so sorry for getting himself kicked out of her life. The shock in her eyes, the distaste in her voice when she’d asked, You haven’t been in here as… Those actions mimicked a ’cambire turning tail. So that was that.
Daeryn walked on and opened the door to the room he shared with Rivley. Nothing had changed since he’d been here last, but it felt different, as if missing something. Their chamber was dimmer than Annmar’s room, this level designed for day sleeping, while sunlight from the dormer windows crisscrossed the rafter space above. But Rivley was off working, and the room seemed…empty.
He clutched the quilt snug to his shoulders and peered back along the shared hallway open to him through his connections with other residents. Her short hallway was still there, unblocked, so her door…no. He closed his door and turned to his bed, but instead of his rumpled covers, he saw Annmar drawing her blanket over herself in her neat bed.
Daeryn rolled his head back. What was he to do?
After a long minute, with nothing coming to mind yet his thoughts racing, he pulled on the trousers and shirt he’d dropped this morning and left. At least he’d had a full day’s sleep, even if his memory ticked that he was supposed to have done something this afternoon. Well, the afternoon was gone. He tromped down his own access stairs to the rear of the bunkhouse and pushed open the outer door into the yard between this building and the next. Tipping his nose, he scented the moist air. It’d rained most of the day, but the skies promised a fairly clear evening.
A metallic click reached his ears, followed by, “Good job! Yous are catching on.”
What was Terrent—oh. Stunner practice. That’s what Daeryn had forgotten.
He strode the length of the buildings, slowing at the west end of the first storage shed to look before he stepped out. Caution wasn’t necessary. Terrent had set out sawhorses to block off the area between the shed and an adjacent greenhouse. At the far end, he’d draped an old piece of canvas over crates, strung a rope before it and tied rags at intervals. They dripped with muck,
the odor of Master Brightwell’s brew strong in the tight space, as well as that of the pests…Great Creator. Those weren’t rags, but dead bodies of the vermin.
Closer, with their backs to him, stood a line of Daeryn’s co-workers posed in the unfamiliar stance of weapons raised alongside their heads. Famil, Wyatt, Gunther and—
Click.
Daeryn flinched as Rivley’s stunner fired and discharged the white muck. It flew six feet and hit the furry tail end, the spot wettest on each of the bodies.
“I think youse have it down,” Terrent said. “Just remember to wait the full seven seconds before firing again, to give the fermentation time to build pressure. Then the brew shoots strong and far. Before we go in to dinner, let’s try a few shots at moving targets.”
Daeryn backed around the corner and leaned against the whitewashed stone, shutting his eyes to a ray of sunlight. His head thrummed, the memories rushing, darkening his thoughts. The stunner clicks repeated, not rapid like the gunshots that had killed Sylvan, but steadily spaced out like the funeral march he’d all but forgotten. The past churned uncomfortably in his belly, making him wish more than anything to be back in Annmar’s quiet bed, warm and companionably nestled with her. He hadn’t felt that comfort with another person in years…and now wouldn’t have the chance to feel it again.
Could this day get much worse?
Slowly, Daeryn took control of his thoughts. The others at target practice were cleaning up, their cheerful quips verifying Terrent had pronounced them trained in shooting the stunners. All of Wellspring’s ’cambires had practiced the Outside skills…except for him.
He could still join in, his head told him…but his body wouldn’t budge. Tomorrow. Another night hunting…watching…steeling his nerves before actually putting his finger to the trigger.
An approaching engine drowned out their talk. With a shake of his head, Daeryn turned to the welcome distraction. The first steam tractor pulled into the farmyard, Mary Beth, Henry and other growers riding on the back. They usually walked behind. Why… His gut sank. The wagon wasn’t full. The topmost crates didn’t even look loaded to the tops of their wooden slats.
His gaze darted to the cart the wagon towed behind, and he blew out a breath. Vermin bodies filled the shallow bed.
Damn. There were so many. It seemed impossible their hunts still hadn’t eliminated them. Could the rest of the Farmlands also be under such an attack? Miz Gere shared news with her fellow owners in the local agricultural consortium, but a predator’s nose in other fields might scare up a few ideas to improve their defenses here.
The growers unhitched the cart and began forking the bodies onto a growing pile. A few seconds of watching was all he could take. Daeryn spun on his heel and strode back toward his room access, slipping off his braces. He didn’t feel much like eating dinner anyway. A run would gain Wellspring more information and clear his head for another long night of hunting vermin.
* * *
Annmar stared at the ceiling, wishing for Daeryn to return, but at the same time hoping he wouldn’t. Whatever would she say to him? Should she demand an explanation? Or spew oaths?
She had no idea of how to approach this type of conversation…so why did she want it to happen? Her blurted curse gnawed at her. What was this feeling that had prompted it? Sometimes she and Polly cursed jokingly, but day-to-day Annmar kept such reactions in check.
Polly. If she were here, her country-reared friend would set her straight. Annmar drew a deep breath. Mary Clare would also, but in the opposite fashion. The fashion of Blighted Basin. She’d be willing to talk about Daeryn’s nakedness in a much different manner than Polly would. No doubt, Mary Clare would know exactly what Daeryn had been doing in her room and why. Or what he’d wanted to be doing. Oh, dash it all. She wasn’t that naive. She knew what Daeryn wanted to be doing.
Exactly what Mr. Shearing had wanted…
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Annmar. You can at least think it.
Sex.
Her newly healed head churned with confused feelings.
Mr. Shearing’s suggestions had repulsed her. Daeryn had made no such overtures. Why did she feel positively dumbfounded that he’d been in her room, in her bed? Had anything happened between them?
She didn’t think so, but how would she know? She bit her lip. She had no experience to tell by. But he’d looked so shocked at her accusation. What had he meant by Not to you? That she wasn’t the sort of girl he wanted to—come on now—have sex with? Indeed, his lifestyle was completely different from hers, but his denial left her disappointed.
Did she want something to happen?
Daeryn hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. He’d left at the slightest protest, quite unlike Mr. Shearing, who had pushed his way closer, inappropriately suggesting more. Daeryn had only been sleeping, he said. Or was he holding something back?
She flung aside the covers, her gaze trailing down her rumpled nightdress, over her curves and dips…
She didn’t understand. Had he left her alone because he wasn’t exactly human, and she was? Or because she wasn’t experienced? Annmar blew out a sigh. Being a virgin was becoming very frustrating. As Mary Clare had suggested, she could take steps to learn more about boys—men—even if she didn’t take steps to have sex with anyone. In the meantime, she cleaned up in the bathing room, and by the time she’d finished, Mary Clare arrived with a dinner tray.
“Annmar! You shouldn’t be up on your own.” She took her arm and tried to lead her to bed, but Annmar pivoted to the wing chair instead. “It’s only been four nights since your injury.”
“Since Paet tried to kidnap me.”
Mary Clare patted her arm. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”
Annmar squeezed her hand. “Everyone knows, so there’s nothing to hide. Where is he now?”
“Locked up, and Maxillon can’t get through Miz Gere’s barriers,” Mary Clare said. “You don’t have to worry, you’re safe.”
“Then how did Daeryn get in my room?”
Mary Clare grimaced. “Because of his and Rivley’s gildan, a bond they have. I never thought of it until Dae turned up in here.”
A gildan? She’d get to that later. “You knew and you didn’t kick him out?”
“I tried. Then Daeryn got real nasty on a point I finally had to agree with.” She wrung her hands.
That’s right, she’d heard an argument. And those two didn’t get along, though she still didn’t know why. “What point? I thought you were my friend and looking out for me.”
“I am! I did.” Mary Clare scrunched up her face, and her words came out faster than the auctioneer’s at Derby’s debt house. “Daeryn said that even if Miz Gere has an excellent Knack, we don’t know—really know—what a ropen’s capable of. When I discovered your head injury and the fact you weren’t able to look out for yourself, he pretty much appointed himself your guard.”
“Guard? Daeryn was guarding me?”
“He was absolutely sick over what happened. Despite Miz Gere’s reports that Maxillon was banned and definitely gone, Daeryn slept here for days and insisted I spell him overnight. Others wanted to help, too.”
“Other people can get into my room, too?” A shiver shot up her spine, and Annmar clutched the chair arms.
“No. Just Miriam. Annmar, do you know how bad off you were? When you didn’t wake up, you scared the living daylights out of me. Out of all of us.”
Annmar loosened her grip. Mary Clare seemed sincere. Of course she was. Mary Clare was her friend. “Sorry. I was scared, too. I still am. My head hurt so bad, I couldn’t think. It’s just…” She rubbed her arms, looking around her cozy room, the one she had thought was hers and hers alone, and drew in a breath. “Mistress Gere promised me I’d be safe in my room, and I don’t understand—oh, dash it all, I sound like a big baby.”
“No. No, you don’t.” Mary Clare knelt at her side and took Annmar’s cold hands in her warm ones. “You need to feel safe. That’s w
hat Dae was trying to do for you, don’t you see? He likes you.”
Mary Clare made it all sound so normal. “He has a funny way of showing he likes me, sleeping in my bed as a polecat.”
A smile twitched at Mary Clare’s mouth. “That’s akin to courting for an animacambire. Rivley says the beasts like lots of touching and togetherness. You may not remember, but you wanted Dae here. You asked for him.”
“I thought he was a cat!”
“He is an animal. A weasel. Sometimes. That’s Daeryn, Annmar. If you think you’d like to get to know him better, that’s him. The polecat, who fought a shifter twice the size of a wolf to protect you, the same ‘kitty’ you slept with this week and the boy who so desperately wanted to protect you, he snuck in by way of his gildan link to Riv.”
Annmar followed the explanation right up to the last, and she didn’t think the confusion was due to her injured head. “What you just said, how did Daeryn enter my room without my permission?” Annmar snatched her hands away and crossed her arms. “And Miriam, too?”
Mary Clare rocked back on her heels and sat on the rug before the chair. “Miz Gere let Miriam in with her Knack control, so that’s normal. But as for Rivley and Daeryn…” She raised a hand helplessly, then wrapped her arms around her bent knees.
Uh oh. This part wasn’t going to be normal.
Mary Clare drew a breath. “I suppose it’s like they shared the permission. It would happen with any set of linked ’cambires—same as pack, you know, like Jac and Maraquin are.”
Annmar rubbed her forehead. Yes, she remembered the roundish mark on Maraquin’s shoulder that Mary Clare had said she had to draw correctly. “A pack mark?”
“Right. Pack mark is a Knack connection ’cambires get when they become pack. It’s temporary, unless the alpha keeps giving the mark. Rivley explained to me a gildan is a different type of Knack connection. It’s a blood-binding spell. One that stays until the spell is fulfilled.”
A blood spell? “What’s the binding for?”
The Twisting Page 4
