Araneae Nation: The Complete Collection

by Hailey Edwards

  “Forgive me.” I ducked my head. “I didn’t mean to imply you found such practices acceptable.”

  “None of that.” She turned and tapped my chin up with her finger. “We’re equals now.”

  “I doubt that.” I set her fine comb aside. “You are still a maven’s sister.”

  “I don’t see Lourdes here, do you?” She threw out her arms. “For now, Sikya is my maven.”

  I laughed. “You’ll notice I don’t call her Sikya.”

  “That hardly counts. The use of her given name spares me no grief.” She waved a hand. “Here I must do as she wishes. Here I am an average female, learning a trade to help the city earn an income so I can pay for my lodging and meals the same as everyone else does. I get no special treatment.”

  “I would have thought your sister—” I snapped my mouth shut. “That was rude.”

  “I am rude.” She took my hand. “You are charming and politeness itself. Go on. Ask away.”

  “If your sister sent you here, wouldn’t she compensate them for your upkeep?”

  “Oh, she does, but Old Father says it is shameful for me to let Sikya take money so that I can lie in bed all day. He says I will earn my way, and since he is in charge of my punishment, so I shall.”

  We talked a while longer about things of no consequence, and I reveled in the kinship I felt with her. It had been too long since I had someone other than my brother for conversation. Edan had been my best friend, always, but he was also a male and failed to grasp feminine logic at the best of times.

  Asher, well, his grip might have been too tight.

  As though the thought had summoned him, Asher called a greeting from outside the door.

  Pascale invited him to enter, but he politely declined.

  “I should go.” I straightened my dress in the mirror. “I have a meeting with Old Father.”

  She gave my fingers a squeeze. “Visit me tomorrow, all right?”

  “I’ll do that.” My chest expanded. To have a friend, what a novel concept. “I’ll see you then.”

  When I ducked outside, the day was stifling and humid and made me long for shade.

  “Making plans,” Asher said by way of greeting.

  I hesitated. “I suppose I am.”

  Though Pascale was wild, I enjoyed her company. Chatting may not further my goals to leave a memoir for Henri, but she was the ideal candidate to protect such documents until he claimed them. I could leave them with Old Father, but my loyalty was to Henri, and I trusted Pascale’s would be too.

  “I’m happy you’re happy.” He ran a knuckle down my cheek. “It looks good on you.”

  The flush that rose to greet his fingers chilled beneath my skin.

  I’m happy you’re happy… It was one of Edan’s favorite phrases.

  When had my happiness not been his goal? It had been for as long as I could remember.

  Sometimes I wondered if that codependency wasn’t what had drawn Idra to me, what continued to attract her. Surely she must understand Edan and my bond had been forged by blood and by tears. It was sealed by the bitter sting of our failures and the too-brief taste of our sweet victories, such as they had been. You couldn’t simply will yourself into the part of a heart occupied by someone else.

  As a Necrita, such concepts might be beyond Idra’s grasp. She was their queen. She craved their adoration. She demanded utter subservience and brooked no arguments with her created daughters. It should have been easier for me to bend my knees than anyone. But when she gave me the gift of her people, when she ripped the collar from my neck, she unfettered my soul, and it flew on the wings she had given me. Until then, I never considered how much simpler it must be to lure a wild creature with no concept of confinement into its first cage than it was to pen a creature who knew the taste of metal bars between its teeth, who knew the distances between the walls and the door by its footsteps.

  I was such a creature, and I would never go gently to another master or enter another cage again.

  Chapter 8

  The walk to Old Father’s felt too brief for the distance we had to cover. Pascale had been a pleasant diversion. Now was time to focus on my goal of winning Old Father’s blessing to my cause.

  Biting my thumbnail, I hissed between my teeth when blood hit my tongue.

  “Nervous,” I mumbled. The thought of revealing my secrets gnawed on me.

  “Old Father is fair.” Asher cupped my shoulder. “He will help you if he can.”

  Exerting gentle pressure, he pulled me to a stop while he held and examined my finger.

  I sighed at his intensive examination. “It’s barely bleeding.”

  His eyebrows lifted in absolute seriousness.

  “It will stop on its own in a minute.”

  His mouth enveloped my fingertip, his tongue swirling over the sore spot. His teeth raked across my knuckle, and heat kindled inside of me. His dark gaze challenged me to try, daring me to stop him.

  “That’s not—” I cleared my throat. “I might be contagious.”

  The thought should have sobered him. It did me. I slid my finger past his lips.

  “I’ve been taking Henri’s plague preventative for months,” he informed me. “I’m safe.”

  “Oh.”

  “We should go.” He placed his hand at my lower back. “Old Father is waiting.”

  Ignoring the twitch in my wings, I let him guide me. “What do you think he’ll want in return?”

  “I’m not sure.” Asher sounded certain about one thing. “It won’t be what you expect.”

  That sounded ominous enough. Both in Fortunia and Erania, gold was the preferred currency. I had a little. Edan had been guarding the rest.

  What might a spirit walker ask of me? What did I have of any value to a male of his stature?

  Long before we reached Old Father’s home, we spotted him reclining in a rocking chair beneath the shade of the lone tree in his front yard. His head was tilted back, his eyes drooped shut and his mouth hung open. His snores were rhythmic and deep, and no one passing by paid any mind to his napping.

  Wishövi sat with his back against the tree’s trunk. He held a knife and whittled a piece of soap.

  “Is now a bad time?” I whispered to him.

  Old Father woke with a snort then blinked away his confusion. “I have been expecting you.”

  “We can come back later,” I offered, “after you’ve finished your nap.”

  He frowned. “Who was napping?”

  The boy at his feet chuckled.

  Old Father had slept with his walking stick across his lap. He lifted it now and thumped Wishövi on the shoulder. While the boy muttered, I made a mental note to avoid the elder’s weapon of choice.

  “Help an old grump to his feet.” He reached one hand for each of us. “Don’t just stand there.”

  Asher rushed forward and took Old Father by his elbow, and together we pulled him to stand.

  The elder grunted while he settled into his stoop over his walking stick.

  Asher walked ahead of us, pushing aside the rug covering the door so Old Father could enter.

  I stopped beside Wishövi. “Are you coming inside?”

  “Not today.” He lifted an ursus carved of soap. “I’ll be out here if he needs me.”

  I ducked under Asher’s arm and entered the modest front room of Old Father’s home. His floors were compact dirt with a large rug in the center. Cushions lined the rectangular edges, and a rocking chair made from bent saplings pinned down the center of the rug. A matching stool stood to one side.

  “Sit.” He gestured toward the cushions. “My old bones chastise me for kneeling this morning. It was expected of me then, but you will both forgive me if I sit in my chair while we three converse.”

  We waited until he seated himself and then we chose our cushions.

  “Sikya tells me you have journeyed here for knowledge.” Old Father began rocking in his chair. “She also tells me you have come for our dayflowers, as
so many others have these past few months. The day will come when a traveler comes to our city with his hands out and all we will have to place in them is our own, but that day is not today. It is the will of the two gods that we help those in need, and I must abide by their wishes. So I will help you, but the price of my knowledge is information.”

  Beside me, Asher tensed. “What did you have in mind?”

  Old Father patted the air in his direction. “The secrets are hers, and therefore she must agree.”

  “I agree to your terms.” I saw no other way to secure his cooperation.

  “You have a touch of the plague about you,” he said. “Did Henri treat you for the infection?”

  I hesitated. “He did.”

  “This will only work if we are honest with one another.” His frown cut deep into his cheeks. “If I gave you violets and called them dayflowers, you would die no matter how well you purified them. If you give me lies when I ask for truth, my people might die no matter how well I forearmed them.”

  I twisted my dress in my hands. “It is a difficult answer, not an untruthful one.”

  “Give me the whole truth, and I will teach you what you must know to survive. It is a fair trade, and it will honor the gods.” He sat still. “This is what I can offer you. You must decide if it is fair.”

  “It is more than fair.” I exhaled. “I will answer your questions in their entirety.”

  Henri had told me how rare dayflowers were, and a spirit walker’s knowledge was even rarer. To offend Old Father now was to give him grounds for refusing me.

  “I will begin as a gesture of good faith.” He pushed off the floor and set his chair creaking. “For you to understand the magnitude of the gift being given to you, you must understand dayflowers are rare. They grow only on the shores of the rivers around Beltania. For that reason, they are also called Gods’ Tears. It is said after the gods created this land, they found it so beautiful that they wept. Their tears formed the rivers, and on the shores where they beheld the fruits of their labors, flowers grew.

  “We guard the dayflowers because they are the symbol of our lives, of our spirituality.” He cast me a shrewd look. “What few know, but I suspect you do, is my former apprentice, Kokyangwmana, discovered a cure for the yellow death. I have journeyed the spiritlands in search of answers, and the gods have shown me the way. Trust Mana, they say. Protect the old ways. Guard your people. And so I must. Their will demands that we put the gift they entrusted to our people so long ago to good use.”

  I spoke up then. “Henri confided as much to me once he had devised my treatment.”

  “Then you understand my fear.” He gestured. “They are small flowers with large destinies.”

  Once word leaked, Beltania would become a mecca. “Is that why the Mimetidae are here?”

  “That is part of the reason.”

  I wondered. “Is Pascale the other?”

  “Her worries are her own,” he chastised. “Her story is not part of our bargain.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Now it is your turn.” He gave no other instruction, offering me the chance to share as I wished.

  I made the decision to trust him with the entire truth, even if I must surrender it in small bites.

  “I attended a night market in Fortunia some months ago. On my way back to my master’s home, I was attacked by a winged female. She was a harbinger, though I didn’t know what that meant then. Her name was Idra.” My hand went to my scars. “She abducted me, and she placed her sigil on me.”

  I cleared my throat as the words cut their way free. “When I woke, I was in a room full of others like me. They had all been stolen from their homes by harbingers, and their throats…” I covered my mouth, swallowing to keep down my breakfast. “I will never forget the first time I saw a sigil, when I realized what it was Idra had implanted in me. The reality of it was far worse than my imaginings.”

  Old Father tapped his feet while he rocked. “Can you describe them to me?”

  “I— Yes.” I dug my fingernails into my palm. “As I said, harbingers create them. They are living creatures, but their shells are hard, metallic, copper colored. They resemble wasps to me. Idra called them sigils. From what I saw, a sigil lives on a harbinger until she removes it. Then, if she places one on a person, a host, they become what she is. Henri discovered sigils are venomous, and they infect a host with a variant plague strain that turns its victim into a fledgling harbinger.” I winced. “Into me.”

  By the time I had finished, Asher sat beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

  “Mana has cured almost all her cases,” Old Father said into the silence. “The sick who ingested the cure and died, died true deaths. They did not rise. Yet you are resistant to such treatments?”

  “Yes.” Life would be simpler if that weren’t the case.

  Both the cure and the preventative were derived from dayflower essential oil. It was safe to mix into a beverage of choice, usually herbal tea. My tincture included oil but also contained sigil venom. Thanks to the latter addition, it meant a lifetime of needles for me.

  He nodded gravely. “When I look at you from the spirit plane, I see the plague lives in you.”

  “The harbinger who took me…” My hand rose to the lump of scar tissue at my throat. “Her sigil was here. When Edan rescued me from Idra, he removed the sigil so the Necrita couldn’t control me. But Henri told me later that when the sigil was removed, it pumped venom into my body that would have killed me in a matter of days. If not for Henri, and your dayflowers, I wouldn’t be here today.”

  “Mana has told me he has a good heart, but I know his clan. The Araneidae give with one hand and take with the other.” His lips pursed. “What did they receive in return for offering such help?”

  “At first I was a novelty, I think. Henri wanted a live harbinger to study so that he could perfect the plague serum.” He had been kind to us both, though, and I could hardly blame him for wanting a return on such a dangerous investment. I had been out of my mind with pain and from withdrawal by the time he examined me. “I was released from study when another candidate became available. Her name was Lailah. She was a full harbinger, a vile creature beyond saving. She had murdered her son, Paladin Hishima of the Segestriidae clan. As punishment, she was exiled to Erania as a test subject.”

  I shared a reassuring glance with Asher. “But it was a ploy, you see. Lailah schemed to infiltrate the Araneidae nest, and Henri’s agenda gave her the access she required. Once inside, she discovered the weakest point in the nest’s defenses. After she escaped, she guided her army of risers through it.”

  “That was how the battle for Erania began,” Asher said.

  I nodded. “No one would have survived if not for Henri’s fiancée.”

  “Zuri accepted Lailah’s sigil in order to save her family,” Asher said. “Lailah had seized control of me by then, but I watched them climb the wall surrounding Erania. Lailah wanted a better view of the fighting.” He grimaced. “While she watched the spectacle, Zuri tackled her and they both fell.”

  Old Father had stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Zuri killed a harbinger?”

  “We think so, yes.” It burned to admit, “Zuri’s condition was critical. We were unable to search for Lailah’s body until after a contingent of risers had swept through the area. If she died, they would have consumed her remains. If she lived, they would have carried her to safety. We just aren’t sure.”

  He grunted. “To fight with a harbinger, she must be brave. Good for Henri. Is she well now?”

  “She was when we left.” I smiled. “Zuri is bold. I think she will be good for him.”

  “I wonder…” He tapped his foot. “How did she survive the fall?”

  We had been so deep in conversation that Asher’s voice startled me. “Marne saved her.” He looked at me. “Without her, Zuri’s bravery would have killed her.”

  “Huh.” Old Father pushed off the floor with his toe. “That explai
ns the debt Henri owes her.”

  “Yes.” As thanks, he had offered me gold, medicine and security Edan and I never had before.

  Nodding thoughtfully, he hummed. “If she leapt from so high a wall, how did you save her?”

  My palms went damp as I pushed off the floor to stand. My clumsy feet tangled in the fabric of my makeshift dress. I reached for the top fold that I had pinned into a cape, took a deep breath and unpinned the fabric. Air rushed over my wings, and they rustled eagerly. I stood there, with shoulders hunched, grateful my back was to him so that I could avoid witnessing his reaction to my deformity.

  “By all that is holy,” the elder said with awe. Rough hands pinched the edge of one wing.

  I spun, arms raised to fend off an attack, but Old Father didn’t flinch.

  “Forgive me.” I eased a step back to calm the rush of blood in my ears. That slight provocation was enough to set my stomach growling and my fingernails curling. “I would rather you not touch.”

  “No,” he murmured. “Forgive me. I should never have touched a female without her consent.”

  “I understand the fascination.” I fanned them behind me for his inspection. “They are—”

  “Beautiful.” He squinted to see them better. “What a gift the gods have given you.”

  “Most days they feel like more of a burden,” I admitted.

  He began circling me. “How long can you live without treatment?”

  I put a hand over my unsettled stomach. “Several days.”

  “How long will your supplies last?”

  “Several days,” Asher answered for me, and since he had been my nurse, he would know.

  “How long will it take to distill more?” I knew from Henri the cure itself required days to create.

  Old Father laughed at some private musing. “Several days.”

  Asher tensed at that. “When will you begin teaching her?”

  “Tomorrow night. Be here at sundown.” The elder drew himself taller. “The fewer witnesses to what we do, the better.”

  My wings fluttered. “Thank you.”

  “Come alone.” He shook a crooked finger at me. “You must learn to care for yourself.”