Birds of Prophecy (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 3)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  The passing of the Alien and Sedition Act didn't suggest that direction either, which meant I was missing something. Oh, how I missed Ben Franklin. Together we might unravel this mystery. For now, I would have to do it myself.

  I placed the letter back in the satchel and searched for the others so I might memorize the names and addresses for later surveillance. I'd found two more when I heard the shuffle of feet coming from the bedroom.

  With a hasty breath I blew out the candle, but it was too late. Myna's sleepy form entered the kitchen.

  I couldn't tell what made me do it. Instinct? Fear? It didn't happen like the time in Rowan's Bone House when pressure formed behind my eyes before I touched the girl's arm and healed it.

  My palm slapped against the side of Myna's head right before she turned. An energy turned my arm translucent. The sudden surge was painful, like dull knives were being scraped along my bones.

  The energy passed into Myna's skull and she collapsed onto the floor before I could catch her. I gave my hand a wary glance.

  Then a searing migraine overtook me and I doubled over, fingertips to my temples. When at last I could straighten, I saw a crackling light form in the street. Peering past the curtain, I saw a cloaked figure in the afterglow. An Empty Man.

  I carefully let the curtain fall into place, holding my breath that he didn't see it. A simple wooden door wouldn't protect me from the lava-like projectiles fired from his arm.

  The sounds of the Empty Man lingering outside Myna's house reached me in the kitchen. I could hear the faint clicks and whirs of its contraption body.

  Myna stirred restlessly on the floor. She was unconscious but waking.

  It might have only been a minute that the Empty Man stood outside, but it felt like an hour. Eventually, I could no longer sense the presence of the creature.

  I couldn't wait any longer, so I moved to the door, opening it a hand’s width. Further down the street, the cloaked form of the Empty Man moved away. I slipped out and hurried in the opposite direction as I heard the grunts of Myna awakening. After turning down the next street, I checked behind to make sure the Empty Man was not following.

  It took an hour of skulking through the shadows, but I made it home without the Empty Man finding me. Once inside, I leaned against the door and stared at my hand. I'd learned three things this evening. The first was that I could do magic, though I didn't think I could control it. The second was that the Empty Men could detect the use of it, which made my newfound power rather useless since I didn't know if it could protect me from them.

  The last and most important was that Fale O'Dell was dead and I had not killed him. I feared the prophecy was coming true and that nothing could stop the coming destruction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I spent the next week surveying the homes of the three Loyalists, keeping my movements to the day when the streets were busy and I could blend into the crowd. The letters had warned of a Suspicious Woman, though thankfully, O'Dell had been too hasty to describe me.

  Mr. Jackson, the first, was a lawyer on the east side of town. I watched him going into his place of business, a brick-front building with a brass sign. He specialized in trade agreements and business appeared brisk.

  The second conspirator was Mrs. Sully, a gray-haired widow who lived along the wharf. She kept the plants in her window boxes well-tended, but after a while, I realized it was an excuse to watch the comings and goings of ships.

  The last was a Dr. Nottinghouse. I didn't get to see much of him since he mostly spent his time inside and had long hours. He was portly and wore expensive wigs.

  The identity of the other conspirators was unknown. During my investigations, I didn't detect the passing of letters, though I could not stay for long periods of time since they knew they were being watched. But I worried that they had contact with the Gamayun, so I spent a few of the days watching the forest. I saw no one enter or leave, but my watch was not absolute, nor could I guard every entry to its murky depths.

  I also didn't know if I'd made the right decision in allowing the letters to be delivered. On one hand, the murder of Misters Hold and O'Dell might trigger the Loyalists to suggest America was moving against them, but it didn't seem a strong enough motivation for war, especially when the Federalists were in charge of the American government and wanted closer ties to England.

  If I had taken the satchel, preventing the delivery of the letters, then the Loyalists would know nothing of my presence and would make assumptions in the absence of facts. But once again, I couldn't see how this circle of sympathizers could cause mass destruction.

  I'd spent some of my time watching the forest, because the Gamayun seemed to be the link that tied everything together. And if the Gamayun's powers were true, then it wouldn't mattered which course of action I might have taken.

  Except Rowan had expressed that a strong mind could bend the prophecy to their will, as she had. I didn't have the slightest idea how to accomplish such a feat, but it suggested that I needed to learn more, despite my promise to Rowan that I would ask no further questions about the bird-women of prophecy.

  Either way, there was only six weeks until the Winter Solstice.

  Time was running out to find a solution. While Rowan made me promise not to ask about the Gamayun, she didn't say I couldn't learn more about her, which I hoped might illuminate an unseen path.

  She was more than a little surprised when I showed up at her door.

  There were only a few patients in the front room. She crouched over a mill worker with smudges of grease on his cheek. She was setting his broken arm with splints. Her gaze was weary, though it was still morning, too early for the day to have worn on her.

  Her normally bloodred lips were pale pink and her skin was slightly gray. The hair around her head was barely tamed. Harvest was nowhere to be found.

  "Katerina, my love, you have returned," she said. "Are you well, you look ragged."

  "I might say the same for you," I said.

  Rowan patted the mill worker on the back, gave him some instructions for care of his broken arm, and sent him out.

  Heavy thoughts lay behind Rowan's eyes when she looked up.

  "Have you been sick?" I inquired.

  Her smile was lost to the sadness on her face. "For much of my life I have dealt with a particular illness. Sometimes I am able to forget it. Other times, it plagues my every thought."

  "I'm sorry, Rowan. Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all, just ask. I would do it for you," I said, meaning every bit of it. Despite knowing little about Rowan, except what I had observed in her house of healing, I felt a great kinship.

  "Your offer is kindly taken, but refused," said Rowan, who looked like she was trying to stay cheerful, but failing most moments. "It's a burden I cannot share."

  It wounded my heart to see her as such and I took her into my arms, letting Rowan bury her face in the space between my neck and shoulder. I held her for a long time.

  It felt strange to be the one giving comfort to Rowan Blade. She had a strength that went deep, like a house built on bedrock. But I also knew that even strong men and women had moments of weakness.

  Many nights I’d comforted Catherine in her bedroom, letting her lay in my arms and speak softly about her troubles. Which counts conspired against her. The rumors traveling like rats in the dark. Other nations opposed to the Russian Empire's growth.

  Truthfully, it relieved me to see such concern wracking the empress. Power without doubt was madness. That Catherine had cared enough to hurt showed me she had not lost her humanity.

  In this same way, I was drawn to Rowan. How many wounds and scars on her soul did she have? The cuts and nicks of daily struggles added up, even to one such as she.

  Though I knew little about the circumstances of her life, I knew the woman, because I had known women like her.

  Eventually, Rowan pulled away, gave me a kiss, and wandered to the alchemy table. She poured a clear liquid into a pewter mug
and drained it.

  When she turned back, the chains that had been weighing her down seemed less burdensome. She was able to put aside those previous thoughts enough to smile.

  "Where have you been this last month? I've missed you," said Rowan.

  "My apologies that I could not attend your side. Life always becomes more complicated the more I try to simplify," I said.

  Rowan leaned her head back and let out an honest laugh. "Truer words have never been spoken. Is there anything I could do to help? Ask and I shall be your taskmistress."

  "No," I said. "Like you, my burdens are mine and mine alone, as much as I wish that I could share them."

  Rowan's eyes creased. "I feel we are like sisters, but we know so little about each other."

  "Fair enough. Truth for truth. What do you want to know?" I asked.

  Rowan seemed reluctant to pursue this path, but gave her assent with a nod. I extended my hand with a flourish to indicate she should go first.

  "Why did you come to America?" she asked eventually.

  An easy one. "I was exiled and wanted a fresh start to reinvent myself."

  Rowan gave a nod.

  "Where is your home?" I asked.

  Her eyes sparkled as she lifted her arms. "Right here. Of course, I know you mean where I come from. But my home was destroyed a long time ago. It is no more."

  "That wasn't a fair answer," I said.

  She shrugged. "It's the truth."

  "Can you give me a name?"

  "You wouldn't know it," she said.

  "So I might know you better. You know I come from Russia," I said. "I want to know the name of your home."

  Rowan poured another mug and drained it, watching me the whole time.

  "Trevalorian."

  "That's a beautiful name," I said.

  "It was." Rowan paused. "Why are you sending out those pamphlets?"

  "You know that's me?" I asked in complete surprise.

  "I told you we're sisters."

  "I had to do something," I said. "The Alien and Sedition Act turns democracy into a dictatorship, limits free speech, and gives the government too much power, all in the name of fear. I came to America to escape from tyrants, not welcome new ones."

  "Fear is a fatal disease to government," said Rowan.

  "How do you know Ben Franklin?" I asked.

  "We met a few years ago while he was on a journey. I've met few men like him," she said.

  A few years ago? I thought he'd been in Philadelphia at that time, though something tugged at my recollection, like peeling paint from one painting and revealing another. Somehow, the last few years were a palimpsest of memories.

  Her tongue tapped mischievously on the bottom of her teeth. "What were you before you came to Philadelphia?"

  I hesitated for a moment. The truth could be dangerous, but if I wanted truth from her, I had to play the game.

  "A princess," I said.

  She responded as if I'd slapped her, then hid her distaste behind a grimace of apology.

  "I have renounced my claims, if that means anything to you," I said.

  "I'm sorry, Katerina, I have reacted poorly. I just wasn't expecting you to say that. I didn't realize that..."

  Rowan left the words hanging. I finished the sentence in my head. I didn't realize that you were one of them. I didn't realize that I couldn't trust you. I didn't realize that you were a lying strumpet.

  "Katerina, please don't react that way. It just came as a surprise," she said.

  I thought I knew you, was the sentiment.

  "My turn," I said, wondering what it meant that she had strong feelings against royalty. "Why do you frequent battlefields?"

  "Why do you think?" she asked accusingly. "I am a healer. I heal what I can amid that destruction. You have not seen what I have seen. What men do to each other."

  This wasn't working out the way I'd hoped it would.

  Rowan appeared almost too pained to ask a question.

  When she looked up, there was a sharpness to it, like she was ready to wield that bone knife to flay.

  "Have you ever killed someone, Princess?" She held up her hand, staying my response. "Not with your hand, but with your words."

  Princess. The title had once been a source of pride when I was too young to know better. In my old age, it was an insult. And the bitterness of the question twisted my gut until I wanted to shout.

  "Yes. Yes and yes," I said, remembering the many times my whispers resulted in killings. "With my words I have killed more than I care to know. I am not proud of it, but those words were necessary."

  Rowan's lips made a grim line. "That is why I frequent battlefields, because a princess has words."

  The recrimination was a blast into my face. I felt the hypocrite for my pamphlets, decrying tyranny when I had once been a part of it. Yes, Empress Catherine was the best of them, but she was still a ruler and people had died for opposing her.

  "This is why I came to America. I needed to change. Amend for what had come before," I said.

  "I thought you were exiled? Did you leave because of that or had you made your decision before that event?" she said.

  Always this. Must I pay this price over and over?

  "I was exiled first," I said. "I had stayed only because of my son. He was in danger and Emperor Paul did not trust me."

  "I can't imagine why not," said Rowan.

  "Have we abandoned our game of questions? Is this an interrogation now?" I asked, venom lacing my words.

  "I thought I knew you," she said.

  "You do. Your past is not all blue skies. I doubt it. I think this fascination with battlefields is a penance or something else entirely. You frequent the battlefield not to heal them but yourself," I scolded, knowing it was true by her reaction.

  This seemed to break something inside of her, as if I'd thrown a score of children from a high cliff.

  "Get out," said Rowan with tears in her eyes. "I cannot speak to you now."

  I tried to figure out how our game of questions had gone so horribly wrong. I was so angry I had fists at my side, yet I wanted to take Rowan in my arms and apologize over and over until she relented.

  Instead of fixing it, I fled the Bone House as if it were filled with screaming apparitions. The further I got from Rowan, the more I knew I'd made a mistake in leaving. If the Gamayun were right, I would be dead in little more than a month. I did not want to poison Rowan's feelings for me, nor mine for her, but I could not turn back, my pain was too real.

  How could we humans be so foolish as to wound each other when our needs were so great? Was this self-destruction a fault that plagued us, the fear of revealing our true, messy selves?

  As I made my way home, my thoughts chipped away at the thick paint of past events. Hints of other things, problems lost to either time or magic, began to take shape, though my understanding of them grew no clearer.

  I approached my death confused, without answers, and entirely friendless. What could possibly wound me next?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Time wields a cruel whip. The next day I was sore and contemplating a bath when the Warden arrived.

  As soon as I heard the demanding knock, I knew there'd been another murder.

  "No more lies, Katerina," he said when I flung open the door, ready to turn him away. "You know something's going on and you're not telling me."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I said, stepping outside and pulling the door shut.

  Simon tried to see behind me, but I blocked sight of the printing press in my front room, or at least hoped I did.

  "There's been another murder," he said accusingly.

  "What? Are you blaming me?"

  He was digging his thumb into his palm.

  "No." He paused. Frowned. "I don't think so. But what the blazes is going on, Katerina?"

  "How can I know if you won't tell me?"

  "I think you know the victim. Mrs. Sully."

  The name caught me by surprise.
I placed a hand over my open mouth.

  "You do know her," he said, jamming a finger in my direction.

  "Someone saw me watching her?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't lie.

  "You admit it?"

  "I admit watching her. Nothing about her murder. She was alive when I saw her two days ago," I said.

  "How long have you been spying? And why won't you tell me what's going on?" he said, pacing, then checking over his shoulder. "Can't we go inside? I don't like talking about this in the street. I'm beginning to suspect something larger lurks behind these murders."

  He had a point. I didn't want our discussion to somehow trigger the prophecy.

  "If I let you inside, you have to keep what you see a secret," I said, wagging my finger at him.

  "I can't promise anything if you're breaking the law," he said.

  "You came to me for help, remember."

  His gaze narrowed at the implied threat. "I'll drag you to the courthouse and put you in stocks if you don't want to cooperate."

  "Just promise me you'll keep this a secret," I said.

  "I feel like you have me under the cat's paw, but I promise. Let us sort this unpleasant business out," he said, taking off his tricorn hat and hitting his leg with it.

  Right as we entered, I remembered Aught. Seeing the Warden, the creature leapt onto the stairs and scurried to the second floor. He was only a flash of golden light though the clicking of his joints had been quite distinctive.

  "What was that?" asked the Warden.

  "I have taken a canine for companionship, though he is rather shy," I explained.

  The Warden had his hands at his sides as he stared at my press.

  "You're Humble Justice, aren't you?" he asked.

  "Hard to deny it now."

  He sighed. "I should report you to the Hall for violation of the Alien and Sedition Act. All newspapers are to be registered with the government."

  "You promised," I reminded him.