“…do not expect to have to tell you again!” Wendara, one of the oldest Erith Arrow had ever met, far older than Eimille vel Falsen, was taking her anger out on one of the younger laundresses, a tiny Erith woman who was new since Arrow had last been here.
She stood still with her bundle, waiting to be noticed. Even here, the laundry workers exhausted, it would not take long. A few moments later every eye in the room found her.
“I have no time for you.” Wendara’s tone matched Seggerat’s for indifference.
“Mistress, I am needed. Taellan business, and Preceptor’s orders,” Arrow began. She did not have the time or energy to spare to do her own laundry again.
“I do not care!” The shriek sent all other inhabitants of the vast room huddling down, shoulders bowed, making themselves as small as possible while they continued to work as hard as they could. No one wanted to catch Wendara’s eye.
“Mistress,” she began again. Wendara had seen the clothes in the basket, and the state of them. Snake venom, dirt, road salt from the human world, and a few spatters of blood.
“Lazy, stupid, incompetent creature. How is it you manage to …”
The silence was shocking enough that everyone momentarily stopped working. Arrow turned her head. Something that silenced Wendara was something worth seeing.
Kester vo Halsfeld was in the doorway, faint frown creasing his brow. He must have come here from the Preceptor’s study, faint chalk marks along one sleeve.
“Arrow,” he nodded to her, “Mistress.”
“My lord.” Arrow made an awkward bow around her laundry.
“I heard a raised voice. Is there difficulty?” the Taellan addressed Arrow.
“There is too much to be done without this creature adding to the work,” Wendara spat with as much venom as the snake.
“You do all seem to be working late,” he commented in a quiet voice that had Arrow’s defensive wards prickling. Young for a Taellan, yes, but not stupid.
“We are.” The laundry mistress was tone deaf.
“And yet not one item of power is being used?”
“Teaches bad habits,” Wendara answered readily, confident in her reasoning. “This lot are slovenly.”
Arrow cast her eye over the room, noting the tired faces, stooped shoulders, and swollen hands. The room was always the same. Full of soapy steam, the harsh breathing of exhausted workers and Wendara’s nasal tones. The large, magically-driven washing vats remained unused in favour of the much smaller washing boards and tubs that required manual labour.
“It seems you are quite dissatisfied with your position, Mistress Wendara,” the Taellan went on in that mild tone.
“I? Not I.”
“The Taellan does not require its servants work half to death, Mistress. Use those devices,” he nodded to the vats, “wherever you can. And deal with Arrow’s laundry at once. The Taellan requires her service.”
“The Steward …” Wendara began, face paling. Arrow’s ears pricked. What might the Steward have to say?
“I will speak with the Steward.” Kester inclined his head to her, and then to the silent, staring, workers, some of whom were close to tears. “Good evening to you all. Arrow, walk with me.”
“My lord.” Arrow hastily put her basket of laundry down in front of the astonished and speechless laundry mistress and went after the Taellan, struggling to catch him as he was striding into the night at a fast pace.
“How long has that been going on?” he demanded, still walking.
“As long as I have been at the Taellaneth.”
“It will stop.”
Not sure what was required of her, Arrow said nothing, holding in her questions from long-ingrained habit and, now that her temper had cooled, concern she might be rude. She was still oddly disappointed with him for not speaking up in Kallish’s defence earlier.
He halted amid the trees at the edge of the Taellaneth’s prize garden, staring out across the glimmerlights. The brighter lights of the manor houses were faintly visible.
“I cannot stand bullies.”
“No, my lord?” The confidence was unexpected, her hasty words in response out before she could check them, whatever demon had taken hold of her in the Taellan’s meeting room that morning rising up again.
“No.” He had taken no offence, instead seemed almost amused. “The White Guard understands that we serve at the Queen’s will, and the Taellan in her absence. There are many ways of living with honour.”
Arrow turned that over in her mind for a moment. The spark of anger at Kallish’s demotion was still bright. She discovered that she had enough self-control to say nothing and used it.
“You do not agree?”
It took her a moment to form a reply.
“I have not given the matter much thought. My lord.”
“Mages do not wish to live with honour?” He sounded curious. She had no idea what he could see on her face. She could see nothing apart from his silhouette in the trees.
“They may do.”
“But you do not?”
“I have not had the opportunity to find out.” The spark flared, bright flame burning now. She took a quick breath, waiting for the oath spells to wake and stab her wrists. Talking back to a member of the Taellan was not proper service.
“I am sorry.”
The sincerity struck her silent again, ears burning in embarrassment. The silence stretched, brittle and full of some meaning that escaped her completely.
“Have I made matters worse at the laundry?”
“Your instructions were direct and should be followed. But the Steward will require to intervene.”
“He cannot be unaware.”
“Mistress Wendara wears more than one face.”
“I see.” A half-laugh in the dark. “Well, that explains the difficulty you have with your appearance.” She clamped her jaw shut, ears prickling with heat under her hair. Another difficult silence. “I should seek out the Steward.”
“In the main building. He is likely still in his office. Do you …”
“I will find him. Thank you. You should rest. There is much to do.” He moved, and she could not follow it fully in the dark. “Good night, Arrow.”
“Good night, my lord.” Ears still burning, Arrow waited for him to move away before heading back to her residence. There was indeed much to do, a never-ending list of tasks, when she would much rather dissect the odd conversation she had just had, wonder when she could expect another reprimand from the Steward over her appearance, or consider the interesting concept of how a demotion could be honourable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Back in human clothing, Arrow met Matthias and a half-dozen heavily-armed shifkin at the Taellaneth gates the next morning. With the grace of an evening to herself she had had time to consider what she had learned, and what was missing. She had also woken to find a small miracle in the shape of her laundry, clean, pressed and mended, outside her door.
There was a grim task ahead, to stop the surjusi and the summoner, her stomach twisting at the thought of taking another life. But it had to be done.
“Hey, Arrow,” Matthias said genially. The shifkin had parked their vehicles a prudent distance from the gates, still within Erith bow shot, and were being deliberately provocative to the gate guard, if Arrow was any judge. One ‘kin perched on the roof of a vehicle with a human-style newspaper open in his hands, a trio played cards on the front end of one vehicle, the remaining ‘kin apart from Matthias leant against the other vehicle, sharpening knives on a whetstone.
“Good day to you.” She stepped out of the Taellaneth’s gates and heard them slam shut behind her. There was a faint creak from one of the watchtowers and she looked up to see a pair of Erith archers poised, bows drawn. Matthias was aware of them, eyes gleaming with unexpected and rare mischief as he waited for her to join him.
“You got the message?”
“I was advised that the Prime wished for my presence,” she confirmed.
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“They didn’t show you the note? Shame. Pa spent a while composing it.”
“I believe it had the intended impact.” Her mouth twitched. She wished she had seen the note.
“We brought your car back. From the township. Your mechanic seemed distressed.” His eyes still gleamed.
“Yes. Thank you.” Arrow could only imagine the mechanic’s reaction to armed ‘kin appearing with one of his precious vehicles. “I wondered what had happened to it.” One of many loose ends she had tried to gather overnight.
Matthias’ face lightened into an unexpected grin before he turned to business.
“Pa’s at the muster house in Lix. We can meet him there.”
“Has something happened?” she asked.
“More of nothing. No new leads. Still can’t figure out where Marianne was in that missing time. ATV rental records are a mess. No help. Four months. We should be able to find some trace of her.” Matthias was frustrated. Arrow hesitated before speaking again.
“Would it be possible to go and see Lucy Steers?” She kept her eyes on him as she spoke, not sure how widely known Marianne’s defection was. “She did not tell us everything,” she added when Matthias stayed silent.
“Sure.” Matthias’ humour vanished with his agreement. She wondered what he felt about Lucy and her presence in Marianne’s life. “I’ll get Pa to meet us there.”
“Thank you.” She got into the passenger seat of one of the vehicles at his direction. He took the driver’s seat, the other ‘kin fitting into the other vehicle at some unseen signal. They drove back along the road towards Lix.
“Do you mind off-roading? I hate Lix traffic.”
“Off-roading?” she repeated the unfamiliar term. “I do not know.”
“Hold on, then.”
Arrow had thought that the drive down Farraway Mountain was the most terrifying experience possible in a vehicle, and now discovered that it was in fact Matthias Farraway’s idea of off-roading. The vehicle veered sharply off the smooth road surface and bumped over the rough ground that surrounded Lix, jolting wildly. She gave an undignified squeak of fright more than once, clinging on to her seat with both hands.
Avoiding Lix traffic, driving over rough ground, they arrived at the other side of Lix in record time, Arrow breathless and Matthias grinning again. He was whistling cheerfully as he drove them through the estate to Lucy’s house.
The Prime was waiting outside, next to a sleek black vehicle of his own. It was only then that Arrow realised that the other vehicle that had been outside the Taellaneth had not followed them.
“They’ll go back to the muster house. We can call them if we need them. But it’s Lucy. Doubt that we’ll need back-up.” He sounded confident. Arrow was not so sure.
“Arrow,” Zachary opened her door for her, something which no one had ever done before. She thanked him, stepping out on trembling legs. “You look a bit shaken up. Matt’s driving that bad?”
“It was unusual,” she conceded, drawing near-identical grins from both.
“You wanted to see Lucy.” He turned serious.
“I want to know more about Marianne’s last task. The one that took her to Hallveran.”
“Good. So do I. Lucy’s in.” The gates opened as he approached, glancing over his shoulder at Matthias.
“Don’t worry. Easier if I wait here.” Matthias nodded, and stayed with the vehicles.
“Easier?” The question was out before Arrow could check it.
“Lucy and Matt can be prickly,” Zachary said calmly, not checking in his stride up the driveway. Arrow supposed she should have guessed that. Matthias was intensely loyal to his father.
The front door opened as they approached, and Lucy stepped out to meet them, arms folded across her stomach. She was as immaculately presented as before, jaw set in a stubborn line.
“What do you want?” The hostility was not targeted at either Zachary or Arrow.
“I have questions for you about Marianne’s last task.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Lucy,” the Prime began.
“No! She’s dead!” Lucy’s lip trembled, eyes spilling over with tears. Arrow traced the red in her eyes and wondered if she had been crying all morning.
“Yes, she is,” Zachary said gently. “And we are trying to find out who killed her.”
“Well, it wasn’t a client,” Lucy snapped.
“May we come in?” Arrow asked.
“Can I stop you?” Lucy asked bitterly.
“Of course. If you do not wish us inside, we can talk here,” Arrow answered. Lucy glared, temper overriding grief.
“Fine. Come in. Let’s get this over with.”
Arrow followed Lucy’s straight back and sharp strides through the hallway she remembered from her previous visit and into a large, light room with soft furniture that looked like it was never used, the only personal touch a set of framed photographs on a side table. Marianne and Lucy in happier times, Marianne’s face alive with laughter and mischief, Lucy smiling freely without any constraint of grief or anger. Lucy perched at the edge of one chair, Zachary took another, and Arrow settled on the one nearest to her.
“So?” The challenge was still there.
“Marianne had a commission, you said, which took her to Hallveran and as far as the north island. What more can you tell us?”
“I told you. It was ordinary, apart from the travel. Client wanted something. Marianne found it.”
“Details, please.” Arrow’s eyes narrowed. Lucy’s outrage had shifted. An actress playing a role, now, rather than the furious and hurt woman who had met them at the door. Some instinct told her to keep pressing.
“Fine. A series of jobs. Paintings. Carvings. Not very valuable. No idea why he wanted them. All over the place. Hallveran. Cyrus. North island.”
“Do you have photographs of the items? Information on where they were found? Details of the client?” Arrow pressed.
“Damnit. It’s my business. I can’t just hand over …”
Lucy stopped at the sound of ‘kin anger. Zachary was perfectly still, attention fixed entirely on her, the growing sound of his anger filling the room.
“Stop it.” A low, snarled, command. “Give Arrow all the information she wants.”
“You are not my leader.”
“You were sleeping with my mate. You have no right to her secrets,” Zachary snapped, temper flaring, old anger and bitter hurt coating his words. Arrow did not think that Lucy saw the hurt, though, pale with her own rage.
“You wouldn’t let her go! She asked you.”
“She asked. She knew the answer before she asked. The only reason she asked was because you insisted.”
“You said no!”
“Stop.” The weight of the Prime’s power washed over the room. Arrow found herself immune again, but Lucy was not. She gasped, glaring at Zachary.
“This is my house …”
“And you’re hiding. What are you hiding, Lucy?” His voice was soft, the gentle quiet of a hunter.
Lucy did not answer with words. She stood up, stalked out of the room, threw open a door somewhere else on the ground floor of the house, was absent a few more moments before she stomped back into the room, a thin sheaf of papers in her hands which she threw at the Prime. He made no move to catch them. The papers spread out as they fell, landing in a messy pile around his feet along with a small plastic object Arrow did not recognise.
“Happy?”
Arrow paid them no heed as they locked eyes over her head, her own attention on the papers.
“Danes.” Forgetting dignity, Arrow knelt on the floor, gathering the papers. “Danes. Hugh Danes.”
“The name means something?”
“He is known to the Erith,” Arrow answered, most of her attention on the information sheet that had come to rest at her feet. Hugh Danes. Doctor. Surgeon, in fact. Wholly human. His address was listed, in one of the wealthier parts of Lix.
“L
ike Rowan?” The Prime’s voice was hard. Arrow glanced up to answer him and caught a strange expression on Lucy’s face. She rose to her feet, the sheet with Hugh Danes’ information crushed between her fingers.
“You know,” she told Lucy.
“I know lots of things.”
“Arrow’s right. Hell. Whatever this is, you know. This got Marianne killed. Don’t you care about that?”
The sharp crack was Lucy’s palm meeting Zachary’s cheek. He did not move, staring at her, eyes bright with power.
“Well?” he asked.
“Hugh Danes is my cousin,” Lucy admitted, voice tight. Arrow felt a shock go through her.
“But you know the name Rowan as well.”
“Old friends of the family,” Lucy sniffed. “Never liked them.”
“And Hessman?” Arrow discovered that she could growl almost as well as any shifkin. Lucy’s paling face told its own story. “This is awful,” she muttered to herself.
“What’s wrong?”
In her distraction she had spoken in Erith, but the Prime’s sharp look suggested he had understood her.
“Hessman. Danes. Rowan. The Descendants.” She shivered. Awful did not begin to describe it. Descendants of humans who had threatened the Erith before.
“Arrow, I have no damn idea what you’re talking about.” And was fast running out of patience.
“Where are they?” Arrow demanded of Lucy.
“I don’t know.”
“Lucy Steers.” Arrow laced power into her voice, drawing a wary glance from Zachary and a terrified stare from the human woman.
“I don’t know,” she repeated, but this time Arrow believed her. “That’s Hugh’s address. The Rowans haven’t lived in Lix for years. Just Hallveran. Not even sure there’s any of them left after … everything that happened there.”
“Hessman?”
“There’s a Hessman that lived near Danes. Long time ago.”
“Somewhere to start at least,” Arrow muttered, releasing her power, and kneeling again to gather all the papers and the strange plastic thing. Some human technology. All together Marianne’s file, she guessed. A few pages of handwritten notes and some printed text. “This is the last commission that Marianne Stillwater undertook. There are no others?”
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