Shadows Past

by Lorna Freeman

  “So witnessed,” Idwal said over the babbling man. “Is there evidence in this matter that anyone else wishes to have heard?” No one said anything and he turned back to me. “Then, I declare Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan the true winner of this race.” He suddenly grinned, lines fanning out from his green eyes. “And any and all wagers must be honored.”

  The silence that had surrounded us abruptly disappeared as the Freston patrollers and King’s Own exploded into cheers. Apparently some heavy betting had been happening during my wild ride. I wasn’t thinking much about coins changing hands, though. My mind had gone back to Lisle and how close I’d come to waling on a kneeling man.

  “This is bad,” Ryson said, his voice quiet in the cheerful pandemonium of people settling bets. The cleared space around us had mostly collapsed, though a knot of Own surrounded Jusson, Thadro, and Idwal.

  “It could’ve been,” I said. I took another deep breath and let it out. “But I didn’t touch him—”

  Ryson frowned at me. “What?”

  “He means the effing sod interrupting you, Rabbit,” Jeff said.

  “Truth,” Groskin put in. “Idiot.” They all glared at Lisle now standing with the other riders, all of them surrounded by a group of Idwal’s armsmen. Retraction or not, I supposed His Lordship wasn’t done with them yet.

  Then on the other hand, it might have been because of the continued dark looks not only the guards and soldiers, but also the sailors and armsmen were casting at them. To have interrupted a sword dance was bad enough. To have interrupted it with false accusations was a portend of doom. Despite their fattening purses, I saw troopers follow Jasry’s example and aim warding signs against evil at the miserable riders, and I tried to ignore how my spine wanted to stiffen.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah, it’s bad. It’s very bad.” Reaching down, I picked up the two swords, handing Ryson his before sheathing mine. Then I took my cloak from Jeff and settled it over my cold shoulders, before taking back my ash-wood staff. The sun had passed the midday mark and began its downward descent to evening, with all the accompanying chill.

  “Here,” Jeff said, handing me a purse. It was heavy.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Your winnings,” Jeff said. “Mearden didn’t place a bet for you like he said he would, so Groskin, Ryson, and me staked you.”

  Despite the recent happenings, I found myself grinning, hefting the weighty purse before attaching it next to my slimmer one on my belt. “Thanks—”

  “Betting? What did I miss?”

  Readjusting my cloak, I aimed my grin at the wolf who’d suddenly appeared among us. “Everything.”

  “Oh?” Kveta asked. “And here you are, little Rabblet, dab smack in the middle of it all.”

  “Seems like,” I said, my grin fading. “Where’ve you been, Kveta? Searching for Captain Javes’ rum?”

  Kveta made a face. “Goodness, yes, with honored Idwal’s steward. Think we’ve been in just about every nook, cranny, and hidey-hole the castle has to offer. Still didn’t find them, though.”

  “Did you check the barracks or stables?” I asked. “I think that was where Laurel and Wyln found him last night.”

  “Ah,” Kveta said as she looked towards the scorched buildings. Then she shook her head. “I’ll let someone else search there; I’ve stuck my nose in enough dusty places.”

  “Ryson and I have been through the barracks early this morning, Captain Kveta,” Groskin said, “and we didn’t see any stray bottles of rum. But I can send a couple of troopers to search more thoroughly.”

  “No, no,” Kveta said. “Don’t interrupt their time at the fair. The steward or, better yet, head groomer can search.” Her gaze went to Lady Margriet and Berenice as they slipped through the crowd to join Lord Idwal. Though some of the crowd had drifted back to the fair booths and attractions, many more still lingered in hopes that there was still more drama to be had, their gazes riveted on Lady Margriet as she laid a tentative hand on her husband’s arm. Leaning down, Lord Idwal listened a moment as she murmured to him. He then spoke quietly with Jusson, with the king shaking his head a couple of times, before turning to the still avidly watching mob.

  “The anvea will be held shortly. Those who are competing please make your way to the staging area.”

  A slight stir of disappointment at the lack of further drama went through the remaining folks before they too dispersed, heading for the fairgrounds proper. Figuring I’d watch Wyln competing against all comers, I also headed that direction—and came face-to-face with Dandelion, still on the lam. The horse and I eyed each other and despite myself, I started to grin once more. “You’re an evil bastard,” I said, “even if you can race the wind.”

  Dandelion lifted his lip at me, showing his yellowed teeth. He then allowed a groomer to catch his bridle and actually stood patiently with a bored look as Kveta gave the groomer a message for Kell, Idwal’s head groomer.

  “Interesting,” Kveta remarked, watching horse and groomer head off. “So, tell me, what did happen?”

  The wolf listened as I spilled out the story of my wild ride and its aftermath. Kveta’s ears pushed forward when I got to the part of the white stag, but she remained silent until I got to the end.

  “Lady Gaia’s consort or not, you must be an exceptional horseman to have remained seated on that,” Kveta said when I was done.

  “He is,” Ryson said. “Best in the unit.” He saw the side stares Jeff and Arlis gave him and he shrugged. “It’s true. Even Groskin’s horse Fiend tolerates him.”

  “Hasn’t bitten or otherwise maimed him,” Groskin agreed. “Yet.”

  Actually Fiend and I had an agreement—I wouldn’t try to ride him and he wouldn’t try to kick me into the middle of next week. I shrugged at Kveta as I started back towards the fairgrounds. “It was more about self-preservation than anything,” I said.

  “Preservation, certainly,” Kveta said. She fell in with me, as did Ryson, Groskin, Jeff, and Arlis. “Are you going to take part in this competition, Rabbit?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. Despite being surrounded by air and fire spheres, I was still leery of doing talent work, especially after Master Lisle’s accusations. Besides, I had no intention of going head-to-head with Wyln or Laurel. Nor of performing in front of Munir. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter. “I’m only a journeyman mage.”

  “A pity,” Kveta said wistfully. “I would’ve enjoyed seeing you compete.”

  I made a noncommittal noise, my attention on Berenice. All traces of the beautiful woman I’d seen earlier were gone. Instead she looked just as ordinary as ever in her ugly-arse brown dress, without even her usually merry spark to liven her features. She remained standing next to her mother, and the contrast between them was almost painful. And though I’d expected her to latch on to my arm once more—especially after the hearty kiss I’d given her after the race—she didn’t look my way as we passed by, but stayed in deep conversation with Lady Margriet. Princess Rajya also ignored me. Munir had disappeared in the direction of the competition area, but Her Highness remained on the outskirts of the mob of sailors and soldiers that surrounded Captain Suiden and Jasry. Her benign expression was gone; in its place was something more intense, almost fierce as she watched her father.

  “Abandoned by your ladies fair,” Kveta murmured.

  I was about to say that a little quiet time with the lads was all right when the smell of warm pies washed over us. We all came to an abrupt halt and Kveta lifted her nose, sniffing.

  “Goodness gracious,” she said, her tongue flashing over her muzzle.

  “I saw Bertram at the baker’s booth earlier,” Ryson said, also sniffing.

  We stood there a moment, salivating.

  “There’s time for a pie and a pint before Ryson and I have to return to duty,” Groskin said, judging the sun.

  “And it looks like the anvea isn’t starting right away,” I said, looking over at the small crowd in front of the comp
etition stage.

  Another wave of good smells hit us and we turned as one and headed towards the source. Even with the free pies Idwal had distributed earlier, the baker’s booth was doing a brisk business and we had to fight our way to the front. Bertram was still there and as soon as he saw us, he disappeared towards the back of the booth and reappeared with a tray full of hot-from-the-oven pastries and rolls, his face glowing as he served us. We then walked past the arrows still stuck in the side of the booth to purchase tankards of hot spiced cider in the next booth over. Whipping around behind both booths, we stopped behind the baker’s, and though we were in shadow, the back of the brick oven radiated enough heat to keep us comfortably warm. I ate my two cheese rolls and apple tart, washing it all down with drafts of cider, the rest keeping pace with me bite for bite as they demolished meat pies and baked custards. Sighing with satisfaction, I leaned against the wall, letting its heat loosen tight muscle. It had been a long day, full of incident, and anvea or not, the thought crossed my mind to return with Groskin and Ryson, maybe going to my room and taking a nap—out of the way of princesses and daughters of the House.

  “So tell me, Rabbit, did you use magic during your race?”

  I looked sleepily down at Kveta, wondering at her conversational swing back to the race. “I didn’t want to win that badly.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Kveta said. She licked the crumbs of her meat pie off her muzzle, the silver and turtle bones about her neck winking and gleaming in the sunlight. “Did you use magic at all?”

  My drowsiness fading, I started to frown. “No,” I said. “I did no talent work whatsoever.”

  Done with her grooming, she raised her gaze to the spheres hovering over me. “If that’s so, where did that come from?”

  Without taking my eyes off the wolf, I lifted my hand and felt something flit into it. Lowering my hand, I brought it before me and stared down into an earth sphere, swirling with gentle greens and browns.

  “Heigh-ho,” I whispered.

  Sixteen

  Kveta gave a short laugh. “Didn’t know that was there, did you?”

  I said nothing, my silence speaking for me. A rich aroma arose from the earth sphere, but instead of sweet grass and rich loam, it smelled of orchards and leaf-strewn forests. Without thinking about it, I inhaled deeply.

  “Goddess-touched,” Kveta said, observing. Her ears went back against her skull even while her muzzle dropped in a grin. “Or at least Faena-touched.”

  “I don’t think the Lady and Her Consort do Laurel’s bidding,” I said.

  “No, I’m sure they don’t,” Kveta said. “However, last I knew, you weren’t a follower of either.”

  I looked away from the sphere to meet Kveta’s sharp gaze. “No,” I agreed. “I am not.” I had my faith in my God and my Church confirmed firmly in Freston. So much so that I sometimes woke up to the sound of the ocean in my ears. As I thought that, there was another large booming crash of a breaker, and I controlled a jump, my eyes involuntarily going towards the sound.

  “Yet, here you are, with something of the Lady’s that you did not summon, correct?” Kveta said, reclaiming my attention. She didn’t wait for an answer. “So if you didn’t, who did?”

  “Sometimes the aspects do as they want,” I began.

  Kveta let out a breath. “No, they don’t,” she said softly. “Even gods and goddesses do not interfere without express permission, let alone the elements. There is always a will behind their actions.”

  “But, Captain Kveta,” Ryson said, his voice hesitant, while beside him Groskin frowned. “Honored Laurel wasn’t there.”

  “And you think castle walls would stop him from doing what he wanted to do?” Kveta asked. “He is the only earth master here.”

  Somehow I couldn’t see Laurel neglecting Captain Javes just to throw an earth sphere at me. Then, on the other hand, he had done it before. And there was the truth rune he’d drawn on my palm without any say-so from me. I frowned down at the sphere in my hand.

  “You know, after you ran away from Magus Kareste,” Kveta said, “most of us lived through years of not knowing where you were or what was happening to you, believing that you were alive only because Moraina said you were.”

  “Dragoness Moraina knew I was alive?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course. How else could she have sent Laurel for you?”

  “I thought the High Council sent Laurel,” I said.

  “Oh, they made it official, with speeches and resolutions and recording it in their Acta for them to read on nights they can’t sleep,” Kveta said. “However, it was Moraina who first proposed it to the Council. But even if the Council hadn’t blessed his excursion, Laurel was coming for you. He already had his affairs in order, another shaman assuming his Gaia duties, and his lieutenants in place to oversee the Faena in his absence when he received the summons to the Council.”

  My surprise must’ve shown on my face, for Kveta grinned again, reminding me of every tale I’d ever heard of grandmas and big teeth.

  “And broken indentures and Council directives notwithstanding, he never had any intention of returning you to the Magus, Rabbit.”

  Shifting the sphere to my other hand, I nodded, rubbing my gloved palm against my tabard. “Yes, I know.”

  Kveta’s ears pushed forward. “You do?”

  A memory arose of Laurel and me standing on the deck of the Dauntless, ready to sail the next morning to the Border with a shipful of diplomats and a holdful of body parts. “Laurel swore it,” I said. “Before we left Iversly last spring, he said that I’d not go back to Kareste and swore it on his rune.”

  “Did he, now?” Kveta said softly, her eyes lifting to the feather in my braid. “And did he say why—”

  “Begging your pardon, Captain Kveta,” Ryson said, politely, “but I think His Majesty is looking for Rabbit.”

  I blinked at Ryson’s helpful face, then shifted with the rest, looking between the booths to see that people had climbed up on the stage. I could also see Jusson standing in the middle of his personal crowd of royal guards and aristos in front of the stage, his head turned in our direction.

  “So he is,” Kveta agreed, her affability returning. “And there’s the head groomer signaling me.”

  “Oh?” I shifted once more, looking over the masses for Kell. “Think he has news about the missing bottles?”

  “Probably got a garbled message and wants clarification, more like,” Kveta said. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.” Her face turned wry. “Unless I get dragooned into searching the stables.”

  With that, she took off at a trot, leaving the rest of us to go in the opposite direction towards the stage.

  “All right, what the hell was that about?” Groskin asked.

  “Kveta is suspicious about Laurel,” I said, rubbing my hand once more against my stomach. “But that’s only fair as Laurel doesn’t trust her either.”

  “Sort of like how Lord Wyln is suspicious of Lord Munir?” Ryson asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Though honored Wyln’s issues with Lord Munir seem more of the Border not trusting the Turals. Whatever’s bothering Laurel and Kveta is personal.” Personal and not just limited to Laurel, but apparently honored Moraine too. I started to wonder exactly what happened in the Weald after I’d left.

  “Huh,” Groskin grunted. He too watched my hand, but then the faint sound of bells marking the quarter hour drifted to us from the town, and he again gave an expert glance at the sky.

  “We have to get back, sir,” Ryson said.

  “Yeah,” Groskin said. “I suppose we do.” He glanced once more at me, then at Arlis and Jeff behind me. “Hinky things are happening—”

  “Hinky things are always happening around Rabbit,” Arlis muttered. “Sir.”

  “Yeah,” Groskin said again, giving a brief grin. “Still, watch your backs.”

  With that, Groskin and Ryson disappeared into the crowd, Ryson tenderly carrying his sheathed sword
. I watched them go, before turning my stare on Jeff and Arlis. Jeff was looking at something past me, but Arlis met my gaze, giving me the same blank expression that he’d been dishing out for the past few weeks. I remembered what Ryson had said the previous night about punishment deferred—

  “His Majesty’s looking this way again, Rabbit,” Jeff said.

  However, that was going to have to wait. Holding in a sigh, I turned and plunged into the mass of spectators, making our way to the front of the stage, eventually winning through to Jusson. The king stood front and center in his own cleared space surrounded by royal guards. He gave me his mildly interested gaze but before he could say anything there was a small disturbance and I turned to see Lady Margriet and Berenice slipping inside the royal circle. I eyed Berenice, more than halfway expecting her to again latch on to my arm, but Lady Margriet placed herself between me and her daughter. Giving Jusson a curtsey, she looked up at me, her vivacious smile matching in brilliance both her gown and jewel studded combs holding back her dark brown hair from her heart-shaped face.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  I bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

  Lady Margriet’s smile turned anxious. “Though you’re not participating, Lord Rabbit. I hope that’s not because of the recent unpleasantness.”

  “No, it’s because I’m only a journeyman mage,” I said, giving her the same excuse as I had Kveta. “I’m not skilled enough to compete against masters.”

  “Ah,” Lady Margriet said, brightening once more. “I see. Well, I’m disappointed but we have a good number of participants in any event.”

  So they did. Apparently Javes was no better as Laurel was absent. But Wyln and Munir were on the stage, as were a couple of wild-haired, multibangled and tattooed forecasters off the Turalian warship, a red-haired, beard-braided weather witch from the Svlet trader, and what looked like a Qarant prescriber in colorful jacket, breeks, striped hosen and with his own tattoo of a jewel-colored hummingbird on his neck, all gathered around Idwal as they went over last moment rules and regulations. Idly wondering what aspect Munir had, I scanned the spectators and saw Suiden and Jasry standing together, their faces alight as they spoke. Princess Rajya and her guards were a little ways away, Her Highness’ own face once more benign.