“So, what you’re saying is that it’s only sensible to rob people.”
He shrugged, adjusted his seat on the back of his horse. “No matter what you might think, I don’t take arbitrarily. The people I rob can well afford it.”
“Hence, your little foray into high society.”
“Exactly. I only took one piece of jewelry from each lady I danced with. Except you, as you were bare of any decoration. Each one will think that they fell off sometime during the course of the evening.”
Serra couldn’t fault his logic. More times then she could count Lady Hadrienne or Eva would come home from a ball or party only to discover that their necklace or ear baubles had fallen off. They always put it down to plain bad luck. Now, Serra wondered if they hadn’t actually been robbed.
“If I had been wearing jewels would you have taken one?”
He shrugged, but didn’t reply. Serra took that as a yes. And she would have been thrown out of the house as a thief.
They turned their horses to the East and plunged into the undergrowth of the forest. After a time raised voices reached their ears. Ahead of them Serra could see flickering light through the trees. A slight distortion told her where Sylvan had placed her protection spells, but this time they rode through it, feeling nothing more than a tickle against their skin. Once on the other side they could hear the yelling perfectly.
“Ah, I see they’ve begun to discuss where we’re heading to next.”
“We should go to the biggest city in Plysa. That’s where the most kidnappings are likely to take place.” Rian was saying.
“But,” Sylvan cut in with her strange accent. “That isn’t the pattern. He always hits a small village first. We should go to as many of them first before we move on to,” she paused. There was a rustling sound that told Serra she was looking at a map. “Norwood.”
Reks and Serra broke through the edge of the clearing to see Rian striding around the fire in obvious frustration. Sylvan stood a little way off, her hands clutching a large piece of paper. Vaughn lounged against a tree, idly wiping down his sword. The three of them looked up as Serra and Reks dismounted.
“Getting along well are we, children?” Reks asked, detaching the packages from his saddle. “I’m glad to see it.”
The two who were arguing pretended not to hear him.
“We followed the pattern in Lyre, remember?” Rian said. “That didn’t help. I think if we can capture him in Norwood we can make him tell us where the others are. And if we can do that, then we can help the ones he’s taken before.”
Sylvan began to fold the map, her movements angry. “If we capture him. If. If. If! I’m not willing to base our entire operation on chance. We know where he’s going. We can‘t completely disregard that.”
As the fighting continued, Serra sidled closer to Reks. “Are they always like this?”
“Only when they disagree.”
Serra breathed a sigh of relief. “How often is that?”
Reks looked at her, his brow arched, pulling his crescent scar taut. “All the time. I’m surprised we made it through most of today without a fight.”
“That’s just great. Here.” She handed him the gloves he’d lent her earlier. “Thanks.”
He shrugged and Serra went to take the rest of the packages off her saddle and to rub down Shadowdancer. As she reached for the last package, firelight flickered over her hands. For a moment, Serra thought she saw a twisting pattern on the back of the left one, but when she looked closer it was gone. Shaking her head at her foolishness, Serra continued with her task. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had actually seen a Caste Mark on her hand.
Chapter 6
VAUGHN
After dinner, Rian and Sylvan had calmed down enough to have a peaceful conversation about where they would go next. Reks sat next to them, only half listening to their planning. Vaughn kept an eye on the Thief Lord, not quite trusting his proximity to Rian. But the bulk of his focus was on the fifteen six inch knives he was cleaning.
Having finished the task of cleanup after dinner, Serra approached and dropped to the ground next to him.
“Can I help?” She asked.
Vaughn shook his head. “I prefer to do it myself.”
She nodded. “I understand. I just feel a bit useless. I’m used to running around fetching, carrying, ordering the lesser maids around, being ordered around by Lady Hadrienne. I don’t like being inactive.”
That was something Vaughn could relate to. He hated inactivity. Hence, the reason he was so meticulous about maintaining his weapons. It was something to do while the others planned their journey.
Vaughn set the knife he was cleaning aside and picked up the next one. He kept his eyes on what he was doing as he said, “you don’t strike me as the type of girl to just let people order you around.”
He watched color creep up her pale cheeks from the corner of his eye. She picked at the sparse grass that covered the ground of the clearing. “I suppose I took advantage of having my employer’s daughter as my best friend. So, I rebelled in my own not so quiet ways.”
He couldn’t help the small smile that crept over his lips. “Like learning how to fight?”
“I suppose. Bull, he worked in the stables, he taught me. Before he was lead hostler, he fought for money, you know, like with spectators. He didn’t dare teach me anything but the basics, though. Lady Hadrienne didn’t even like me going down to talk to Bull.”
Vaughn set aside another knife and the cloth he was using to clean it. He stood up then offered Serra a hand. She looked confused but she took it and he pulled her to her feet. He led her farther into the clearing, stopped her and motioned for her to stay put. He began to circle her slowly, sizing her up. Serra stood perfectly still, her eyes forward. Reks was on the other side of the fire, his silver gaze fixed on what they were doing.
She was slim, small boned, and short. But he could tell she had strength in her muscles, had felt it in the stables. Where that strength came from he wasn’t sure. Most of the lady’s maids at the palace wouldn’t have been able to bloody his nose. It had taken Aloisa years to build up that kind of quickness and strength.
As always when he thought of the pretty blond mage, Vaughn’s stomach tightened and his mind skittered away to save him from the ache of her memory.
He cleared his throat. “Although you’re not big, you’re quick which can work in your favor. I’m sure Bull told you the same thing.” Vaughn paused behind her, trying to distract her by talking. He lunged at her back, intending to test her reflexes. He should have known better.
She was ready. She braced her feet and bent double. His weight worked against him as she grabbed his arm and pulled him over her shoulder. He landed on his back, but Serra forced him over to his stomach and twisted his arm up.
After a second she let go and Vaughn climbed to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Not bad. Your stance could use a little work. Have you done any work with weapons?”
Serra shrugged. “Not really. Bull was a hand fighter.”
“So, you can throw a punch.”
Serra braced her feet wide, balled up her fists and held them in front of her face. “Do you want me to bloody your nose again?”
He laughed. “How about this instead?” Vaughn held up his calloused hands, palms out. “I’ll call out the punches. Right!” Serra’s fist flew and hit Vaughn’s hand hard, making the skin sting. He flinched but continued to call out punches. “Left. Right. Right. Left. Right hook. Left hook.”
After a few minutes, Serra was breathing hard and Vaughn indicated she could stop. “Not bad.” He bent down and picked up his sword. “Take this.” Serra did. He could tell she didn’t have any experience with swords. Her grip was all wrong and her muscles were shaking under the weight of the weapon. Vaughn adjusted her grip.
He stood back. “Swing it.”
“What?”
“Just swing it in front of you.”
Serra did. Once. Twice. T
hree times. Her swings were awkward, but he could see potential there. If they could find her a short sword and not his big broad sword, she might make a fair swordswoman.
After a few more swings Serra’s arms were trembling so bad he worried she might drop the sword and hurt herself, so he reached out and took it from her. She let out a sigh of relief and shook her arms out. He didn’t say a word as he put the sword aside, then sat down and went back to cleaning his knives.
Serra stood in front of him for a moment, as though unsure of what he expected her to do. After a moment, she retreated to the other side of the fire and collected a few items from her saddle bag. “I’m going to the stream.” She said, before leaving the clearing.
Vaughn watched her go. He had to admit he was impressed. Not many girls her age would follow four strangers into the woods, join them on a quest to bring a kidnapper to justice. No in his experience girls her age were focused on finding a husband, pretty dresses and social gatherings. Aloisa wasn’t. Aloisa isn’t. A voice inside him said.
Vaughn pushed the voice aside and returned his focus to his knives.
Chapter 7
SERRA
Serra plunged into the woods. A white glowing light the size of Serra’s fist appeared at her shoulder, showing her the way to the stream that Sylvan had encased within the protection spells.
Serra shook her head as the light hovered over the pool of water, illuminating the area. She would have to get used to being around so much magic. There was only about fifty human mages in Iperia. So, magic wasn’t something one encountered every day, even in the house of a Grand Lord. Traveling with a Dryad completely changed that. Everywhere she turned Sylvan had bewitched something, such as the frying pan that moved itself over the flames of the fire or the little light that followed her to the stream.
Serra stripped out of her clothes, leaving only her thin under-things on. The pool of water was only about two feet deep, but Serra dunked as much of her body as she could, finally floating on her back to get her hair wet. She looked up at the light. It twinkled merrily above her, flitting here and there.
The cold water soothed Serra’s aching arms. She hadn’t realized just how out of shape she’d gotten since preparations for Eva’s Maiden’s Day had begun. In the past, she would have been able to throw punches for much longer than she had with Vaughn, but time had been precious for the last few months and so she’d had very little to spend in the stables with Bull.
She’d felt awkward with the sword in her hands. The swordsmen that she’d seen had always reminded her of dancers, graceful, elegant. She’d felt anything but.
Serra sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift for a moment. The light played against her eyelids, growing brighter and brighter until it almost hurt.
Serra opened her eyes and nearly screamed. The light was hovering right over her face, its tiny eyes regarding her with curiosity. Serra sat up quickly, splashing water all about and sending the light back up to the branches. An angry tinkling sounded in the air.
Serra scrambled to the bank and stood dripping, staring up at the glowing little person.
After a time, the light came back down, floated in front of Serra. It hurt for her to look at it for too long, but Serra got the impression of a tiny body, wild white tumble-down hair and gossamer wings. The entire being was white except for her eyes which were a vibrant blue and too large for her delicate face.
“You’re a pixie!” Serra exclaimed, too loudly it seemed, for the pixie shot up again.
“Sorry,” Serra murmured. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” The pixie floated back down her head tilted to the side as if trying to understand what Serra was saying. She reached out a tiny finger and touched Serra on the nose. Serra felt warmth flood her chilled body, bringing her back to the fact that she was standing on a river bank in the dark, soaking wet. She bent down and used her dirty clothes to dry off. The pixie flitted around as if curious about what Serra was doing.
Once she was dressed, Serra sat down to brush out her hair. She supposed that she could have gone back to the fire to do it, but didn’t want to leave the pixie. She had never seen one before, other than the illustrations in the books that lined the walls of the library in the Great House in Malvern’s Ward.
The pixie rested softly on Serra’s knee as she pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to brush out the tangles. Serra laughed when she realized that the pixie had pulled her wild hair over one shoulder and was imitating her movements.
“Serra?” came Rian’s voice from the direction of the camp. “Are you decent?”
The pixie’s light vanished, plunging Serra into darkness that was only broken by the moonlight that filtered through the thick branches. She heard breaking branches behind her and turned slightly to see the Prince coming toward her.
“We were worried.”
Serra smiled at him. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I was just going to rinse out my clothes. Hopefully they’ll dry by the morning.”
Rian helped her to rinse and wring out her shirt, pants and vest, then led the way back to the clearing. Serra glanced over her shoulder as they left, but there was no sign of the pixie.
Chapter 8
SERRA
Serra and the others were woken the next morning by the clanging of the bell that hung in the middle of the village. Sylvan climbed to the top of a tree, her movements sure and graceful as she swung from branch to branch, until she rested lightly on a branch that should have been too small to support her weight.
She came back down just as easily as she had gone up. “There is no smoke.”
“Which means no fire.” Vaughn said.
“Which means…” Serra left the thought unfinished. They packed up the camp, left without having breakfast. Sylvan was already murmuring as she threw her leg over the back of her horse, calling her protection spells back to her.
There was no distortion from Sylvan’s magic, as they rode as fast as they could back in the direction of the village. Shadowdancer seemed to recognize Serra’s urgency and pushed ahead of the rest of the group.
What looked like the entire town was gathered around the base of the wooden bell tower. They pulled up sharply on the edge of the crowd and waited with the rest of the people for the announcement of what had happened, although they already knew.
After a time, the Venir of the town, an aging man with grey hair and lines on his face, stepped onto the low platform and raised his hands for silence. The crowd immediately quieted.
“Many of you have no doubt heard the rumors that the recent disappearances that have been sweeping the country has at last, as we feared, come to our town. Last night Hunter Strop,” A wail rose from the center of the crowd at the child’s name. Serra followed the sound to a couple surrounded by people. The woman was hanging limply around the man’s neck, sobbing as he supported her weight and tried to comfort her. Two small boys cried quietly next to them. The Venir continued. “Last night Hunter Strop was taken from his bed in his parent’s house. There was no sign of forced entry. No sign that anyone had been there at all, except for the missing child.”
A buzz of conversation ran through the crowd.
“What do we do?” A man shouted out. Serra recognized him as the shopkeeper.
The Venir looked tired. “I wish there was something we could do. But you all know the stories. Children get taken and they aren’t found again.” Another wail rose from the mother of the missing child. “The most I can tell you to do is keep your children close. Don’t let them outside at night. With any luck, we will only lose one child to this hideous fate.”
A murmur rose in the crowd again. Serra leaned closer to Rian, her brow furrowed. “Why do they all just accept it? Why don’t they try to do something?”
Rian shrugged. “I wonder the same thing.”
“People look out for them and theirs.” Reks said, from behind Serra. “As long as they have what they care about why risk losing it in battle for some
one else?”
“But Hunter’s parents, why don’t they do something, try to find their son?”
“Look at them, Serra.” Sylvan, glamoured to look human, said. Serra looked. The grief on their faces tore at her heart. “They can hardly come to grips with the idea that their son is gone.”
“We did.” Serra said fiercely. “We moved past the grief and are doing something about it. You lost your sister. I lost someone who was like my sister. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit idly by and not do anything to bring the person who did this to justice.”
Sylvan’s voice was quiet, but it cut across Serra’s rage like a knife. “They have two other children, Serra. They can’t risk anything happening to them.”
Serra sagged in her saddle, all the fight leaving her. “What do we do?”
The others dismounted. “We find out what we can, add it to the notes we already have and continue on our search.”
Serra followed suit, leaving Shadowdancer with the other horses. They split up, making their way through the crowd. Serra wasn’t sure where to begin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a plump older woman put an arm around the weeping mother of the lost child. The woman looked directly at Serra and she was startled to realize that the woman had Sylvan’s brown eyes.
More interested in what the woman was saying to the dryad, Serra edged closer, straining her hearing. Someone bumped into her. Serra wheeled back slightly as plump hands reached out to steady her.
“My lady?”
Serra blinked up into the eyes of the shopkeeper, immediately her back straightened and her nose went up a quarter inch to give the impression that she was looking down on him, even though he was taller than her. She prayed that he wouldn’t look too closely at her hands. In the rush to get back to the village, she had forgotten to put on a pair of gloves to cover her unmarked skin.
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