Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Go with me to the festival tonight,” Irving says, pulling me from my quest to find my party.

  “But I’m supposed to—”

  Irving steps closer. “Let the others go. Take the night off.”

  I think about it—I really do, but my conscience gets the best of me. “I can’t.”

  His smile dims just a little, but he nods, not surprised.

  “But tomorrow night, I’m all yours,” I continue. “If you want me.”

  His expression grows mischievous. “Oh, I want you. But tomorrow there won’t be fireworks.”

  He’s a little too close for a public room. Since I’m on the edge of not caring, I step away and walk to the closest window to stop myself from doing something I’ll regret. The rain has started again, and water runs down the pane. “They’ll likely postpone it anyway. Come with us instead.”

  “I’m not sure your brother is speaking to me at the moment.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s simply not used to being told no.”

  Irving smiles and leans his back against the window. I can feel him studying me as I watch the drenched flowers sway in a light breeze.

  “Will you come with us?” I finally ask.

  He nods. “I will.”

  Several hours later, with the never-ending rain pattering on the carriage, the seven of us make our way to Ptarma’s largest library. Barowalt isn’t thrilled that Irving’s joined us, but, so far, he’s kept his opinions to himself.

  The library is a grand structure, and it seems half of Constelita’s population has sought it out, looking for entertainment since the festival’s postponement. Grace and Javid hurry off, greeting stuffy-looking scholars as they go. The usuals are easy to spot. Many wear spectacles, and most of the masters are in long robes. They hunch over their work, oblivious to the downpour outside. But their most distinguishing mark is their utter and complete disgust with the riffraff who have invaded their territory.

  But it’s easy to see why so many people have chosen to spend their evening here. The entryway is built in an impressive solarium style with a domed glass roof. In the center of the room, a massive relief sculpture of the known world stretches over a shallow pool of water. A fountain system pushes water from the mountains, down the streams, and into rivers where it flows into the oceans and spills off the unknown edges. Several people crowd around the map, marveling at the work of art.

  The area is dotted with more sculptures and an innumerable number of the flowering plants that Ptarma is so renowned for. Even a golden eldentimber tree, native to Elden alone, grows in the corner.

  Those who are not studying the art or admiring the flora lounge on settees, conversing.

  There are eight pairs of double-doors constructed of heavy wood to protect the precious books and scrolls within from the direct overhead daytime light and moisture in the grand entry hall. Placards above each announce the library’s different locations—Hall of Natural Science, Hall of History, Hall of Astronomy, and so on.

  After Javid and Grace have finished with their greetings, they lead our group through the doors leading to the Hall of Animals and Other Species. There aren’t nearly as many people here, and the atmosphere is hushed.

  “What are we looking for?” Irving’s stage whisper causes two scholars near the entrance to turn scowls on our party.

  I give the pair a friendly, apologetic smile, and then turn on Irving and whisper, “Be quiet!”

  Though he gives me a sheepish smile, he looks like he’s about to laugh. “Sorry.” He lowers his voice. “But what are we looking for?”

  Grace has stopped by an aisle, and she’s running her finger along the spines of a row of books, murmuring the titles as she goes. She pulls a book out, offers it to me without taking her eyes off the shelf, and continues her search.

  I take the book from her and peer at the title: Unicorns: Magical Creature or Myth? She hands me two more: History of the Magical Species, and Dragons, Griffins, and Other Magical Predators.

  Irving peers at the covers and relieves me of one. “Oh, nice. Pictures.”

  He grins before he settles into a nearby chair and begins to browse through the book. Barowalt almost rolls his eyes, not amused by Irving’s particular brand of humor, but Grace and Javid exchange a look and bite back laughs.

  Soon we all have a book, and we disperse throughout the room, finding places to sit. I browse through my book but find nothing to help us.

  Irving leans over. “Take a look at this.”

  On the page, there’s an artist’s rendition of an enormous shadowed beast. I yank the book from him to take a closer look. A man stands at the bottom of the page, controlling the creature.

  “Often confused for magical predators, conjured beings can wreak as much havoc,” I read, “but instead of feeding off flesh, their magic feeds from fear.” I look up. “Our creature is conjured.”

  Irving leans over. “This beast wouldn’t need livestock.”

  I look up, my eyes shining. “The wizard is drawing from the terror it’s spreading. The livestock is simply the conduit.”

  Feeling like we’re finally on the right track, I call the others over.

  “So it’s a wizard,” Grace says. “And he’s building strength so he can finish off the blessing.”

  A sick feeling settles in my stomach, and I look at Barowalt. “What do we do?”

  Barowalt crosses his arms. “We find him.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Constelita rejoices today because yesterday’s storm has moved out. The Marquis announced the festival will continue as planned and moved the fireworks to this evening. Near the piers, the city is alive with excitement.

  Grace, however, has missed most of it, because she’s barricaded herself in the library, scouring musty tomes for more information on conjured creatures.

  “I’m hoping to find a pattern,” she says when I come to visit her before Irving and I wander to the festival grounds. “If there were a way we could predict where the beast will attack next, we can act first.”

  “Have you found anything?” I ask.

  Sunlight streams through the large windows, and the library is much brighter than it was last night by firelight. With the storm long gone, there are fewer patrons milling about today, and the scholars seem happy to have their building back.

  “Yes, actually.” She nudges a book aside and stands. “But not from these.”

  She motions for me to follow her, and we end up in the Hall of Geography. She chooses a map and spreads it on a desk. “The beast struck Balt first. Then Marble and, lastly, Bracken.”

  “All right?”

  “Balt has a tiny population, only a few farms clustered together. Marble is a little bigger, and Bracken is bigger still.”

  “So each village is progressively larger in population.”

  “That’s right.” She trails her finger from village to village. Following the same road, she stops at the next village and looks up expectantly.

  “You think he’s going to attack Coralridge next.”

  “I’m almost positive.”

  It’s the village just outside of Constelita, the next largest besides this one.

  “When?”

  She shrugs. “I have no idea. The attacks haven’t been spaced evenly apart. It could be next week…it could be tonight.”

  “I need to tell Barowalt.”

  She nods. “I’ll see what else I can find.”

  ***

  “Rafe and I will go,” Barowalt says. “You will stay here with Milly.”

  “What?” I demand. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t need you in the middle of it.”

  I know there’s no use arguing with him, but as he saddles his horse, ready to take after the man who’s threatening my blessing without me, I can’t help it. “What’s the point of all my training if you leave me here every time there’s danger?”

  Barowalt turns, his expression saying he won’t be swayed. “The training is only a
precaution should you ever find yourself in trouble.”

  “Fine.”

  He sighs, obviously wishing he didn’t have to deal with me at the moment. “We’re only going on Grace’s hunch anyway. There’s a chance we won’t find anything.”

  Crossing my arms, I only stare at him.

  Barowalt takes my shoulders and makes me meet his eyes. “You wanted to go to the festival. Go. Have a good time.”

  I finally nod, still not liking being left behind. “Be careful.”

  He and Rafe both scoff, and Barowalt says, “I’m not worried about some scrawny, pale wizard.”

  Unbidden, a smile tugs at the edge of my mouth. “Of course you’re not.”

  My brother lets go of my shoulders. “You be careful.”

  “I’ll be with Irving.”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  Before he turns to mount his horse, I stop him. “Why did you want him to join the Order if you trust him so little?”

  Barowalt looks pensive. “I thought if he belonged to something, believed in something, maybe he would prove himself.”

  Since I don’t have a response for that, Barowalt only nods. With one last goodbye, he and Rafe ride out of the stable.

  ***

  “What do you say I enter the archery competition?” Irving watches, eager, as men set targets in a field.

  “I think you’d embarrass yourself.”

  He turns to me with a wry tilt of his head and a barely-there smile. “I love the confidence you have in me, darling. Very flattering.”

  I poke him in the side. “You don’t need flattered—you need humbled.”

  He laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close as we wander through the crowds. “You’re afraid I’ll embarrass you with my unique and very effective stance.”

  I don’t believe he truly shoots like that. It’s too ridiculous, even for him.

  “Fine,” I say. “Enter if you feel you must. I’ll try not to laugh when you run from the event with your tail tucked between your legs.”

  He raises a brow with perfect disdain and marches toward a man collecting entries. After a moment, he jogs back. “I have to retrieve my bow from the inn. Find yourself somewhere to sit where you’ll have a good view of my win.”

  “Front row,” I promise.

  With a wink that does things to my stomach that it shouldn’t, Irving runs off, excusing himself as he jostles people passing by. Shaking my head and letting myself smile now that he’s gone, I find a spot in the wooden stands. As people fill in around me, I realize it’s the first time in years I’ve been alone without a guard. It’s odd to be by myself with no one watching over my shoulder. Freeing, in a way. All these people have no idea who I am—and they don’t care. I’m just a girl, enjoying the Ship’s Return Festival, waiting to cheer her favorite competitor on.

  Irving doesn’t return until the event is just about to begin. He jogs up, not even out of breath, and joins the other competitors. Many are villagers, some farm boys from the outskirts, and the rest are a smattering of various nobles. In the festival spirit, they all intermingle.

  Constelita’s master archer steps forward and announces the first event, a simple long distance shoot. The men are called up in sets of three, and each faces their own target. When it’s Irving’s turn, he finds me in the stands and grins. I nod at the targets, reminding him to pay attention.

  The men take their stances, and Irving, looking like a fool, takes his awkward pose. There are titters in the crowd, and I only shake my head. Each of the men makes the shot, and all, including Irving, hit the bull’s-eye. As they move away to let another round of men take their places, Irving waves to the crowd, flashing his knee-weakening smile.

  Around me, several of the same women who just laughed now sigh, instantly smitten with the blond-haired competitor.

  After another fifteen men take their turns, the winners progress to the next round. Each time, Irving moves on. This last shot, however, is much longer. I hold my breath as he shoots, waiting for him to miss.

  He hits it dead center.

  It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be able to shoot like that.

  The men around him laugh, as surprised as I am that he’s progressed this far.

  “The next round,” the master archer calls out. “Will test your speed. For each turn, I will toss three apples into the air. Whoever hits the most apples, wins. If there’s a tie, we will have a shoot-off.”

  This time, Irving glances over his shoulder and gives me another mischievous smile as he nocks his arrow. After several men go, many only hitting one apple and most missing all, Irving takes his place.

  The master archer tosses an apple high in the air, away from the crowd.

  This time, much to my delight and the spectators’, Irving doesn’t bother with his ridiculous stance. He stands to the side, facing forward, looking more than competent. His arrow hits the first apple, and the master archer throws another. With admirable precision and skill, he shoots all three apples from the sky.

  The crowd roars, laughing, glad for the ridiculous entertainment.

  The master archer strides to the end of the field and collects the apples. Holding them in the air, he declares, “We have a winner!”

  Practically bouncing in my seat, both because Irving won and also because I was right, I cheer with the rest of the crowd.

  A boy comes forward, offering Irving the hefty pouch of gold. Graciously, he accepts it, but he turns to the master archer. “I am allowed to exchange my prize?”

  The man looks confused.

  Irving turns toward the stands. “What do you say I share the gold with you?”

  The crowd cheers. People wave their hands and others whistle.

  “I’ll toss it to you, but you have to do something for me.”

  I watch with narrowed eyes, wondering what he’s up to.

  Irving turns his dazzling smile on me. “You have to convince the girl with wheat-blond hair, the one looking lovely in the sapphire gown, to give me a victory kiss.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Every muscle in my body goes weak, and my cheeks flame. All eyes turn to me, and the crowd is relentless in their applause and coaxing. Feeling foolish, I cross my arms and shake my head.

  The crowd laughs and boos and continues to cry for me to meet Irving on the field.

  “Come on, Audette.” Irving swings his winner’s purse back and forth. “I’d love to share my winnings with these good people.”

  My feet act of their own accord, and I march down the stands just to pause several feet from Irving.

  “You’re an idiot,” I say, but only loud enough he’ll hear me. “Well, hurry up.”

  He laughs at that and waves me forward. “No—you have to come to me.”

  I step forward with the cheers of the crowd at my back. “I’m only doing this for their benefit.”

  Irving’s expression turns solemn. “Of course.”

  For a moment, feeling ornery, I think of kissing his cheek in the traditional victory kiss manner, but I don’t think he’ll let me get away with that. Standing on my tiptoes, I brush a kiss over his lips. The contact is brief but jarring. My chest warms, and the butterflies in my stomach riot. Flustered, I pull back.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” He grins and catches me around the waist.

  Before I realize his intent, he cups the back of my neck, and our lips meet again. The moment takes me by surprise, and my defenses drop. He coaxes me for more, and, too startled to use common sense, I give in. The kiss is urgent, careless, a little wild. I twist his tunic in my hands, drawing him closer.

  The sounds fade, and there’s only Irving. My hands stray to his shoulders. His tunic is warm from the sun, and the smells of grass and Ptarmish wildflowers surround us. Finally, after several more moments than is appropriate for an audience of this magnitude, Irving groans low and pulls back.

  We blink at each other, both of us out of breath and slightly dazed. The crowd is
in a frenzy, and when I glance their way, my face flames brighter than it already was.

  Irving smirks, his eyes alight with triumph. But under the carefree expression, he looks vaguely disconcerted. Like maybe our kiss affected him as much as it did me.

  Irritated with both him and my lack of control, I glare at Irving. “That was more than a victory kiss.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

  Knowing if I fail to hold back the smile playing on my lips, he’ll be more incorrigible than he already is, I turn away. He must take a moment to toss the coins to the crowd because the chaos increases.

  Several moments later, Irving catches up to me, looking like a cat who fell in a bucket of cream.

  I keep my eyes toward the busy street but motion behind us. “That was kind of you.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t need it.”

  For once, he sounds humble. I glance at him, curious what I’ll find on his face, but there’s nothing there, nothing gloating or prideful. He gave the villagers the gold because he wanted to, because it was more entertaining for him to share with them than keep it.

  “What?” He gives me a nervous look.

  “It’s possible that under that cocky exterior—deep, deep down—you may be rather likable.”

  Instantly, his expression flashes back to smug. “Of course I am. I’ve been trying to tell you this—and it’s ‘lovable’ not ‘likable.’” He grins. “And charming…handsome…charismatic…”

  In the most non-romantic way possible, I press my hand over his lips. “You should stop while you’re ahead.”

  Laughing, he pulls my hand away. In an overly subtle move that’s truly not subtle at all, Irving keeps my hand in his. We stay this way, palms linked, as we continue through the festival.

  Just as the sky is growing dusky, we turn toward the pier, where we’ll have a good view of tonight’s fireworks. As the day grows late, the streets become even more crowded.

  Irving stops to look at something in an artisan’s booth. After several minutes, I tug his hand.