by Shae Ford
The fisherman cursed as he righted him. “If he wants it sealed properly, he’s going to have to hold still.”
“It’ll all work out, I’m sure,” Lysander said with an impatient wave. He smiled at his cousin’s uncharacteristically silly grin. “Tell him what we did with it, Red.”
“Stuffed as many bottles that would fit down our trousers and in our coat pockets, grabbed another armful apiece and ran like mad.”
“What?” Jonathan looked more concerned now than when he’d been hanging upside down. “You left the rest behind? Why didn’t you pack it all in your ship?”
Thelred leaned forward to answer — nearly popping the string again. But all at once, his face fell. He whipped around to Lysander, his brows bent in confusion. “Yeah, why didn’t we?”
By this point, the captain looked close to bursting. His grin could’ve split into laughter at any moment. He propped a hand against his mouth and whispered loudly: “You were in prison.”
“Because I was in prison,” Thelred said, whipping back to Jonathan. He didn’t seem to notice when the needle popped out of the fisherman’s hand and thwaped him in the side of the face.
Jonathan’s brows rose high. “Really? What’d they lock you up for?”
“Fraternizing with a manager’s daughter. He wasn’t at all pleased to find her wrapped around a pirate — locked him away and swore he’d ship him off to Reginald the next morning for a swift execution.”
“That was your fault,” Thelred insisted, thrusting a finger at Lysander. “You were the one who spent half the night chasing that blasted woman.”
“Yes, but you were the one who caught her,” Lysander said with a wink.
Thelred’s frown went slightly muddled, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should actually be indignant. “Well, I only caught her because she threw herself at me.”
“Women love him,” Lysander explained with a loud whisper. “There must be something about a man with a scowl. I’ll never understand it.”
“It’s the mystery of it all, mate. And I’m sure that hard-set jaw doesn’t hurt things, either.” Jonathan pinched Thelred’s chin. He tried to swat the fiddler’s hand away, but wound up knocking the fisherman aside, instead.
“If I have to tell you to hold still one more t —”
“If I hadn’t caught her, she would’ve fallen off the roof!” Thelred shouted over the fisherman’s rant.
“The roof?” Jonathan wagged his brows. “A bit of starlight, a summer’s breeze. I don’t know, mate — that sounds awfully romantic to me.”
Thelred lunged for him. “It was not roman —!”
“Enough! I can’t do anything while you’re squirming about.” The fisherman shoved him back and snapped his fingers at a passing wildwoman. “Come here and hold him still, will you? Don’t let his head move an inch.”
The wildwoman wore her red hair in a short braid across her shoulder, and her paint made it look like a monster’s claw had scraped across her face. She paused — and gave Thelred a long look. “All right,” she said finally.
Though he slurred his protests, the wildwoman sat behind him and pulled him straight against her chest. She kept one hand beneath his chin and wound the other through his hair.
“I don’t need coddling,” he grouched.
She smiled at his glare. “I’m not coddling you — this is how you hold a man when you mean to slit his throat.” Her finger brushed along the ridges of his neck. “See? Just like this.”
Thelred’s glare sharpened. “Try anything like that, and I’ll gut you, savage.”
She laughed … and held him tighter.
Jonathan gaped at them from over his tankard. What’s happening? he mouthed to Lysander.
“Magic,” he said back, grinning as he shook his head. “Pure, untarnished magic.”
At that moment, Gwen happened by. Her gaze narrowed upon the wildwoman. “Don’t even think about it, Lydia. He’s taken enough of a beating already.”
“Yes, Warchief,” she mumbled.
“I’m going to take a walk around the edge of the village,” Gwen said, after another pointed glare at Lydia. “My wildmen should behave while I’m gone — if not, I’ll clobber them when I get back.”
“Mind if I come along with you, lass?” Shamus said, getting to his feet. “My legs could use a stretch. They’ve gone stiff.”
Her brows rose for a moment — so slightly that he wasn’t sure he’d actually seen it. Then they snapped back down. “Fine.”
She set a brisk pace for the woods outside the village. Gwen walked like she had rocks sewn into the heels of her boots: they clomped so loudly that men several paces away moved aside, as if they’d thought she was right behind him.
Shamus didn’t notice her being quiet until the noise of the village fell off. Then his ears began to ring. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”
She frowned at the setting sun. “It’s not night yet.”
“All right — evening, then,” Shamus amended. “What do you think of the seas?”
“It’s hot.”
“Aye, some days it is. But there’s most always a cool wind blowing from somewhere — you’ve just got to know which way to turn your head.”
“I’d rather have the cold all around me.”
Shamus chuckled. “Well, the only way you’re likely to find that around here is if you strip down to nothing.”
“I’d planned to,” she said smoothly. “Then you asked to come along.”
Shamus couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Fortunately, Silas turned up before he had to think of something to say.
He swept out from the brush, wearing his lion skin and with a large rabbit clamped between his jaws. He dropped his kill at Gwen’s boots. The rumbling in Silas’s throat grew to a contented growl when she reached down to scratch his ears.
All at once, Silas’s head turned and he slunk forward. He began pacing back and forth, eyes shining on the woods in front of them … and there was suddenly nothing at all content about his growl.
After a moment, lights began popping up through the trees — faint little orange spots.
“Torchlight,” Gwen muttered. She snapped her fingers sharply. “Get to the village — warn the others.”
For half a moment, Shamus thought she’d been talking to him. Then a wildman dropped from the trees before him and broke into a soft-footed sprint down the road. “How long had he been up there?”
Gwen shrugged. “Never mind that. You ought to follow him.”
Shamus wasn’t going anywhere. He’d tried to keep it tucked back, because he knew they had a lot more to worry over than Copperdock — and Thelred swore the shipbuilders had made it to safety. But when he saw those torches flickering, his blood started to boil. “No lass, I’m staying put. If it’s the monsters who set fire to my village, then I’ll see them pay for it.”
She rolled her eyes but said no more. Her hand twisted tightly about her axe.
The torches were still a ways off when Silas’s growling broke into a roar. As startling as the noise was, the black figure that sprang from the brush was even more so. It dodged Silas’s pounce and swiped the fall of Gwen’s axe aside with its blade.
“Honestly, it’s so easy. I don’t know why you even bother,” the figure said — after it’d somehow appeared behind Shamus.
He leapt back into Gwen, who didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes scraped down the masked woman in front of them. “The hiding one,” she said after a moment. Her axe went back into her belt. “Good to see you, Elena.”
Shamus was still trying to swallow his heart. “You nearly scared us to death, lass! There’s trouble coming our way, so you’d better get ready.”
“Trouble?” Elena followed the tip of his sword to the glowing lights behind them. “Hmm, well I can tell you now that a sword isn’t going to do you any good. She won’t be stopped.”
Elena drifted back into the shadows and Silas sprawled out at Gwen’s feet, not so much as a line
of concern upon his face. Shamus was still trying to figure it all out when one of the torches broke away from the rest.
A thunder of hooves, a moment when the dark of the trees blocked everything, and then a familiar face came around the corner.
“Aerilyn?” Shamus called. She had her curls tied up and rode a dapple gray horse better than he’d ever expected her to. He wasn’t sure it even was Aerilyn until she let loose with that unmistakable squeal.
“Shamus! Oh, it’s so good to see you. I’ve been worried sick about you — about all of you.” She slid from the horse’s back and jumped into his arms, nearly winding him with the force.
“What are you doing all the way out here, lass? I thought you were supposed to be keeping the mansion held together.”
“The mansion can hold itself,” she said, easing from his chest. “There are things happening in the Kingdom — horrible things. We’ve come to help.”
The horse didn’t seem to notice the full-grown mountain lion sprawled in the middle of his path. In fact, he seemed more interested in a nearby patch of green than anything else. Even when Silas hissed at him, he did nothing more but flatten his ears and snort in reply. Then he plodded off to find his dinner.
“What a strange creature,” Gwen murmured.
“You have no … oh.” Aerilyn’s eyes went wide. She looked at Gwen in her strange paint and furs as if she was a griffin peeking its head from the clouds. “You must be the wildwoman.”
“Gwen.”
“I’m Aerilyn.”
“Yes, I’d gathered as much,” Gwen said with a slight smile. “Your captain hasn’t stopped going on about you from the moment we joined him. I would’ve gladly kicked him overboard, had we not needed his skills.”
“That sounds like him,” Aerilyn agreed. “Where is he, by the w —?”
“Come on, dogs! Send those tinheads back to Midlan with cuts across their arses and blisters on their feet!”
Lysander and Jonathan burst from the undergrowth with their swords drawn and the tankards still in their hands. They roared as they crashed through, battle in their eyes. Thelred stumbled in behind him. His stitches were only half-finished and the needle dangled at the side of his head. A whole troop of pirates and wildmen bounded in behind them.
But they ground their heels when Lysander stopped short.
“Aerilyn?” he whispered, eyes wide.
Shamus could tell by how she glared that he ought to get out from between them. He stepped carefully aside — giving her a clean shot.
“Yes, Lysander. I’m here.” Her eyes cut from his to the tankard he held out like a shield. “What is that?”
He quickly tossed the whole thing into the woods. “Ah, nothing.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t stagger around like a drunkard anymore.”
“Yes, well, I thought we agreed you were going to stay at home with our son.”
“He’s in excellent hands and perfectly safe — which is more than I can say for you.”
Lysander licked his lips. He staggered backwards, eyes struggling to focus as Aerilyn stepped closer. “Now, now, I know you must be upset with me, but there’s really no need to —”
“What in Kingdom’s name is going on up there? We’re nearly at the village. Why have we stopped?”
A rather large forest man bustled out from between the trees, took one look at the mess of pirates and wildmen scattered before him, and his wooden ladle froze mid-swing.
“This is my dear friend, Horatio,” Aerilyn said, waving to him.
“Hello, mate!” Jonathan called cheerily.
“Oh, good lord,” Horatio muttered. Then his dark eyes drifted across the others. “Are these your … ah, companions?”
“Yes. The men with red on their shirts are my pirates.”
They cheered and swung their blades in greeting.
“The ones with painted faces are the wildmen.”
They raised their weapons as well — and handily out-howled the pirates.
Aerilyn grinned at them before she turned her smile to Lysander. She wrapped her hands about his arm and dragged him forward. When she spoke, her words were a mix of exasperation and relief: “And this drunken, ragged mess of a man is my husband, Captain Lysander.”
“Is he?” Horatio pursed his lips as his gaze cut down the length of him. “I practically raised this young woman. Did you know that?”
“Ah …” Lysander squinted at him as if they stood a hundred miles apart. “No.”
Horatio rolled his eyes. Then he snatched Lysander and pulled him under his arm. “Come with me — we’re going to have a talk.”
“All right. What sort of talk?”
“The talk her father would’ve had with you if he were still here to do it — the talk where I explain, in great and painful detail, what will happen to you if you ever treat my Aerilyn like anything less than the wonder she is.”
“But I already think she’s wonderf —”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re still going to talk.”
“We’ll save a tankard for you, mate,” Jonathan called as Horatio dragged Lysander towards the village. His grin slipped into a serious look. “He’s going to need one. The talk Brend gave me still burns my ears, when I think about it.”
Aerilyn rolled her eyes at him. Behind her, a large mob of forest men clambered in. Some drove carts, others walked along on foot. They were dressed in well-worn, mismatched sets of armor.
“The village is straight through here, gentlemen. I’m sure the others will show you the way,” Aerilyn said, waving them forward.
Shamus was more than a little impressed by how she handled them — and he was even more impressed by how many there were. “Where’d you find all these lads?”
Aerilyn shrugged. “It’s a long story. But that’s not important. Right now, we have to get ready. I have reason to believe that Countess D’Mere fled this way, and she’s bringing all manner of trouble along with her.”
“She was already here, lass. And trouble is the least of it. Come with me,” Shamus said with a sigh. “I’ll explain it all on the way.”
CHAPTER 42
A Mad Plan
Kael lost track of how long Kyleigh and His-Rua stayed inside the valley. Their moment stretched into hours, and then into days. He would climb to the top of the hills for a look each afternoon, when the sun shone into the valley.
And each time he saw them, Kyleigh and His-Rua had crept closer together — until they sat side-by-side, gazing at the bones of Dorcha.
He didn’t know how much time they planned to spend in the valley: weeks, months, years — it no longer mattered. The rocks at Kael’s feet were covered in half-finished plans. He’d scratched his thoughts into them, hoping that having the question written out might somehow reveal the answer. But the sketch he’d drawn of Midlan sat undefeated. The black dragon circled its courtyards, unchallenged. All of his ideas withered against its walls.
Though it should’ve crushed him to be so far from stopping Crevan, it didn’t. In fact, he hardly felt it when his plans fell into ruin — for all of these worries were small compared to the thing that haunted him now.
Even if they saved the Kingdom and went on to live happily, it would only be for a short while. Kyleigh’s life would stretch long after he’d gone. She might live in misery for a thousand years once he’d turned to dust, a slave to the love of the dragons — this valtas that they all seemed to think made their lives worth living.
But to Kael, it felt like a curse.
Perhaps there was a way to stop Midlan, but he couldn’t pause to think of it. His mind turned back to Kyleigh at every few moments. There were ways a whisperer could live forever. His grandfather, Amos, was a powerful healer who’d managed to stretch his life over hundreds of years. But Kael didn’t have a gift for healing.
His powers leaned towards craft — and though he’d managed to do some impossible things, it was only because he’d been able to convince himself that the
y were possible. Kael needed a reason to live forever. He had to convince himself, somehow.
But every time he started to think, his mind hit a wall. He remembered the warning Gwen had given him in the mountains:
You’re the mutt who couldn’t topple a tree because you thought its roots went too deep. What reason could you possibly find to convince your heart to beat forever?
That was precisely his problem. He could find no reason. The longer he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. Kael might’ve very well gone mad brooding over it, had it not been for Rua’s prattling.
The red dragon seemed quite taken with his own voice: he hardly stopped talking for a moment. If Kael tried to move away, Rua would simply reach out a little further until they touched again. Kael would’ve had to climb down the hill to avoid his reach — and even then, he still would’ve been well within range of his tail.
As long as he spoke normally, Kael could ignore him. It was when Rua began booming odd words into his thoughts that he reached his wit’s end.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said, jerking his arm away.
Rua’s claw screeched against the rock as he slid it against Kael’s leg. Enough what?
“You know very well what. Stop yelling things in my head.”
I like the way my voice sounds in this tongue. And in your head is the only way I can hear it. There are so many strange words — words I have not heard in ages. Listen, he took a deep breath, then boomed: Fishmonger.
Kael grit his teeth against the rattling of his ears. “What am I listening for, exactly?”
It is an odd word, is it not? He was quiet for a moment. Battle! Now there is a word with fire.
“No, fire’s much quieter.” Kael slid away again, determined to have a moment to think …
Buttercup! Rua’s laugh crackled through the air and the hills shook when he slapped his tail against them. Buttercup! What a silly noise that makes.
Kael would’ve given anything to have even an ounce of magic in his hand. If ever a creature needed a good hexing, it was Rua.
