Daughter of the Wolf (Pathway of the Chosen Book 2)

by Cat Bruno

  Before Nahla moved, Conall came rushing into the room, glancing between her and his brother with concern clear on his face.

  “What is going on here?” he called.

  When it was clear that his brother was not going to answer, Nahla softly, calmly, said, “Your brother does not understand the ways of women. I am trying to teach him.”

  The gentle roll of Nahla’s laughter spread throughout the room, and both men looked at her, trying to determine if her words were meant in jest.

  Under their watch, she added, “I know little of what occurred before Caryss came to the King’s City. However, she refused to talk about you, my lord, even when I asked. Her love for the babe is clear though, and I think all she does is for the child.”

  “Brother, the girl has remembered,” Conall interrupted, raising a hand, as if to calm the High Lord’s fury. “You told me as much. She needs time to understand all that has occurred, now and moon years ago. It must not be too much a surprise that she wants little to do with you or Tribe.”

  “In her rebellion, she acts in folly, endangering herself and the babe,” the High Lord cried, cutting off his brother’s explanation.

  To that, Nahla said, “You have misjudged her, as I did at first. The girl has the blood of gods in her, and the Great Mother will watch over her. Caryss knows the path that she walks, for it is now one of her own choosing.”

  He was steps from her now and hissed, “She will not long survive it by making enemies by the day.”

  “Those enemies will need to find her first,” Nahla countered, wondering when she had become the healer’s defender.

  “Would they not first search for her in Eirrannia?” she pressed.

  With only traces of thunder behind his words, the High Lord asked, “What would you have me do?”

  There was much that she did not know, Nahla could admit. But she had long known the ways of men and women, and she told him with ease, “She will come to you in time if you let her decide when that will be.”

  “She will have many enemies, and few to defend her,” he argued, although his eyes no longer appeared as dark as night.

  “The girl is not the fool you think she is. The diauxie, if she can convince him to join her, is a man like no other and will keep her safe.”

  “He is but one man. Here, she has Tribe as kin and ally.”

  Nodding, Nahla told him, “I know little of your ways. But I know the ways of women. The girl seeks to walk her own way, and you must let her try.”

  “You advise me to do nothing?” he hissed in disbelief.

  Sighing, Nahla replied, “I advise you to wait. Let her come to you when she is ready.”

  Conall interrupted before the High Lord could answer. “Conri, for now, she is safe. Neither Crow nor crown knows where she has gone. If you wish, I will find her, and give her warning of what she faces.”

  His words seemed to satisfy Conri, who brusquely nodded, “For now, she can remain there. Make ready to travel, Conall. The woman will stay here.”

  The High Lord walked across the room until he stood just before his brother. Nahla watched, listening to their exchange with unfeigned interest.

  “You must convince her to return the King, Conall. It is not the time to challenge Rexterra.”

  She listened as Conall agreed, and then watched as the High Lord strode from the room.

  After a moment, she warned Conall, “You will be chasing a ghost who chases another ghost. Do not expect the hunt to be an easy one.”

  Conall looked to her and heatedly replied, a big-toothed smile over his face, “A wolf never fears the hunt.”

  Without replying, Nahla looked upon him, at his fearlessness, and she found herself hoping that their son would share it. The thought surprised her, and she bowed her head, silently thanking the Great Mother.

  “Before you depart, will you walk me to my room, Conall?” she asked, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.

  It would be as Caryss had claimed, Nahla knew. Her own son would be Tribe, too.

  Neither spoke as they headed toward the room that had been prepared for her. Her booted footfalls loudly echoed, each step leading her closer to what the girl had seen.

  Once at her room, Nahla entered and Conall followed. As she closed the door behind them, she saw knowledge in his eyes. But, more, she saw desire.

  And, stronger than all, she saw power.

  The power of gods, his and her own. When she reached for him, Nahla thought she heard lightning strike the sea.

  *****

  After giving the King his sweetened poppy milk, Caryss and Sharron moved him to the pushcart. The boat had been fastened to a medium-sized dock, and Aldric was already standing on the thick planks of a well-maintained pier. Caryss nodded toward him and walked across the boat to where a large ramp was angled, big enough to accommodate the cart, which Sharron pushed a few steps behind her.

  When they were all standing on the wobbling pier, Hestor joined them as his deckhands unloaded several wooden crates.

  As she struggled to regain her balance after nearly a quarter-moon at sea, Caryss thanked the captain, “My gratitude for getting us here so quickly and safely.”

  Throughout the voyage, he had been pleasant and respectful, as Nahla had promised. With luck, he would be gone from the King’s City long enough that none would think to question him.

  His skin, sun-darkened and wrinkled, crinkled when he smiled.

  “A strong wind was at our back, lady. The sea agrees with you.”

  Even Aldric laughed at the captain’s words.

  “Without the ginger root, I would not have been able to get out of bed!” she exclaimed, trying to maintain her balance.

  Hestor let his eyes meet hers and with a suddenly deeper voice, he said, “The islands are a wonderful place, my lady, but there is danger still. I do not know what it is that you seek to do here, but trust few. Find what it is that you need and be gone. I myself am staying just a night. Is there any other assistance that I can offer?”

  “I do not know how long I will be here,” she told him truthfully. “There are a few supplies that my father will need. Is there a market near?”

  By the way the corners of his mouth rose, Caryss knew that Hestor had not believed Herrin to be her father, although he had never questioned her further. Yet, still, she worried anew about what his knowledge would mean and if Crispin’s men learned of him or Nahla.

  Seeing the fear in her eyes, Hestor stepped close to her and placed a loosely-draped arm around her waist. “My men and I have long days ahead of us as we sail south, to lands that few from Cordisia visit. We will not see Rexterra for many moons I think.”

  Hestor is a good man, she thought, but still noticed the large pouch of coins hanging heavy from his braided belt.

  Caryss quickly embraced him. Into his ear, she whispered, “May the wind always be at your back and the sun on your face.”

  When she released him, her eyes were clear and a wide smile covered her face. He bowed to her, and nodded before walking back to his ship. She watched him for a moment, remembering how her foster mother Sheva would often remind her that a small kindness was more valuable than a small coin. She had not thought on her foster mother in quarter-moons, she suddenly realized.

  Knowing that sending word to Sheva would only bring trouble, Caryss squeezed her eyes closed to prevent tears from falling.

  Her voice low, her eyes downcast, Caryss told the others, “Hestor said there is a market nearby. Let us go there.”

  The sky above was bright and blue, and the midday heat was strong, much stronger than the Tretorian sun that Caryss knew well. Her clothing, thick riding pants and a cropped jacket over a loose-fitting tunic, was ill-suited for the islands and stuck to her skin as she walked. Aldric was dressed as he always was, well-worn boots and a dark, tattered tunic. Only Sharron appeared ready for the warmth as she wore a simple dress made of cotton and linen.

  Aldric must have noticed her discomfort, and, as
he walked beside her, said, “It oft times takes half a day for your body to adjust to being ashore.”

  With a snort, she told him, “I had thought that I long ago adapted to a warm clime, but the heat here is nothing like it was in Litusia. I have never so much longed for my healer’s robe.”

  “There is no harm in wearing it now, Caryss.”

  After a moment of thought, she said, “It seems strange to wear it again, I think, after having gone without for the last few moons. Should I wear it to meet Otieno?”

  “It will matter little what you wear if we cannot find him,” Aldric answered, his tone curt.

  He thought her a touch maddened, Caryss mused, and had not ever liked the idea of searching for the man.

  “I will find him. I have never doubted that, Aldric. Why would I travel so far and risk so much if I believed that it would all be for naught?”

  “And when you do find him?”

  Pulling her hair into a healer’s knot at the base of her neck, she told him, “I will convince him to return to Cordisia with us. He is a mercenary like you once were, is he not?”

  “Caryss,” Aldric warned, “If you think to simply buy him with coin, then this journey will have truly been for naught. What does gold mean to one such as him? Did you not listen to anything that Nahla said? He once walked astride with the King here, but heard a different calling. His path is his own, and coin is nearly useless to him. You must find another way.”

  Pausing next to him, Caryss looked at him, her jaw tight. “Then I will find another way.”

  Aldric stopped as well. Again, his words offered warning.

  “Caryss, he is not Crispin, nor Willem, nor any other man who might see your smile and fall to his knees.”

  She said nothing and walked on. When he was beside her again, she told the mage, “He is a man still, like any other.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see him shaking his head, and knew her answer was not one that he liked or approved.

  “Have you forgotten yourself? With this new name, have you forgotten the woman you were moons ago?”

  His question stung, as he knew it would, for Caryss noticed how his eyes shined.

  Sharron was just ahead, and, although she heard their exchange, said nothing as she pushed the King onward down a wide, sandy path. As they neared the market, a crowd of Islanders shared the road. Caryss watched as the women carried empty baskets on their hips. Long braids of rope were attached to the baskets, allowing the women to drape them across their bodies and keep their hands free.

  Without glancing away from a woman with a basket that had been dyed green and blue, Caryss asked, “Would you have had me remain a fool, Aldric?”

  The mage’s cheeks flushed red, but still she pressed on. “A few moons ago, I knew nothing of my past, not even my name. I knew nothing of my parents’ deaths. I knew little of men and mage-skill and even less of the politics of the throne. If I am to remain free, then I have no choice but to learn as much as I can now.”

  Walking in stride with her, he said, “Aye, learn what you must. But do not become what you are not, Caryss.”

  “I no longer know who I am or who I should be.”

  Aldric grabbed her, with no concern as to how it appeared to the others around them, who were much more in number as they neared the edge of the village.

  “Look at me!” he hissed.

  When she refused, the mage placed a hand underneath her chin and jerked it upward, forcing Caryss to watch him as he addressed her. His hands, scarred and rough, scratched her cheeks, but he would not let her go.

  “You have played the insolent child for long enough,” he scolded. “Any more time spent troubled and bitter will keep you such forever. You have made your choice, and now must remember your vows. Yet, if you must fight, do it cleanly. Teach the girl your ways, Caryss. Not his.”

  “My ways will not keep her alive,” she whispered through clenched teeth, her eyes still on him.

  With ease, she threw his hand from her face, turned, and hurried off, jogging past Sharron until a cluster of buildings appeared.

  Sun-faded and light-colored, the buildings were similar in hue to the ones in Litusia, but they were long and low, spreading out to either side of the road. Near the center was a large inn, and Caryss nodded toward it as Aldric caught up with her.

  “I have grown hungry. Let us see if there are rooms available ahead. We can find the market later.”

  Within moments, the group was inside, including the King, whose forehead was damp with sweat. He had woken under the hot sun, and Sharron had gently explained to him where they were. Yet, even awake, he showed signs of the poppy milk dependency and his thoughts were not clear. Traveling in the cart had not been kind to him either, she knew.

  To their right was a large room filled with round tables and wooden stools. The room was empty except for two women dressed in brightly-patterned tunics, deeply cut and hanging to their feet. Long braids hung heavy down their backs, and one woman was heavy with child.

  Both women stared at them, and Caryss hesitated, uncertain if they knew Common. As she glanced at Aldric for assistance, one of the women called out.

  “Why do you transport the man so? You would not bring me a dead man, leseda.”

  The woman’s words were in lilting Common, and Caryss paled, knowing not what to say.

  “He is not dead,” she finally told them. “But he has been ill, and we have come to bring him to a warmer clime that might make him fare better.”

  “Keva,” the other woman chided, “Do not scare the girl. Your eyes are as sharp as ever, and even I can see the way the old man’s chest lifts and fall.”

  Toward that woman, whose dress was dyed red with swirls of yellow ferns dotting it, Caryss asked, “Do you have any rooms available?”

  “You are Cordisian? Have you coin to pay?”

  It was the other woman who answered.

  Nodding toward them both, she said, “We are, and, yes, we have coin.”

  The kind woman with the pleasant voice stood up, and Caryss asked, “How soon until the babe arrives?”

  “In the next moon or so,” the woman told her, although the words were strained.

  “Have you any other children?”

  A pained look crossed the woman’s face as she replied, “If the Great Mother wills it, this will be my first. Two others have not survived birth.”

  With understanding dawning, Caryss told the woman, “For over ten moon years, I have trained as a healer. If you wish it, I could examine you. Perhaps after I put my father to bed.”

  The others were quiet around them, although Caryss could feel Aldric watching her. Had he not told her to remember her time at the Academy, she thought, without taking her eyes from the woman.

  “A healer? I have heard the word. Let me show you to your rooms, and then we will talk further.”

  Nothing more was said, and the trio followed both women, sisters, Caryss assumed, away from the serving room. Soon, the women stopped, opening several, nut-colored wooden doors.

  The woman named Keva said, “You will not find cleaner rooms in all of Francolla.”

  As Caryss looked about the room, she could not disagree. The first was small, but tidy, with two cots in the center. Across the back window hung curtains the color of the Francollan sun. Like nearly all in the Islands, the room was bright and vivid, and even the blanket across the cot seemed painted like a sunset.

  Staring at the swirling floral patterns, Caryss asked, “Are most Islanders so welcoming?”

  With a laugh, Keva told her, “You will find most to be cheerful and willing to help. It is our way, as shown to us by the Great Mother. Our own mother used to remind us to smile through our tears, a common phrase here in Francolla.”

  It was hard not to feel at ease with the sisters, and Caryss found herself smiling in return. Sharron had taken the King to a room, with Aldric following, and the two were lifting Herrin onto the small bed. Neither woman showed signs
of recognizing the King, although they did ask once again about him.

  “Does he always sleep so much? It is midday.”

  “The trip was long, but we are hopeful that he will recover soon. There is a market nearby, is there not?”

  “Oh yes, just down the street. But if you are hungry, Asha can see that you are well-fed.”

  Not wanting to admit how hungry she was, Caryss told them, “Once we are settled, something to eat will be most welcome.”

  The sisters recognized the dismissal and walked down the hallway and back into the large entry. Once out of sight, Caryss entered the room where Aldric and Sharron now stood.

  With a look to the King, she asked, “Did he rouse at all?”

  “A bit. His skin is dull and puffy. He needs water and food soon,” Sharron told her, lifting a light blanket from Herrin’s legs to reveal puffy knees.

  “He will be fine here for a bit.”

  With that, they rejoined the sisters, seating themselves at a large, round table in the empty inn.

  Keva, swollen with child, leaned against a polished mahogany counter, while Asha busied herself in a nearby kitchen.

  Caryss watched the woman rub at her belly and looked at her own, rounded, yet still disguised by a large tunic. Pulling at her shirt, Caryss glanced toward Aldric.

  “How long do you think we can stay?”

  With a shrug, he told her, “Perhaps a quarter-moon.”

  He did not need to tell her that he feared Nahla would betray them. Nor did he speak of the Arvumian guards, who had been left in the King’s City. In their haste, their departure had not been well-planned, she knew.

  His words, clipped and short, were still warning, Caryss understood.

  Keva was near enough that when Caryss addressed her, she did not need to raise her voice.

  “Is there aught you can tell me of the diauxie?”

  Caryss watched as Keva’s face stiffened, as if she had not expected to hear the name spoken by a Cordisian. For a moment, Caryss thought she would not answer. Even Aldric looked upon her with disapproval.

  Setting a plate in front of her, the woman finally explained, “They are unlike most Islanders. The Great Mother speaks to them in voices only they can hear.”