“See there? The one that looks like it’s made of straw? That’s Brac.”
“All the people you love.” Mor glanced at me for a heartbeat, then looked away.
“Something like that.” I bit my lip. “Mor—”
But before I could say anything else, the heart split apart with a loud crack. The glass shattered to pieces before the shards disappeared into the air. The painted-wings hovered for a moment, then an unseen force sucked them down to the ground. A sound like squealing animals filled my ears, then the painted wings vanished as if pulled into the earth by invisible hands.
The Corsyth lay deathly still as I stared into the void where my heart had been.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What happened?”
Mor frowned. “A warning, I think. Your heart knows what’s at stake, Tannie. It knows what you stand to lose.”
“I’ve already lost my parents.”
“But you have memories—ideas of them, at least. Those trinkets and relics of your family. You’ve preserved all you’ve been able to.”
Tears stung my eyes. “And if I don’t stop squishing down the art—the truth—that wants to be told, I’ll lose those too.”
“Aye. You’ll lose everything.”
With a last, lingering glance at me, he turned and strode toward the log where Gryfelle sat, a hand to her temple. Like her head ached again. Or else like she was trying to grasp at rocks that wouldn’t stop sliding.
Chapter 26
Tanwen
Mor folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t like it, Warmil. I think Tanwen should stay here.”
His worried glance simultaneously made my cheeks flush and my heart fill with dread.
Warmil chewed his lip a moment. “I understand your objection. But you see my point, don’t you? It’s been a full two weeks. Tanwen is one of us now, and we all have to be trained. What if Aeron, Dylun, and I are ambushed on our watch tonight? What happens when Gryfelle has another spell? You know she could take one of us down with her.”
Gryfelle’s intake of breath could be seen from where I stood. She lifted her chin like she felt the point of a sword at her back. Mor’s eyes blazed blue fire.
Warmil stiffened. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be unfeeling. But we have to consider the possibility. Tanwen needs to be fully aware of how we function here—where we get our supplies, who our contacts are, which areas to avoid. Bowyd is our main supply center, and if our allies there don’t know Tanwen’s face, they’ll never help her.” He shook his head. “We can’t bring her into our fold if she’s sheltering in the Corsyth.”
“I’ll be all right, Mor.” I flashed a smile at him—hoped it hid the shakiness I felt. “I don’t mind. If I’m going to stay, I need to learn.”
Mor didn’t smile. He glanced at Zelyth. “What do you think, mate?”
Zelyth looked up at me from where he sharpened a dagger. “I don’t like it any more than you do.” He pushed himself to his feet and winced. “But I think War’s right. We can’t guess who’ll make it to the next sunrise around here, so Tannie needs to learn.”
The drawl of his accent on my nickname served me a sharp reminder of the life I’d left behind. It’d been two weeks since I’d heard Brac’s voice, his drawl, ripple through my name like that. It seemed a lifetime ago.
I missed my best friend.
“Lass.” Karlith put her hand on my arm. “What troubles you, love? Are you afraid to go to Bowyd?”
I pressed my lips together. “It’s not that. It’s nothing, really.”
Karlith didn’t push, but she squeezed my shoulder like maybe she understood.
Mor nodded once. “All right. Seems I’m overruled. I’ll let this happen on one condition. I scout up ahead. If there’s any danger—any at all—Tanwen must be brought back to the Corsyth immediately. Top priority, War. We brought her to the Corsyth to protect her, and I’ll be flayed if harm will come to her on my watch.”
Warmil’s sky-blue eyes glittered. “I’d not see harm come to the daughter of Yestin Bo-Arthio either. You know that.”
Father’s full name. “Warmil, did you know my father?”
Dylun looked at me. “There’s not a subject of the true king alive today who doesn’t know your father’s name.”
My father, with his sleepy study in the dusty, poky village of Pembrone was known around Tir?
“But—” I could barely splutter the words past my disbelief. “But why?”
“No time.” Warmil nodded toward the treetops. “If we want to be back before nightfall, we need to start now.”
“Then tell me on the way.” I wasn’t backing away from this one so easy. “I deserve to hear.”
Karlith squeezed my shoulder again. “Course you do, lass. But Yestin’s name is best not spoken within a league of civilization.”
Cethor’s tears. What had he done? This man I’d always imagined as a merchant or a shopkeeper. What if he’d been a villain instead?
I frowned at the others, all staring at me like I had any idea what to say. “Was he bad?”
Warmil shook his head then dropped his gaze to the ground. “No, Tanwen. He was very good.”
And that seemed to be all I was getting until our mission was over. And if that was the case . . .
I squared my shoulders. “Right, then. Let’s go to Bowyd.”
I studied each face in turn while the riverboat slipped through the water toward Bowyd. Who’d be most likely to divulge some secrets?
“Karlith?”
Her sleepy eyes lifted to mine. “Yes, love?”
“Did you know him? I mean, did you ever see my father with your own two eyes?”
Karlith smiled a little. “Sorry, lass. I never saw him. But I sure knew of him. You’ve seen him more than anyone else in this boat.”
I slumped onto the bench. “But I don’t remember.”
“I know, lass. And I don’t pretend it’s not been hard on you. Life, that is.”
“So . . .” I didn’t want to say it aloud. “So, then, he’s really dead?”
“Yes, lass. Not seen or heard from in over a decade.”
“Karlith, please. Tell me who he was.”
She paused a moment.
Warmil’s hiss silenced anything she might have said. “Bowyd’s dock ahead. Time to cut the chatter.”
Karlith whispered kindly, “In good time.”
Mor, Zel, and Aeron eased the boat toward the dock. A chilly breeze stirred through the trees lining the shore.
All faces tensed. Every eye watched.
“War, you take Tanwen there.” Mor nodded to a rocky part of the bank a bit off the main dock area. “Guard her while I scout up ahead.” He looked at the others. “You’ll secure the boat, then keep to the trees. Aye?”
Nods and ayes all around.
“Good.” He turned to set off. “See you soon.”
Warmil didn’t do a very fine job acting like a normal person. At the rocks he looked exactly like a soldier guarding a peasant lass for no apparent reason—back stiff, eyes scanning the area, hand ready on the hilt of a short sword hidden beneath his cloak. I didn’t suppose he was great at secret missions.
“Warmil, what’s our story to be?”
He grunted. “Story? I’m a colormaster, not a storyteller.”
“Not like that. I mean what if someone stops to question us?”
“A cover story?”
“Aye. One of those.” I stifled a laugh. “You’re not blending into anything at the moment, if you want to know the ugly truth.”
He frowned. Seemed like he tried to relax his posture somewhat, but he only ended up looking like he was crouching down to spring.
“How about you be my father. And you’ve taken me to Bowyd to shop for some material for a new dress. But we traveled a long way in our boat, since our farm is far, so we stopped here to rest. You’re spent, as a person would be, rowing a boat all the way from our farm, which is why we’re resting here. But I really want
to get to the shops so I can find the perfect fabric—for my wedding dress! And—”
“Tanwen!”
I jumped at his harsh growl. “What?”
But then I saw the wispy strands of story dancing before us—pale yellow, just like Evan Ma-Griod wore to her wedding last year. Blushing, I waved my hands to clear the strands before anyone saw them. “Oops.”
Guessed I wasn’t good at secret missions either.
Warmil cleared his throat. “You were saying something about blending in?”
I smiled wryly.
A moment of silence passed, then he glanced at me. “You really think I look old enough to be your father?”
I snorted. “You are old enough to be my father.”
Warmil grunted and turned to look out across the rippling water. “Odd how one’s life slips by unnoticed sometimes.”
I wound a lock of hair around my finger, then shifted it back and forth to watch it shimmer gold in the sunlight. “I don’t think my life’s too keen on slipping by unnoticed.” I nodded to the river. “I seem to ping off one bank of the river, then bounce off the other. Then slam into a rock or two. Or twelve.”
Warmil smiled—really and truly smiled, right there in that rocky outcropping by the river.
I laughed. “You have a nice smile!”
“What?” He started like he’d taken a bolt of lightning.
“Your smile is nice. You should use it more often.” I tucked my knees up under my chin and tugged on my skirt hem so my toes were covered. “Why didn’t you ever marry, Warmil?”
He shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me.”
“Didn’t occur to you? Like, you managed not to notice every person around you was married?”
“I was busy with my command.”
I quieted a touch then, because I knew he was thinking about those lads he’d lost. “You could get married now, couldn’t you?”
All traces of smile dropped off his face. “No.”
“No?”
“No. Of course not. Who in the name of the tax collector would I marry?”
I had to bite down on my lip to keep from shouting out her name. “There are some lasses about, Captain. And you’re still handsome enough to convince one of them to get married, don’t you think?”
“No. I thought you said I looked old enough to be your father.”
“You do. But old people can be handsome too.”
He tossed a half-hearted glare in my direction, and I giggled.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose you think I should marry Gryfelle, or some other such nonsense. That poor lass has enough to contend with.”
Maybe if I banged his head against the rock it would knock some sense into him. “No. Even if she were well, Gryfelle’s not for you. It’ll have to be someone else.”
“Not Karlith.” Warmil rolled his eyes. “You know little of her heart if you think she’d ever give it to another. Lundir is the only man she could love. She’s a decade older than I, in any case.”
“No, not Karlith.” I fixed my gaze on him and aimed to keep it there until he understood my meaning. Should only take him about a moon. He suddenly looked at me with a touch of horror.
I stared back, puzzled, but then it dawned on me. “No! I didn’t mean me!”
He just gave another glare and muttered it was all nonsense.
“Try again,” I pleaded.
Suddenly those blue eyes went wide, and I knew he’d finally stumbled upon it. “Aeron?”
“She’s in love with you. Never noticed?”
“Impossible.” He waved his hand, spluttered something that didn’t even sound like Tirian, then plopped down beside me on the rock. “She couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?”
“She was just a lass when she joined up. A child. I’m sure she looks at me like a father.”
“A child!” I threw back my head and laughed. “Old enough to die in the king’s service, though. How old was she when she joined? Think hard now.”
He shook his head a little. “Fifteen. Maybe sixteen.”
“Fifteen.” I looked at him. “I’m only a lass of seventeen and I know more about love than you do. Hardly a child.”
“Excuse me, but—”
“Oh, Captain, really. Poor Aeron’s probably been in love with you since she joined up at fifteen. How long ago was that?”
“Ten years.”
“So that makes Aeron twenty-five. Still lots of years for having wee ones.”
Warmil froze so still he might’ve been a statue.
I mused, “Wonder if they’ll be born with your gray hair.”
“This is . . . ridiculous.”
“Warmil.” I made sure to catch his gaze. “Ask her.”
He jerked to his feet. “What? Where?”
I pulled him back down by his cloak. “Not now. Maybe when it’s just the two of you. Like when you’re out on watch together. You could make sure you’re well away from the Corsyth so you’ll not be heard. Take her to a place where the trees aren’t so thick and the starlight is sparkling overhead. Then you take her hand in yours and tell her you’ve been thinking a lot lately, and you wonder if she might be willing to let you be her knight for all the rest of her days!”
“Tanwen!”
A black-and-white story strand snaked through the air while a silver-gray one followed behind. The strands swirled into a heart when I paused.
“Oops.” I waved the strands away. “Sorry.”
Warmil opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a sharp whistle brought his hand to his sword hilt again. “That’s Mor. Follow me.”
He slipped back into the trees, me just behind. Another whistle sounded, and a moment later I saw Gryfelle’s green dress appear from one clump of trees, Zel’s straw-colored hair from another, and all the others from different directions. Finally Mor appeared, chest heaving and something clutched in one hand. Paper, it looked like.
“We need to get out of here. Now.” Mor smoothed out the crumpled paper. “Look. These are all over Bowyd.”
My hands dropped to my sides and I took a step back. “That—that’s me.”
An image so perfect—so exact—that I might’ve been looking into a still pond on a clear day stared back at me. My nose, my seastone-blue eyes, my dark golden hair, pinned up in fancy braids and curls the way I liked it when I was peddling. And the words screaming across the top of the slip weren’t lost on me: Tanwen En-Yestin, Capture or Kill. Reward: Two Hundred Gold Pieces.
“How?” I shook my head to make the fog of horror clear away from my mind. “How did they do this?”
Dylun snatched the paper from Mor. “Gareth must have a colormaster. Probably locked in the dungeons, doing the tyrant’s business under threat of noose or chopping block.”
Warmil snorted. “Or working for the usurper quite willingly—for a hefty salary. High ideals be fried, Dylun. Not all weavers are on our side.”
Dylun didn’t raise a fuss. This once. “Whatever the case, it’s a colormaster.” He glanced up at me, then back at the paper. “No other way a portrait could be this exact without you sitting for it. They must have spoken to many witnesses.” He turned his dark eyes on me. “Friends. Family.”
“There’s no family to talk to.” But as soon as it flew from my mouth, I realized it wasn’t true. “Except Farmer and Ma-Bradwir.” I almost couldn’t get the word past my heart. “And Brac. And the little ones.”
Zel peered over Dylun’s shoulder. “What’s it say?”
Dylun’s face stormed. “Kill or capture. Says here capture is preferable—which means Gareth plans to torture you.”
I supposed they were used to this business, but I couldn’t quite grasp how he threw that out there so callously.
“Ah, here it says it’s suspected Tanwen is ‘in league with the outlaws who live in Codewig Forest.’ That puts a nice fine point on it for the bounty hunters.”
“Bounty hunters?” The squeak didn’t sound like i
t could have come from my mouth. “People will be hunting me?”
Dylun held up the paper. “Two hundred gold pieces, Tanwen.”
“Two hundred!” Zelyth practically shouted. “I could feed Ifmere, the baby, myself, and my father’s whole family for years on two hundred gold.” He glanced at me, and I must have had terror written all over my face. “Not that I would, Tannie. I only mean to say Gareth’s turned every peasant from here to Haribi against us by offering such a bounty. Nowhere is safe now.”
Gryfelle sighed. “Well, it’s not as if anywhere was truly safe before. We shall simply stay to the Corsyth as much as possible. It’s well protected, and if we can manage to hide out long enough, the bounty hunters will move on to their next mark and the peasants will be less alert.”
“We need our supplies before we leave,” Mor said. He crossed his arms. “I’ll not take Tanwen into town now. Not for any reason.”
Warmil nodded. “No, of course. We’ll stay and ready the boat. But don’t you go either, Mor. You’re too known around here. If the peasants are looking, someone’s bound to notice you.”
“Aye, then it has to be me,” Zel said. “I can blend in to the marketplace like any of the other dozens of farmers there to sell crops.”
Gryfelle put a hand on Zelyth’s injured arm. “But not alone.”
“I’ll go.” Aeron fastened her cloak around her shoulders. “Of the rest of us, I’m least visible.”
“Least visible?” I eyed the tall woman in trousers with hair shorn at her chin like a lad’s.
She spared me a tart glance. “I didn’t say invisible. I said least visible. Mor, War, and Karlith have appeared on far too many kill-or-capture orders themselves. Any noble or official might recognize Gryfelle.” Aeron rolled her eyes. “And one can hear Dylun’s loud mouth a league off.”
Dylun shrugged some manner of agreement.
“Aeron . . .” Warmil’s gruff voice might’ve made me smile under any other circumstances. “You’ll be careful?”
Aeron frowned. “Of course, Captain.” She eyed him like he’d grown an extra head.
“Right,” Zel said as he checked his hidden dagger. “It’ll be me and Aeron getting the supplies. The rest of you ready the boat.” He turned to me. “And Tannie—stay hidden, lass.”
The Story Peddler Page 18
