I supposed Dylun and Warmil had become something like brothers in all those years crouching in that painted forest hideaway.
“Enough.” My father’s voice filled the room, the rasp of disuse framing his words. “Bo-Ino, isn’t it?”
Dylun’s eyes widened. “Yes, it is.”
Father nodded. “I knew your family.” Then he addressed the rest of the table, speaking slowly, each word an effort. “Bo-Ino is not mad. I’ve seen much.” He paused and looked down. “An age ago.” His eyes clouded a moment, but then he was back. “Some peoples exist without rulers. But even were that not the case, all ideas must be listened to, respected, discussed. If you cannot do so, you should leave.”
Thick silence enveloped the table.
Braith’s gaze trained on Father. “What do you think about Bo-Ino’s idea, General Bo-Arthio? Is a society without government—without leaders—possible for Tir?”
Father shook his head. “Too revolutionary now. Tyranny to anarchy will only make way for chaos. The Tirian Empire is too vast and has been oppressed too long.” He swallowed visibly, then cleared his throat. “Perhaps revisit in a generation or two.”
“Seems to me you wouldn’t need to.” The words flew out of my mouth unexpectedly.
Every head at the table swiveled toward me.
Braith nodded her encouragement. “Yes, Tanwen?”
“Well, meaning no offense, Dylun, but it seems if we had the right kind of leaders, we wouldn’t need to do away with them altogether, would we? We’re so used to a bad king, it doesn’t take much brains to figure out why a country without leaders sounds nice.” I glanced at Braith and felt a blush creep up my cheeks, but I went on. “Maybe if we found the right sort of people to lead Tir, we wouldn’t want to shove them out after a couple generations.”
One of the men I didn’t recognize glanced around the table. “Fair point.”
Phew.
I leaned back in my chair.
Discussion volleyed back and forth for a while after that. To tell the truth, I didn’t understand a lot of it, and I don’t think some of the others did either. Mor had to keep kicking Zelyth under the table, as the poor lad nodded off in his chair every few moments. Didn’t suppose he was getting much sleep with the new wee one about. Plus, it’s not like everything being discussed was riveting.
I did notice that whenever conversation got heated or two people couldn’t seem to understand each other, all heads turned toward my father for help. Clear to see how he’d ended up leading every soldier in Tir under Caradoc II. Even rasping out his words in fits and starts, he was fair and reasoned and somehow managed to see all sides of an issue.
A movement caught my attention. One of Gareth’s courtiers stared at Karlith. “What in the name of the goddesses are you doing?” he asked.
Karlith barely glanced up and continued curling her fingers around. She smiled. “Creating.”
Another moment passed—dead silence all around—and Karlith had painted a throne that looked so real it seemed it might pop off the table. A vine wove about the intricately carved seat. And out of every inch of the vine bloomed shimmering white velvet-petals.
There was murmuring from those gathered at the table.
Braith held up a hand. “Please.” She looked at Karlith. “I’d like to know what it means.”
“It means,” Karlith said with a smile, “it’s high time we picked that right sort of ruler.”
After a moment of quiet, an unexpected voice chimed in. “I have a nomination.”
I knew the surprise was written all over my face as I turned toward Dylun. How had we gone from stateless whatcha-call-it to a nomination for the new ruler of Tir?
A lady of Gareth’s court nodded. “I have a nomination too.”
“As do I.”
“So do I.” It was the first thing Gryfelle had said all meeting. She looked pale, and I wondered how long her night had been. I hoped she hadn’t been suffering.
I raised my hand, then immediately realized no one else had done so before speaking and dropped it. “I have a nomination.”
Glances were shared all around the table.
But Father spoke first. “Lady Braith.”
“Yes?” Braith looked at him, a question on her face.
“Braith, seconded.” Dylun nodded to the former princess.
“I nominate Lady Braith.”
“It has to be Braith.”
“Lady Braith for Tir’s new leader.”
Braith started, her face stunned. “Pardon me?”
An old man, one of Caradoc’s courtiers who sat next to Braith, leaned over and patted her hand. “If we’re looking for the right sort of leader, my dear, how could we think of anyone else?”
Braith’s eyes widened. “But I—” She shook her head. “I’m not anyone anymore. You understand, don’t you? I’m not, nor have I ever been, a real princess. Why would . . . ?” But she couldn’t finish her question through the tears trickling down her face.
Cameria was crying nearly as much, but she laughed. “You are right, my lady. Perhaps you were not a princess, but now you are queen. Your Majesty.”
Chapter 55
Tanwen
I leaned against the trunk of one of those trees that grew along the river’s edge—my favorite kind, where the branches seemed to be pouring their leaves out onto the ground. But this tree wasn’t by the river’s edge. It was in one of the palace gardens. This was the best garden because everything wasn’t neatly manicured and trimmed just so. The flowers sprouted up here and there, the way they wanted to and not the way some royal gardener had planned. Felt natural. Peaceful. A bit like home somehow.
Though the sun had begun its slow dip toward the horizon, a warm breeze ruffled through the drooping branches of the waterfall tree, my skirts, and my hair. I closed my eyes against it—drank it in and let it wash over me.
It had been a couple weeks since Gareth was toppled, and I guessed we were already into the first moon of summer now. Hard to believe how the world had turned upside down and sideways since the last moon of spring.
“Care for company, Tannie?”
My eyes popped open with a start. “Mor?”
Blue eyes sparkled down at me. “Aye, that’s what they call me. Leastways, to my face.”
I didn’t even try to hide my surprise. “Aye, but I thought you were dodging me.”
His smile slipped and his gaze dropped. “I suppose I have been.” He plunked down beside me and leaned against the trunk. “It’s just been . . .”
He trailed off and silence settled between us.
After a moment, I offered a suggestion. “Awkward?”
“Aye.” He looked away, out toward the banks of the river, though the buildings of Urian blocked them from our sight. “How’s your . . . I mean, how’s Brac?”
Now it was my turn to look away. “He’s mending.”
I let the subject evaporate like an errant story strand. What else was there to say? Should I insist I didn’t mean to betroth myself to him?
Aye, that’d make the air between us less prickly.
“Mor?” I said.
“Yes?”
I kept on looking away so my gaze wouldn’t unnerve him. “What did you do?”
“What, today?”
I laughed. His confusion sounded genuine. “No. In your past. The thing you’re trying to erase by doing right. You never did tell me.”
He let out his breath in a long, slow stream. “Promise you won’t despise me?”
“No.” I felt his gaze on me and I swiveled around to meet it. “What? For all I know, you pulled the legs off a passel of fluff-hoppers. Or dropped small children down a well on purpose. Or . . . something else unforgiveable.”
He stared at me, then burst into laughter. “Pulled the legs off fluff-hoppers? Oh, Tannie.” His laughter quieted, then he took to looking toward the river again. “It was nothing like that. My father, Lidere, was a fishing boat captain. I was raised on the Menfor S
ea, working with him and his crew.” He smiled at some fond remembrance. “I used to tell the men stories in the evenings. They loved that. Strands of magic and history and truth, swirling around a small lad barely old enough to tie a proper knot.
“We did well, my family. Well enough that Father hired a tutor, and I got a Urian education in the hull of my family’s ship. It was a happy childhood, sailing and fishing and staying blissfully removed from all the unrest under Gareth. Father wanted it that way, I think. Knew I’d have a bull’s-eye on my back because of my weaving gift. It was his way of trying to keep me safe.
“But the guard arrested him shortly after my sixteenth birthday, four years ago. The official story was something about unpaid taxes, but that’s rubbish. Someone later told me it was because he’d refused to have me registered as a story peddler and he ought to have done by then, since I wasn’t working under a registered mentor. In any case, they took him to the Urian dungeons. When they executed him—”
“Wait a minute,” I cut in. “They killed him? For not registering you as a peddler?”
Mor smiled wryly at me. “No, they killed him for ‘unpaid taxes.’ But really they killed him because he wouldn’t jump at the king’s command.” Mor paused.
“Mother was already ill, and when we got the news that Father was dead, it did her in. Lost both my parents in the space of a week. Then, a couple weeks later, the guard showed up again.” His voice caught, and he had to collect himself before he could continue. “They took my father’s ship and my little sister as payment for my father’s supposed debt.”
His words hung thick and heavy in the air for a long moment before I could form a response. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“I did. Once. They carried her off to become a servant in the palace, supposedly, but I’m sure they killed her too. She was thirteen. And I . . .” He swallowed. “Well, I just let them. Didn’t fight for her or anything. Just let them take her away. I didn’t go after her. They snatched her, left, and that was it.” He picked up a pebble and chucked it at a cluster of wildflowers. “Instead of going after her, I took to the sea again. It was the only place anything made sense. Snagged an unflagged vessel—don’t ask how—and started pirating to get by. Wasn’t going to be able to live on the right side of Gareth anyway, so I didn’t see wrong in pillaging and plundering his royal vessels or military outposts. And all the while, I left my only sister to her fate.”
I sat quietly for a moment. It wasn’t noble, what he’d done. No two ways about that. But he’d been a young lad, scrambling to make his way after his life had been uprooted. Just as I’d been a young lass, scrambling to make mine. I was certain I hadn’t acted nobly every moment of the last moon.
“Mor?”
He turned to look at me.
“What was her name?”
“Digwyn.” He smiled faintly. “Means ‘little fish’ in Old Tirian.”
I smiled back. “I bet she’d understand. She’d understand that if you could do it over, you’d do it differently. And I—” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I understand too. Why you must stick by Gryfelle, even after she doesn’t know you anymore.”
I understood. Didn’t mean I liked it.
“Aye,” he said. “I made things worse for Gryfelle, in a way. She asked me to let her be and I wouldn’t. I should’ve done as she asked, but I chose what was right for myself. Again. I was all moony over her, and I wouldn’t let her alone.”
He sighed. “But that’s another story for another time. At least now you know the short of why I have to stop choosing myself. Why I have to think of Gryfelle above all else, even when it doesn’t matter to her anymore. Right is right, whether Gryfelle can remember her own name or mine or nothing at all. And that matters to me. It will always matter to me. Or else I’m still that same selfish pirate who walked the other direction when his sister was stolen.”
My heart seemed to press against the wall of my chest. But I knew there was truth in what he said, what he was trying to do, so I didn’t fight it.
“I haven’t seen Gryfelle in a while. How is she?”
Mor looked up toward the darkening sky. “Unwell, Tannie. She’s quite unwell. She hasn’t seen anything beyond the walls of the infirmary for the last two days. She . . . she doesn’t know herself half the time.”
My heart pressed harder. “Surely there’s something that can be done.” Seemed unfair that no answer, no solution, existed.
“That’s actually why I came to find you.” He pulled a piece of thick parchment from an inside pocket of his vest. I caught a glimpse of the royal seal as he opened it.
I peered over his shoulder and read the fancy script along the top. “‘Vessel Ownership Registration.’ What’s that?”
“Queen Braith’s given me a ship.”
“Mor! Your own ship?”
Then an avalanche of uncertainty buried me. Did this mean Mor was leaving? Would he be gone in the new queen’s service all the year round?
I tried to force my voice to sound as bright as it had three heartbeats earlier. “Does that mean you’re setting sail soon? Captaining a merchant vessel under the new banner of Queen Braith or something?”
“Not exactly. The queen has granted me the favor of one of her vessels at my desperate request. I’ve heard rumors that there might be help for Gryfelle—hope for Gryfelle. We’ve heard word of an ancient cure, a relic whose pieces are scattered over the wide world. There’s meant to be some kind of healing power in it. Maybe it’s just a legend. Maybe the tales are rooted in truth. But I’ll never know if I don’t try. I have to try.”
“Of course you do, Mor. If there’s help out there for Gryfelle, I know you’ll find it.” And I meant it.
He nodded. “But I can’t go alone. I’ll need a crew. And friends about me.” His gaze flicked up to mine. “The black-glass palaces of Minasimet, the sticky jungles of the Spice Islands, the windswept plains of Haribi, and anywhere else we can find port.”
As he spoke, strands of story swirled into being between us, dipping and twisting and solidifying by the second. After a long breath, the strands blinked into a real form—a black tricorn hat like all the fishermen and sailors wore out on the seas. Except a silky white ribbon wrapped around the crown of this hat. And a fluffy white plume sprouted from the band, secured with a sparkling blue pin—a pin that, if I wasn’t mistaken, was the exact color of my eyes.
The hat dropped into Mor’s hands. He stared at it a moment, then held it out to me. “What do you say, Tannie? Will you come with us?”
Could I pick up and leave Brac, leave Father, after I’d just been reunited with them?
But then I thought of Gryfelle. She lay dying up in the infirmary, and she was one of my kind—one of my own. If I had a chance to help her, I must take it.
I beamed at Mor but couldn’t seem to form words.
He mirrored my grin and set the sailor’s hat upon my head. It fitted perfectly.
Mor popped to his feet, then helped me up after him. He brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear, then settled the hat further onto my head. “All right, farm girl.” His eyes twinkled with mischief and the promise of what tomorrow might bring. “You ready for a real adventure?”
Epilogue
“Dirty rotten liar.” Gareth crushed a fistful of filthy straw in his good hand. “You promised me.”
Had you done everything I required, this wouldn’t be happening.
“I never failed you.”
Then why has it all fallen apart?
Gareth smashed his good hand into the stone wall of his cell. “Goddesses’ blood! Blazed if I know. You’re supposed to be the one with all the answers. You tell me.”
A pause. The Master didn’t like to be questioned.
Perhaps I picked an inadequate representative.
“Then maybe it’s time you found a new one.” Gareth leaned his head back against the wall. “I’m finished.”
Another pause.
As you
wish.
A silky black strand slithered through the iron bars of his cell. The strand coiled up, raised as if to strike. Then the thing shot forward and clamped around Gareth’s neck.
The strand tightened in a heartbeat. Gareth clawed at it.
But it was no use. Though it squeezed the breath from his lungs and cut the blood from his head, there was nothing solid to grab hold of. It was one of the very story strands Gareth had tried so hard to control—and at the Master’s bidding.
And all along the Master was . . . a weaver?
Gareth collapsed to the ground, flailed in the straw for a moment. Then he stopped struggling.
As the last bit of air left his body, Gareth’s mind went to the only good he had ever known. A terrifying final thought flickered through him.
What if the Master came after Braith next?
Continued in
The Weaver Trilogy: Book 2
The Story Mage
Acknowledgments
Novel writing is a strange process—wholly solitary at most points, yet involving the support and skillful contributions of others at key junctures. I’m not sure I can adequately thank everyone who has poured into this story, but I’m going to try.
First, to Dave. Without your support and unwavering encouragement, I never could have pursued my passion for storytelling. You’re my lobster.
To my children—Shane, Jared, and Keira—for mostly understanding when Mom is in the weird artist place and needs lots of space and silence. I love you all with the fire of a thousand suns. Now go clean your rooms.
To my mom, who was the first person to fall in love with Tanwen besides me. And to my dad, my favorite colormaster of all time. Thank you for the beautiful map of Tir featured in this book. My story strands are honored to keep company with your colormastery strands.
To my faithful agent, Rachel Kent. You saw something in me very early in my career, and you never lost confidence that I would realize my potential someday. You’ve been my professional lifeline in moments when I felt like giving up. Thank you.
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