By a Thread

by Nyna Queen

  “What does it mean?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What you just said—what does it mean?”

  “The vision?” She licked her lips, which seemed to be as dry as his. “I—don’t know. It’s … The seer who speaks usually does not remember the vision. That’s why in professional sessions they always have the seer and two interpreters.” Her eyes flickered to his gloves, apologetically. “But, if—if you wish, I could ask the senior Sky Mother, if she could—”

  “No.” Darken stepped back, driven by a sudden urgency. “I have to go.”

  The ground buckled beneath him. The girl grabbed his arm, her fear momentarily forgotten.

  “No, you must hydrate and rest and—”

  “I must go,” Darken whispered, yanking his arm out of her grip.

  “Wait!” she called, but he was already out of the door and took the steps one, two, three at once, ignoring the burning pain behind his eyes.

  The urgency ripped at him, her ominous words fresh in his mind.

  A broken key. A rotten castle. A snake biting its tail.

  Destruction. Betrayal.

  Too many warnings. Too many bad omens.

  She will bleed. So much blood.

  The question was who. And why.

  Jumping into a cab toward the hotel, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he would find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE cab coach rumpled over a small wooden bridge spanning a narrow stream and Alex clenched her teeth against the jarring sensation in her bones.

  Checkout had been a brief affair since they didn’t have any luggage or anything else that would have occupied them for more than a minute. They’d told Blayde their farewells, who, while brushing another kiss onto her now clean fingers, had assured her that she would get all her weapons back at the Eastern Border Post.

  As promised, a coach was already waiting for them in the yard in front of the hotel entrance, with the cowed courier in attendance beside it. The poor guy had bolted outside the moment they had entered the lobby, clearly glad to get some distance between him and the reach of her claws.

  The kids were buzzing with excitement—finally, they were going to be home, they were going to see their parents again—and they were chatting away like two splashing waterfalls after a heavy rainfall. Right now, they had reached the topic of tonight’s dinner and were pondering the possibilities in great detail.

  Alex wished she could join in their excitement, but unease kept nagging at her.

  It wasn’t so much the pretentious wording of the letter—that fit right in with the aristocratic arrogance Darken had already shown on several occasions—but damn it, he could have at least acknowledged her once. And then this commanding tone! As if a simple “please” was too much to ask for. Scarcely back in trueborn territory and he’d turned right back into the haughty prick from the roadhouse. Well, why was she even surprised?

  Or was this his way of bringing things between them back into perspective? A subtle reminder of where she stood in the big picture—she, the illiterate shaper girl without pedigree? Was this his way of showing her, without the need for talk, that last night had been a lapse that wouldn’t be repeated?

  Yet, even if it was, there was something about the wording …

  Oh, for Jester’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with that letter, sugar! It’s simply your bruised ego talking.

  Granted. She was still sore about how casually he’d dismissed last night, how indifferently he’d treated her this morning. As if it hadn't been anything more than a petty fling, a mere exchange of body fluids. Which was exactly what it had been. So why did she get so worked up about it? She was making a mountain out of a molehill. That’s what she was doing.

  “You’ll love Helton Manor, Alex.” Josy leaned over and squeezed her arm, interrupting her thoughts, brown eyes shining brightly. “It’s the most picturesque place. We often go there for the weekend and usually spend most of our summer-holiday period there.”

  Alex managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

  Josy beamed and went on about the stables, and the kitchen and, of course, the garden. “The garden is my most favorite place. I hope the spring flowers are still in full bloom, that’s when it looks the most magnificent. Although there is always something blooming there. Mr. Thule, our gardener, makes sure of it. He also keeps a private section in the garden for me, for tending my own flowerbed and healing-herb-site. You’ll like him. He’s such an adorable little man.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in her seat Alex made the right commitment noises to show interest, while internally she doubted that she would get close enough to anybody to talk to, let alone decide if she liked them. It might have slipped Josy’s mind that she was a just an underbred blood-thirsty shaper-mongrel, but others wouldn’t be able to overlook it so generously. Just like the man opposite her.

  What she would have really liked right now, was to get out of the confined space of this coach and away from the trembling sniveler on the other side of the vehicle, who was stinking up the sparse air with his cold sweat. He was sitting as far from her as was physically possible in the coach—which wasn’t too far, considering the fact that there were only two seat benches facing each other, with the kids acting as a kind of human buffer between them.

  The pungent scent of his nervousness and fear grated on her frail nerves and the way he kept shooting her concealed glances while fiddling with his sleeves made her want to sink her teeth into his neck.

  Not his fault, she told herself. The poor fellow had been stuck between a forfeit and a shaper, but sweet Jester, if he didn’t stop quivering like that—

  A faint mewling sound escaped the man’s lips. He was staring right down at her crotch.

  Excuse me?

  Glancing down, Alex noticed that the tips of claws were peeking out of her fingertips.

  Great Mother, that’s how far it had gotten? She was starting to slip! Boy, she really needed to get out of here!

  To everybody’s luck that was when the coach finally came to a jerking halt and the driver knocked on the sliding window that separated the seating compartment from the driver’s room, indicating their destination.

  Alex let out an unmistakable breath, snatched her backpack, and bolted out of the door before anyone else had any chance to move. Outside she sucked the clear, unpolluted air through her nose and immediately felt her heartbeat slow down.

  The cab sat at the end of a small horse-shoe-turn around a prettily planted street island that nestled in the fold of the hills encompassing the Pacified Zone in the east. Looking back to where they had come from, the small town at the foot of the hotel was completely concealed by the hill-locked landscape, but the hotel-tower rose like its own custodian, bright panes of glass reflecting the brilliant afternoon sun. To the other side, the land was rural and rugged, forming soft grassy hills.

  The others joined her on the footway. With hot embarrassment, Alex realized that neither she nor the kids had any money on them to pay the coach driver. To his credit the courier acted most courteous about it, paying the entire bill without any comment over her muttered assurances that Darken would reimburse him in a minute.

  Watching the coach take off, Alex’s worry shifted to anger. Darken knew she no cash on hand. They’d discussed it in great length this very morning! He could have sent some money with the letter if he insisted on meeting them out here or at the very least been here to pay their damn bill.

  Right to the point—where the fuck was he? First making such a fuss and then being late?

  “Where is Uncle Darken?” Max asked, taking the words right out of her mouth.

  “Ah, well … yeah,” the courier looked around as uneasily as she felt, probably waiting desperately for the chance to finally get away for her. “I suppose … well, the pavilion is just over the hilltop.”

  She followed his outstretched hand with her eyes, seeing wooden beams of what was probably the Eastern Border Post, peek
ing over the tip of the grass-covered hill. A slab of rough stone steps led up the hillside.

  The courier started toward the steps. Alex shrugged, slung her backpack over her left shoulder, and nodded for the kids to follow.

  It was just a short climb, but it still left her winded, which spoke volumes of her current state of recovery.

  The hilltop was strewn with boulders resting on a bed of deep green clover, their moss-covered stone rutted by wind and weather. A light way down to their left, a wooden structure clung to the sloping side of the hill, resting on a shaky little plateau.

  Alex wrinkled her nose. More a ruin than an actual pavilion. For all Blayde cared for his hotel, you’d think he’d keep his border posts in better shape.

  A couple of men in gray cloaks huddled inside the structure. Alex scanned their ranks, looking for the one man, she wanted to kick in the balls so hard he could hear his teeth clatter.

  Josy squealed and Alex nearly jumped. The girl was pointing down the hill, where straight down across the wide grassy meadow, two elegant magic coaches were waiting, just where a forest street bordered the edge of the woods. Three men in white and blue uniforms stood in front of them, with about a dozen men in dark clothing scattered loosely around them. The young man in the middle, with longish blond-brown hair tied back with a leather cord, raised his hand in greeting and Josy let out another squeak.

  “Oooooh, it’s Captain Cammryn.” Her voice had a strange high and slightly breathless cadence, as she waved back eagerly.

  Max made a rude noise. “Boydon says he’s a prude.”

  Josy gave her brother a scorching look. “I’d say he’s diligent. And Boydon is a rascal.”

  “Josy fancies him,” Max told Alex in a not-so-confiding whisper.

  “Do not!” But a lovely blush dappled her porcelain cheeks.

  They started hopping down the hill without another look at Alex.

  “Hey! Wait for your uncle!” Alex called and was sort of acknowledged by their looking back and slowing their descent.

  “Children,” the courier said with a wry grin, “the only thing you can reckon with is that they never listen.”

  Well, thanks for the unsolicited opinion, Alex thought with a sour side glance at the courier, as she made her way down toward the pavilion, sidestepping a knee-high boulder sticking out of the grass, one eye constantly trained at the children chasing each other down the hill. Great Mother, these heeled shoes really weren’t made for terrain like this!

  “That’s an awful lot of guards down there,” she noted, more to fill the silence than to make actual conversation. It was true, though. Half an army by certain counts. Darken never did things halfway, did he? But that seemed a bit over the top, even for his standards. Of course, she knew he took the children’s safety seriously but hadn’t he said the estate was only a couple of miles away? What did he think would happen on the way? Or was there something he hadn’t told her?

  The silky cords of worry that had wound around her neck, pulled a little tighter again.

  The courier coughed slightly. “Yeah, well, Master Darken was very, uhm … specific about the security measures.” He fiddled with his sleeves, looking almost embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ll understand …”

  “Understand?” Her eyes narrowed. “Understand what?”

  He wrung his hands, his voice begging her forgiveness. “Well … since you’re going to enter the family seat, and your, uhm … special … condition …”

  The words took a moment to penetrate.

  He didn’t trust her! It felt as if she’d been slapped across her face. After all that had happened, after all they had been through together—even after last night—Darken still didn’t trust her!

  Raw disappointment flooded her, so bitter and sharp she could barely breathe. Oh, out there with danger breathing down their necks, she’d been useful enough as backup, alright, but when it came to entering their precious trueborn halls she was nothing but an untrustworthy shaper-mongrel out of her shabby bounds.

  Wanted to keep a sharp eye on her, didn’t he? Thought she’d steal the silver spoons, like the dirty lowlife she was?

  Or did he, actually, after all that had happened, still believe that she might harm the kids?

  It hurt. The betrayal hurt so much she wanted to scream. Hot, furious tears burned in her eyes, but she swallowed them back. No, she wouldn't cause a scene. She wouldn’t show them how much that mistrust hurt. She had that much damn pride left.

  Her lips pressed together. All that “thank you” talk last night in the corridor—nothing but eyewash.

  Just how could she have been so stupid? To think she had been more than a body to him. To think he could have actually seen more than—

  So caught up in her anguish, it took her a moment to realize that something had changed. The whiff of fear and nervousness that had grated so much on her over the last half-hour that she’d become almost used to it, was nearly completely gone. Instead, she felt … excitement.

  Alex stopped dead in her tracks and spun to the courier who’d fallen behind a little, stunned by the triumphant glow in his eyes.

  What the—?

  Alarm lashed at her like a snake’s tongue. She took a step back.

  Easy, sugar! Calm down. Whatever this was, they were in no danger. Nothing could harm them as long as they were inside the—

  Alex froze. Snapped around and stared in silent horror at the boulders spaced on the hilltop. From down here she could see red gemstones cut into their surfaces, catching the sunlight in occasional little sunbursts. The ward stones!

  No. Sweet Jester, no!

  The courier’s lips stretched into a wide, ugly sneer that pulled at his pockmarks. Nothing left of the trembling sniveler who could barely keep his shit in the coach.

  That’s when the wind shifted, and she caught the scent: the sweet, putrid stench of dead, rotten flesh.

  THE moment Darken stepped into the hotel lobby his instincts told him that something was wrong.

  Blayde barely looked up from the thick novel he was reading at the reception desk, raising his brow with a mock smile.

  “Forgot something, Forfeit?”

  The apprehension solidified into a cold chill around his bones. “Why are you asking that?”

  Black leather creaked as the Custodian lowered the volume and surveyed him over the rim of his shaded glasses. A frown puckered his dark forehead. “Your courier collected the sugar cube and the children about half an hour ago. I must say I was a little surprised that—”

  He noted Darken’s terrible face and stopped. Tensed.

  “You never sent a courier, did you?” It wasn’t a question.

  “No,” Darken whispered, as red-hot fury and fear mixed in his bloodstream, clouding his vision. “I didn’t.”

  Blayde cursed heartily and surged to his feet. The book hit the floor with a loud thud, landing open on its belly, pages crinkling like the wings of a dead butterfly.

  He swept into the center of the lobby, magic gathering around him in a furious whirlwind. All the people in the lobby stopped whatever they were doing and gawked.

  A silver glow ignited behind the sunglasses as if his eyes were churning with lightning and his body trembled. The air smelled of discharged energy. With a swift movement, the Custodian ripped off his glasses and tossed back his head. Silver light shot from his eyes in two brilliant bursts that columned upward and upward. Magic roared like a tropical cyclone around him, phantom winds whipping his leather coat and dreads. His frame glowed, formidable and dark, and the expression on his face was murderous.

  This was why people feared the Custodian of the Pacified Zone!

  A moment later his head jerked toward Darken. “They left the wards four miles south from the Eastern Border Point about three minutes ago.”

  Out of Blayde’s reach of power but not outside of his own.

  Darken turned. The red mist descended upon him slowly, gently, shrouding him in blood-red silence, dampening a
ll feelings, except for the deadly rage building inside him.

  His feet moved. Steps so light. So silent, like a shadow treading on a grave. Each one bringing him deeper and deeper into the chilling void.

  The exit loomed before him, a glowing rectangle in the darkness of his mind.

  “Darken.” A voice pierced the fog around his mind, disturbing the cold familiar silence.

  A growl ripped from his throat. He pivoted, light on his heels like a dancer, a serene, sleepy smile stretching his lips. His magic hovered at the edge of his fingertips, ready to be released. Death was looking through that smile and she was hungry for a strike.

  Blayde didn’t flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and tossed him a glittering object.

  “Take the hover cycle. It will be fastest.”

  Darken caught the key with one hand and nodded curtly, acknowledging, with huge effort, the friend through the fury of the forfeit.

  “Thanks.”

  Half a minute later Darken was bent deeply over the handlebars of a hover cycle, racing toward the eastern border at break-neck speed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ALEX’S head whipped back to the woods, her eyes swiveling over the procession waiting at the two coaches. Her heart pounded.

  At her turn, the Captain-guy in the middle raised his hand again, but this time his movement seemed odd to her, almost wooden, like the movement of a puppet guided by someone else’s hands. The other two liveried men stood extremely still beside him—too still, especially among the group of restless guardsmen around them.

  A sickening chill went over her. Sweet Jester! They were dead. All three of them—dead!

  There had to be a resurrector among the men down there.

  A trap! The whole thing was a bloody trap! And Max and Josy were almost within reach of the men at the wood front!

  The chill turned into a solid ball of ice in her stomach. Without another look at the false messenger, Alex sprinted down the hill.