“Patience, you don’t have to l—”
But she’s already gone.
I square tight shoulders and fold my arms. “This is her home. You don’t need to be rude.”
“I thought they might have killed you.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” His voice rises in anger. “You found a body in the forest this afternoon. We just confronted the king to tell him his best man was hiding dark secrets from him. And then I find out this man held you captive for twelve years?” He slaps his palm against his forehead. “Why didn’t I guess it before? It explains everything.”
“We got things sorted.”
“Sorted? It isn’t as though you left to do laundry.” He points to the window. “Then I see you returning to the tower, chatting with Malandre as if the two of you have been long friends?”
“We aren’t friends, Rhydian. Nothing’s changed. Malandre has an alibi for the murder, and they have other, more likely suspects.”
“And what about how he treated you?”
“He had a plausible explanation for all of it.”
After a moment of us defiantly glaring at one another, Rhydian finally throws his hands wide. “Well? What’s the explanation?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Baring his teeth, he seethes. “So there are explanations, but you can’t share them with me and now, after everything, you’ve decided to stop pursuing justice?” He regards me with disappointment and pity. “What did they do to you, Elanor?”
I rub the back of my neck. “They didn’t do anything. You can’t build a future on revenge.”
He rolls his eyes upward, staring at the ceiling in consternation. “I assure you, you can.”
My temper builds, tightening my chest. “Well, I’m ready to move on.” And as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they are true. I don’t want to hurt Adom anymore. I don’t even want to fight the herd dragons. If Muuth came back today and tried to catch my interest with schemes of dragon torture, flaying and gushing blood, I’d probably just roll my eyes and ignore him. I’m no longer Muuth’s little, bloodthirsty sidekick.
Rhydian’s nostrils flare. “That’s rubbish. You trusted me with your secrets when you needed a friend, and now you’ve magically moved on you’re trying to cut me out.” His face turns ashen. “It’s Malandre, isn’t it? He’s gotten to you. He’s infected you with his theories.”
“Now who sounds insane?”
He throws his hands into his curly hair and spits a curse that would make Muuth blush. After closing his eyes and swallowing what are surely acidic words, Rhydian sighs. “I don’t want to fight, Elanor.”
Of course he doesn’t want to fight, I realize. He was enjoying this. He liked it when I was his secret, when he could help and protect me. Now that Adom and I are talking again, and I’m done plotting against him, Rhydian is feeling—what? What is he feeling? “Then what do you want, Rhydian?”
“I need you,” he says, his hands coming down to the table. “I need you to be on my side.”
For several long seconds, there is no sound except our breathing and the cracking of the hearth fire. “I am on your side. What’s happening with Malandre has nothing to do with you.”
He lets out an exasperated huff. “My sister once said something like that to me. Then she went crazy and my father murdered her.” There’s emotion on his face—pain.
Once I notice it, it’s difficult to look away. My heart feels too heavy, and my chest aches. “I don’t know much about people,” I say softly. “But I think you need to hate Malandre because you need someone to blame for what happened to Siren. And you need me to side with you and plot revenge because you need a friend.”
His back straightens and he sniffs. Furrows his eyebrows and puckers his lips. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s not it at all. Malandre is up to something nefarious. And you…” His eyes sadden. “You won’t help me anymore. It’s fine. I’ll deal with it on my own.”
“Rhydian…” But he brushes his hands against his thighs, walks haltingly to the door, and is gone.
~ * ~
I find Patience in the back below the tower shooting arrows into a straw man. Her face is mottled and the hard line around her jaw tells me she’s upset. I approach her cautiously, half-afraid she’ll shoot me instead of the target. After the way Rhydian treated her, I deserve it.
“The way he spoke to you wasn’t acceptable,” I say.
“Lord Berrel is a stuffed pigeon,” she says. “I would be wasting energy feeling put-out.”
I observe her aim with admiration. “It looks like your energy is being put to good use anyway. My knees are quaking for all the actual pigeons out there. Carry on.”
She strings her arrow, aims, and fires. The arrow hits the target in the heart. Three more times she nocks her bow, pulls back with the force and agility of a tiger, and releases in a smooth, swift movement. Then she tosses the weapon to the ground. “What did he want then?”
“We were collaborating together on a project, but things didn’t work out. He’s frustrated because I want to end it. I think he’s afraid this means we won’t speak anymore.”
“He’s a brute,” Patience replies. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so ruffled. She didn’t even bat a lash at Cydra’s sneering words, but with Lord Berrel, she’s become a different person. “I meant to ask you before. After we found the body. Do you know how to use a weapon?”
“Not really.” Unless she counted the axe I used as a kitchen knife to hack up huge chunks of meat back on Onyx. “I don’t like to think about killing.” Anything other than dragons, that is.
“Bodies in the woods,” Patience mutters. “You need to learn a skill. You can’t go traipsing into the forest unless you want to be the next victim.”
“They haven’t killed any servants—” I stop short. I’m not supposed to know this.
Patience grimaces. “Who knows who’s doing this? Or why. And with nobles like Lord Berrel stomping around, disintegrating our humanity, we can’t count on them. We need to save ourselves.” She picks up her bow and swings around, holding it out to me. “Are you ready?”
“You want me to learn how to shoot a bow?”
She shrugs. “I’ll teach you.”
I point to the moon. “But it’s the middle of the night!”
Patience glances at the sky as if she hadn’t noticed. “You think dragons are concerned about the dark?” she asks. “Besides, there’s lamplight at the arena. I normally go there to train.”
“All this because you’re worried about me getting eaten by a dragon?”
She tugs on her ponytail, lifts her shoulders, then makes a sound that is half of a laugh. “Maybe I’m the one who’s afraid. Maybe I need a sparring partner. All the men fear me.”
“As they should,” I say, clapping her on the shoulder proudly. “You are quite fearsome.”
“Let’s start tomorrow,” she suggests, raising an eyebrow.
I nod, then remember Adom’s promise to take me to the changeling compound. “Maybe not tomorrow,” I say slowly. “I have plans.” At her doubtful look, I swallow and try filling in the blanks. “I’m so sorry, but I need to leave the castle. I’ll be gone all day and into the evening.”
“Is everything all right?” she asks, concern creeping into her voice.
“Yes.”
She nods. “Take all the time you need, then. We can do lessons later this week.”
“Thank you, Patience,” I say, pressing my palms together and holding my hands to my nose. “You’re more than a friend to me. You’re a decent human being.”
She gives me a look that’s something between quizzical and flattered. “I should hope so.”
~ * ~
I glance over my shoulder at the clearly defined footprints
on the ground, the wake of our exhausted horses as they thump heavy hooves into the white sand. The cold stiffens my joints, and the pit of my stomach gurgles with hunger. I swear my extremities are turning numb.
“How much further?” I ask Adom who is riding a horse beside me. I brush off the white flakes that are already soaking through my shawl and clothes straight into my bones. “I’m not impervious to weather like you are, remember?”
He unhooks his cloak and offers it to me. “You’re more like the full blooded dragons, aren’t you?” At my scowl, he laughs. “It’s just beyond that peak. I won’t let you freeze to death.”
I snatch the cloak from his hands. It’s only decorative on him, anyway. Wrapping the additional warmth around me, I hug myself tight. “Why didn’t we just fly here again?”
“It’s part of the code,” he answers. “No dragons past that marker where we landed. It’s to keep the villagers safe, so no one suspects changelings are camping out here.”
“To keep the villagers safe?” I repeat, sarcastically, but the wind picks up at that moment and not even Adom with his sensitive hearing can catch my words. I sink into myself, savoring the warmth of the horse beneath me and Adom’s wool cloak draped over me. I blow hot breath into the cocoon I’ve woven around myself. I’m beginning to believe this compound isn’t worth finding. These changelings want privacy—let them have it! I’ll take the hearth at the castle, in Patience’s home, with a fully belly and a dry pallet. As soon as I think this, I realize how soft I’ve become. How quickly Trana’s pleasures have spoiled me.
Then, just when I’m about to tell Adom that I’m no longer interested in going to the compound, I see a village ahead in the midst of the blustery flurries. I shout for Adom’s attention. The horses seem to sense that food and shelter are close by. They kick hooves to the ground with more enthusiasm. As we approach, a group of people wearing long, thick fleeces that drag along the snow appears on the trail to meet us. Their heads are covered with animal pelts.
“You’ve come a long way,” one of them comments.
Based on how much farther in front of the rest he is standing, he looks like he could be the leader. He’s a bulky, squat man with huge muscles and not a great deal of height. His black eyes are deep set in a leathery, flat face, blinking up at us between gray animal fur. His gaze passes across Adom and falls on me. I stare back at him, unflinching.
Then he breaks out into a wide, toothless grin. “I’m Odeba, governor of the mountain people.” His gray furs flutter in the icy wind. He bows in deference to Adom. “Count Malandre. Welcome again to the village. Will your friend fit in?”
“She’s not a changeling,” Adom answers. “She’s here to learn about this place.”
Odeba frowns. “We don’t give out information. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Yes, but I vouch for her,” Adom says. “I thought that should mean something.”
The squat man peers at him, his mouth puckering. Every breath creates puffs of hot air, like smoke rising from his mouth and nostrils. “Who is she to you? Is she family? Your lov—”
“She’s family,” Adom answers resolutely.
In spite of the chill, my cheeks are burning.
Odeba bobs his head. “Very well then. You know the rules.” He turns to me and holds up a hand, palm facing me. “Swear the oath.”
“The…oath?” I glance at Adom in confusion.
He nods. “Touch your palm with his and repeat his words.”
I’ve never made an oath before. It sounds serious, like if I say the words I’ll be bound to Odeba. Even though it gives me feelings of unease, I don’t think Adom would bring me all this way to meet the changelings if there were any danger.
I dismount and step knee deep into a snow mound. Crunch. Crunch. Soon, I am directly in front of Odeba. I peel off a heavy glove and press my clammy bare palm against his. In seconds, I can’t feel my hand in front of me, it is that cold here on the mountain.
Odeba recites, “I am here on glass ground to greet the fire, and should the glass break or the fire be snuffed, may I burn with Kainan on the setting sun.”
Somehow, I manage to contain an audible groan. It sounds like a riddle, which of course drives me mad because it makes me think of Muuth and all his nonsense. I repeat the words anyway, and it seems to satisfy Odeba. He proceeds toward the village, his solemn tribe falling into step behind him. Adom gracefully dismounts his horse, and the two of us follow Odeba in silence.
As my feet indent the snow, I notice other people standing out in the streets of the small ramshackle town, staring holes into me. There are stone-and-wood buildings, but most of the people are emerging from tents made of various animal skins dyed in blues and reds.
What was described to me as a compound I now see as a small village. We walk a short way and Odeba gestures for us to enter the largest tent. Adom holds the flap open. A wave of heat swallows me whole as I enter.
Odeba removes several layers of clothing until he is only wearing a loose, beige tunic and some tight hide pants. He sits cross-legged on the floor, long black hair coiling around his shoulders. Adom does the same, removing his outer layer but leaving on the basics. I copy him, but of course I don’t remove as much clothing—I’m still frozen.
Odeba waits, his face unreadable. Another person enters the tent, and a gust of wind smacks my back, an incredible contrast to the unbearable heat from the fire in front of me. The tent smells like sweat and half-cooked partridge, odorous and stuffy. I lift my nose and try not to grimace while I avoid taking in the unpleasant smell by way of my nostrils. The newcomer glances at our party, curious, then takes parchment and ink from a table and exits quickly, letting in another blast of icy air with his departure.
Odeba is sitting on a scattering of furs on the floor while a wooden cabinet is set up just to the right. Plates and cups are piling up near the tent flap. This reminds me of my home on Onyx Island. A rush of emotion consumes me. I’m simultaneously revolted and homesick.
Beside me, Adom ah hems. Odeba’s chin pivots toward him. “Yes?”
“A word outside?” Adom asks.
“Of course.” Odeba bends and then pushes himself up off the pelts. He wraps a blanket around himself and hands Adom another. Then the two of them exit the tent.
The heat is stifling now, but I’d rather be seated here with warm furs wrapped around me and animal skins to cover the frozen ground than outside in the bitter cold. In fact, I even wonder if the sweat freezes the moment you step outside, and I have a moment of concern for Adom. Then I remember that he has that changeling blood and so does Odeba. Though I’m going from freezing to a suffocating dry heat, they don’t feel much temperature fluctuation.
After a moment, the flap opens and they both return. Odeba approaches the cabinet and pours a drink, then he offers it to me. “Please,” he says. “Stay here for a few days. Rest from your travel. Maybe you’ll find suitable answers to your questions.”
“Stay here?” I shake my head and look questioningly at Adom. “No. Ryrick and Patience will worry about me.”
“I can have someone go to the castle and let them know you’re safe.”
I chew on my lower lip and stare at the red coals, not sure how to pinpoint the distress I feel. Or why I feel it, for that matter.
“Maybe just for the night,” I say, reluctantly.
Adom nods. “We can leave first thing in the morning.”
~ * ~
Odeba’s second, Gizton, shows me to my own tent while Adom is taken to separate lodgings. Several girls creep around my tent, bundled and inexpressive, watching me until I close the flap. Later, they enter without warning and hand me a hot bowl of cooked meat and potatoes for lunch. My tent isn’t as hot as Odeba’s, but it is actually quite comfortable. The girls bring a steaming kettle to pour into my washbowl and a mug of hot water with dried flowers to sip on
.
That night, Adom and I are shown to a long table in a feast hall with Odeba and what looks like the entire village. Delicious smells waft into the room from the outdoors, and my stomach growls. From somewhere beyond, I can hear the sizzling and crackling of a spit.
“Sit down and eat with us,” Odeba urges as children scooch beside us on the large bench, eager to meet the newcomers. The door opens and about twenty people enter, some of them carrying porcelain dishes heaping with a brown stew. Someone passes around bowls and others set the food down in the middle of the table. The children squeal and dive for the dishes. I fill my bowl, then lift my spoon for a tentative taste. The child on my left passes a basket of goat cheese and bread, which I reach for almost greedily. The food doesn’t last long.
“Adom, why are there children here?” I ask him softly.
He leans in, and for the first time I catch a whiff of his scent—cinnamon and cloves. It is quite nice, actually. I find that breathing it in releases tension in my shoulders.
“Why are there children anywhere? Before they were changelings, these people lived perfectly mundane lives. Some of them had family they just couldn’t leave,” he replies. “Or they suspected their children might be changelings, too. Or they came here, fell in love and started a family. They just want to live a peaceful existence.”
“But you don’t think the ones who are scorching Tranar lands or murdering the nobles want to live here?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he answers. “They might not know what they’re doing.” He lets out a soft sigh. “On the other hand, there’s a tremendous amount of violence in their actions. I find it difficult to believe that they are totally ignorant of their condition at this point.”
His words sink in, and I realize their full weight. If the rogue changelings don’t agree to live here, Adom has to…kill them. I shudder, imagining the few, bloody options he has. Whatever the method, it is grim. The task must take its toll. How many has he had to kill?
Slither Page 19
