The Storyspinner (20 page)

Chapter 56

Pira

Pira was on guard, her fingers itching to draw the dagger in her boot, but Leão walked toward the cottage without looking back.

What other choice did she have but to follow? Leão was the closest thing the Keepers had to royalty.

The door stood ajar, and Pira peeked inside. A small cot hugged one wall, a cheerful fire crackled at the hearth, and at a tiny table in the corner Leão sat with the oldest woman Pira had ever seen.

“Come in, dear thing.” The woman waved with a gnarled hand. A face grooved like maple bark smiled out of a bright yellow hood. “Close the door behind you. It gets awfully cold in the evenings.”

Pira hesitated in the doorway, but the smell wafting from the hearth drew her in. “Is that
maracujá
jelly?”

“And fresh scones to put it on.” The woman nodded to a plate on the table and to Leão with a half-eaten pastry in his hand. “I knew you’d come today, but I didn’t know when, besides after dark. Seems you’ve got good timing, as the scones are still steaming.”

Pira didn’t have many issues with self-control. It was a trait her brother possessed and she’d worked hard at achieving. But
maracujá
on
anything
was difficult for her to turn down. Her mouth watered, thinking of the sweet-tart flavor and the way the heat from the scone would make it slide across her tongue.

“They’re good,” Leão said with a near groan, and held up a second one, a bit of preserves ready to drip off the side. He caught it on his finger and licked it clean. “Best thing I’ve eaten in weeks.”

“How do you know they’re not poisoned? For all you know, this woman wanted to lure us here for that purpose.”

The old lady raised her eyebrows but didn’t argue her innocence.

Leão took another bite. “Then I’ll die full and happy.”

Pira restrained the urge to dive across the room and snatch the entire jar of jelly away. Instead, she sniffed the contents, held it up to the light—not that any alchemist worth their salt would leave visible evidence—and finally smeared a bit on the inside of her wrist.

“Don’t feel obligated to eat, dear.” The woman lowered herself onto the hearth, leaving the other chair empty for Pira to take. “I wanted to offer you Keepers something you might enjoy.”

“How do you know who we are? How did you know we were coming?” Pira asked, feeling the short hairs on her head prickle with suspicions.

“You may call me Elma.” She smoothed her shawl, like it was some rich piece of silk rather than a scrap of homespun wool. “I see many things. Sometimes the future, sometimes the past, always the truth.”

It had the ring of a phrase well rehearsed. Pira was not impressed.

“And . . .” Leão prompted as he reached for another scone from the half-full plate.

“She can’t sense it,” Elma said, eyeing Pira. “She’s not like us.”

“She can sometimes. If she really tries.”

Pira did not like being the center of a conversation she wasn’t taking part in.

“What are you talking about? Sense what?”

“Elma’s
essência
. She’s one of us.”

*    *    *

Pira leaned against the fireplace, the heat of the stones seeping through her hunting leathers and warming her back. She felt full and relaxed, and just a bit sleepy.

“I couldn’t possibly leave them behind, no matter what the Keepers demanded,” Elma said, wrapping up her tale. “So I didn’t side with either group. My husband and I moved to this little valley, insulated from the battles and bloodshed, and raised our children and grandchildren.” She let out a long tired sigh. “Then I lived on to help raise their children and grandchildren and whoever else found our little sanctuary. I’d never do anything to hurt the Performers. They are my people, more so than the Keepers. They are my family.”

A fist pounded on the cabin’s door, shattering Pira’s calm and shaking the small windows on either side. Leão’s scone fell with a liquid plop as he drew his weapons.

“Relax,” Elma said, pressing a gentle hand to Pira’s. “It’s one of the sentries.”

The Keepers exchanged glances and remained ready.

“Elma! Wake up!” a voice yelled as its owner jiggled the door. “The men camping on our boundaries have captured Benton and are holding him hostage.”

“Just a moment, Didsbury.” The old woman limped across the room.

She opened the door wide, allowing a clear view into her home. The young man on the porch, one of those who’d greeted the Keepers on arrival, blanched. He fumbled at his sash for the hilt of the short sword, his fingers missing the grip.

“Oh stop, Didsbury. Leão and Pira are my friends.” She shook her head in disgust. “You young people always reach for weapons instead of asking questions.”

“But . . . but . . .” He pointed at Pira and then Leão, who was scraping his jelly off the table and licking his fingers. “How did they get in here? We were watching their camp.”

“They walked, obviously.” Elma reached for a tall stick behind the door. It was a knotted piece of wood, but it shone with evidence of frequent use. “I told you they were my
friends
. They have skills similar to my own.”

Didsbury nodded, as if Elma’s answer made perfect sense.

“Let’s go rescue the rest of your group.” Elma held out her arm for Didsbury to take and beckoned with her stick for Leão and Pira to follow. “Or more likely rescue my Performers from them.”

Chapter 57

Johanna

Thomas sat near the fire, a book from their small collection clutched in one hand. He jumped to his feet as Breaker trotted into the clearing.

“Lord Rafael.” His look of surprise shifted to amused suspicion. “Thank you for delivering Johanna home. I hope it wasn’t
inconvenient
.”

Johanna heard the insinuation in Thomas’s tone and sent her brother a glare he wouldn’t miss.

“Oh no. It was my pleasure.” Rafi helped Johanna slide out of the saddle, holding her hand till she was steady on her feet beside the horse. “There has been word of . . . brigands on the roads again, and we—my mother and I—decided it would be in Johanna’s best interest if she wasn’t alone in the forest.”

Thomas’s forehead bunched at the words. “Really. I’m surprised they’d stray this far from the main roads.”

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to risk Johanna’s safety.” He looped his reins around his saddle horn, and then unwrapped them again.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good night, then.” Rafi gave Johanna a quick smile and nod before riding away.

Johanna watched him disappear into the darkness before turning to face whatever her brother had in store. She couldn’t ignore the scathing look.

“It was his
pleasure
to bring you home?”

“Stop it, Thomas. He didn’t mean anything.” She took her cloak out of her satchel and gave it a few good shakes. “He was just being polite.”
I think.

“The way he looked at you wasn’t polite.” Thomas patted the log beside him.

“What does that mean?” Johanna wanted desperately to go to bed, but the opportunities to talk to her oldest brother were too few for her liking.

“There was . . . longing in his eyes.” He set his book down, and Johanna knew she was in for a grand admonishment. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Because if he didn’t care for you at all he would have sent one of his guardsmen to escort you home, but he did it personally. Mark my words: That means something.”

A small smile crept onto her face at the thought.
It might be pleasant to mean something to someone. Even if that someone is Rafi.

Especially if that someone is Rafi.

She could feel Thomas’s appraisal. “What?” she asked.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that maybe you liked him, too.”

“Oh please,” Johanna said with a laugh. “Matters of the heart are the least of my concerns.”

Thomas’s face fell, and their conversation turned to uglier topics. “I’m assuming you heard about Mama?”

“Lady DeSilva told me herself. ” Johanna stared into the flames, her cheeks reflecting their heat. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life.”

“I won’t pretend to understand what happened or what she was thinking, but could you maybe go easy on her? She’s having a hard time.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tears pricked Johanna’s eyes. “You should’ve seen the boys at the estate, Thomas. They ate and ate till I thought they’d be sick. I hated to stop them from getting full. Who knows when we’ll have enough to feed them like that every day? But we would be closer if she’d stop swilling away every extra coin.”

Thomas folded his hands together and rested them on his knees. “She’s broken, Jo. When we committed father’s body to the flames, there was a moment when I thought she was going to throw herself on the pyre. But she didn’t. She looked at each of us and stepped away from the edge.” Leave it to Thomas to make their mother look like a martyr. “Give her a little leeway. She lost the love of her life and the profession she lived for all in the same week.”

Johanna held on to her anger with iron claws, trying to ignore her brother’s calming influence.

“She’s selfish! That’s what she is.” The tears spilled over Johanna’s cheeks. “She is so absorbed in her sadness that she can’t see how hard we’re working.”

The wagon door creaked, and Johanna knew without looking that her mother was standing right behind her.

“Mama.” Thomas stood quickly. “We—”

“I wanted to let Johanna know I laid out a different dress for tomorrow.” Marin’s voice rasped like tree branches against a house. “I didn’t think it was right for her to wear the same gown day after day, especially as
sh
e’
s working so hard
.”

Johanna closed her eyes, ignoring the two-pronged stab of guilt and shame.

“I’d better get some rest so I can find a new job tomorrow.”

The slam of the wagon door didn’t cover the sound of Marin’s quiet crying.

Rather than facing her mother, Johanna crammed into bed with Michael, and Thomas wedged himself into the narrow space on the floor. It wasn’t a restful night, with images of her mother and a dark-haired lordling flitting through her dreams.

Chapter 58

Jacaré

Jacaré kept their attacker immobilized while Tex took the man’s belt pouch and searched his pockets.

“Where I’m from, people who kill without warning or reason are called assassins,” Tex said as he dumped the pouch on the ground. “As far as I know, you haven’t given us a warning and we haven’t given you a reason. So that makes you an assassin.”

Benton’s smile was too bright for someone being tied to a log. He turned his head and yelled, “Help me! Didsbury! James! They’re attacking me.” He added a high-pitched scream that cut off when Tex cuffed him across the mouth.

The blow was hard, but Benton laughed. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Neither is killing people,” Jacaré said as he finished off the knot.

“Jacaré,” Tex called. “You need to see this.” In his palm lay a sigil ring. The metal had been scorched black, making the emblem at the top difficult to see. Tex tilted it to the light of their fire. “When I saw those lines on the dart, I thought they were just scratches . . .”

Jacaré took the ring and gripped it till he felt the metal dig into his skin. He opened up his hand, knowing what he’d see: a straight line and a jagged one. Mirror images of the mark branded onto Elisa Venza’s neck.

He felt a sense of relief.
W
e’
ve found the man who is murdering teenage girls simply because they fit a type. Killing for money. Killing because he can.
The feeling was replaced by a primal, savage thirst for vengeance that could only be quenched with blood.

“Stop,” Tex said, his gentle tone at contrast with the firm grasp on Jacaré’s forearm. “Assassins kill for money. We need to know who’s paying him.”

There was a knife in Jacaré’s hand. He didn’t remember drawing it and he didn’t remember forcing it against Benton’s throat.

“I know where your mind is, son, and you need to come back,” Tex continued, his hold tightening. “Leave the past in the past.”

Jacaré blinked a few times, reconnecting with his surroundings, leaving the memories of another murderer behind. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and tried to make the words more convincing. “I’m fine.”

There was a commotion on the trail, a brief argument.

“You can’t go in there by yourself. ”

“Didsbury,” said a feminine voice. “I’ve been handling matters like this since well before your father was born.”

“But Elma . . .”

“Get out of my way.”

Tex grunted. “This should be interesting.”

At least two pairs of feet crunched along the gravel that led to the small campsite. Pira entered first, her shaved head reflecting dimly in the firelight. She raised her eyebrows at the captive. Leão followed, supporting a woman whose limp defied the authority in her voice and in her
essência
.

“Stop where you are,” Jacaré shouted, wondering if this was the power Benton had referred to. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“A friend. Don’t you take one of your own at her word?”

“Not on this side of the wall.” Jacaré looked between Elma and Leão who had so politely escorted her into camp. The boy was as much a hostage as Benton, though he didn’t seem to recognize the danger on his arm. “Only traitors stayed behind, and only the youngest or those who siphoned power from others could still be alive today. And what place would be better to steal
essência
than a camp of half-breeds?”

The woman grunted. “Go to your commander, boy. Show him I mean you no ill.”

Leão steadied her before leaving her side. She thanked him with a head nod.

“Now you can release Benton. Performers don’t take kindly to having their own attacked.”

Tex snorted. “How do Performers feel about assassins murdering their visitors?”

“Assassins?” She took a few steps closer to the fire. The light made canyons of her wrinkles. “There must be some mistake.”

“I’m afraid not.” Jacaré held up the throwing knife. “He said he came to ‘take care’ of us.”

“He’s captain of our guard here at Performers’ Camp. He thought you were a threat,” Elma countered.

“If that’s the case,” Jacaré said, and raised his other hand displaying the sigil ring they found in Benton’s belt pouch. “Explain why this mark was found on the bodies of two murdered girls.”

Elma leaned heavily against her stick, as if Jacaré’s words were physical blows. “Oh, Benton. I knew you’d been in a street gang before you joined our camp. I thought you left that life behind.”

To Jacaré she sounded like a parent, questioning the actions of a wayward child. Her tone surprised him. “That’s not all. The same mark was on a dart we found at the site where Arlo fell to his death.”

The old woman bowed her head for a moment. “Are these charges valid?”

“Elma the All Powerful.” Benton eyed the old woman with contempt. “Haven’t you
seen
all of this already?”

“Of course not. You know that’s not how my power—”

“Power! Bah,” Benton spat, ignoring the armed men around him. “Your
mystical abilities
never protected the Performers from harm! You couldn’t even protect them from me.”

The color drained from her face. “Benton, what are you talking about?”

“You’re supposed to be our wise, powerful leader, but you’re just as blind and stupid as the rest!” The assassin raised his bound hands, pointing a finger at Elma. “I earned your trust, I guarded your camp, I watched your children, and no one ever suspected.” Benton smiled as his words sank in. “You let me become a part of your community, and it’s protected me from suspicion for years.”

Elma’s voice was barely audible over the crackling campfire, but there was a dangerous undertone to her words. “Explain yourself. ”

“Can’t you do something
magical
to discern the truth?”

“I wouldn’t tempt her,” Jacaré cautioned.

“Ha—” Benton’s laugh cut off abruptly, his body twitching as if it had been shocked. “What was that?”

“Your warning.” Elma lowered herself to a log on the far side of the fire. “Next time I’ll make you squeal like a stuck pig. Now explain yourself. ”

The assassin’s grin returned. “That was a good trick for an old charlatan.”

Benton jolted, his limbs going rigid for a few seconds. His mouth popped open and he groaned.

“Answer me,” Elma prompted. “Were you paid to kill Arlo?”

He licked his lips, eyeing Elma with a new sense of wariness, but the arrogance returned to his posture and the set of his jaw.

“Not exactly. He became a target by association.” Benton focused on Elma. “I was supposed to kill a barmaid from Belem. There was nothing particularly redeeming about her tavern, the food was mediocre, and the people were low class, so it was quite a surprise to find Arlo drinking a cup of ale in their common room.”

“Why would anyone want to have a barmaid killed?” Elma asked.

“At first I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Teenage girls are such easy marks and they die so beautifully—their skin parting as my knife glides across their flesh.” He turned to Jacaré, a cold smile growing on his face. “I’m not stupid. After my third assignment, I realized my employer was eliminating girls who fit a specific description and had a dubious background.”

Realization dawned in Elma’s eyes. “You were hunting the lost princess.” She looked at the Keepers ringing the fire. “That’s why
yo
u’
re
here.”

Jacaré and Tex exchanged a glance but didn’t acknowledge her statement.

“Everyone knew about Arlo’s longtime friendship with the king.” Benton shrugged as if the connection was obvious. “If the princess had survived, who better to know her location? Performers travel to every state. He could stop in and check on her periodically, and keep the secret of her heritage until she could ascend the throne.

“Arlo was one more loose thread.” He made a cutting gesture with two fingers. “Killing him during his high-wire performance was brilliant. Everyone assumed it was an accident.”

Jacaré shook his head, confused. “If you were sure the barmaid in Belem was the one, then why did you keep killing?”

“I kept getting assignments,” he said with a shrug. “The money was good, so why would I quit?”

“Who’s paying?” Tex asked, spinning his belt dagger around his forefinger. “Inimigo? Belem? Who?”

“If only things were that simple,” the assassin said with a laugh. “I could be
persuaded
to answer your questions, but I’d like to live for a while longer with all my body parts intact.”

“I say we kill him now,” Pira said, from the far side of the fire. “We can send the pieces to Venza.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Tex said, nodding to Jacaré for approval.

“Don’t.” Elma used her stick to push herself awkwardly to her feet. “Murderer or not, you can’t dispense justice to a Performer.”

“Why not?” Tex asked.

“You have no authority—no matter how important you think you are.” She raised her hand and thick bands of air wrapped Tex from neck to knees, trapping his dagger to his side.

“Elma, what are you doing?” Jacaré asked.

“Benton is one of
my
people. He needs to face our laws and
our
punishments.” She took a few uneven steps forward. “Besides, do you really want to challenge me?”

Jacaré drew on his
essência
till needles of pain stabbed the back of his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to break Tex’s bonds. “I need answers.”

“We’ll get them. My way.” Elma offered them a gap-toothed grin that held a hint of malice. “We’ll take Benton down to camp, find out everything he knows, and allow our Council to determine his punishment.”

Jacaré released his grip on his
essência
, feeling energy flood back into his limbs and breath return to his lungs. “We’ll follow you.”