Whisper (27 page)

Hugh did not miss the marks that covered the girl before him. She was young, certainly no more than a year older than his own son. She was tall, and too thin, and her hair had been cropped haphazardly into a shaggy mop. Hugh looked past the dirt and the rags she wore, and he could see she was actually a pretty little thing. The fact that she could endure years of this life and still have a spark in her eye and a fire that gave her the strength to go on spoke to her courage and determination. There was something about her that whispered and hinted at more than what could be seen on the surface.

“How did you get free? Will your father be looking for you and Phillip? Do we need to get away from here, or is there still time?” He asked these questions in rapid succession, but gently, so as to not alarm her.

“Lord Falco probably hasn’t noticed we’re gone yet, what with the wedding and all. We should have until morning for sure. He won’t really be looking for me. I used to take off for a week or more all the time. Sometimes he noticed, and I took my beating, and sometimes he didn’t. Besides, he’s got his new toys to play with, so we’ll be fine. For a while, anyway.”

Hugh cringed a bit when Zusia mentioned Falco’s new toys, but he let it pass. He also noted the way she’d said “Lord Falco” and not “my father” and he added that bit of information as a point in the girl’s favor. There was certainly no love or loyalty between them that he could tell. He lowered himself to one knee and looked his son in the eye meaningfully. “Phillip,” he said, “I know you say that this girl is your friend, but how can I know if she is to be trusted? Perhaps she just got you out as some sort of trick? This might all be a trap of some kind.” Hugh ignored the girl as she stiffened noticeably.

“Oh, no, Father! Zuzu’s been my friend almost from the very beginning. If it weren’t for her, I probably would have starved, or been poisoned, or something else, a long time ago.”

Hugh looked at Zusia in appraisal, and then back to Phillip.

“She has, father! Look. Here! I wrote it all down, all the stuff she’s done for me. Everything that’s happened.” Phillip lifted the edge of the garment he wore, and unwound the cord that tied his journal tightly to his chest.

The pile of dirty pages were curved from being pressed to Pip’s body and a little sweat stained, but that wasn’t what caught Hugh’s attention. There were dozens of pages there. He could not fathom how the child had gotten hold of so much valuable paper out here where trees were scarce, or how he must have labored to keep it all secret. Hugh took the pages and flipped through them slowly, catching words and phrases as he scanned over his son’s tidy script. Zusia’s name appeared before his eyes again and again. He looked up at the girl, watching in surprise as a pink blush colored her cheeks in a most un-Breken like way.

“We can trust her, Father. She’s already saved Carly and Daniel, besides. Why would she do that if she wasn’t really on our side?”

“What? What did you say?” Hugh stopped his examination of the journal and stared at his son expectantly.

“She did. She got them out yesterday. I figured they would be here.”

“Is this true, Zusia? Are Daniel and Carly free?”

“I expect so. Unless that red-headed one did something stupid, they should be fine. I had them hide with the bodies to be taken out and dumped in the desert…Lord Hugh.” The words were said cautiously, as if trying them out on her tongue. Hugh knew it was a great leap for her to call someone “lord” other than her father.

Hugh eyed the girl as she watched him warily. “Royce,” Hugh boomed. Zusia jumped a little, but to her credit, held her ground.

Royce trotted closer, Reo clinging closely to his side. “Yes, Lord Hugh?”

“Get Aesri.”

“Yes, sir!” he said before bolting away.

“Lord Hugh?” Zusia’s bold expression had been replaced by a look of fear.

“Yes, child?”

“What…what are you going to do with me?” she almost whispered.

“She can come with us, can’t she, Father? I told her she could. I promised we would take her with us. We can’t leave her here. They would kill her, and she…she’s my friend, Father. I promised.”

Hugh looked from his son, his eyes bright with expectation, to the Breken child whose own expression was quite different as it flittered from hope to fear and then back again.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I always am.” Hugh thought she sounded more confident than she looked, and that she was probably trying to convince herself of the validity of her statement.

“No,” Hugh said firmly. “You won’t be fine, but it’s your decision. Phillip says he promised, and the Maj are men of honor. We keep our word, but you must consider if this what you really want, Zusia. Life on Maj isn’t always easy. If you leave here, it is likely you will never be able to return.”

“So if I go with you, I can never, ever come back?”

“I can’t see how,” Hugh said seriously.

“That’s all I need to hear,” Zusia said, her voice firm. “When do we leave?”

The door to the dank cell swung wide, letting in the flickering glow of torchlight. Dearra squinted to protect her eyes from the light, having been secluded in almost complete darkness. She sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in her back and legs. She had been made to perform before the crowds of Bandar for the last three days, but thankfully, Phillip had only been used as motivation the first time. She had been alone, separated from Darius since that first day, probably because her Breken jailors worried that the two of them together would be too much of a risk, but without Darius, Dearra had no desire to toy with the idea of escape.

The light increased as the door to her small cell opened further and Lord Falco and two of his guards entered the room. Dearra’s eyes went to the sword that hung at his side. The blade glowed ominously, further intensifying the light in the room.

Lord Falco saw her expression and the thrill of recognition and longing in her eyes. “Now, now, Dearra,” he said. “Don’t wish for things you can’t have. Brin’du Drak’Tir has a new master, now. The sooner both of you realize that, the better off you will both be.”

“Judging by the gloves you wear,” Dearra said pushing herself to her feet, “I would say the new master thing isn’t really working out for you.”

Falco looked at his glove-covered hands and casually brushed away a bit of charred leather hanging from one of the palms. “The best horses take a bit of extra breaking. We’ll get there in the end. I have all the time in the world, whereas you…That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually.

“I cannot deny what you say. The dragon is proving to be a challenge. He seems to be under the delusion that he and you are still bonded. And while I do, indeed, have time, I would prefer to hurry things along a bit. It seems your little performance in the arena has caused a few—not many mind you—but a few people to question my strength. My spies tell me there are rumblings that the time might be right for an attack on my house. I am guessing house Tempestas has something to do with it. They see the sword as theirs. If I can fully claim the blade, then my position will be strengthened.”

“Get to the point, Falco. Why are you even telling me all of this? What are you going to do with me?”

Falco tipped his head back and roared laughter. “I like you, Dearra, I really do. There’s something about you that’s almost Breken in some ways. Too bad you’re only a woman.

“Why am I telling you all of this? I have no idea, honestly, beyond thinking out loud, I suppose. And why not, seeing as it amuses me so.

“As to what I’m going to do with you? Well, you’ll have to die, I’m afraid. It’s become too much trouble to keep you about.”

Dearra didn’t even flinch at the cold proclamation. It wasn’t much of a surprise, besides. “My father will kill you,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m counting on his trying, darling Dearra. Your father will certainly try to avenge your death, but to do that he will need help. He will have to return to your home to gather support, and that’s precisely what I am relying upon. That and your people’s misguided sense of loyalty to one another.

“While he is back in Maj plotting, planning, and building ships, my people and I will be coming to you. Mirin Tor is much too rich a prize to sit around untouched by my people any longer.

“Can you imagine it? All of the Breken acting as one? And not just Darak, but all of the Breken cities united in a coordinated attack on the Mirin Tor? It’s delicious, is it not? Granted, uniting them may prove to be my biggest challenge yet, but think of the rewards: slaves…gold…power!” 

“No!”

“Most definitely yes! With the dragon by my side I will be unstoppable!”

Dearra’s eyes burned pure gold. She lunged at Falco reaching desperately for Brin. A gloved fist flashed out and caught her under the jaw, sending her flying to the stone wall behind her. She shook her head in an effort to remain conscious in spite of the black spots that swam before her eyes.

Falco hissed as the scabbard holding Brin first started to smoke and then disintegrated to ash sending the blade clattering to the floor below. “You
will
obey!” Falco reached for the sword, but as he touched it, he could feel the heat that threatened incinerate his hand as it had done to the scabbard.

Falco slashed a hand toward Dearra, and one of the guards sprang forward to hold a knife to her exposed throat. “You
will
obey,” Falco repeated threateningly. Brin’s blade did cool then, just enough to allow Falco to pick it up, and he nodded his approval.

Poor, misguided Brin’du Drak’Tir
, Falco thought.
Perhaps if I show the female some kindness you will be more disposed to treating your master with the respect he deserves.

To Dearra he said, “Maybe it will please you to hear that I have decided you and Darius will die together. There are some who believed the nonsense he spouted about my daughter and the foreigner, Jacob. If Lord Tigre believes Darius, it could cause me trouble. Not that Lord Tigre cares one whit for his son, but he might be tempted to use any excuse he can come up with to challenge my authority. I need the other houses by my side if I am to unify all the Breken.”

Dearra’s heart felt as if it were ripped from her chest. Darius was going to die. Then again, maybe death would be preferable. More and more it seemed as if life with the Breken was no life at all.

Falco was right in one thing, by killing her, he would assure Lord Hugh’s speedy and decisive quest for revenge. They only thing that might cause him to hesitate was— “Wait! My brother, Phillip! What about Phillip?”

“Your brother is gone, Dearra, along with my daughter. I can only assume the brats are together. I would have released him, anyway. The sword needs you dead to accept me, and I need you dead to start my war. Your father would never leave here while his son remained.

“This is best for all, don’t you think?”

“We will not be defeated easily, Falco. If you do this, it will cost you.”

“You may not be defeated easily, but you will be defeated. And as for the cost? The reward I will reap will far outweigh the expenditures. A good thinning of the herd from time to time always makes for stronger stock, besides.”

Dearra watched mutely as Falco turned and swept through the door. The darkness settled over her once again, the cold laughter form the Breken Lord echoing indifferently off the stone walls and hitting her like an arrow, straight through her heart.

An inky blackness enveloped her, magnifying her thoughts. Falco had planned everything so well. Her father would be sure to seek revenge for her death, she did not doubt that for one instant. Given the circumstance, Hugh would not rest until Falco was dead, or until he was, himself.

Alone with her thoughts, her mind drifted back through the years. Life on Maj had not always been easy, but Dearra wouldn’t have traded an instant of it. No matter how this ended, at least she knew she was loved. She recognized, now, that not everyone could make such a claim. No matter how reckless, or wild she had been—and she most assuredly had been reckless and wild—her father had never wavered in his devotion to her.

Dearra remembered the summer of her tenth year. The roiling purple clouds should have been enough to give her pause, but all she could think about was her own impetuous desire to gather shells before the rough seas had wiped the beach clean. She’d had her heart set on making a necklace for Carly, and she wanted to complete it as soon as possible. With Dearra, everything always had to be done now, always immediately. Her father had asked her to help with the shutters and move things inside the safe walls of the keep, but she’d figured one small pair of hands would not be missed. 

She had been in such a rush to get the job done, it never occurred to her to let anyone know where she was going. She hadn’t planned to be away more than an hour, certainly no more than two at the outside. She felt sure they’d never notice her absence. When she was done, she could spend the hours cooped up inside, waiting out the storm, working on Carly’s surprise.

In order to get there and back quickly, she needed to take a bit of a shortcut. The winding path that led down to that particular stretch of beach would take forever to traverse, but there were plenty of handholds to allow her to climb down the rocky slope. She had brought with her a sack in which to stow her treasures, and to make the climb back up easier. It was a perfect plan; what could possibly go wrong?

She’d swung one leg over the edge and stretched out a booted foot until she’d found a narrow ledge to stand upon. Her fingers twisted in the plants that grew stubbornly in the fissures of the stone face. She’d moved more quickly than was wise, but except for a moment when the stone gave way beneath her weight and she’d slid several inches, she had no trouble negotiating her way to the beach below.

Dearra had looked out to the sea as the wind whipped the hair from her face. She loved the smell and feel of the ocean. There was something primal and untamed about it. The briny tang was on her tongue and in her nose. The gales had grown stronger, even in the few minutes she’d taken to stare at the sea. Knowing she’d soon be out of time, she’d dropped to her knees and gathered the spiral shells she had come for. They were thick on the sand, as there were few people to disturb them in this remote spot. Though the tides took some away and deposited others, many were anchored enough by the sand that they were not brushed away. She had no doubt that this storm would greatly diminish the supply, and she was less discerning as a result. She scooped handfuls into her course bag before hastily tying it off and securing it at her waist.

A brilliant bloom of lightning momentarily blinded her; the boom of thunder echoed around her. The light faded again and she blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes against the gathering gloom. Her feet became soaked as the waves crashed onto the sand, raced inland, snaking around her ankles, and then retreated once more.

Dearra had looked up the steep cliff wall before her, and her heart had thrummed in her ears. It looked a lot more imposing than it had on her way down. Eerie shadows were cast as lightning danced overhead, pulling her senses taught. She sucked in a deep breath, held it briefly to steady herself, and then twined her fingers into the roots that clung to the stone wall before her.

Inch by inch, she steadily worked her way to the ledge above. By that time, the winds had increased to a steady gale, and she could feel her slight body being pulled and pushed from all sides. It was as if the storm had deliberately sought to pluck her from her unstable perch and cast her to the beach below. She had continued to work her way cautiously upward until the rain arrived in blinding sheets, soaking her from head to toe.

She could no longer see how far she had come or how far she had yet to go. More than once she’d considered making her way back down in order to take a safer path, but she’d finally decided she was probably better off to just keep going.

At last, her hand reached up and she felt the flat ground that indicated she had reached the top. Only a few more feet to go before she would be safe. She had used her foot to feel for the small ledge she was sure was there. She had dug her fingers into the saturated ground, but after a shallow deposit of dirt, there was nothing left but stone, and try as she might, she couldn’t get a handhold to pull herself up. Instead, she had stretched her leg as far as she could searching desperately for anywhere solid to place her foot.

The wind let forth a frightening roar, unlike anything she had ever heard before. Dearra continued to claw frantically at the ground, shredding her fingernails painfully, and she’d felt herself begin to slip. Then, a large hand had wrapped around her wrist and she felt herself being dragged upward. Her face scraped against the stone when she’d cleared the edge, and then she found herself crushed against her father’s chest in a trembling embrace.

When he’d loosened his grip, he took her by the shoulders and shook her none too gently. “What in Cyrus’s name were you thinking?” he shouted. “You scared me half to death! If I hadn’t gotten here in time…”

“I know, Father. I am so, so sorry. I…I wanted to get some shells. I thought I could make it easily. I’ve climbed down there at least a hundred times before.”

“Not in the dark. Not in a storm! How many times do I have to tell you to think before you act?

“You never listen.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Well? Are you?”

“No, Father,” Dearra whispered.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“No, sir,” Dearra said louder than before in an effort to make herself heard over the wind and thunder, even though she was pretty sure he had heard her just fine the first time.

Hugh hugged her tightly again and stroked the top of her rain-soaked head. “It’s okay, Dearra,” he said. “You’re safe, now. I was so scared. If I hadn’t had that dream—”

“Dream?”

“Yes. It was the strangest thing. We had everything pretty much buttoned down for the storm, and I just sat down for a moment, but I must have nodded off. I remember a voice, but not much else. It was yelling at me to save you. I could see the beach and the cliff and I knew the place right away.

“That voice was so insistent!

“I woke up as if someone had kicked me. I knew it was just a dream, but I went looking for you anyway. When I couldn’t find you, I hurried from the keep. I felt a little foolish at first, but the closer I got to the cliff, the more my steps hurried. I might not have seen you at all, but when the wind made that strange sound, it drew my attention, and I saw the white flash of your hand in the light of the storm. If I had been a moment later—”