Breath of Winter, A (26 page)

With a moment alone, I shut my eyes and focused my thoughts where the strange connection to Lailah had been. I sensed a kernel of awareness there that shouldn’t be. It was foreign to me. It was also familiar. “Idra.” When I spoke her name, the small mass flared golden bright behind my eyes.

Shaking, I pulled the covers up to my chin then tugged them over my head.

It was a silly thing to do, but it made me feel better.

When the door swung open and heavy footsteps approached the bed, I burrowed deeper into my nest of pillows, expecting to hear mocking laughter or for Ghedi to yank the covers out of my hand.

“Are you hiding from me?”

Heat rushed into my cheeks. I lowered the fabric and, instead of Ghedi, I found Henri. “No.”

He kept his distance. “I owe it to you to answer any questions you might have.”

“My brain is soup. I’m having difficulty forming cohesive thoughts. For the moment, you’re safe.” Casting back on what had happened, I collected my doubts to me. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I ought to know, and we’ll see if I can find any questions when you’re finished?”

“I can do that.” He strode to the corner and sank into Ghedi’s chair. “First I must ask you for a favor. You saw a side of Marne not many people have. I must ask that you keep her secret safe.”

“She saved my life.” Plucked me from death’s own hands. “I won’t breathe a word.”

“She will appreciate your kindness.” He glanced aside. “After this, she and Edan will leave Erania. People will be looking too closely at what I have done, and I don’t want them implicated. I intend to send them south—to stay with Masikookyang in Beltania. The Salticidae are far kinder than my clan can afford to be.” He exhaled. “They are not strangers to aiding Eranian refugees.”

His comment made me curious, but he continued before I could interrupt.

“After your arrival, stray risers began crossing the border into Erania.” He leaned back in his chair. “Marne sensed them and was afraid another harbinger had come to reclaim her. I don’t believe she was in any danger on that score. Edan killed the one who changed her, and harbingers appear to choose hosts with care. It’s unlikely that the traits one harbinger coveted another would appreciate. I doubt they accept or nurture any other’s spawn. They would most likely kill it.”

“That’s a relief.” I touched the lower edge of my bandage. “They won’t want me either.”

“Their wants in regard to you are irrelevant.” His eyes darkened. “They will not have you.”

“You saved me.” I reached for him, and he came to me, sinking to his knees, taking my hand.

“I failed you. This is my fault. I knew the risks, and I kept you ignorant of them. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.” His grip tightened. “I chose my family, my clan, over you before you even arrived. Then, once I got to know you…” He shook his head. “If I could do it—”

“—over again, you would do it the exact same way.” I used his hand to tug him onto the bed. “It was my choice. I decided to accept Lailah’s mark, and it was the right decision. If I had died, I would have had the satisfaction of dragging Lailah down with me and scattering her army of risers too.”

His silence told me what he thought of that.

“What can you tell me about Marne?” I touched my throat. “What is she? Not a harbinger.”

“She is what you would have become, a fledgling harbinger.”

“Why was she here?” I had believed Lailah the first harbinger to traverse the north.

“Rhys spotted Edan on a hunting trip some months ago. Edan was carrying Marne’s body, and Rhys assumed that Edan had found the northland’s first harbinger carcass. When Rhys realized she was alive—barely—he escorted them to the summer stables and promised them aid.” Henri exhaled. “He told me to help if I could. If I couldn’t, he would have killed her. I began sketches for the bastille that same day and construction began the next. After seeing Marne, I wanted to believe harbingers could be reformed.”

“The full-fledged ones can’t be.” Lailah was proof of that.

“I know that now, at your and her expense.”

“I did wonder how you were so well-prepared for Lailah.”

No doubt he had repurposed a room to accommodate the cage, but it would have taken a crew of workers weeks to transform the room into a harbinger-proof bastille, even with gold easing the way.

“Lourdes decided to acquire Lailah because of the bastille and our experience with Marne. Our early success made her bold enough to accept Vaughn’s offer to house Lailah. Gods we were fools.”

“Let me get this straight. You had been treating Marne, so you know more about harbingers than I do.” Now our easy reception in Erania made more sense. “But you hadn’t seen a riser until we arrived with them in tow.”

“Marne was rescued before completing her transformation. I’m not sure she can call risers.”

“You said she was rescued.” No doubt by Edan. “Where did she come from?”

“We don’t know and Edan won’t say. She was captured and infected while in the southlands, and he sought refuge in the north.” Henri spread his hands. “Their discovery wasn’t proof the plague was spreading north, but we contained the situation to prevent the possibility. Their privacy was the cost of their cooperation. We could have forced them to participate in testing given the circumstances…”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“As am I. It made observing Marne’s awakening much more authentic. I hypothesized she came back to herself as a result of having her sigil removed, and Edan’s presence aided in her recovery as well.”

“Marne said we could live without sigils. Is that what saved me? When Lailah ripped mine out?”

“Not exactly.” He rubbed his nape. “My theory is that in order to spawn, a harbinger must have its own sigil. While my hypotheses abound, I have no proof, yet, of how they are manifested. It could be that the creation of a sigil is at the heart of how the plague was spread through livestock. You see, the sigil is, as best as I can tell, a parasite. They appear to be alive, at least while they are attached to a host, but their plating bears a stark resemblance to finely hammered copper. At the moment I’m not certain those characteristics are mutually exclusive. All I have to examine are the remains of yours.”

“What about Marne? She must have had one.”

“She did, but Edan removed it, thoroughly.”

“The scar on her throat.” How Edan must hate being the one who ruined her.

“Hers attached in almost the same spot as yours, but both have since been fully removed.”

I heaved a sigh of relief knowing no creepy-crawly part of Lailah’s sigil resided in me.

Henri appeared much less relieved. I exhaled. “I sense a
but
coming.”

“Sigils are venomous. Lailah told you she had been lacing my mother’s pitcher with venom, but it wasn’t hers. It was her sigil’s. She was preparing your body to ensure it didn’t reject the implant.”

“I don’t understand why she insisted on using that particular pitcher. Was it a game for her?”

“In part, I’m sure it was. I’ve thought about it, and I think she chose it because its base is metal. I use unglazed clay pitchers and glasses for patients because they’re inexpensive to replace and I can destroy them to prevent contamination. The clay would have absorbed the venom. She must have felt it was a better bet to use the mosaic pitcher and hope it worked.”

“How was Fynn involved?” He was on bed rest at least the first time Henri spotted the pitcher.

“He doesn’t remember much of what happened, but as tight a hold as Lailah had on his mind, I have to believe she either slipped him venom on the journey or she orchestrated her escape as a distraction to give him a dose large enough to cement a mental tie. Given the fact we all had contact with her, and with him, she might have been using her song to implant suggestions in us all long before we realized it.”

“Now there’s a frightening thought.” When he didn’t agree but lowered his gaze to meet mine, I knew there was more. “That isn’t a happy look. There’s something else. What haven’t you told me?”

“When a harbinger affixes its sigil to a host, it’s essentially poisoning them.” He leaned forward. “If the sigil is maintained, the host is transformed. If a sigil is forcibly removed, I believe that action triggers a reflex. The sigil then pumps its host full of poison to ensure that the fledgling dies with it.”

“Yet Marne—and I—survived.” I speculated, “You must have created a sigil antivenin.”

“In so many words, yes.” He shifted to face me. “There is no cure. Not yet. What I have created is a low-dose antivenin that must be injected daily in order to counteract the effect of the sigil venom without causing necrosis of the organs.” His gaze held mine, and it was anguished. “You will be on injections every day for the rest of your life unless I can develop a true cure. Marne will be as well.”

A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I should…” He stood with a grimace and crossed the room.

A twist of his wrist and the door exploded inward from the force of Tau’s weight leaning against it. He fell to the ground with a grunt. The others trampled him, shoving Henri aside as they clambered to reach me. They hit the mattress in a jumble of arms as they struggled to embrace me first. When they were all done, I was crushed beneath a wall of muscle and feeling ridiculously grateful to be alive.

Scraping the oafs off me took time. Once I could see past the blockade of brotherly love, the first thing I noticed was my bedroom door had been left propped open, and the hall stood empty.

Henri was gone.

I woke a second time, hours later, and found Ghedi’s chair empty. Quiet permeated the room.

Undecided if I enjoyed the silence, I broke it. “Hello?”

The knob rattled, and the door opened a crack. Fynn stuck his head inside the room.

His brows climbed.

“I thought I was alone.”

Never,
he mouthed.

“Are we the only two here?”

He nodded.

I swept out my arm, indicating Ghedi’s chair. “Would you like to come inside?”

Fynn shrugged, shouldering open the door and entering the room. He slouched in the chair.

“Did you draw the short end of the stick?”

Through Ghedi, I had learned the restrictions had been lifted on my brothers and me, and Maven Lourdes had given us leave to wander the nest at our leisure. They had spent the past week exploring the Araneidae clan home and indulging in excess until they came staggering back here to their beds.

His grin was sly. He shrugged again.

“I’ll take that as a
yes
.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and got comfortable.

“Ghedi seems fascinated with Araneidae society.”

Fynn rolled his eyes.
Females.

I chuckled. “Where there are skirts, there are those who would chase them. I hope whichever females they set their sights on give them a good run for it. Those two could use some exercise.”

Wiping his mouth, Fynn covered the slight flash of his teeth that was more his usual smile.

“Before he left earlier, Ghedi told me that Kaleb and Tau were more interested in joining the hunts aboveground for stray risers than tasting the delicacies made available to them in the nest.”

Fynn made a twirling motion beside his head.

I sighed. “They aren’t crazy for wanting to clean up a problem we helped bring here.”

He snorted and dusted his hands. The topic was closed for discussion.

“What about you? What have you been…?” I tensed when he stood. “What is it?”

Delicate knocks rang through the room. Fynn glanced over his shoulder. He pointed a stern finger at me and mouthed,
Be ready.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered. The closest weapon I had was the water pitcher, if I wanted to break another to use its shards. I held off on that. I didn’t want to develop a reputation.

Another glance at me and Fynn made a quick gesture.

I cleared my throat. “Who’s there?”

“Maven Lourdes,” a warm voice replied. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” I adjusted my covers and ran a hand through my hair.

Fynn slowly opened the door, revealing a slight female with honey-blonde hair and Henri’s blue eyes. Her smile matched the warmth of her voice, but her stride was purposeful. Her posture said she was used to commanding the attention of all those around her and that she expected mine as well.

When she noticed the chair, she asked, “Do you mind?”

“No.” I forced a smile. “Please, help yourself.”

She grasped the back of the chair with one hand and its seat with the other.

“Put that down,” a harsh voice barked from the hall.

Fynn spun behind the maven and drew a sword, aiming it into the darkness. Sparks flew. Metal clanged. Faster than my sluggish mind could follow, a male stalked Fynn into the room. He sent Fynn’s blade skittering to the floor, then angled his sword tip at the hollow under Fynn’s throat.