Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (19 page)

Suntai, the queen of the Chanku
Pack, sat ahead upon a great white wolf. Her back was turned toward
them, and her hair streamed in the wind, a white curtain strewn with
slim braids. Her sword, bow, and quiver hung across her back, and
several daggers hung at her side. Hem caught glimpses of her face in
profile; it shone in the light of her lamp, white and hard like
marble. Her face looked much like the face of her wolf, cold and pale
and usually snarling. Hem would not be surprised if Suntai, in her
rage, could rip out his throat with her own teeth. He gulped.

Linee walked up toward them,
hugging herself and shivering. She still wore her old royal gown, an
elaborate construction of cotton, embroidery, and about a thousand
jewels.

"She wants us to ride
wolves too!" Linee whispered, leaning toward Hem. "Can you
believe it? I can't ride one of those stinky animals." Tears
welled up in her eyes. "I want a carriage. I'm the Queen of
Arden, and I demand a carriage, but that Suntai won't listen. She's
just as beastly as the nightwolves." The young woman covered her
face and trembled.

Cam rolled his eyes. "Toughen
up, lady! You're not a queen anymore, so forget about plush carriages
and pampering. You're one of the Chanku riders now, so act like one,
unless you want them to make you an omega. Have you seen what they do
to omegas here? They're like the servants you had back in Arden,
scrubbing pots and rubbing sore feet."

That only made Linee cry harder.
"But I don't want to be a servant. I want to be a queen again.
Please, Camlin, can I share a wolf with you at least? I won't be as
scared if we ride together."

"Merciful Idar!" Cam
said, raising his hands to the heavens.

The talk of omegas stabbed Hem's
chest; he was still thinking about the young woman he had tried to
help. He turned around, stared back into the crater, and saw her
there. Her tormentors were now tossing her pack from one to another,
laughing as the girl tried to catch it.

Hem
winced.
You're
going to regret this, you stupid oaf,
he told himself, his thoughts surprisingly speaking in Cam's voice.
You know you
shouldn't do this, you lumpy loaf.
And yet he bit his lip and winced, and the words fled his mouth.

"I'm staying with the
pack."

Cam was busy scolding Linee,
saying something about how no, nightwolves did not have cute puppies,
and no, she couldn't have one. When he heard Hem, he stopped in
mid-sentence, turned away from Linee, and raised his eyebrows.

"You what?"

Hem looked at his feet. "I'm
staying with the pack. I'm not going north with you." He looked
over his shoulder again, seeking the omega, but she was gone,
vanished into the crowd. "I'm going to go east with Bailey. She
needs a friend. Torin's going south with Koyee, and you and Linee are
going north, and . . . well, Bailey shouldn't be alone."

The
lie made sense to him, and as he spoke, Hem convinced himself that it
was true—that
this
was the reason he would go east. Not because of an omega girl with
big, pretty eyes at all.

"Bailey—needing
a friend?" Cam said, eyebrows rising so high they nearly fell
off. "Bailey—the girl who'd twist our ears, kick our backsides,
and wrestle us into the mud if we so much as sang a bad note at the
pub?" Cam guffawed. "What's wrong with you? This is our
chance to get
away
from Bailey."

"I know, it's just . . ."
Hem wouldn't raise his eyes. "I think it's the right thing, all
right?"

Cam's eyes widened. "You're
serious, aren't you?" He shook his head, crossed his arms, and
looked away. "Well, fine then. Choose Bailey."

Hem winced and reached toward
his friend. "Cam, it doesn't mean that I don't want to go with
you. I just—"

When Hem placed his hand on
Cam's shoulder, the smaller boy shrugged it off and took a step away.

"I said go, all right?"
Cam took two more steps away, turning his back toward Hem. "I
don't care what you want."

"Well, all right then."
Hem twisted his fingers uncomfortably. "I guess I'll leave."

"I guess so."

Biting his lip, Hem turned back
toward the crater. The pack was beginning to ride out, heading east.
Across the other side of the crater, Hem could see Torin and Koyee
heading in another direction, several riders dragging their boat
along the plains. He took one step away, then looked back toward his
friend.

Cam was watching him, and Hem
lost his breath. Tears shone in the young shepherd's eyes.

"Cam—" he began,
reaching back toward him.

"Go!" Cam roared, face
red. "Go, I said. Go to your friend Bailey. I don't care. You
and I have only been best friends for . . . what, our entire lives?
So fine. I guess it's time for you to grow up and find your own way."
Cam glowered. "Just . . . damn it, be careful out there, all
right? Just listen to Bailey. If I'm not there to get you out of
trouble, she'll have to."

Suddenly tears filled Hem's eyes
too. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and noisily blew into
it. "I promise."

Cam looked ready to shout again,
then stepped forward and grabbed him, squeezing Hem. "You're a
dumb loaf, do you know that?"

Hem nodded. "That's what
everyone tells me. Goodbye for now, Camlin old boy. It won't be too
long and we'll meet again in the east."

He released his friend, then
turned to Queen Linee; her eyes were damp too. He took her hand in
his, kissed it like in the stories, and felt his cheeks flush.
Mumbling under his breath, he turned and left them there, heading
back into the crater.

The riders were all seated upon
their wolves now, heading eastward. Hem spotted Bailey in the
distance, riding at the head of the pack. Hoping they had a nightwolf
to spare, Hem ran after her, his pack and blankets jumping across his
back.

Goodbye,
Cam,
he thought as he ran.
Goodbye,
Torin.
It hurt to say goodbye. But now a girl needed him. Now was his time
to be a hero.

 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE PAINTED BUFFALO

As Torin sat in the boat,
watching Koyee sleep, he could not stop the memories.

It was peaceful here upon the
river. Aside from the fish that glowed in the water, he and Koyee
were the only living souls for miles around. Dark, silent plains
spread left and right, rolling into shadows. The stars shone above,
brilliantly white, blue, and lavender, a painting that sprawled
across the firmaments. A cold breeze blew, scented of distant rain,
ruffling his cloak. When first entering Eloria, Torin had found the
place frightening, but now he thought the night beautiful.

And yet, even here in this
silence and solitude, the blood danced before his eyes.

He saw it again: the corpses in
the gutters, the soldiers driving swords into children, the thousands
dying as he rushed from street to street, struggling to save whoever
he could.

I
wanted to save more,
he thought.
I
wanted to save a city. But I only saved fifty souls.
He closed his eyes.
I
failed. Thousands perished.

He
took a shuddering breath, opened his eyes, and looked at Koyee. She
slept peacefully on the boat floor, wrapped in furs, her cheek upon
her palms. She was so frail, so pale, beautiful even with the scars
across her face.

By
Idar, how could she be half-sister to Ferius, that twisted beast?
He
sat beside her.
One
child of light, one of darkness. A brother of evil, a sister of good.

Looking
at Koyee sleep, her chest rising and falling and her lips mumbling
sleepy nonsense, Torin thought that in all the fire, blood, and pain
of the world, there was still some goodness. There was still some
hope so long as Koyee—kind, outcast, brave Koyee—lived and fought.

"So long as you're with
me," Torin whispered, "this is some good in the world, and
there is some good in me. I took a life, but I saved life too; you
will always be my beacon in the night."

And . . . was she more to him
now? Torin's blood heated to remember the last time he'd visited her
chamber in the hospice. An urge came upon him to lie beside Koyee
again, here in this boat, to kiss her, undress her, make love to her
with only the fish and stars to see.

While he contemplated her fair
skin and silvery hair, the memory of Bailey's kiss came unbidden to
his mind, and his blood boiled even hotter. While Koyee warmed him
like a mug of mulled wine, comforting and intoxicating on a cold
autumn, Bailey was fire. The memory of her lips blasted through him,
powerful enough to make him shudder. While Koyee was slim and fair
like a faery maiden, Bailey was all curves and mocking smiles,
flashing eyes and full lips and—

Torin shut his mouth and shook
his head wildly.

"What am I doing?" he
wondered aloud.

Bailey was his friend! She had
taken him into his home when they'd been only children; she was more
foster-sister to him than . . . than . . . well, than whatever these
thoughts were now making her out to be.

Torin
slapped his head, vowing to banish such thoughts from his mind—of
both Bailey
and
Koyee. Right now, with war raging across the night, he had to focus
on his quest. He would think only of reaching the southern
island-nation of Ilar, forging an alliance, and fighting against the
bastard Ferius and his followers.

Koyee stirred and opened her
eyes to slits. "Torin? Did you say something?"

"Sorry, Koyee. I was
talking to myself."

She smiled sleepily and sat up,
her hair in tangles. "I do that too. Well . . . I talk to my
invisible friend, Eelani, though I think she's real. Not everyone
believes it." She yawned, stretching out all four limbs, and
checked the hourglass beside her. "Oh no! I slept for too long."

She
rose to her feet, stretched, and hopped about upon the
Water
Spider
.
The rowboat was built for twenty soldiers; only the two of them now
stood upon it. Most of the boat was taken up by their supplies. Their
food and drink were a mix of Elorian and Timandrian goods—pouches of
mushrooms alongside jars of strawberry preserves, packs of salted
stonebeast meat alongside pork sausages, and jugs of mushroom wine
alongside kegs of ale. Since they had left the Chanku Pack two turns
ago, Koyee had seemed happy to eat nothing but mushrooms, whereas
Torin didn't know how he'd survive once their sunlit supplies ran
out. They had weapons and armor too: wolf helms and shirts of scales,
a katana and a longsword, a bow and arrow, knives and throwing stars,
and the oil and sharpening stones to maintain the blades.

"We have enough supplies
for a small army," Torin said, gazing at the hill of food,
drink, and weapons.

Koyee grinned. "Well, I've
seen you Timandrians eat; you gobble up enough for an army, each man
alone. No wonder you people are so big. And besides, it'll be a long
journey." She reached into a pack, produced a scroll, and
unrolled it, revealing a map. "We'll be spending a good moon on
the water."

She sat down, placed the map on
a bench, and secured its corners with an hourglass, a dagger, and two
jars of pickled squid. Torin sat beside her, gazing at the inked
rivers, mountains, and craters of Eloria.

"An entire month on the
water," he said in a whisper. He could barely imagine such a
distance.

A
month alone with Koyee,
he thought, raising his eyes and looking at her. That familiar
tingling filled him. She was sitting cross-legged, leaning forward
and admiring the map, a soft smile on her lips. Torin thought her
hair looked very soft and smooth, and he longed to touch it, to kiss
her lips again, to hold her in his arms like he had back in Pahmey.

Was
that a single moment of passion?
he
wondered.
Or
will she . . . be my woman?
The
thought spun his head, almost comical.

Torin had kissed a couple girls
back home; he had shared a quick peck on the lips with Leeya, the rye
farmer's daughter, and an awkward mess of a kiss—noses banging—with
Perry Potter, an older woman who then went off and married somebody
else. With Koyee it had felt different, infinitely more real and yet
infinitely more mysterious and ephemeral.

She looked up at him, saw him
staring, and tilted her head. Feeling his cheeks flush, Torin quickly
returned his eyes to the map. He pointed at a strand of silver ink.

"Is this the Inaro River?"
he said. "Where we sail now?"

She nodded and tapped a point on
the strand. "We're about here, two hourglass turns south of the
Chanku crater. We'll sail all the way south across the plains of
Qaelin." She traced her finger down the map. "In under a
moon, if we oar along with the current, we'll reach the southern
Qaelish port of Sinyong." She smiled, revealing bright teeth.
"I've heard traders speak of Sinyong. They say it's a great city
of wonder, its towers more beautiful than those of Pahmey, its
streets wide, its people learned and wise. They say that glowing
birds fly between its pagodas, and that its philosophers study the
stars."

Her eyes shone, but Torin didn't
share her sense of adventure. He would be happy never seeing another
city of wonders. More than anything, he wanted to return home to
Fairwool-by-Night, to tend to his gardens, and to forget about this
war and bloodshed. He'd be happier seeing his humble old cottage than
any fancy towers. In his dreams, Koyee returned home with him, and
they lived together in Fairwool-by-Night. Flowers bloomed in the
gardens, Cam's sheep grazed peacefully, and the smells of Hem's
baking bread filled the village. Torin cared little for magical
towers, glowing birds, or markets of wonder; he loved the peace of
home, a warm fireplace, and a mug of mulled wine, ideally with Koyee
snuggled up under a blanket at his side.