Stray (29 page)

T
he straps of her pack dug into her shoulders. Aislynn tried to adjust it but did not complain. Everything on her back was necessary: enough food and water for the journey, something to sleep on, and several extra handkerchiefs. All the others were carrying similar bags, as well as their weapons, and no one else seemed bothered by the load. Shifting awkwardly, she struggled to find a comfortable place for it to rest against her body.

“Would you like some help?” asked Brigid as she approached with Elanor.

Aislynn nodded, and Elanor slid her fingers under the straps of Aislynn's bag. She winced at the weight.

“I think she overpacked,” she said to Brigid.

“Just think of feathers,” Brigid replied.

Elanor rolled her eyes, then squeezed them shut, her forehead wrinkled with concentration. Nothing happened, and Elanor let out a snort of frustration. Aislynn watched with confusion as Elanor shook out her arms and rolled her head from side to side before placing her hands on Aislynn's shoulders again. There was a soft hum of magic, barely perceptible. It pulsed a few times before settling around Aislynn. All of a sudden, the weight of the bag was gone.

Looking over her shoulder, Aislynn half expected her pack to have disappeared. But it was still there, still piled high, only now she could barely feel it. It weighed as much as a light coat.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Elanor waved off the gratitude and walked away.

“She can make a sword out of shackles and shoot a date out of a bird's mouth, but, well . . .” Brigid sighed. “Magic's different for everyone. I would have done it myself, but I'm a little limited these days.” She studied the marks around her wrists wistfully.

“Can the custody spell be undone?” asked Aislynn, watching Thackery kneel to pet Cinnamon. He smiled when the wolf licked his face.

“It can, but it's not easy. Far beyond Elanor's abilities. And yours,” Brigid quickly added.

“Are we ready?” Elanor called out. “We should leave before the sun gets too high.” She looked regretfully back at the cottage.

From the porch, Muriel had been watching the preparations in a panic, running her wrinkled hands through her hair and creating a wild red halo around her head. She was muttering and pacing back and forth on the squeaking steps, her eyes never leaving the small party.

“It's not safe,” she said. “It's not safe out there.”

Cinnamon gave a low, mournful howl, as if she agreed. Elanor had prepared Aislynn for this moment, warning her that no matter how many times people came and went from Muriel's home, she was always convinced they would never return. Today that fear seemed very much alive in her. When Aislynn approached to say good-bye, Muriel latched her surprisingly strong fingers onto Aislynn's arm and refused to let go.

Then Cinnamon trotted over, and Muriel's grip loosened. “Wondrous things, aren't they?” Her eyes seemed to focus for a moment as she stared down at the wolf, which cocked her head and stared right back. “Just as feared as we are.”

“Don't worry about us, Muriel,” said Aislynn. “We'll be all right.”

Muriel knelt down, her hands flat on the step. “You remember, don't you?” she whispered to Cinnamon as the wolf let out another soft whine. “We trusted them, and they took everything. Took it all.” Struggling to her feet, she gave the wolf a final pat and, without saying another word, walked back into the cottage.

After two days of trekking through the thick, rambling forest, Aislynn realized exactly how foolish it would have been to undertake this journey on her own. She would have been hopelessly lost in an hour. Thackery, Rhys, Brigid, and Elanor took turns navigating, and Aislynn was endlessly grateful that they had agreed to help her. It was clear that Thackery had needed to convince the others, especially Elanor, who wore her distrust like a badge. Aislynn couldn't blame her.

Her thoughts turned to the mirror. What had Tahlia given her? Aislynn knew Tahlia loved her and wouldn't deliberately put her in harm's way, but she couldn't help feeling anxious that she knew so little about what she was meant to protect.

Finally Elanor called for a halt in a small clearing, and Aislynn happily slipped off her pack. It may not have been heavier than a coat, but it was still more than she was used to carrying.

“Spun straw for your thoughts,” said Thackery, coming up behind her. Aislynn jumped.

“Sorry.” There was a sheepish smile offered along with his apology.

She managed a small smile of her own, her palms suddenly damp. “I'm sorry to have pulled you into my troubles,” she said.

“I didn't have anything better to do,” he joked. “Besides, I like your troubles.” Giving a strand of her hair a tug, he caught her eyes and held them. “I do.”

Rhys let out a laugh at the other end of the clearing, startling them both. Thackery dropped his hand.

“Elanor wants us to come back to the mountains when we've found your mirror,” he said.

“Is that where you were after you left Elderwood?” Aislynn asked.

Thackery nodded. “Brigid and I were going to start looking for a new academy to use as a safe house. Someplace where we could hide those who are escaping Josetta.” He looked ahead at Elanor, who was examining the map with Rhys. “But Elanor says she needs us at camp for now. She's convinced a war is coming.” He smiled. “Rhys is convinced she's trying to start it.”

“What's in the mountains?”

“It's where the main Orphan camp is. It's where Elanor and Rhys are headed—once they leave us. They'll continue through the Northern Kingdom and eventually reach the base of the Midland Mountains. Follow that, and you'll find our home.” He grinned. “Well, you won't exactly find it, but the chances are someone will find you. Better hope it's the Orphans and not Josetta's huntsmen.”

“You consider that your home?”

“I was born there. My mother.” Thackery plucked a smooth rock from the ground. “She fought in the First Rebellion.” He heaved the stone into the trees, and Aislynn could hear it breaking through the bare branches as it fell. “Died in it, too.”

“What was she like?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Thackery shrugged. “I don't really remember her. I was only a kid when she died. Those who survived like to tell me how brave and clever she was.” He smiled. “Kind of like you, I bet.”

Aislynn blushed and looked away. “And your father?”

“Died before I was born.” He took a deep breath. “Must be awful to die that way. Not knowing if you made any difference.” Picking up another rock, he weighed it in his palm. “The one thing I remember about my mother is how she made rainbows, even in the dark.” Holding the stone between his fingers, he held it up to the light. “We had all these pieces of glass, like the ones in Muriel's house, hanging in the windows. I remember our house being full of rainbows, even when we had the shutters closed. I later realized that she had been using magic to make the glass sparkle, but when I was little, it just felt like it was a part of my mother, like she was made of light and color.”

He tossed the smooth stone up in the air, but before it could land in his palm, Aislynn caught it. The magic inside her had built to a simmer, tapping against her heart. She watched as the slate-gray stone in her hand was replaced by crystal.

The trees around them rustled and shifted, branches parting to let the sunlight in. Beams of light broke through the foliage and bounced off the crystal in Aislynn's palm, reflecting brilliant rainbows all around them. She looked up through the sparkling colors and found Thackery staring at her with such intensity that it nearly knocked her off her feet.

Elanor's furious voice burst through the clearing.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Aislynn dropped the stone. It landed in the dirt, once again gray and smooth.

“Are you mad?” Elanor fumed. “Why don't you just send out a warning flare telling everyone where we are?”

Suddenly Cinnamon began to howl.

T
he wolf's howl was both mournful and chilling. Everyone froze except Aislynn, who darted forward and wrapped her arms around Cinnamon's shaggy neck.

Elanor stalked toward them. “You need to quiet that animal before someone—” She stumbled back, hand flying to the arrow that seemed to have grown from her shoulder.

“Ellie!” Rhys ran forward, catching her before she hit the ground. She shook him off, gritted her teeth, and snapped the wooden shaft in half.

“I hate it when you call me that!” Elanor grabbed her bow and struggled to her feet as a dozen soldiers crashed through the trees in front of them and into the clearing.

Elanor let loose an arrow, hitting their archer. He fell forward at Aislynn's feet, dead. The soldier behind him charged with his sword raised.

Before she could even scream, a pair of strong hands grabbed Aislynn's shoulders and pushed her aside. She hit the ground, hard. In an instant Thackery was standing over a second lifeless body, bloodstained sword at his side.

He didn't see the ax that was headed straight for his head.

“Thackery!” Aislynn cried, throwing her hand up as magic surged through her. The deadly weapon froze in midair and quivered there as if unsure where to go next. Then, with a jolt, it shot backward, plunging into the chest of the man who had thrown it. He crumpled to the ground.

Pain ripped through Aislynn. She clutched at her chest, expecting to find a dagger or sword there, as it felt as if she had been run through. But there was nothing. No injury, no wound. And just as quickly as the pain had arrived, it disappeared.

Aislynn struggled to her feet, slipping on the wet grass. A hand reached out to help her.

“That's what happens when you use magic to kill someone,” Elanor said, hoisting her off the ground. “It's why I prefer an arrow.”

The skirmish was over, and the clearing was littered with uniformed bodies. As everything came into focus, Aislynn was shocked to realize that some of them were women, all wearing matching crests on their chests: a dark circle with a shield in its center. Identical to the mark on Thackery's shoulder.

Brigid was cleaning a dagger while Elanor fended off Rhys's attempts to check the arrow still in her shoulder.

Aislynn stared down at the ax and the man it was buried in. He had very blond hair, and blue eyes opened wide in shock. A chill spread through her, and her knees began to shake. This was her doing. He had been alive a few minutes ago, and now he was dead because of her. She raised her hands, expecting to find her palms blackened or bloody, but aside from a few smears of dirt, they looked exactly as they always did. She felt sick. With frantic swipes, she rubbed her hands against her hips, trying desperately to cleanse them. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder.

Thackery.

She turned and, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek as he squeezed her back.

“Is everyone all right?” asked Rhys.

He was rewarded with a series of muttered confirmations.

“Cinnamon?”

Pulling away from Thackery, Aislynn looked around for the wolf. Her heart stopped. Then she heard a sharp bark, followed by the rustle of leaves. “Cinnamon!”

Bursting through the trees, the wolf bounded into the clearing, her tail wagging furiously. Aislynn dropped to her knees, pressing her face into the wolf's thick coat.

There was a piece of parchment between Cinnamon's teeth, and Aislynn removed it carefully. The others gathered around. Crudely drawn in ink were a series of portraits—Rhys and Elanor were there, as were Thackery and Brigid. And Ford. A sum of money was listed below the portraits, as a reward for their capture or death.

“Yet another unflattering artist's rendition,” said Rhys. “My chin doesn't look like that, does it?” He tilted his head toward Elanor.

She snatched the paper away and scanned it quickly before tossing it aside. “They've never sent this many after us before,” she said.