The Clockwork Crown (25 page)

Three soldiers followed him in, Alonzo between them. His song rang of sound health. He looked at her, relief palpable in his face, and then to Miss Percival in her gear. His eyes narrowed.
He knows who she is.

Octavia closed her bag and looped the strap over her head again. She bit back a groan at the severe ache in her shoulder. No time for pampria now. “The feeling isn't mutual. I'm sure Lanskay told you why we've returned for a brief visit.”

“A visit, yes. To think, I bargained with you using a trip here as the reward, and you managed it on your own. It does seem that your Lady helped, becoming visible with such interesting timing.”

“The Tree certainly isn't helping your cause. Maybe you should rethink harvesting her like a field of wheat.”

“Wheat can be temperamental. The Lady's Tree is being temperamental, too. Like a typical woman.” He snorted.
As if he knows anything about women, at his age. “
Medician, I want to know how you make trees appear.”

“What?” asked Octavia.

Taney's gaze on her was even. “We know you have a strong relationship with the Lady. You made a tree appear before. Now the full Tree has become visible here. I want you to make it disappear again.”

She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. “You think I can control the Tree and make her appear and disappear like the ghostlings in children's puppet theater? Really?”

Taney scowled. The other men looked at one another, clearly unsettled.
Most ­people have more sense than to laugh at Taney, I'm sure.
Octavia sobered. She needed to act with more sense as well if she was going to finagle her way to the Tree and keep Alonzo safe.

“The timing on this cannot be an accident,” said Taney.

She could play along with this. “No, it's not. It's visible now so that I can find it. I'm supposed to go directly to the Lady.”

“Why?”

Why indeed.
She knew if she looked at Alonzo at that moment, she would burst into tears.
We would have my cottage and garden. We would.
Octavia swallowed down her grief for the future that might have been.

“I don't know. Dreams guided me here, and they told me to bring along the man we traveled with, Mr. Everett.” Disturbing, how practice made it so much easier to lie.

Lanskay shook his head. “You'll find that a challenge. Men don't enter the woods beneath the canopy. Well, they do. They just don't leave.”

“The threems.” Miss Percival spoke up for the first time. “They guard the Tree, as it's said in the tales? Passage is only granted to the innocent.”

Octavia nodded. “Which is why the Wasters—­pardon me, Dallowmen—­have been kidnapping teenage girls from Mercia to harvest the Lady's bark to make Royal-­Tea.”

Miss Percival faced Octavia, mouth gaping in horror. “Her bark? Used for that advertised
tea
?”

“Unfortunately, Mercian girls are not that innocent. Many have vanished into the woods.” Taney's bare lips curled in disgust. “Our daughters are more pure, but we'd rather spare them the dangers of the trek here.”

Octavia sighed. Taney, yet again, had no comprehension that morality, innocence, and virginity were not all one and the same, nor an exclusive trait of young girls. “All I know is that I am supposed to bring Mr. Everett. If the Tree wants him, I'm sure the way will be clear.”

She could sense Alonzo trying to catch her eye. He wanted to be included in the mission, as part of this dream. She wanted him to come—­to be her rock, her source of humor, her distraction—­but more than that, she wanted him to live.
Wyrms haven't attacked this settlement. He'll be safer here.

“What else will come of this?” asked Taney. He stroked at his muttonchops.

“If the Tree becomes invisible again, you just might avoid obliteration. That could be seen as a perk.”

“Caskentia has mapped the Tree's location and that of our camp, medician,” said Taney. “It was never seen from the air before, but they could still land and launch an invasion, even if it hides.”

The Tree hid for centuries. A new Tree would likely be able to hide fully as well, and for a long time. Not that they need to know that.

Lanskay inclined his head. “A ground war is far preferable to airships with payloads of flaming oil, complemented by a Caskentian infernal on high.”
The voice of experience. How many such drops has he done on Caskentia?
She stared at him with open disgust.

“Miss Percival.” Taney faced her. “Since our other plans for you must wait, I will have you work in our wards. I trust that Miss Leander here has recovered from the episode she experienced upon arrival?”

“Yes. Will my satchel be returned to me?” The hardness in Miss Percival's posture reminded Octavia of herself.
Well, I had to learn it somewhere.

“To heal my men, yes.” Taney turned to Alonzo. “There is still the question of what to do with you.”

“Don't you dare torture him again.” Octavia's voice shook.

Alonzo remained utterly cool in the face of this threat; his song showed his inner distress.

“Lanskay tells me this Mr. Garret acted with full honor in the wyrm's tunnel. He has also kept you alive through recent events.”

Alonzo opened his lips, but Miss Percival's voice rose first. “Knowing Miss Leander, she can manage quite well in keeping herself alive without full reliance on any man.”

Octavia felt an odd twinge of joy. That sounded like the old Miss Percival, the one who taught her that childbirth alone was proof that women were not the weaker of the species.

“Our survival was an effort of teamwork,” said Octavia. “I don't want any harm to come to Mr. Garret.”

Miss Percival pressed her lips together, one eyebrow arched. There was a question in her eyes—­
who is this man whom you so obviously care about?

“Then keep that in mind while you go to see your Tree. If the Tree can still be seen by air at sunset, each half hour of the night and morning, he will burn. Twenty units of prairie justice.” Taney clasped his hands at his back and smiled at Octavia. Behind him, Lanskay looked outright appalled for a split second and then shifted to a mask of stoicism.

Octavia wavered on her feet.
Twenty units of prairie justice.
She had treated men who had endured such torture. Each toe, each finger, burned from the tip down until it was cauterized at the base. Medicians could do nothing to restore the lost extremities. Even worse, the manner of destruction made it impossible to attach mechanical replacements unless the remaining hand or foot was amputated as well.

Mr. Drury must have thought so little of Alonzo that he never told his superiors about how the man had only one leg. Not that fifteen units was a vast improvement.

Miss Percival shot Octavia a clear look of concern.
She always did her utmost to assign the burn cases to other girls, even in more recent months.

“Is that realistic?” asked Octavia, her voice hoarse. “How far is it to the Tree? There's the forest at the roots . . .”

“We are in the forest now. It's about three miles to the trunk. We'll supply our best horses and equipment.” At Taney's nod, a man in the doorway left.

King Kethan and horses. How will this work? “
It's winter. Daylight is short. We need to get going. Can I speak to Mr. Garret briefly?”

Taney frowned and looked between them. “Yes, but with Lanskay present. Miss Percival, walk with me. I have some urgent cases to bring to your attention.”

“Of course,” Miss Percival murmured. “Miss Lean­der . . . I hope I see you later, but if I don't . . .”

“I'm sure you'll see me, one way or another.”
Maybe in your Al Cala.

Miss Percival's expression was troubled as she left. The other men followed, leaving Octavia with Alonzo and Lanskay.

“Well,” said Alonzo.

“We survived the tunnel,” said Octavia, her voice forcefully upbeat.

“We did. We cannot say we lazed about today.”

“Goodness no. You know me. I can't abide laziness. Always busy-­busy.”

“For God's sake, get on with it,” said Lanskay. He walked to the doorway and stared into the hall, his long pale ponytail dangling down his back.

Now that they had a modicum of privacy, she stared down at her boots. The leather at the toe appeared whitened and worn, the preservation enchantment obviously tested by Kethan's presence. The skin of her feet itched.

Alonzo cleared his throat. Octavia glanced at him, a lump in her throat and her eyes burning. He studied her as if for the last time, icy-­blue eyes appraising her and reminding her of that brief moment they shared back in Tamarania.

“Alonzo, if I don't make it back—­”

“Do not dare speak in such a way.”

“I will, and you'll listen.” She took a breath to force away a sob. “Thank you for everything. I wouldn't have wished these past few weeks on anyone, but if I had to go through this, I'm glad I was with you.”

“Octavia.” Her heart and senses lurched at the sound of her name. Alonzo leaned forward. As their lips touched, her awareness of the outer world dimmed. She felt her consciousness begin to drop into the ocean of his body, and she fought back. Teeth grinding, will resolute, she mentally clawed her way to full awareness of the physical sensation of his kiss: the softness and strength of his lips, the coarseness of his mustache and beard, the tenderness of his fingers at her neck as he drew her in. Beneath it all, she knew the rapidness of his heart, the flow of his blood, the way the yearning of his soul translated into his rapid breaths.

Lanskay cleared his throat.

She and Alonzo stared at each other as they pulled away. She clutched at him, desperately, her gloved fingers so small next to his.

“If I lose any toes or fingers, worry not. I will return to Kellar Dryn when this is done.” He tried to make it sound as if this was no big deal, like he could dash down to the market to buy more bread if they ran out.

“I like your body parts. I'd prefer you to keep them as flesh. Not that I have anything against your mechanical leg.”

“ 'Tis my preference to retain flesh as well.”

“In the interest of your digits, I need to go.”

“Take care of yourself foremost. Please give my best to Mr. Everett, and my regrets that we met in such poor circumstances.”

“I will.”

With that, she walked away. Blinded by tears, she had taken several steps into the hallway before she realized she had no idea where she was going. Lanskay's magic crackled against her skin as he joined her. Behind her, she sensed several other guards with Alonzo as they headed the other way.

“How do you stand it?” she asked him. She held up her arm to motion to where he had scarred her. “To burn ­people. To torture them.”

“It's my duty as a man of the Dallows. We need the curse on our land undone, to live in autonomy. This skill with fire, it is something I do. A job.” His voice lowered. “I do not relish the idea of torturing him later. You're both favored by the Lady's Tree. I hope you succeed.”

“A job. Burning ­people alive. I watched you kill one of your own men, the one who made a lewd comment to me.”

In the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of him pressing a fist to his chest.
He salutes the very man he killed.
“Yes. Sometimes it's necessary, but all for the sake of the greater cause. Our freedom. A return to a normal life.”

“A normal life, a life without war. What does that even mean for any of us?”

“We must all dream of something that comes after peace, yes? After a true armistice? For me, it would mean a return to my homestead, and to teach children's choir.” Lanskay stared into the distance, a smile stretching the severe lines of his cheekbones.

“Maybe you'll see that day,” she murmured.

“I have one favor to ask of you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“When you return, if you see the Lady, you will tell me what she's like?” He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “I've seen the Tree itself for years now. I came to take it for granted, in truth. But when I saw what you created before . . . if anyone can see the actual Lady, it will be you.”

Octavia stared at him.
Lanskay makes it sound like he's a new convert.
In the past, the revelation that any nonmedician had an interest in the Lady would have delighted her. Now, with her own faith broken, she knew emptiness.

Another sort of emptiness rang in her senses as well. With a pang, she realized she was out of range to hear Alonzo's song.

 

C
HAPTER
19

As she stepped outside,
Octavia understood why the world seemed so dark when she left the tunnel-­rigged cabriolet. The settlement lay in the deep shadow of the Lady's Tree.

The trunk may have been a few miles away, but it was also miles wide. Past the canopies of normal trees, the Lady's trunk was a rippled wall of green and brown and the impenetrable black of nooks and crannies that never saw the sun. Her lowest branches were well above the normal woods. Specks of birds hovered like ground pepper. Octavia craned her neck. All she could see was green. All she could smell was green—­that lush freshness that made her think of verdant early-­spring mornings when the tulips and weeds shoved their way through the wet soil.

The Tree. She saw the Tree.

Despite her anger, despite her wavering faith, Octavia dropped to her knees and into a folded Al Cala pose. The sobs she had held in check now gushed out, racking her chest, contracting her entire body.

This was the Lady she had seen so many times when she closed her eyes. This was the breeze that had somehow stirred in her bedroom and dried her tears for so many years.

“Miss Leander?” Lanskay cleared his throat.

“I know. I know.” Octavia pushed herself upright. To think, two weeks ago she had been awed to simply hold a green branch the size of her arm.
Lady, you are beautiful.
In answer, that familiar breeze touched her cheek, gentle as her mother's sleeve once was.

Voices and songs buzzed around her. The new headband did its duty as she followed Lanskay along a well-­tamped dirt street flanked by wooden boardwalks. The settlement was a full-­fledged town several blocks in length, the weathered buildings all logs and shingles. Somewhere beyond, though, was an even greater aggregation of bodies. Without even seeing it, she knew the army encamped there to defend their stake in the Tree.

No mooring towers in sight; they would have been useless while the Tree was veiled. Taney will have his ships pestering Caskentia and trying to slow its army down, but I see his urgency in hiding this camp again. If Caskentia manages to get airships with infernals overhead, this place will be like a black cat in a snowbank. It'll be a massacre . . . but one with positive aspects as well.

Caskentia could win the war at last—­and Mercia no longer contains its cursed king. We may have a chance to blossom again.

But there would still need to be a Tree to continue healing the land.

Like pinpricks, she felt the attention of Wasters, the repetitions of her name. Men bustled all around—­rangy soldiers with hardened eyes like feral dogs, boys hauling packs, wagon after wagon of supplies and machinery.

A high, frenzied neigh cut above the noise of battle preparations. She followed Lanskay across the street.

King Kethan stood at a corral. He wore new clothes like that of any Waster, plus boots and a frayed-­rim bowler hat. He'd even been provided with a new tie for his long hair. The horses in the corral reacted as if to a mountain lion—­they crowded at the far side, the lead mare braying a challenge.

“Grandfather,” Octavia said, catching Lanskay looking at her askance.

Kethan faced her with a strained smile. “I fear our manner of transport will be problematic.”

“Not if I can help it. Lanskay, where are our horses?”

“Over there. A man's bringing them around.”

She assessed them with her eyes and senses together and nodded approval. Wasters knew their horses. The legs were sound, feed adequate, hooves trimmed and shod. As they neared the King, the horses' nostrils flared.

Alonzo's not going to lose so much as his little toe. Not if I can help it.

“Stop there,” Octavia said. She approached, a hand extended for the reins. The Waster looked at Lanskay for approval and then backed away. “Shh, shh. Listen to me.” She leaned close between the horses. They immediately calmed, ears perked.

She had healed most all kinds of animals before. At the academy, some days were more about livestock than ­people. The difficulty was that animals, like ­people, had to acquiesce to a healing—­at some level, they had to understand. It didn't always happen. Octavia didn't need a healing now, but she did need understanding. If she encircled both horses with honeyflower, it would strengthen her insight, but she had neither the herbs nor the time.

But they were in the shadow of the Lady, and Octavia possessed power of her own.

“Lanskay, what are these horses' names?”

“Names?”

“Yes. Names.”

He conferred with the grooms. “Doxy and Chocolate.”

Names possess power.
She knew that, as she flinched at the men's whispers. “Lady, here in your shadow, with this change in my blood, hear me,” Octavia murmured. Heat prickled against her skin as if she had initiated the forming of a circle. The men felt something, too. Boots scuffed as they backed away.

“Doxy.” The bay with a white snip on her muzzle perked up her ears. “We will travel with a man who smells like death. He is a good man. Let him ride you.” The horse's black eyes stared into Octavia.

“Chocolate.” Despite everything, the name made Octavia smile. “You will be mine. The man's smell will bother you, as it should, but don't let him scare you away.” Chocolate whickered and rubbed his face against her arm, as if pleading for a lump of sugar.

“Thank you,” Octavia murmured. Like that, the heat faded. She realized, then, how quiet it was. She turned. All the activity in the street had stopped. No one stood within twenty feet of her—­no one but King Kethan, Doxy, Chocolate, and the small herd of horses that now lined the corral to stare. Several of the Wasters held their shotguns slack in their grips.

“Um. What?” she asked, glancing around to see if she'd missed something.

King Kethan approached, his steps slow, a hand held out toward the horses. “You glowed.”

Like Adana Dryn. Like the Saint's Road.
She looked at her arms and saw the same white cloth as always. “Am I still glowing?”

“No. It ceased.”

“That might have actually come in handy in the tunnel.” She laughed, the sound edging on hysterical. The pitch of her voice seemed to alarm the horses more than Kethan's presence.

Lanskay edged forward, his motions tentative as if he might drop to his knees before her. “The saddlebags are packed with enough food and water for the day.”

“Understood.”
We won't try to escape.

“I hope to see you by nightfall.” He grimaced and stepped back.

She and Kethan mounted up. The horses were nervous, sidestepping with twitching ears. Octavia pressed Chocolate to a trot as they headed out to the street. She couldn't help but note King Kethan's smile and the strange calmness in his song. He was riding a true horse, and his joy seeped to his very soul.

I love to ride horses, too. The rhythm, the breeze in my face, that sense of flight over the ground. So many things I've taken for granted, as part of being human.

The traffic was still at a stop as men stared after them. She flinched at the distant mentions of her name, her identity, the words striking her like flicked beans.

Someone will ask Alonzo what I did, how I did it. If I make it back, he'll demand answers, too.

Actually, he'll demand even more answers if I don't return. And I'll likely hear every query.

A thin belt of green meadow separated the settlement from the thick woods. The road dead-­ended there, dwindling to a mere footpath. Octavia took the lead. Shrubs and vines towered above her. The smell was intense, as if she could chew the greenery in the air. Birds sang and rattled in the branches above.

Chocolate's ears flicked, his coat shivering as if he was harassed by flies. Then Octavia felt it—­the prickling warmth like that of a circle. “Grandfather, I think we crossed the line into the Lady's domain, quite literally.”

“I agree.” Kethan's voice was a low rumble.

The sounds of animals intensified. The trees crowded ahead like cats at feeding time, branches and leaves in a tight, verdant weave. She couldn't see the Tree now but she felt its looming presence, the shade covering them like a strange sort of nightfall. It occurred to her that she should be very cold—­it had to be near freezing—­but she felt fine.

An odd pile of bones and long green branches was stacked along one side of the path. The branches buzzed slightly with the life essence of the Lady. Octavia stared, taking in the large shape, then noticed green movement amidst the bones. She assumed it was a snake and prepared for Chocolate to lurch away, then noticed the leaves, the shape.
My horse.
Jasmine.

As she rode by, white buds opened to her as if in an offering. She pressed a hand to her chest and bowed her head. “Peace to you, sweet mare,” she whispered.

“ ‘God take you, warrior steed, to fields of clover, not bone,' ” intoned King Kethan.

Tears burned her eyes. Caskentia still used that prayer when they burned and buried horses that fell in battle. It was one of the few times she had ever seen soldiers cry.

They crossed a churning stream and rode up an embankment. The path thinned, the light at their backs vanishing completely. The King's heart raced, his song more chaotic.
He's nervous.
So was she. This was no normal forest. Foxes, raccoons, and vague shadows crawled through the undergrowth. Five deer flashed through the trees. A moose stared at them, his antlers broad and heavy as if he carried the world upon his skull. It was as though every animal on the continent was congregating here, whether they belonged in the Waste or not; maybe somewhere, saltwater seals played in a pond where small whales breached. At this point, nothing would surprise her.

Heat seared Octavia's skin as if they approached an infernal. They did. She reined up.

The threem strolled into the path some twenty feet ahead. In the deep shade, the gray body was cast in black, its scaled skin sleek. The equine form stopped to regard them; it stood about fourteen or fifteen hands in height, comparable to a common riding horse. Eyes glowed red. The muzzle curved outward like the snout of a sea horse, the nostrils large and tinged in crimson. It had no mane. Instead, a double black ridge of scales trailed from forelock to croup, where a leonine tail lashed. It moved with the grace of a snake, exuded the mood of a nightmare.

Beneath Octavia, Chocolate convulsed in sheer terror, song lurching. Octavia immediately dismounted. A glance back showed King Kethan doing the same. Octavia grabbed the reins at the bit as she made soothing sounds.

“Grandfather, did you learn anything about threems in your extensive reading?”

“That they are not supposed to exist.” He sounded more intrigued than frightened. “ 'Tis beautiful.”

“It is, but so is a fire, and that's what it will breathe at us if we don't elicit some level of approval.”

“I must venture forward first. I am no innocent, not by any definition.”

“Neither am I. I've killed. I've been party to too many deaths these past few weeks.”

The threem's song was unlike anything she had ever heard. It consisted of frenzied drums, like a herd of horses in a gallop across cobblestones. She had no idea how to parse those musical lines.

“Lady!” called Octavia. “Neither of us is innocent. We know that. We can't change the past. Please let us by, threem.”

The threem's finely tapered ears flickered.
It understands, just like a gremlin.
She had a hunch that cheese or silver wouldn't win a threem's heart—­no, it was too dignified, too noble. Her mother's advice repeated in her mind again, what Octavia should do if she ever met royalty.

Octavia curtsied, her satchel jostling against her hip. She heard Kethan move behind her.

Sinuous as a ripple of silk, the threem stepped on across the path and vanished into the piled vines. Octavia released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. “My mother always said manners were of vital importance,” she said, grunting as she remounted. She shifted the satchel to a more comfortable position.

“Mothers are wise in that way.”

Chocolate was still skittish as they crossed where the threem had trod. “My mother would also go apoplectic if she knew I was calling you ‘Grandfather' and not genuflecting most every time you breathed.”

King Kethan laughed. “When I cross the infinite river, I will tell her that I granted you full permission and that it was a joy to know you as part of my family.”

Emotion caught in her throat. “That . . . that means a great deal to me. I . . . I like the idea of you and my parents being together. I think you'd get along like gremlins and silver. Our families . . . I'm glad you got to meet your great-­granddaughter Rivka, but I so wish you could have seen Viola—­Allendia.”

“I wrote her a short letter in the village. 'Tis addressed to Balthazar Cody, to be forwarded to my daughter. A courier left with it not ten minutes before we reunited. I know you will speak to Allendia, if you can, but I wanted this chance to send her my words and tell her of my pride.”

“Was it in code?”

“Must you ask?”

“She'll treasure it beyond anything in this world. I don't know how it will go when—­if—­I talk to her in person again, I . . .”

“Grieve for Devin Stout's choices, but do not feel guilt for his death. I may spread rot, but he was rotten.”

“I know that. Logically,” she said softly. Her sudden need for Alonzo's presence, his strength, almost doubled her over. Exhaustion soaked her to the marrow. When did she sleep last? Or eat? There had to be food in the saddlebags, but they needed to press on, regardless of how her mouth now watered at the thought.

I like how crusty bread crunches between my teeth, how maple syrup is silken across my tongue. A silly thing, to wish for a paper-­wrapped bar of chocolate here and now, but even camp beans and stale crackers would grant a certain kind of joy. It would mean eating. Tasting. Chewing. Doing things a Tree cannot do.