The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (25 page)

Garrett ignored him, turning to face the two Lethian boys. “Now the words I want you to say are,
Veiarnna te noulleanna
,” Garrett said.

“That’s the non-burny version, Scupp!” Diggs said, “The
non
-burny version!”

Scupp gave her brother an evil grin as she lowered her snout to Mujah’s ear. “You ever seen a ghoul dance before?” she whispered.

Garrett returned to Mrs. Veranu’s pet shop the following day with a satchel full of empty canisters and a faint hope of finding Marla there again. He entered the shop and quickly shut the door behind him, his eyes adjusting slowly to the gloom within.

Marla’s mother lowered her hand from shielding her own eyes against the pale light of day that had spilled in, briefly, through the open door. She tugged down the red scarf that covered her lips and smiled at him.

“Good afternoon, Garrett,” she said. Then, noticing his questioning look, she added, “It’s just you and I today. Marla is with the Valfrei.”

“Oh,” Garrett said, his heart sinking.

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Veranu said, opening the little gate and ushering him toward the back room, “Please come and sit with me a while.”

Garrett followed her into the storeroom. He slung his satchel over the back of a chair and took a seat at the stained wooden table, grateful for the stack of Marla’s books that acted like a miniature wall between himself and the chair where Mrs. Veranu sat down across from him.

Mrs. Veranu frowned and then lifted the books and placed them aside, opening up the space between her and Garrett. She leaned forward on her elbows and sighed.

“I know that we’ve never really had a chance to talk, Garrett,” she said, “I suppose that it’s my fault. I’ve never been very good at this… at being a mother.”

“What?” Garrett exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Mrs. Veranu chuckled, “I never saw myself as anyone’s mother. I mean, I hardly knew my own mother. How could I have been expected to have any idea of what to do?”

“You’re a great mom,” Garrett said, “Marla’s great too, and she loves you.”

Mrs. Veranu laughed and shook her head. “I think Marla is great,
in spite of me
. I never had any idea how to raise a daughter… so I treated her like my friend. It’s worked well enough so far, but… sometimes, I think she needs more than I know how to give her.”

Garrett said nothing, grateful at least that she hadn’t brought up the subject of the Songreaver.

Mrs. Veranu sat back in her chair and let her gaze drift across the room. “Sometimes I feel like I am only her nursemaid, taking care of her while she grows… and her real parents are going to come someday and take her away from me,” she said, her voice lowering to a whisper, “There have been times in the past, I am ashamed to admit, when I took comfort in that little fantasy… Now, it is the nightmare that haunts my sleep.”

Garrett remained silent for a moment, gathering his courage before he spoke. “We won’t let them take her from us.” He said.

Mrs. Veranu’s amber eyes turned upon him, studying him with an inhuman intensity. The corner of her mouth twisted upward in a wry smile. “You remind me of him,” she said.

“Who?” Garrett asked.

“Marla’s father,” she said, “He would always say things like that… always ready to stand in the gap and face whatever danger was bearing down on us, as though he alone, by force of will, could turn day into night.” She laughed, looking away again.

Garrett blushed. “I mean it,” he insisted, “I won’t let them take her away.”

The smile faded from Mrs. Veranu’s face, and she looked at him again. “Garrett,” she said, “do you love my daughter?”

Garrett flinched.

“Do you love my daughter?” Mrs. Veranu repeated the question slowly, leaning forward to look him directly in the eyes.

“Yes,” he said.

Mrs. Veranu’s lips trembled, and she shook her head gently from side to side. “Then let her go,” she whispered.

Garrett felt as though he had just fallen into an icy river, and black waters were dragging him down. He stared back at the vampire woman, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Just… let her go,” Mrs. Veranu sighed. She sank back into her chair with her hands over her eyes.

“What do you mean?” Garrett asked.

Mrs. Veranu let her hands fall and laid her head back, looking at the ceiling. “Marla doesn’t remember her father,” she said, “She doesn’t know that the reason she cares so much about you is because you are so like him, Garrett. You’re so ready to be a hero.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Garrett demanded.

She looked at him again with no trace of warmth in her golden eyes. “Heroes die,” she said.

Garrett shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to Marla’s dad,” he said, “but…”

Mrs. Veranu’s eyes flared with anger, and she interrupted him. “Do you want to know what happened to him?” she demanded.

Garrett fell silent.

“Do you want to know why Marla had to grow up without a father… why I have to face every day alone with my fears and doubts and sorrows… why Marla has to spend her life running from her fate with nothing but a scared, witless girl for a mother and a couple of foolhardy necromancers standing between her and the creatures that would devour her soul? Do you want to know why he left his own daughter to the mercy of his cursed legacy? Do you want to know what my husband gained by his death?”

Mrs. Veranu wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, hissing through her pointed teeth as she regained her composure.

“An emissary from across the sea came to Thrinaar,” she said, “an ambassador from another tribe of dragons. They had learned that the Thrinnians possessed the Queen’s Tears and they demanded a share of them. The emissary was horrified to learn what we had done with the tears… disgusted at what we had become, men and dragons mingled as one. He called it
an abomination
. Things were going badly. The emissary spoke of
cleansing
our sin from the world… The fate of every vampire in Thrinaar hung in the balance. I wanted to run… to take our baby and flee and never look back…

“But my husband… he was a
hero
,” she sighed, “Everything I loved about him, all that made him so different from the others, it doomed him. It doomed him and took him from us… He didn’t even tell me what he was planning… I had to learn of it from your uncle, but, by then, it was too late to stop him.

“You see, the emissary demanded the Queen’s Tears, and it was the only way to satisfy his demand. My husband, Marla’s father, carried the bottomless sorrow of the Dragon Queen in his veins, and he surrendered his life to the emissary in exchange for the lives of his people… our lives.”

She shuddered and fell silent, her eyes downcast.

“It’s in Marla now too, isn’t it?” Garrett asked.

Mrs. Veranu nodded. “That’s why she is so important,” she said, “That’s why she can never be free of them.”

Garrett thought for a moment. “She doesn’t
seem
sad,” he said.

“What?” Mrs. Veranu said, looking up from the table.

“Marla doesn’t seem sad,” Garrett said, “I mean, sometimes she does, but it’s not like
the bottomless sorrow of the Dragon Queen
or anything. She just seems kinda
normal
sad.”

Mrs. Veranu gave him a bitter laugh. “And you don’t seem like you have the soul of a murderous tyrant flitting around inside you either,” she said.

Garrett stiffened. “I took the power of the Songreaver because I wanted to help people with it,” he protested, “It doesn’t make me the Songreaver!”

Mrs. Veranu shrugged. “That remains to be seen,” she said, “In any case, I’m a little concerned that my daughter is spending so much time with a sorcerer who dabbles in ancient evils, no matter how good his intentions might be.”

“It isn’t evil!” Garrett said, “Look, suppose a Chadirian picks up a sword and uses it to kill good people… That’s evil, right? But suppose he dies, and then a good person picks up the sword and uses it to fight bad people. The sword is just a sword… It’s not good or evil, it’s just how you use it that matters!”

Mrs. Veranu laughed again. “You’ve just illustrated my point exactly, Garrett!” she said, “You think you’re doing good by picking up the Chadirian’s sword and turning it against his comrades. I’m not so sure they would see it the same way! What gives you the right to decide who is evil and who is good? Does your power give you that right?”

“What gives you the right to put people in cages and sell them like pets?” Garrett shouted.

Mrs. Veranu’s eyes went wide, and she was instantly on her feet, glaring down at him with bared fangs.

Garrett shoved himself back from the table, knocking his chair over as he stood, sending the empty canisters in his satchel clattering and rolling across the floor. He stared back at Mrs. Veranu with cold rage seething in his chest.

The vampire woman took three heavy breaths and then froze perfectly still, her golden eyes unblinking.

Garrett made no move. The icy chill drowned out the fear in his heart, and he faced her unflinchingly.

Suddenly Lyssa Veranu burst into girlish laughter, all traces of rage melting away in an instant.

Garrett stared at her in confusion.

“You’ve been…” she said, gasping for air through her laughter, “You’ve been waiting a long time to say that, Garrett. I know you have.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes.

Mrs. Veranu casually shoved the table aside and caught him in a tight hug, planting a hard kiss on the top of his hood. “Bless you, Garrett,” she laughed, “You
are
my hero!” She released him to step back and smile at him.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

She pushed back his hood and stroked the side of his face gently, laughing softly with tears in her eyes. She bared her fangs in a broad grin. “I think you just might have a chance,” she said.

“Chance of what?” he asked.

“Saving the world,” she sighed.

“And Marla?” he asked.

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “My daughter is lucky to have such a champion,” she whispered, “Be strong for me… for her… my little Songreaver.”

Garrett left the Veranu’s pet shop and headed home, his mind full of troubled thoughts. The same tired argument kept running circles in his head. The only way he could ever keep the vampires from controlling Marla’s life would be to take her far away, beyond their reach, if there even was such a place. Marla would never agree to that though, unless he somehow convinced her that the other vampires were dangerous.

What if she chose her own people over him? A sudden panic washed over him to think of her leaving. What if she thought it was for the best? After all, Garrett wasn’t a vampire. How could he hope to understand what she was going through? Then an even darker thought crept into his mind. What if he really should let her go?

Garrett’s breath came harder, and he felt the beginnings of a headache brewing behind his eyes. He stepped off to the side of the street and massaged his forehead with his fingertips, trying to get control of his thoughts.

He felt out of control and helpless, like a victim, watching events unfurl all around him, and there was nothing he could do to change it. No, he
had
changed things. He had made choices and changed things. He smiled to think of Lampwicke. If he had not changed her fate by his actions, would she even still be alive now? He smiled. Thinking of her, he could almost hear the flutter of her wings.

He paused, looking around the busy street, not entirely certain that he hadn’t heard something. An impossible hope pushed its way through the shadows in his heart.

“Lampwicke?” he called out, his eyes searching the gaps between the rooftops. He saw nothing unusual however, and the dark thoughts quickly reclaimed their seats at his mental council table.

Garrett started walking again toward home, the satchel full of filled essence canisters dragging down his body as his worries dragged down his soul. How had he saved Lampwicke, and how could he do the same for Marla?

Power. He had been able to do nothing to save Lampwicke own his own. It was only by finding real power that he was able to free her. The vampires could take Marla from him because they were more powerful. Was there anything more powerful than a vampire, than all the vampires put together?

A cold sensation crept through Garrett’s body, like a cup of icy water spilled out over his insides.

He slowed his pace and then stepped into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. He put his hand to his chest and felt a little thrill of fear in the back of his mind. He had power… the Songreaver’s power.

Uncle Tinjin’s words came to him again like a warning. When you took the power of an ancient thing into your body, it became part of you and exerted its influence over you for the rest of your life. A sudden panic washed over him that perhaps he might be turning into the Songreaver. What had happened in the Songreaver’s tomb that he could not remember? Was he even Garrett anymore, or just some shell in the shape of Garrett, worn as a mask by some ancient evil?

Garrett’s hand flexed into a claw against his chest, as though he might rip the Songreaver out of his body and cast it away, but the cold fire within twisted like a serpent around his heart, and Garrett began to gasp for breath.

It was as if a yawning gulf of terror opened beneath his feet, and Garrett fell in. It seemed as though a great sea of icy blackness stretched below him, and everything that he ever was would be swallowed up in it and forgotten.

Then, he remembered Marla, and his mind clung to the thought of her like a drowning man clinging to a plank of wood. Marla was born with ancient power in her veins, more power, perhaps, than even that which now threatened to consume Garrett’s soul. She wasn’t evil. She wasn’t overwhelmed by it all and driven to despair. She was simply Marla. Whatever fragment of the Dragon Queen remained inside of her, she had not been corrupted by it.

Garrett’s panic began to subside, and the icy fingers within loosened their grip around his heart. He laughed, and his laughter melted away the last of the tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath, feeling like himself again. He looked around at the people of Wythr who passed by on the street, paying him no attention.

There had to be another way to save Marla. There had to be.

Garrett stepped out into the lane and continued on his way once more. Then he stopped, cocking his head to the side. The soft buzzing sound that he had mistaken for Lampwicke’s wings had returned for a moment, but was gone again.

Garrett shifted the strap of his satchel to his other shoulder and headed home, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He made it back to the house as darkness fell over the city, and the streetlamps began to flare to life. The aroma of fresh baked bread and rosemary poured over him as he opened the front door, and he heard voices in the dining room.

Garrett found Uncle Tinjin seated at the head of the table and laughing at something Bargas had just said.

The elder ghoul looked much better than the last time Garrett had seen him. His patchy gray fur had regained something of its former luster, and he seemed almost as fit again as he had before the attack. Even the scars left on his shaggy forearms and chest by his encounter with the faceless demons had faded and been overgrown with hair. Only a faint hint of pain lingered at the edges of his tired eyes and tightened the corners of his toothy grin.

Bargas, like Warren, sat on his haunches on the floor beside Uncle’s table. Their long tails made sitting in chairs uncomfortable. Lady Ymowyn, however, sat in the chair to Uncle’s right with her hips shifted at an angle to accommodate her bushy red tail, the very tip of which peeked out from beneath her emerald green dress. She rested one elbow on the arm of her chair to support her odd posture, but seemed quite comfortable and well accustomed to human furniture.

“Hi, Garrett,” Warren said, noticing his arrival.

Bargas blinked, slightly startled by Garrett’s entry. He gave a wincing smile and greeted Garrett as well, hiding his embarrassment at not smelling him first.

“Good evening, Garrett,” Lady Ymowyn said, inclining her head slightly.

“Hi, everybody,” Garrett said. He grinned when he saw that the two proxyliches had been removed from their places tableside. A lumpy tarp in the corner covered what looked to be two corpses, dumped, unceremoniously, on one of the sofas along the wall. “I guess Max and Cenick couldn’t join us for dinner?” he said.

“I haven’t spoken to either one of them in over a week,” Uncle Tinjin chuckled, “and I felt that Max’s little experiment had taken up room at my supper table for long enough.”

“Are they all right?” Garrett asked, suddenly worried.

“I imagine so,” Uncle Tinjin said, “but it seems that Max has gone beyond the effective range of transfer between him and his proxylich, and Cenick had caught a rather nasty cold and said he would contact me again when he was feeling better. The last I heard, Cenick was moving his troops back into the Gloaran swamps, having tired of waiting for Max to grow bored of liberating his homeland.”

Garrett nodded and took his seat before the empty plate beside Bargas, opposite Warren at the table.

“If I may ask,” Lady Ymowyn said, “What is a proxylich?”

Uncle gestured toward the lumpy tarp. “Before he left for the North,” Tinjin said, “Max created two rather unusual zombies that he called proxyliches. They serve only one purpose, to allow communication between two necromancers at a distance. One necromancer holds a properly enchanted skull and speaks into it, and his words are transferred to a receiving skull held by the necromancer that he wishes to contact. They, in turn, can respond, and their voice comes through the skull, or in this case, the rather ridiculously costumed corpses they’ve left cluttering the first necromancer’s dining room.”

Lady Ymowyn smiled and gave him a polite, “Ah.”

“Would you care to see a demonstration after dinner,” Tinjin asked, “I’ve been meaning to try to contact the boys again… I’ve just… well, I’ve been putting it off, I suppose.”

“You haven’t told them yet?” Bargas asked.

Uncle Tinjin’s smile looked a bit sad, and his eyes fell. “I would rather speak with each of them in person regarding my decision. I intend to meet with Max when I journey to Weslae. I can tell him then, but Cenick…”

“I could find him and bring him back for you, Tinjin,” Bargas offered, his gruff voice as gentle as Garrett had ever heard it, “Your sons should have the chance to say goodbye.”

Garrett caught the look of pain on Uncle Tinjin’s face before the old man could hide it.

“Dad, you’re not ready…” Warren began to say, concern for his father’s health plain on his face.

“No more of that!” Bargas growled, “I’ve had enough of bein’ treated like I’m dyin’. I ain’t dead, and I ain’t gonna die… at least not anytime soon.”

Warren looked to Ymowyn for support, but the fox woman only sighed, a little smile on her lips. “You’re going to have to let your father go someday Warren. A time comes when you have to allow children to grow up and make their own way in the world.”

Bargas leveled a fierce glare at the fox woman, and mumbled an insincere, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Bargas,” Uncle Tinjin said, “but my ship sails next week. Cenick would never make it back in time, even if he left tonight. In any case, he doesn’t need the burden of this distracting him. I would prefer that he remains unaware of my decision until he has returned safely home. I will leave a letter for him… he will understand.”

“You’re leaving next week?” Garrett exclaimed. He felt suddenly panicked and sick all over again.

“Yes, Garrett,” Uncle answered, “Mrs. Nash’s brother and his crew will return sometime very soon, and I must be ready to leave as soon as they have sold their cargo and taken on more.”

“Are they smugglers?” Lady Ymowyn asked.

Uncle Tinjin smiled. “They do not advertise themselves as such,” he said, “but I am depending upon their reputation for avoiding the Chadirian authorities.”

Ymowyn looked pensive for a moment. “Do they ever visit any Astorran ports?” she asked.

Uncle Tinjin raised one eyebrow.

“No, Ym!” Warren said, “You are
not
going back there!”

Ymowyn shot Warren a look of annoyance. “I did not say that I
was
going back,” she said, “but, if, for some reason, I
needed
to go back, I would prefer to arrive unannounced.”

“Don’t even think about it, Ym!” Warren said, “We barely got you outta there alive last time! There is no way I’m gonna let you anywhere near that place again!”

“Warren!” Bargas barked.

Warren turned to look at his dad, still visibly distressed.

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, boy,” Bargas growled, “Ya don’t ever, and I mean
ever
, tell a woman she can’t do somethin’ boy.”

“But…”

“No!” Bargas cut Warren off, “If you got a lick o’ sense in yer head, you’ll listen to me now and shut your mouth.”

Warren fell silent.

An uneasy silence hung over the table before Lady Ymowyn broke it by offering Bargas a, “Thank you,” sounding somewhat surprised by his support.

Bargas waved his paw. “Just somethin’ I learned years ago,” he said, “Ya can’t ever tell a woman she’s wrong. You just gotta wait ‘till she figures it out on her own.”

Ymowyn’s eyes flared, but she bit back whatever she was about to say. She sighed and turned back to Tinjin. “Master Tinjin, might I be so bold as to request an introduction to your seafaring friends, in case I find myself in need of their services at a later date?”

“Of course, my lady,” Tinjin answered with a smile, “although they may be unwilling to take you on as a passenger, if it came to that.”

“No women aboard ship, eh?” Ymowyn laughed.

Uncle Tinjin looked a bit uncomfortable. “Actually,” he said, “their objections may have more to do with your… ah.” He lifted his fingers to his ears.

“Oh,” she laughed, touching her own long, fox-like ears with her dainty claw-pointed fingertips, “I see. Well, I assure you that I can pass for a human when necessary… as a male too, if it will make things easier.”

Tinjin’s eyes narrowed, and then he smiled and nodded. “I understand,” he said, “I will let you know when they arrive, and we can arrange an introduction.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Warren looked at her sidelong. “You’d go without me?” he asked, sounding hurt.

Lady Ymowyn leaned over to ruffle the fur on his head with her hand and then kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t think of it, dear,” she said, “I’ll have you fitted for a leash and collar and tell everyone that you’re my pet.”

Warren scowled at her, but Bargas roared with laughter, and the others joined in as well.

“That, I would like to see!” Bargas said.

Just then, Chunnley the ghoul emerged from the kitchen door, wearing a clean white apron and carrying a platter of hot pies. “Dinner is served,” he said with a sharp-fanged grin.

The ghoul cook moved around the table, careful to place the two largest pies in front of Bargas and Warren. A thick brownish sauce oozed from the cracks in the brown crust of those two pies, and Garrett knew better than to try to guess what might be baked within. Lady Ymowyn and the two humans received smaller pies that smelled of fresh rosemary and roasted chicken.