The Shadowhand Covenant (14 page)

“He who fights and runs away will find a wise Grimjinx leading the retreat.”

—Zepherax Grimjinx, Castellan of Blackfalchion

I
'd wager that, in all the years Oxric had worked as the Dowager's majordomo, he'd seen many unusual things. The Dowager's hobbies and interests alone attracted oddness by the herd. But I'm not sure anything in all those years could have prepared the Aviard for the sight of the four of us, showing up on the doorstep of Redvalor Castle, covered from head to toe in thick black mud.

“Oya, Oxric,” I said, as though I often roamed the castle like a pillar of sludge. My brown eyes stared out from behind
my glasses, the only clean item on my entire head. As I lifted my arm, a slurry of dirt and grass flew across the shiny marble floor of Redvalor's entryway. “Oops. I'll, uh, clean that later.”

Oxric looked down his beak-mouth at us, his yellow eyes widening in shock. Not long ago, the castle's entryway had resembled a forest with grass and trees. Just before we left for Vengekeep, the Dowager had ordered the entry restored to its regular, opulent state. I was betting Oxric was wishing it still resembled a forest. Cleanup would have been
much
easier.

When I led our filthy group across the threshold, Oxric practically jumped aside to avoid being splattered by mud.

Reena smiled up at the majordomo as slime slid from her cheeks. “What a lovely . . . castle you have. Sorry about the mess.”

Holm, barely able to move his tiny body under the weight of the mud, shuffled in behind her. “I am wet from head to shoes, parts of me are full of ooze.”

Maloch brought up the rear. He pointed at Holm and said to Oxric, “Don't mind him. He's a warrior-bard.”

The four of us sloshed into the pristine vestibule, which
was quickly becoming more mud than marble. Oxric looked at the grime, and a menacing, guttural coo escaped his beak.

“Could you let the Dowager know I'm back?” I asked Oxric. The Aviard remained frozen in disbelief. “If you're busy, I could go get her. . . .”

I took a single step toward the gleaming staircase, and Oxric nearly slid across the floor in his effort to block me.

“Don't . . . move!” he said curtly, pointing a taloned finger at me. Then he regarded the rest of the group. “Any of you!” With that, he turned and swept out a door to the side.

“I c-can't believe I let you bring us here,” Reena said, her teeth chattering. “Holm and I might be the last free Sarosans, and you've delivered us right to the High Laird's sister.”

“I told you, the Dowager is sympathetic to the Sarosans,” I said. “She'll hear you out. One word from her to the High Laird and this could all be over. That's what Kolo was trying to achieve in the first place.”

Maloch folded his arms. “Well, I can't believe we let you cover us all in this muck. It's disgusting. I've got mud in parts of me that should never have mud in them.”

“Maloch can at times be dim,” Holm said, “but this time I'll agree with him.” To demonstrate, he lifted a leg, and a
mud ball plopped to the ground.

I rolled my eyes. “Hey, we've been safe for the past couple of days, right? I told you this would throw the bloodreavers off.”

Three days ago, after persuading Reena and Holm that we'd find a safe haven in Redvalor Castle, we started the long trip north. Our first stop was the hot springs of Otan Forest. We diverted water from the springs to make a mud bath, which I infused with the contents of three of my pouches. In theory, a coating of this mud with that mixture of magic-resistant plants would mask the scent of our blood from the bloodreavers. Apparently, it worked. We never spotted the bloodreavers. But it meant spending three days caked in the slime.

During the journey to Redvalor, Holm proved an excellent hunter, catching meals for us that Reena would skin and Maloch would cook. Maloch and Reena argued less and even spoke civilly to each other from time to time. But anytime I caught them being nice to each other, they'd quickly separate.

The door to the kitchen flew open, and a swarm of the Dowager's servants came through, their arms loaded down with huge towels. Another group followed with buckets of
soapy water and mops. Some went to work on the floor, cleaning up the rivers of muck we'd tracked in. Others buried us in the towels, trying desperately to remove as much mud as they could.

“Is this a good idea?” Reena asked, her reasonably clean face finally showing. “What's to stop the bloodreavers from finding us now?”

I clicked my tongue. “I told you. Redvalor is protected by a number of enchantments. They'll hide us from the bloodreavers.”

Reena glowered. Her Sarosan distaste for magic was powerful but she said nothing, because her desire to avoid the bloodreavers was stronger.

When the servants stepped away, we were still pretty hideous, but we were no longer dripping. Nothing a hot bath couldn't cure.

A high-pitched shriek echoed in the great hall. I looked to the top of the staircase to see the Dowager staring down at us. She wore a greasy work smock and had her long gray hair back in a ponytail, a sign she'd been working in the observatory. Reena and Holm exchanged glances. This obviously wasn't what they were expecting from royalty.

“Jaxter!” The Dowager hurried down the stairs and over to our group. She reached out to hug me, then thought better of it. She looked at everyone in that curious, childlike way of hers. “What . . . clever costumes. Is it Grundilus Day already? I love dressing up for Grundilus Day. Let me see if I can guess what you are. . . .”

I shook my head. “No, Dowager, it's more complicated than that. We need your help.”

She nodded solemnly. “You know I'll always help you, Jaxter. What do you need?”

“I'm sorry to bring everyone here unannounced, but—”

“So, I was right then!” A knowing grin parted the Dowager's lips.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“You weren't really kidnapped. That note I got, threatening to hurt you if I didn't intervene with my brother on behalf of the Sarosans. It was one of your little tricks, wasn't it? Like pretending your grandmother had died. You sent me that ransom note to lure me away from the castle so your family could ransack it.” She beamed proudly, happy she'd seen through the deception.

Only it hadn't been a deception. So
that
was why she
hadn't attempted to negotiate for my return. “No, that's not it. I really was—”

The Dowager raised her eyebrows. “You'll find I'm not quite as gullible as I appear.”

I could practically feel the heat radiating off Reena as she stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. “So, you
didn't
talk to the High Laird about releasing the Sarosans?”

I touched Reena's arm to keep her from exploding, but she pulled away. The Dowager appeared more confused than ever. “Jaxter, I have a feeling there's something I missed.”

“There is,” I said. “We need to talk.”

The Dowager's wide, gleaming eyes became very serious. “Yes, of course. But you all look exhausted. Surely you won't object to a good night's rest?”

The four of us could barely stand. I wanted to tell her everything I knew right there and then. But there was a very real chance I'd fall asleep midsentence. Besides, the enchantments protecting Redvalor were hiding us from the bloodreavers. We were safe for now. One more night wouldn't hurt.

“Yes,” I said, “sleep would be good.” The others nodded with me.

“Might I also suggest,” Oxric said, eyeing us distastefully, “a bath?”

The Dowager agreed. “Oxric, please take care of our guests. We can discuss everything that needs to be discussed once they're clean, well fed, and rested.”

Holm moaned with delight at the mention of food. I smiled appreciatively at the Dowager. Even if things between us were a mite fragile, she hadn't hesitated to help.

She reached out and ran her fingers through my muck-filled hair. “I'm glad to see you again, Jaxter,” she said in her singsong voice. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash whatever this is off my hand before it gives me nightmares.”

The Dowager's servants acted swiftly. It wasn't long before Maloch and I were submersed in our own individual copper basins, up to our necks in steaming water. Reena and Holm had already finished bathing and were gorging themselves in the kitchen.

“I see why you gave up thieving to live here,” Maloch said. He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the first
bit of comfort we'd seen since we were kidnapped. “When my da makes me a Shadowhand, the first thing I'm buying with my share of the thieving spoils is one of these things.”

“It's called a bathtub,” I said. “Most normal people already own them.”

“I meant one made of copper, you bunknug,” he said.

Oh. Really, if you knew how he smelled even when he
hadn't
been covered in mud for several days, you could understand why I thought he'd never seen a bathtub before.

“Hey, Maloch,” I said, scrubbing my arms with a soft cloth, “you remember a few years ago when we snuck out of our houses late one night? We ran around to all the watering troughs in Vengekeep and spiked them with singespice so the water would boil.”

Maloch's permanent pout dissolved. He laughed as the memory came back. “Then you touched raw singespice with your bare hand and started itching like crazy. So you dunked it into a trough—”

“—which I forgot was boiling—”

“—and then tried to tell your ma the next day that you'd scalded your hand making her a scorchcake for her birthday!”
By now, Maloch was laughing hard and loud. And I was too. This hadn't happened for a long, long time. I'd forgotten how good it felt.

“Yeah,” I said, “as I recall, that was right before you told me we weren't friends anymore and started treating me like a half-baked garfluk.”

Maloch's stony face returned. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam. “Don't start with that again, Jaxter. I already told you that I had to. If Aronas or anyone on the town-state council had thought that me or Da were friends with the Grimjinxes, it might have looked suspicious. We couldn't let on that Da was a Shadowhand.”

I
should
have understood. The Shadowhands did whatever it took to avoid detection. If our roles were reversed, I probably would have done the same. Although I can safely say I wouldn't have pounded Maloch the way he used to pound me.

“Besides,” Maloch said, sinking deeper into the steamy basin, “you're the one who always used to talk about us being a team of thieves. Roaming the land, pulling heists. Can't get much closer than this.”

I sat up suddenly. “Oh, please. You make it sound like
you planned all this.”

“You're involved because I asked you to be involved.”

“I'm involved because my parents were summoned—”

“And you.”

I bit back a retort and instead said, “What?”

Maloch dipped a sponge into the basin and squeezed it over his head, allowing the hot water to drip down his face. “Your name was on that summons. I put it there. Didn't have to. Da told me to only bring your ma into this. But I put your name on that summons too. Haven't you wondered why?”

“Well, no . . .”

He looked away.

“Maloch, was it . . . an apology?” I leaned over. “That's it, isn't it? You felt bad for all the years you treated me rotten when we used to be friends. You wanted me to know you had no choice. Right?”

Maloch still wouldn't look at me. “Does it matter anymore? Once I find my da, we go back to the way it was. Hating each other's guts.”

Maloch rose from the tub and wrapped himself in the yellow, fluffy robe Oxric had provided. He plodded barefoot across the marble floor of the bathroom.

“Did you . . . did you really hate my guts?” I asked, more confused then ever.

He paused. Then, without looking back, he said, “Like I said . . . does it matter?” Then he opened the door and walked out.