The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (14 page)

Famil shook her head. “The tale of Cliffdrops’ Summer Slaughter is renowned.”

It was, even in Rockbridge. Daeryn’s gaze met Rivley’s. Before their time, but as he’d heard, the only time all of the smaller predators had been pulled from duty on OverEdge.

“Horrible for an adult, let alone a fledgling.” Wyatt stepped up behind Famil. “A ropen in ’cambire form is easily four times our size, probably double our wolves’ ’cambire weight. Consider yourselves lucky Miz Gere hired them to fight
with
us.”

chapter seventeen

Daeryn chased the
last of his dinner’s juices around with a hunk of bread before setting his plate next to Rivley’s on the bedside table. “Their eyes were the worst. Did you notice they never blinked? If the ropens do the same in the dark, they’ll spot every pest, without a doubt.”

“I felt like pinned prey,” Rivley muttered.

Daeryn’s gaze jerked to him. “You didn’t admit that to the others.”

“Neither did you.”

But Rivley had noticed. Daeryn swallowed. “I’m trying to follow your advice and tell myself I’m as good a leader as any other ’cambire.”

“It doesn’t hurt you have Jac laying down the rules.”

“Ouch. So we’re being honest here?”

“I thought we were.” A smile edged over his face. “Hey, I don’t want to be out there with them.”

Daeryn threw his napkin at Rivley. “Fine, then I won’t deny it crossed my mind that having Jac on my side helps. Following your suggestion, I told her straight up I wouldn’t fight, and so far she’s willingly talking through team plans. But soon, it’ll be me again. A small polecat in charge of ropens.”

“Two
huge
ropens.”

“You can drop the honesty anytime.” Daeryn pulled at his covers, adjusting them over his legs and middle. “They agreed when Jac set them straight, so are due a fair chance. If Jac has problems, I’ll get myself out there to back her up. Take over if need be. We’ll do what it takes to fold them into the team, because we need the help.”

After a moment, Rivley nodded. “Good to hear you sound so determined. Can I dare hope this will carry over to addressing our gildan obligations?”

Daeryn’s gut tensed, but he tried to answer lightly. “Honestly?”

Rivley groaned. “Flew into that net, didn’t I?” He rose from the wing chair and went to look out the window. The crescent moon had risen in the purpled sky.

A silent breath escaped Daeryn’s lungs. As unfair as it was to keep his best friend bound in the gildan, losing Sylvan was harder to face. He’d watched her die and could do nothing to help her. Recently the pain had lessened…perhaps he could—

“I suppose it’s too soon to hear anything.” Rivley let the curtain fall. “Jac better keep an eye on that one ropen. They just aren’t the same as others here at Wellspring.” He shrugged and returned to his seat. “Everyone else has a certain bearing. They fit, or will. Even the artist. She’s not like us, but her manner says, given time she’ll adapt.”

This bit of hope raised his spirits. “I’m certainly planning on her fitting in,” Daeryn purred.

“Clearly you’ve returned to thinking of normal activities already.” Rivley grinned. “You talked to her, didn’t you?”

“Hardly. Wanted to. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, though now I can’t curse Miriam’s remedies.”

“Those cuts look all but healed. If it wasn’t for climbing the stairs with your injured foot, you could convince Miriam to let you back to our room.”

His foot had quit throbbing after he’d hobbled back to bed. Daeryn experimentally rolled one shoulder and then the other. They felt fine. “With this rate of improvement I’ll soon be back to running the team.”

Rivley snorted. “Oh, please.”

Daeryn angled his left forearm up to inspect it. “Darned cuts are itchy.” He flicked at one with his finger.

“Ugh, don’t pick at it.”

“I’m not.” But now that Rivley had pointed it out, he couldn’t stand the feel. He poked the scab aside. Under the smear of salve was plain, golden-brown skin. “Hey. It’s gone.” He leaned forward and thrust out his arm.

Rivley grabbed his fist and turned Daeryn’s arm to the light. Daeryn lurched back to keep from falling off the bed. “Watch it. The foot still hurts.”

Shaking his head, Rivley released him. “But not your shoulder? How’d that happen?”

“Don’t know. Miriam’s goop?” He ran his nails up another scab, peeling it away. Beneath, every inch of skin was smooth and unblemished. He looked up.

“Ugh.” Rivley edged back, but still stared at his arm. “You don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “Your cuts have disappeared. Like the dead vermin.”

“What?” They had killed only a few, but surely the growers had found one. “We’ve seen strange beasts among the Basin’s species, but never one to just disappear when dead.”

“Not saying they did. But we looked all over the orchard and couldn’t find anything.” Rivley’s gaze flitted from Daeryn’s arm to his face.

A shiver ran down Daeryn’s spine. “Oh, Great Creator.” He rubbed his unscarred arm. “That animal can’t be the reason.”

“What then? Perhaps this one is enchanted beyond our normal level of bewitchment.”

“Jac suggested it isn’t from the Basin.” At Rivley’s frown, Daeryn shrugged. “Think about it. Terrent’s from Forestridge, up north. Zar and Gunther come from the east. Between us and Famil and Wyatt, we know the entire Black Mountains. The wolves grew up in the central lowlands, and none of us has ever seen the likes of this pest before.” He started scratching again.

“Jac’s theory doesn’t work when the Basin is sealed. Mistress Gere is asking around—oh, hang it! You’re flinging that crap everywhere.” Rivley scrambled from the chair and grabbed a napkin to brush off his trousers.

“Ah, stop your preening. Nothing got on you.” He swept up the scabs and gathered a portion of the white blanket to shake them into his bedside waste can. “What did Mistress Gere learn?”

“She’s sent a few messages to her cronies, and they’re no further in their guesses than we are. One speculation was the animal is from some remote Wildlands corner, which our growers had already put forward. They hope if the species is intelligent enough to have collected those bodies, the rest will move on.”

Daeryn shook his head. “They might be intelligent enough to be mad and retaliate.”

“Or they could have just eaten them. Cannibalistic.” Rivley pressed his lips together in a grimace.

The distaste sat poorly in Daeryn’s stomach as well. Nicer to think about this mysterious healing. He peeled up his shoulder bandage. “I’m looking forward to getting out there and catching one.”

Rivley clicked deep within his throat. “When will you learn that some thoughts are best kept quiet? Telling Jac you’ll be up tomorrow was ridiculous.”

In answer, Daeryn rubbed his shoulder. The smaller scabs flaked away. “Ha.”

“There, but not the chunk—” Rivley pointed to the gash given by the pest Daeryn couldn’t shake off last night—no, this very morning.

Daeryn swiped at it with a piece of linen bandage. The brown crust slid off like butter on a hot frypan, stitches and all.

Rivley slumped against the wall, staring at Daeryn’s shoulder.

“Gone, isn’t it?” Daeryn stopped craning his head and wiped his hands down his chest. “They’re all rubbing right off, clean as you please.”

“It can’t be.”

“It is. I feel great. Little tired maybe, stiff, but not in pain. Time to try the foot again.”

“Slow down.” Rivley waved a hand. “We’ve got to figure this out.”

“Why? Miz Gere is working on what those vermin are and where they’re from. It’s my job to keep them out of the crops.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, started to throw off the covers and stopped. “Huh. Get me some trousers, would you?”

“Get them yourself.” Rivley remained where he was, arms crossed.

A low growl rose in Daeryn’s throat. He yanked the sheet free this time. Wrapping it around his naked waist, he stood. The foot didn’t feel exactly right, but no worse than earlier. He secured the sheet, then shifted his weight and took a step on the bandaged foot. His muscles seized in pain. He slammed down his good foot. Rivley lunged forward to catch him, but Daeryn tottered aside. “Damn!”

“Still bad then.” Rivley poked him and pointed to the wing chair. “Have a seat.”

“No, it’s just stiff. I can make it back.”

“It’s me, Dae. Shut up and sit.”

“Back off. I’d be fine if you weren’t standing on my sheet. It’s—”

Tap, tap, tap.

He froze. Not Miriam. Please. She’d skin him alive.

“Ha.” Grinning broadly, Rivley called, “Come in.”

Daeryn grabbed his sheet and dropped into the wing chair just as the door opened.

Annmar walked in carrying a tray. “I thought you might like—ohh.” Her eyes flashed to him. In an instant, her face turned red.

Oh, hell.
What was wrong?

She backed up. “Sorry, I—I’ll go.”

“Don’t!” Rivley spun to stop her.

She held out the tray. “Cake. For dessert.”

Rivley didn’t reach for the tray, but instead assumed a concerned look. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked.

What happened to giving her a chance to adapt? They had no idea what the delicate girl was thinking. The birdbrain should let her go, and by instinct, he sent Rivley that message, only to realize that without a pack mark nothing happened.

Still gazing at Rivley, the girl dipped her head slightly, indicating he should ask. Yet her fingers clenched around the tray edge belied her apparent comfort. Her scent drifted to Daeryn. The city smells were fading, giving way to that sweet fragrance that wasn’t quite honey. Maybe she wasn’t
that
distressed. He filled his nostrils. Gosh, she smelled great.

The avian also took a deep breath and released it slowly. He was laughing at her nervousness, damn him. Not Riv’s usual sensitivity…oh. Riv was laughing at
him
. “Daeryn is set on walking, but his foot”—he waved to it—“isn’t taking the weight. Could you stay with him while I go hunt down some crutches?”

Her sympathetic gaze darted to Daeryn. The Great Creator still made girls this sweet?

She nodded. “I can do that. I didn’t realize he’d injured his foot as well.”

“One pest bit into a tendon,” Daeryn offered.

“Oh, dear. Is it bad?” This time she looked at him longer, but her cheeks colored red all over again.

Why…oh, damn. No clothes. Daeryn plucked at the sheet, but pulling it any higher meant getting up, and now he couldn’t…

“Bad enough for a few days off it, if some of us would listen to Mr. White,” Rivley said. “Thanks for staying.”

Annmar finally crossed the room and set her tray on the table, and this time Daeryn’s gaze skittered off first. Rivley was
not
leaving him nearly naked with this proper girl.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He tossed a smile in Daeryn’s direction.

He was. Daeryn frowned and darted his gaze to the bed. “Kind of cold in here. Would you pass me a blanket?”

Rivley grabbed the blanket and threw it to him. “Yessiree. Real chilly for someone who won’t stay in his sickbed.”

Now
he decided to open his beak. Daeryn snorted in response, but didn’t meet his gaze as he wrapped up in the blanket. He’d kick Riv’s sarcastic ass later. Better to focus on Annmar. The slender girl handed him a plate, her curls swinging as she bent. He tipped his nose to her and, as her lovely scent filled his nostrils, smiled.

“Is this cake one of your favorites?” she asked.

He startled. The cake?

* * *

Annmar couldn’t help
relaxing as she talked to Daeryn. He was lively, funny and a great listener. He seemed oblivious to his state of undress, asking about her work, but readily switched to talking about Wellspring when she changed the topic to veer from her town life. She edged in a question about his duties on the farm. While he answered, she was finally able to take a bite of the cake.

This was an actual conversation rather than one of her stilted discourses with Mr. Shearing. After she knew what he’d really wanted, their conversations had been more like fencing duels, with her guard constantly up, her feelings kept as hidden as the scar upon his hand.

Annmar shook the trying memory from her head. No thoughts of Mr. Shearing need interrupt her time here.

“So you don’t like carrots?” Daeryn asked. “Too bad, because Mrs. Betsy makes this carrot cake that’s to die for.”

He looked so concerned she had to laugh. “I’m sorry, I have to admit I lost the train of the conversation for a moment. I’m a little nervous, you see.”

“No, really?” he said, but he didn’t look too surprised. “Whatever for?”

“Mistress Gere is taking a look at my first label drawing after dinner. I’m here on a trial until she determines if my work suits her.”

He frowned. “Well, I shouldn’t be keeping you then.”

“You’re not. Mary Clare said she’ll fetch me when the mistress is ready.”

“Can I have a look at this picture that will determine your future?” He smiled.

She smiled back. “I’d love to show you.” She set aside her plate and, after carefully wiping her fingers, stood and pulled the sketchbook from her work apron pocket. “Your hands are clean?”

He wiped them down the blanket and held them out. “Yes’m.”

“Oh, bother.” A giggle broke from her. “Sorry. I only have the one image. I didn’t take time to work up any of the other preserves until she approves the layout.” Parting the cover to the page with her pencil, Annmar discovered she was holding her breath. Silly, really, since Daeryn’s opinion wouldn’t reach Mistress Gere, but she wanted him to like it. She handed him the book.