Unlikely (Kingdoms Gone), page 4
This stretch had less foundation rubble, but more trash. The buildings seemed to lean together overhead, and the water barrel she passed reflected more gutter than sky. Crates waited in piles behind the next shop. Satina paused beside them, tucked in against the building and calmed her nerves. Above her head, a cat hissed. He swatted one gray paw over the box lip and growled for her to be moving off.
Satina stepped away again, had just reached the next jut of old foundation when the air around her spoke. He used something, a spell to make him heard much farther than his voice would warrant. Whatever magic backed his speech, she heard him as if he were standing in the alley. She guessed, the entire town would hear.
“People of Westwood!” He’d taken a moment to learn the town’s name, more than she had done, but then, she hadn’t come to claim it either. “I am Vane, and this is your lucky day.” Satina cringed and looked back the way she’d come. Did Marten think, for one second, that the town was lucky? Vane continued, and she moved again, using the cover of his announcement to mask her footsteps. She’d heard it all before anyway.
By the time she reached the next cross street, Vane was calling for the town officials to join him in the square. He declared Westwood to be under his protection and suggested a celebration in honor of the occasion. It was a fancy way of letting the townspeople know they were about to be pillaged, but at least it wasn’t a hostile take-over. At least it wasn’t a gang war. She’d seen one of those in the south and had barely slipped out of that particular port town with her life. If there hadn’t been a pocket just inside the first fields, she’d be floating in the bay somewhere, picked clean by the tiny silver fish that liked to hover near the surface around the big boats.
Satina crossed the street in a flash, leapt the next pile of stones and broke into a trot away from the square and the message that still blared unnaturally loud, as if Vane were standing at her shoulder.
“A future partnership to benefit all parties,” he went on.
A fairly handy spell, that voice stretcher. She tried to imagine how he’d done it, ducked a low-strung laundry wire and ran parallel to the main street at a full tilt now. Vane had everyone’s attention. She had her sigils and her dust, and the Skinner had…well, he had saved her skin.
Thistledown. She’d have to introduce him to Henry. She groaned too loudly and then clapped a hand over her mouth.
Thankfully, Vane was still speaking from the square. Now, however, he was having a conversation with someone who didn’t have the benefit of his magical extension. “Good for all concerned…yes. I’m sure you have…”
She scooted past another water barrel into a narrower and darker stretch where the buildings seemed to reach out for one another and the gutters actually blocked out the sky in places. The way ended abruptly, facing directly into the smithy.
The shed used one of the old foundations, maybe even the original blacksmith’s. The walls and slanting ceiling could have been fences once. The wood warped and showed a wisp of moss here and there. Satina risked peeking out to survey her route. To the right, a dirt track ran straight to the main road where she’d first entered the town. Left, it narrowed and wound off toward a stretch of pastures. She could see the cottony backs of sheep in the distance.
As promised, a white fence began where the smithy ended. It stuck out beside the dilapidated shed, freshly painted, neatly aligned and glowing every two sections with a painted sigil Satina read as “assistance.”
Vane’s voice no longer rambled in her ear. He’d finished the speech. Now, his gang would be settling in, invading shops and making themselves at home. She thought of the Skinner and cringed. His lovely shelves, all his handiwork on the open boards where the Starlights would find them irresistible. She hoped he’d stashed his powder, the little bottles of ink and her thistledown. She hoped he didn’t struggle.
Starlight or Shade, what did it matter?
She cast back a push of her own magic, a wisp of power and a thought for his safety. Not much protection and the afterthought of it shamed her. She could have touched his back door, made the spell stick directly then. He’d wasted his time getting her away.
She imagined a tight knot, sent it flying back as well and hoped her late effort at least might help. The fence beckoned, and with Vane silent, the townspeople would creep out again soon. As she darted over the dirt path, Satina saw them already. The girl from Marten’s shop hid in the back of her father’s shed. Her eyes followed Satina, and her mouth pulled tight. She made no noise, however, and when a woman joined her through a side door, Satina only smiled and hurried her feet. She didn’t fancy seeing the father again.
Her feet scuttled down the fence line. She held both sides of her cloak in hands that stroked the symbols. Speed. Silence. Stealth. A narrow strip of weeds lay behind the smithy, and beyond that, a thin walk parted from the main road and wandered through waist-high grasses to a tiny cottage. Satina veered up this, and the instant the grasses rose at her sides, her breathing settled. Her muscles relaxed and her feet slowed to a gentle stroll.
Wildflowers and herbs hid between the blades, scattered perhaps by intention to give off a thick aroma that calmed the nerves and, she suspected, dulled the reflexes. The Skinner’s herbalist might not be blooded, but she had a craft of her own at her disposal, and not an insubstantial defense. She tried not to inhale too deeply and followed the path closer to the woman’s home.
If it hadn’t stood through the Old Kingdoms, someone had taken pains to make it look as if it had. The thatch sagged and matted at the center. New tufts poked out here and there over the rough walls. One square window beside the wooden door bore four perfect panes of real glass. Gardens ringed the building, packed with flowering plants. A water spigot stood beside a bucket, and a handful of bright-eyed statuary peered out between the plantings.
Satina saw at least one stone imp among the peonies. Pointy ears, gray skin, a spark in the eye—she couldn’t help the smile as she rapped gently on the front door and scowled at the little fiend. “Whatchoowant?”
“Ah!” She leapt back, heart rattling in her chest. A raisin face squinted at her from the cracked door. It blinked and then the gap narrowed again. “Wait! Mar—the Skinner sent me.”
“Eh.” The woman snorted. “Bastard.” The door thumped shut.
“But.” Satina stared at it. That hadn’t exactly gone as she’d expected. She chewed her lower lip and tapped one toe against the stone at the base of the door. He’d convinced her that the woman would help, but then, Skinners didn’t have a reputation for trustworthiness. “Hello?” She hollered at the door anyway. It was this or the woods, and her tired legs demanded at least one more try. “You have a room to rent?”
Nothing. She sighed and felt her shoulders grow heavy. Another walk, a night on the ground, probably for the best if the Starlights had taken the town. She turned back to the field and caught movement at the window. A curtain fell back into place. The door creaked again.
“You can pay?” The voice rustled like dry leaves.
“Yes. Gold or trade.” She turned with soft feet, made no abrupt motion. “Or whatever you might need.” Her fingers brushed against the sigils of her cloak, held just enough powder that the woman might be able to see the flash. If she spent enough time around their kind, if she knew anything of magic at all.
The eyes were too squinted naturally for Satina to be certain if they narrowed, but she thought the tone of the voice shifted. “Come in and we’ll see.”
She vanished, but the door remained ajar and Satina slipped through it into a tidy living space. The scent of herbs drying filled the room, making breathing an effort. Bundles of foliage hung like mummified bats from rafters only a few feet above her head.
“Let’s see then,” the woman croaked, coughed and then nodded. She waved her arms in an indecipherable gesture. “Off with that fancy cloak.”
Satina undid the clasp and slid the garment off her shoulders. She folded the thick wool and draped it over her arm. The old woman waddled in a circle around her. Her cottage had a narrow alcove where someone had fastened half a table to one wall, stuffed two stools up beside it so close that you could just slip past them to get to the shelves and cupboards. She left this and sidled past a curtained doorway into the larger square that housed a sleeping mat piled with blankets and the building’s best feature, a huge stone hearth complete with a fat cauldron dangling over the low fire.
She lifted a loose strand of Satina’s hair and sniffed it. Despite her best efforts at twisting the silver length into a knot, a few strands always worked free. The woman nodded and reached a bony finger out to poke at her just below the ribs. Satina felt the blush creep over her cheeks. Her gown hugged the curve of her waist a tad tightly, perhaps.
“Goodmother,” the woman pinned her blood. She sniffed, and her lips parted into a wide smile that showed a row of poorly maintained teeth.
“A few generations back.” Satina swallowed the urge to defend her midsection. Who knew? Underneath the layers of heavy scarves the old woman might boast a willowy, girlish figure. Aside from the wrinkled face and a few stray curls of ghost white, you couldn’t see much of her.
“Blooded.” The hunched and bundled form completed the circuit. She stood in front of the table and let her eyes slide from the door to Satina. “But what can you do?”
“Enough to get by.”
A cackle exploded from the squished-up lips. A pair of icy-blue eyes widened, and the rest of the woman’s face relaxed into a smoother state. She shook herself from head to toe and unfolded into something less desiccated, though still far into her advanced years.
“Illusion,” Satina whispered.
“Enough to get by.” The woman mocked her. Her voice flowed like water, far clearer now the veil of magic had dropped. “So you need a place to hide.”
She turned back to the table, waving an arm to indicate the stools. Something flashed as she moved, a scrap of silvered glass hung at her neck, peeked out from below the shawls. Reflective. Possible a mirror shard. It would explain the trick with her appearance, but whose hand had fashioned it? “And the Skinner sent you. That’s a story in itself, I suspect.”
“A group of Starlights are in town.”
“And you’re a Shade?” She pulled a stool out and slid onto it, propping gnarled elbows on the table and waiting for Satina’s answer with her lips pursed.
“I’m not either.”
“Good. Sit down.” She didn’t move from her scrutiny until Satina had laid her cloak across her lap and settled on the other stool. “You know herbs?”
“Some.” Not as many as her host no doubt, but enough for a simple healing or protection bundle.
“Sigils, I see.”
“Yes.” She’d met few who could match her knowledge there. Though just looking around town, she might like to try her hand against Marten some time. Maybe just share a few notes.
“Skinner’s never sent anyone before.” Now the blue eyes squinted again, reading something her human blood couldn’t possible see.
“Hasn’t he?”
“Not one. Doesn’t like people in general.”
She couldn’t think of an answer to that, though she felt like the woman waited for one. Why had he helped her then? The thistledown, perhaps. She hesitated to mention that, already owed one person a peek at her private pocket.
“My name is Hadja. The back room is yours. I don’t use it. Old bones need the fire.” She pointed at the curtain and shrugged. “There’s a pan under the bed though. A few coals should keep someone so young warm through the night.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll put you to work, make no mistake.”
“I’m not afraid of work.”
“You’ll need to give me a name as well, dear. Shouting, ‘hey you,’ to the field can have all kinds of repercussions.”
“Satina. Sorry.”
“Satina.” Hadja stood up again. “You’d better get settled in. If we’ve got a gang in town, there’ll be work to do sooner than later.”
She didn’t want to agree, but the woman had the right of it. Instead, she took her direction and stood up, carried her cloak to the curtain and pulled it aside.
“It’s about time,” Hadja called after her. “That Skinner and all.”
“I’m sorry, what is?”
“Ha!” She crossed to the fire and pulled a metal poker from a hook set in the chimney. Poking at the ashes with the tip, she chuckled, and Satina let the curtain drop between them. Still, she heard the muttering woman. The cottage wasn’t big enough for her to miss it. “All their blood and they think I’m the one that can’t see.”
The flames crackled and echoed the old woman’s laughter to the sky.
Chapter Six
The cowslip grew in a patch beside the blacksmith’s fence. Satina filled the basket Hadja had given her with the herb, concentrating on plucking instead of crushing as the woman demonstrated. The sun slipped past mid-day while she searched for the plants Hadja needed, fetching them in baskets the woman thrust through the doorway and then retrieving an empty one with another order. Now her back warmed under the white shift she’d traded for her traveling gown. The wool cincher grew moist at the small of her back, and her forehead beaded with small droplets.
The room wasn’t big enough to warrant this much labor, but the bed had looked perfectly cozy. A pile of quilts and a few coals underneath and Satina could already imagine how well she’d sleep. She plucked and sweated and tried her best not to curse the Skinner for her troubles.
When the basket overflowed with cowslip, she stood and earned a squeak of terror from the girl beside the fence. The blacksmith’s daughter, Maera, had wandered through the railings. She squatted against a fencepost, but jumped to her feet when Satina unfolded and peered across the grass tips at her.
Her cheeks had long tear tracks washed clean. Her hands still clutched a familiar, thin box. She blinked red-rimmed eyes, and her mouth opened and closed without sound. She stood almost as tall as Satina, but her cheeks still held the rosy blush of youth underneath the filth.
“Oh.” The girl grabbed a handful of skirt with her free hand. She hiked the fabric up and prepared to step back through the fence.
“It’s okay.” Satina made her voice as friendly as possible. She smiled, and let her goodmother lineage shine fully through. “Stay put. I was just heading back.”
“Wait.” The girl’s shoulders lowered. She watched her feet, shifting her weight back and forth between them. “Is it true what they’re saying, that you’re a Granter?”
“I’ve been called worse.” She let the basket rest against her hip. “I’m Satina.”
“Maera. The blacksmith is my dad. Are you going to stay here?”
“Maybe.” At least long enough to get a night’s sleep. If the Starlights moved on, maybe longer wouldn’t be so bad. She did owe Marten a peek at the thistledown. “For a little while.”
“Are the Starlights after you?” Her eyes darted back toward the shed.
Not good. If the town blamed her arrival for the gang’s, they’d toss her to the wolves for certain. “I can’t imagine why they would be. No.”
“They’re all staying at the inn.” Maera’s eyes stretched wide. “I don’t think they even have enough rooms.”
“Well then, maybe they won’t stay long.” And maybe she wouldn’t either.
“Do you grant wishes?” Maera’s eyes went wide and glossy. She swished her skirts and held the Skinner’s toy in front of her chest. Old enough for that then, not quite a child.
“I do what I can to help,” Satina answered.
“I—”
Someone shouted from the road. Satina ducked back into the grass without thinking. Maera had done the same. The girl huddled at the base of the fencepost, but whatever she saw in front of her father’s shop had her scooting through the long stems, back into the weeds. She bumped into Satina, then settled next to her and mouthed the word, “gang.”
Men’s voices drifted through the afternoon heat. She heard Vane call out Maera’s father, ask him about repairs. Thanks to his earlier trick, Satina could recognize the man’s voice without needing to see his face. She’d probably hear it in her sleep tonight, spend the rest of her days trying to sort out what type of magic let him speak to a whole town at once. He didn’t use it now, and they were left to guess at what he asked the blacksmith to attend to.
When her father bellowed Maera’s name, the girl cringed and flashed her a look of panic. Not the most convenient twist of events—the girl was already looking to her, asking for something Satina’s blood would give her little opportunity to refuse. She nodded, smiled her best goodmotherly reassurance and stood up a fraction before Maera followed suit.
There’d be no turning back now. She saw it in the father’s eyes when he spotted them together. Not rage, as she’d expected, but a hint of deep thoughts brewing. They damn sure involved her now, and being part of that huge man’s plans made her legs tremble a little despite her resolve or the sudden pressure of the young woman’s palm against hers. Maera flinched under her father’s gaze. She squeezed Satina’s fingers and called back, “Here!”
Worse than the blacksmith’s reaction was the man’s who stood beside him. Vane leaned against the shed support as if he owned the place. He did, in a fashion, if you could believe the mark that one of his men now painted carefully on the building’s frame. Starlight. They had a bottle of glowing paint that could have only come from one person. Had Marten given it to them willingly? She bit her lip and tried not to think of what they might have done to him if he’d resisted.
Vane’s eyes lit like torches when they found her standing amidst the weeds and holding the girl’s hand. His full lips curved into a bow, a dangerous smile that had even more plans behind it. Satina met his gaze, but kept her mouth still, her face blank. Let him think what he would. Let him take whatever interest in her he liked. Her task was already set—protect the girl at her side.
