A Veil of Secrets (4 page)

Shock cost me precious seconds before my stunned mind caught up to her meaning.

Idra bolted into the mists where the crossroad’s faint outline shimmered into existence.

I ran after them. Ripping the fabric covering my wings, I took flight.

From one blink to the next, buildings vanished. “
No.
” I screamed for Edan until I tasted blood. I flew blindly toward the spot where I last saw him, circled the area, cried his name, yanked my hair while the tears spilled. From that great height I spied Asher stumbling and lost, and I cared not at all.

Exhaustion bore me to the ground. My knees buckled, and I scraped them raw in my landing.

I stared ahead, willing Edan to emerge from the mists.

The outline of a masculine figure striding toward me slammed my heart against my ribs.

I scrambled to my feet and ran toward him.

Asher.

Not Edan.

My eyes rolled back in my head.

If there was more, I don’t remember it.

Chapter Four

I woke on my back with a starry sky glittering overhead. Thick furs warmed the ground beneath me. Blankets bunched under my chin. Fever slicked my skin, and the slow burn made my joints ache.

Tears came then, hot and bitter and stinging.

“Edan,” I croaked. My voice was hoarse from screaming. I tasted bile when I swallowed.

“You’re awake.”

The weight of those two words spoken in another male’s voice crushed me.

Pain ricocheted between my temples when I turned my head. “Asher.”

He offered me a waterskin I recognized as one of mine. “Drink this.”

My arms were leaden. My mouth filled with ashes. I wanted nothing but Edan, and he was gone.

No. Not gone. Gone implied he might return.

Edan was dead.

I turned onto my side and curled into a ball under the covers, where reality was softer.

Asher’s wide palm wrapped my forehead. “You’re burning with fever.”

I nestled deeper into my pallet, crushing my eyes closed, pretending this was all a nightmare.

Fever was the first stage of withdrawal. Then delirium set in. On its heels came agonizing death.

I didn’t fear the end. There could be no ending worse than this, worse than living without Edan.

Without an injection, I would die. I was grateful now I had skipped my morning dose.

“I found syringes in your pack.” He shook me. I let him rattle my teeth. I was too weak, too sore to complain. “Edan mentioned some type of injection. Is that your problem? Is that what you need?”

Figured he would snoop through my things as though I were already dead.

“Answer me,” he barked. “Tell me how to save you.”

“I don’t want to be saved.”

He made a disgusted sound as he stood. “Then Edan’s sacrifice was for nothing.”

A cry eased past my lips. He was right. If I died here, now, it was all for nothing.

How could I face Edan in the spiritlands and tell him I died a sobbing coward?

Asher’s voice sounded muffled by distance. “You leave me no choice.”

Behind me, an ursus grumbled. It must be mine for him to have found the syringes.

Metal clinked, the clasps on my saddlebags being unbuckled. Paper rustled.
Paper.

My journal.

He called, “It says here you require an injection daily.”

My gut twisted. “Give that to me.”

He held the story of my life in his hands. All my secrets scribbled for him to read at his leisure.

Stories of my brother and me, and I could bear no one to read them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

More noises carried from over my shoulder, but try as I might, I lacked the strength to roll over.

His footsteps were muffled by grass, but his quick approach alarmed me. His face appeared over my side. Pity lent his features a gentleness I was past appreciating. “Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

My skirt was rucked over my hip, my drawers tugged past the curve of my arse. Cold metal pierced my skin. I gasped as liquid fire set my body ablaze.

“It hurts,” I told him, because I didn’t have to be strong for Asher as I had for Edan.

He pulled my drawers back in place and smoothed down my skirt. He lifted me onto his lap and arranged my wings to get out the kinks. He placed the waterskin against my cracked lips and poured.

After choking down a mouthful, I knocked it from his hand to keep him from drenching me.

With a soft grumble, he tucked me tighter against him. I rested my head against his chest and tried pretending he was my brother. But each inhale told the truth. Asher’s scent was foreign, not familiar.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into my hair. “You saved me back there.”

The antivenin always made me drowsy, and the rumble of his voice through his chest lulled me.

“Marne?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“We’re going to lie down now.” Cradling me in his arms, he walked on his knees until reaching the pallet’s edge. He laid us down, stretching me alongside him so my back faced his front. “Sleep.”

With Asher curled protectively around me, I did.

The customary mourning period for a wife was one week. I was no wife, and Edan had no grave for me to tend, no headstone for me to wreath with flowers. Instead those melancholy days passed in silence while I stared into the veil and willed him to walk out of it. For a time, I welcomed the notion risers might appear and set upon me in a savage end to a brutal life. But none appeared. Nothing did.

Asher gave me seven days to the minute before bundling me up and sitting me on my ursus. The poor thing couldn’t stop sneezing. I had refused to bathe, or to even leave the pallet he had made me.

My eyes watered when the wind changed and I smelled myself.

Shifting to get comfortable in the saddle, I sucked in a harsh breath that almost choked me.

My arse was covered in purple and yellowish bruises. Asher’s nursing skills had not improved.

He pinned down my thigh. “Hold still or you’ll fall off.”

I peeled his hand off my leg. “I can’t do this.”

“You can and you will. We’re out of supplies.” He glared at me. “We’re leaving today.”

I swung my leg over the opposite side of my mount, slid to the ground and rubbed my bottom.

He strode around the sow and grasped my chin between his fingers. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I narrowed my eyes. “My arse feels like a pincushion.”

His cheeks went ruddy. “Be grateful I bothered.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes.” His gaze was a steel trap that captured mine. “I did.”

“You don’t owe me.” I swallowed. “What I did for you I would have done for anyone.”

His lips flattened, and he released me. “I see.”

Sprung from his trap, I backed out of his reach while I had my wits about me. The marks of his fingers still burned. “As much as I disgust you, I’m shocked you saved me.”

“I thought you were like them.” His brow creased. “You aren’t.”

Well, this was new. “How can you be sure?”

“You would have died for him.” His jaw flexed. “Harbingers don’t love as you do.”

While I absorbed that, he dragged his fingers through his hair.

“What you said before…” he scratched his scalp, “…I don’t hate you.”

Unsure how to respond to him, I spun on my heel and began walking the well-worn road.

Asher led the ursus, who sneezed until he took pity and lagged behind me. I was content to roam ahead, to sift the dirt through my toes. Asher had been right. If I had died, Edan’s legacy would have died with me. The work I had agreed to do on Henri’s behalf was important and would enable him to save other females like me who lacked the savior I had in Edan. That would be my brother’s legacy.

I would finish my journal. I would create inroads with the Salticidae. And then, once I had done all I swore to do, when I had made my contributions to aiding other fledglings, I would go after Idra.

With Edan gone, there was no one left who could stop me.

Chapter Five

Our arrival in Beltania was met with little fanfare, as if bedraggled couples often ambled into their quaint city seeking asylum. Three young males, each leading a massive varanus harnessed to its own plow, paused to soak in the spectacle of two grungy foreigners strolling down their dusty main street.

Though I suppose they might have been more interested in our remaining ursus than in us.

Ursus were a rare sight in the southlands. Bred with thick coats, they suffered in the humid heat.

One of the varanus craned its neck to peer at us, flicking its forked tongue out to taste the air. Its eyes were dull black and set deep in its scaly face. Locals called them dragons. I called them dinner.

Despite the rations I had consumed, the gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach threatened.

It had been a long time since I had fresh varanus steaks. The ones served in Erania were frozen.

The sound of clinking metal drew my attention toward one of the many multilevel homes lining the road. The structures were all built from baked mud bricks, lending the city an elegant simplicity. Wooden ladders leaned against the walls and braced on roofs to reach the higher rooms. Bright, woven rugs hung in place of doors, and scraps of the same material were tacked in the open windows.

An elderly male approached us, clanking with each step under the weight of his silver amulets.

His eyes were milky green, his thick white hair divided by two fading streaks of black.

A slender youth dogged his steps. When he noticed me watching him, he winked.

“Welcome to Beltania.” He clutched a walking stick in his hand. “You must be our guests.” His smile was weatherworn and earnest. “I am Masikookyang, but you may call me Old Father. I am the
povosqa
of the Salticidae clan. I must apologize for the absence of our maven and paladin. They will greet you properly over first meal.” He snapped his fingers. “You will have time to bathe, of course.”

My ripeness must have told his nose what his eyes could not.

“Thank you.” Fire kindled in my cheeks. “A bath would be most welcome.”

Asher extended his arm. “I am Asher of the Mimetidae. We met in passing last year.” He jerked his chin toward me. “This is Marne of the Thomisidae. Marne brings greetings from the Araneidae.”

“Thomisidae,” Old Father mused. “That is a clan name not often heard in these parts.”

Thank the gods for it. “The Thomisidae rarely leave the Black Coast.”

“Where is the rest of your party?” The elder peered around us. “Where is your husband?”

Asher lowered his voice. “Edan passed on the journey.”

Though I had hardened my heart to what must be done, those words crackled my veneer.

Old Father took my hand between his dry, wrinkled ones. “You have my condolences.”

His sincerity warmed me. I squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”

“What in the gods’ names are you doing here so bloody early in the morning?” a voice boomed.

Asher’s face split into a grin that made him seem almost friendly, then he excused himself from Old Father’s company to greet the giant male lumbering down the street while rubbing his face.

His hair was closely cropped and blond. When he managed to open his eyes, they were brown.

Nothing about him indicated he was Mimetidae, except perhaps the menace rolling off him.

“There were complications.” Asher clasped forearms with the sleep-tousled male.

“When aren’t there?” After a yawn worthy of an ursus, the male blinked blearily at us.

Old Father ignored the exchange. He was deep in conversation with the boy at his side.

With much less enthusiasm, Asher waved a hand at us. “Lleu, this is Marne.”

Lleu straightened his shirt with a slow grin. “Well, hello, lovely.”

Asher bent to whisper in his friend’s ear. “She was recently widowed.”

“Oh.” Lleu’s forehead creased. “How recent? A few days? Weeks? Months?”

I offered him my hand, pretending not to have overheard. “You’re a bit of a charmer, I see.”

Perking up, Lleu winked at me. “You’d see more than a bit if you weren’t married—I mean…”

Asher’s jaw popped. He slapped the back of Lleu’s head.

“Sorry.” Lleu’s eyes twinkled. “My tongue gets away from me sometimes.”

Asher clamped a hand over Lleu’s mouth as the good-natured giant tried to stick out his tongue.

I tapped the side of my head and asked Asher, “Is he touched?”

“No,” Lleu mumbled. “But he would like to be.”

With a firm kick to the bend of his knees, Asher dropped Lleu grinning into the dirt at his feet. I stifled laughter when Lleu tripped Asher as he tried to escape and they both ended up flat on their backs.

“Enough.” Old Father thumped Lleu’s shoulder with the bulbous head of his walking stick.

“Gods above.” Lleu rolled out of reach. “That hurt.”

“You will wake the entire city,” the youth chastised them.

Old Father thumped him on the arm too. “I can speak for myself, Wishövi.”

Wishövi rubbed above his elbow. “I meant no disrespect.”

The elder jabbed the butt of his staff into the ground. “No one ever does.”

“I will fetch Pascale.” Wishövi darted off before Old Father replied.

“Pascale,” I said. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

All eyes slid toward Old Father, who nodded at Asher.

“She is Maven Lourdes’s sister,” Asher said. “Henri must have mentioned her to you.”

“I see.” Now the gossip I had overheard in Henri’s laboratory made sense. If the Salticidae were miffed at hosting Pascale, I understood why they might balk at sheltering and providing for me also.

That tidbit of gossip burned in my ears. I wondered why the maven had sent Pascale here.

A sudden pang rocked me. Edan would have known.

Given how his position as cook allowed him freedom to move within the Araneidae nest, he had known secrets about everyone. I knew few outside what Henri confided since I avoided the company of others in order to protect my rather difficult-to-conceal appendages. Even now I fretted over them.

I might have planned my exit from this world, but the discovery of my wings would hasten it.

At least in the northlands I had been able to wear sweeping jackets that concealed me from neck to ankle. In this heat, I wouldn’t last a day, and since the ursus had vanished, so had all of my clothes. Edan had divided our luggage among the guards, leaving me to carry my most precious items.

The hour was early and the sun had not risen, but already sweat stuck my shirt to my skin. After being in the northlands for so long, the humidity threatened to drown me.

Not long after dashing off on his mission, Wishövi returned with a remarkable female in tow.

Golden hair tumbled down her back. Knots from sleep tangled her hand when she tried raking a clump of matted curls from her forehead. Her eyes were clear blue, an exact match for Henri’s, and a pang of jealousy made me resent the fact her fair skin, so like my mine, glowed with health I lacked.

The fabric of her simple dress was fine, but sturdy. Much like her brother, her carriage betrayed her. Though her stride hitched bizarrely from time to time, her bearing proclaimed nobility of birth.

Old Father gestured her forward, and she went to his side after dropping a kiss on his cheek.

He patted her hand. “Will you humor a very old male and see to our weary travelers’ needs?” The snap of his fingers brought Wishövi running. “See to their mount. Keep it far from the varanus.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. He sent a royal to do a servant’s task?

“That’s unnecessary, I assure you.” I looked to Asher for help. “There’s no need to trouble her.”

“That girl is nothing but trouble,” Lleu told me. “Let her work some of it off.”

“No one asked you, Lleuellyn.” Pascale thrust out her hip. “Or shall I call you Ellen for short?”

Lleu’s face purpled. He had taken a step toward her before Asher caught his arm.

“Paladin Rhys would kill you if you strangled his wife’s sister,” Asher cautioned.

Lleu spat at Pascale. “It might be worth it for the chance to wring that scrawny neck of hers like the clucking hen she is.”

“What is it with you and poultry?” Asher raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t start with me,” Lleu warned. “That was one time and we agreed…” He noticed me staring and tugged on his collar. “Never mind.”

“I mind,” Pascale trilled. “What were you about to say, Ellen?”

Lleu glared at her, fingers flexing as if he could imagine them wrapped around her delicate throat, crushing the life out of her.

“Easy.” Asher moved between them. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve been stranded here, in the middle of godsforsaken farm country. The females here require a ring on their finger and their life thread tied to yours before they spread their legs. There is nothing to hunt, no one to fight, nothing to do but drink barley brew until your eyes cross and you pass out.” Lleu bared his fangs at Pascale. “The Viper of Beltania had a mind to take advantage of my drunk.”

“Is it my fault he drinks like a fish?” Pascale smirked. “Or that he told me his sad life’s story?”

Lleu went so still I wasn’t sure if he was breathing. “What did you say?”

Pascale’s gulp was audible. “Marne, dear, come along. We really should get refreshed.”

She clutched my arm like a lifeline and used me as a buffer between her and Lleu.

I glanced back at Asher, but he was struggling to restrain Lleu. Without a trusted guard, I couldn’t bathe. Being caught nude would equal a death sentence.

“You’ll be fine,” Pascale said gaily. Then softer, “But I might not be if we don’t get moving.”

My shoulder popped when she yanked me stumbling after her.

Though the city was smaller than what I was used to, Pascale managed to lose us in the alleys of Beltania. Oh, she knew her way. She darted nimbly between buildings and glided down its corridors.

We ducked behind a house shrouded by drying fabrics hung on lines strung between dwellings.

I fingered tassels on a light fabric dyed pale blue as I passed underneath. “Are these for sale?”

Without my luggage, I had no change of clothes, but I might fashion a dress from the cloth.

If I were very clever, I might even fashion a covering for my wings to spare me from my coat.

“There’s no charge.” She plucked two lengths and tucked them under her arm.

She left me staring after her audacity.

If my coins weren’t tucked snugly in Edan’s saddlebag, I would have left payment for the fabric she had helped herself to. Who but a royal would presume to snag clothes from another’s line?

“Shouldn’t we ask permission?” I shuddered to think how my master would have punished me if I had dared such a thing and the fabric’s owner had turned me in to him. “I would like to pay them.”

“It’s really not necessary.” She reached for my hand and laughed at my expression. “I live here. While you swallow the shock of that, I’ll tell you a secret. I made these fabrics myself. It’s a relief someone covets them. I was a failure at spinning at home, and even here I struggle to do more than weave the most basic fabrics or dye the simplest blues. It makes me wonder if I am Araneidae.”

I didn’t form a proper response in time, that or she must not have anticipated one. While I was entertaining the thought that perhaps her inability to contribute to the nest was the cause of her exile, she was barreling through the maze of damp cloth toward a beaten path that curved through a hedge.

Now I was thoroughly turned around. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are we going?”

“To the river. This side is for females,” she said. “Asher and Ellen must bathe on the other side.”

At least that meant fewer prying eyes to catch me while I was vulnerable. Once night fell, I could sneak back here and indulge in a long soak without fear of exposure.

“Have you been in Beltania long?” I wondered. “You seem so at home here.”

“A few months,” she hedged. “How long were you in Erania?”

The murmur of old secrets left me unsure how to answer that without incriminating myself. I settled on, “The same as your visit, only a few months.”

“The Salticidae maven, Sikyakookyang, told Old Father to expect you.” She fluttered a hand. “It was his idea that I try to master some skill at weaving. He seems to believe that my creative block is of my own doing, as though I relished the stigma of being an Araneidae female with breakable silk.”

Her scathing emphasis left me no doubt her malady was genuine, or that she had suffered for it.

In that respect, we were equals. “I’m sure he only wants to help you.”

Pascale folded the blue cloth and set it on a wooden bench before kneeling to check under it.

“Old Father is a great male,” she agreed, “and I am a better person for knowing him.” With a grunt, she stood and dusted the sand from her skirt before pulling its hem up her thighs.

Sunlight glinted on a fine chain strung between her ankles. Its thinness and her origins led me to speculate it was made from Araneidae silk, which meant it was unbreakable, apparently even for her.

That explained her halting gait. For whatever reason, she wore the shackles of a criminal.

Once on the riverbank, Pascale dipped her toes in the shallows. She struck a frustrated pose with her skirt at her knees. She waded deeper while searching the shore behind a wall of thick underbrush.

“There should be a basket here.” She turned a slow circle. “I know I left it right there.”

I went to stand at the water’s edge. “Can I help?”

“No, it seems my basket came untied. Gods only know where it’s gone now.” She came to stand by me. “You can go ahead if you like. I’ll return to my room and grab a few cakes of soap and more fresh washcloths. I’ll have to be quick, though, in case Lleu comes.” She hesitated. “You can swim?”

“Like a fish.”

What Fortunia had lacked in basic decency, being the clan home of one of the last Araneae clans who embraced slavery, it excelled in decadent pursuits for those of a certain class. The finest homes had pools, and my master’s had been a work of art. Blue tile covered the bottom, waves frothed with white crests along the sides and the rim had been inset with green sea glass. Sneaking into the pool at night had given me such a rush. It had been my nightly indulgence once the house was asleep, until I caught my master watching me from the shadows. Even that tiny scrap of joy he had taken from me.