Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
With Anadae and Ezzyn traveling to the other site and Eunny and the others still at the neighboring village, Lowe suggested consulting Froley for help.
They had a trusted mender on call at the Pelf, and within an hour Calya was, mostly, good as new.
An imbued salve would make short work of her scrapes and bruises; by tomorrow morning, they’d be healed over, and after another day or two, nothing but a distant memory.
Her ribs weren’t as easily fixed, the bruising worse than she’d initially thought.
A deeper healing was more than the mender Froley employed could do without drawing attention Calya wasn’t willing to risk.
As Lowe went off to find her some food, Calya settled for an extra thick bandage and an imbued ointment that managed to stick to—and stain—everything it touched.
After extracting a promise to reapply it thrice daily until her bruising faded, the mender left.
“The rooms here aren’t that big, not even the fanciest the inn has. Not by Central standards, anyway. It shouldn’t take too long for me to search—”
“This is a bad idea,” Lowe said, not for the first time since she’d mentioned it.
“It’s not broken.” Calya wolfed down a cheese-stuffed pastry Lowe had acquired for her. “You’ve never worked through an injury?”
“My job is different, and you know it.”
Calya tapped her side, no sign of tension on her face. “I could wrestle a bear and not feel it through this. I’ll be fine.”
“You should rest.” Lowe stole a piece of biscuit from her plate. “I’ll keep you company.”
A tempting proposition. After a day tromping through the woods, the notion of curling up in bed, with Lowe to wait on her hand and foot, was enough to send a lick of heat through her core.
Her stomach tensed, and when the motion caused only a mild twinge of discomfort, Calya’s mind jumped to all the possibilities opened by such a finding.
Being on top was a given. After all, they couldn’t have him crushing her delicate ribs.
If he wanted her flat on her back, well, didn’t Sentinels need to problem solve on a regular basis?
Calya accepted that she would never be one of the more creative types, but she could encourage it in others.
Especially if she was the recipient of such ingenuity.
She snatched up the biscuit before he could steal another bite. “That will be our reward.”
“For?” Froley said, suspicion drawing out the word.
Calya met the innkeeper’s unflinching stare. “Are you with us?”
They shrugged. “I’ll help, if I can.”
“Good. I need to expose Brint.”
Lowe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Calya.”
“It’s your turn to distract him.”
“If only I could match your feminine wiles.”
“Appeal to his vanity,” Calya said. “He does so love to feel superior. Doubly so after you swept me out from under him—so to speak—on the ship.”
Lowe wasn’t deterred. “If anyone’s going to be searching his room, it’ll be me.”
“Oh? Because the Sentinels do so much training in breaking and entering?”
“Because one of us is currently injured and has the agility of a brick.”
“I may not be a trained spy, but neither is he.” She looked at Froley. “Do the rooms at the inn have any kind of defensive warding?”
“Just for flooding and fire.”
“Don’t, Calya. Let me handle this part, please.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Calya exclaimed. Noting how several other patrons glanced their way, she lowered her voice. “If, if, it all went to shit, what do you think would happen if he found you there?”
They might technically be in Graelynd, but if the Coalition had its hooks in the town, Calya imagined they would carry out their own brand of justice.
If a group of Sylveren researchers could be hidden away, what chance did a lone Sentinel have of escaping a similar fate, or worse?
She didn’t believe the researchers dead—most days she didn’t, anyway.
The Coalition’s ruthlessness reached heights to which Calya could only aspire, but even so powerful an organization wouldn’t risk the Order of Sylveren’s ire.
Not so soon after being caught meddling at the university.
And those actions had been nonviolent. Killing a group of mages?
That was a step too far, even for the Coalition.
Now, holding the people against their will and forcing them to finish whatever work the Coalition was carrying out here, that she could believe.
Undoubtedly there’d be another lawsuit, another public censure, and massive fines to pay by the end of all this.
Maybe even complete cessation of all dealings with the Valley unless Graelynd’s Upper Council meted out a serious punishment as well.
But what did the Coalition care in the meantime?
For them, few consequences couldn’t be softened with ever more money, and they had that in abundance.
Lowe was frowning at her, as usual, but with concern rather than irritation this time. “What do you think will happen if he catches you?”
Her mouth opened, but the blithe retort wouldn’t come out.
What would Brint do? Blustery, arrogant Brint.
Oh, sure, he was a fool, but not so foolish that she’d likely be able to talk her way out of being caught.
He’d love to have something over her. Would use her predicament to his advantage, and that wasn’t a slippery slope but a hellish downhill slide to put her earlier tumble to shame.
If she capitulated to his demands even once, it would be never ending.
The worry on Lowe’s face suggested more.
A fear for her safety… but from Brint? Brint being violent?
Even when his last scheme had been crumbling around him and Anadae had refused to be his lifeline, Brint hadn’t tried violence.
He’d damn near shit his pants when she’d responded to his lies and manipulations with a bit of violence of her own.
No reason to think he’d suddenly found his spine.
“Best we not find out,” she said, her confident air only a touch forced.
“Don’t go without me, Calya.” A certain urgency tinged the quiet words.
She looked at him over the rim of her teacup, draining the last of it instead of answering.
“This is madness.” Lowe turned to Froley. “How did it get this bad? You run this town, allow the Coalition to—”
“We’re not working with them,” Froley said, not pleading but fierce.
“But they hold the cards. So long as we don’t interfere, they leave us alone.
They watch.” A shrug. “So do we. But information’s only worth so much if you can’t use it.
The folks in Central haven’t exactly filled us with confidence that we wouldn’t be trading one shitty master for another. ”
“Sylveren has had mages out here for years,” Lowe said. “When did the Coalition get in?”
“The Coalition’s only been here, five, maybe six years. After the war, but just. Things were fine at first.” A bitter smile curled Froley’s lips. “We didn’t realize how entrenched they were until it was too late. Then we were stuck with Avenor coming here for months at a time.”
“Brint? Doing what?” Calya asked.
Another shrug. “Not running a hybridization program for plant armor or whatever shit they keep reporting to the capital and the Valley.”
“The Coalition had paperwork forwarded to their people here from Sylveren,” Lowe said. “Do you remember them?”
“Eren’s team is the main one here. Been a lot of mail for them all winter.”
“Do you remember a Matthias?”
Froley nodded. “One of the Sylveren mages. A real one, not a Coalition plant. One of the good ones.”
“The Coalition mages say he got sick of the work and disappeared.”
Froley’s eyebrows went up. “They’re saying they don’t know where he went?”
Calya shook her head. Lowe’s gaze darted from one to the other before settling on Froley. “You didn’t know he left?”
“No,” they said slowly. “He hasn’t been by in… in a few months. But sometimes he’s gone for a bit.”
“They say gone for good.”
“He didn’t—I’m sure of it,” Froley said, a stubborn set to their mouth. “He’d have said something if he was really moving on.”
Calya filed that information away for later. So, he really was missing without a trace, and probably not of his own volition.
It should’ve been a sobering thought. The kind of thing to instill despair at the enormity of what she was up against. It was serious, no doubt about that.
But every word, every way in which she was being outmaneuvered, every move to reduce her to nothing but a pawn to be handled by any other will than her own…
She seethed. Every fucking affront was an ember in her, and she was building to a burn.
“You said Brint’s been here for months at a time,” she said. “Since when?”
“Couple of years,” Froley said. “Things have been off ever since he came around. We used to see the mages around town more. Then they started staying holed up in their labs. Transferred to other areas. There’s a few left in town, but the only ones you see regularly are Eren and those Coalition mages. ”
“Could they have been smuggled out?” Lowe asked.
Froley snorted. “I’d know. Ol’ Gormund may think the docks are his, but…” They clicked their tongue, then looked at Calya, their face grave once more. “He’s trouble. Avenor. He’s got the mayor and the dockmaster in his pocket, too.”
“Who can we trust around here?” Lowe asked.
“Leave my people out of whatever you’re here to do. The locals. They got to live here after you go back to your Valley.”
“I won’t cause you or your town any trouble I can’t fix,” Lowe promised.
Froley’s smile held more pity than anything else. “One Sentinel against the Coalition’s pockets. I don’t like your odds.”
“The Coalition’s days here are numbered,” Calya said through gritted teeth. “Brint Avenor’s been playing with fire and getting away with it for too long.”
Froley gave her an appraising look. “Zhenny mentioned you were determined.”
“Ambitious. Reckless, even.” Calya glanced at Lowe before grinning darkly at Froley. “If you can trust one thing about me, it’s that Helm Naval is mine, and I am so fucking tired of Brint and the Coalition getting in my way. I’m not leaving this place until I’m satisfied.”
Froley’s delighted cackle rent the air. “I like your spirit. Maybe not your chances, but I’ll back you as I can.” They nodded at Lowe. “Luck to you ranger, keeping up.”
“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled.
Further conversation was interrupted by the door opening and Eunny, Ollas, and Zhenya trudging in. They joined Calya’s table, Eunny pouring the last of the tea into Calya’s cup and draining it in one go.
“I’ll get us more drinks,” Ollas said, heading for the counter.
“Where have you been?” Calya asked.
“What’s wrong at the village?” Froley said at the same time.
Eunny’s golden brown skin was sallow. She laid her arms on the table to cushion her head, mumbling, “Zhen?”
“They’re sick,” Zhenya said quietly. “Eunny’s been imbuing infusions all day.”
Lowe’s face drew tight. “The Eyllic poison?”
Zhenya chewed on her lip, her eyes pinching shut for a moment before she shook her head. “No. But there are similarities.” Worry tinged her words. “We’re going to take our healing tea back tonight and see if it can help.”
Ollas returned with a fresh pot of tea and biscuits and gave Eunny’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Eat, love.”
“What did you find?” Zhenya asked.
Calya gave an abbreviated version of their adventure, omitting her intention to search Brint’s room.
Her friends had enough on their plates without adding undue anxiety over her plans.
Finally, she showed Ollas the dirt sample they’d taken from the site.
The gardener examined it closely, calling up a small golden spark that flickered twice at his fingertip before it went out.
Ollas held the fabric scrap out to Zhenya, who did her own quick assessment, her magic remaining a steady glow as she passed her hand over the dirt.
“It feels kind of like the corrupted soil in Rhell,” she said. “Not the same, though. It is contaminated, but it feels different. Not as aggressive.”
Froley’s shoulders relaxed. Slightly.
“We’ve got to send word to Ezzyn,” Ollas said. “He has the most experience with it, if it is related at all to what’s in Rhell. We need them back here.”
“Write fast,” Froley said, eyeing a clock hanging on the wall behind the bakery’s counter. “If you can get it to the dock before the hour, I’ve a boat that’ll take it.”
“We’ll deliver it,” Calya said when Eunny started to rise. “You need to rest, and we’re not as useful as you lot are to a sick village.”
Maybe Lowe could be, but Calya selfishly didn’t want him to leave. Given the way he’d been hovering around her, she liked to think he wouldn’t want to be separated, either.
With a hastily penned letter in hand, they hurried down to the dock in search of Froley’s fastest messenger boat. Lowe had to sprint down the dock to catch it before it left, but they managed.
“How long do you think it’ll take to reach Anadae?
” Calya asked him as they watched the dark horizon swallow up the boat.
It was an impossible question, she knew it, but worry and hope were clawing their way up her chest, wrestling and trampling each other in turn.
She didn’t like it, how helpless she felt.
This was why she didn’t let herself care about things she couldn’t control.
“Not soon enough,” Lowe remarked.
The trip back to the Pelf went slower, Calya’s feet beginning to drag as weariness set in. Between trekking through the mountains, falling down them, and the incomplete mending, sleep beckoned.
Dulled as she was, Calya perked up when the sound of Brint’s voice was carried to them by the wind. She looked around, spotting two figures going toward the mages’ office across the street. Brint was trying to speak quietly, which, from him, only made the conversation sound more suspicious.
Though Calya tried to slow down, Lowe kept her walking. “Don’t draw attention,” he murmured. “But look at who he’s with.”
Brint and his companion stopped outside the office door, directly under its lamp. Calya couldn’t hear their parting words, but before the other man went inside, she had a clear view of his profile. Rhellian, wearing a tatty cloak.
Excitement flared to life in her chest, burning off any lingering exhaustion. It was the same Rhellian man she’d seen meeting with Brint back in Renstown. The same man who was supposedly just off “checking on another site” for the Coalition’s planted mages posing as Sylveren folk.
Eren Galwynd had returned.