Chapter 29
Marchant wasincapable of hiding his glee at the sight of her.
Melodie could see the way his eyes turned to her over and over, even though he tried to keep an eye on the others as well.
He wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
She picked up the rope he’d tossed into the semi-circle along with the packs, careful to avoid the pieces of clay she had smashed, and the white stuff that had spilled from the vessel.
They still exuded a glimmer of spell work, slimy and rotten.
She’d gagged as she’d lifted the small pot of what looked like salt out of Gallain’s pack. She could tell it was poison, but she didn’t have time to work out the effects. It didn’t matter, this would not harm anyone else.
Her smashing it had given Marchant a real shock. He hadn’t considered the danger of putting something harmful into the packs, only the benefits. She bet he’d smugly decided that the results would either be that he poisoned his prisoners, or that he found out if she could really see what it was.
He hadn’t counted on finding out what she was capable of doing in more ways than one.
“Put your hands in the loops.” Marchant was almost dancing with excitement at the edge of the rock barrier. He was leaning on a stick, and it glowed.
She looked at the rope carefully, but there was no magic woven into it. It was a plain, unspelled rope. It was just going to be difficult to get out of once it was tightened.
She had taken the handkerchief, which held the few leftover sparkles from the box in the forest, out of her pocket before she had gone outside to confront Marchant, and had tucked it up her sleeve, where its very faint glow of protection would not be seen.
She lifted the rope up and put her hands through the loops, and felt a sudden weight in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She had spent her life being quiet, helping from the shadows. Now she was standing in the spotlight, helping her enemy bind her.
Nausea burned in her throat, and she swallowed it down.
“Open a path,” she said, lifting her arms to show him the loops were over her wrists. “Caro will stay back and tighten them when everyone else is through.”
Caro moved to her side, standing with her stoically as they watched Marchant move the white stone that touched the left side of the building. He set it down a little way away.
“That stick is magic.” She kept her voice low as she turned to the others. “It might be what he used on Ric.”
They nodded in understanding as Ivan, Gallain and Jacinta picked up their packs and the children’s packs, Ivan slinging two over each shoulder.
She knew they were looking for a way to attack Marchant as they left, she could read it in their body language, but if they failed to take him, if he had his usual array of tricks up his sleeve, all this negotiation would be for nothing.
“Just focus on getting the children away,” she warned softly.
She saw Ivan hesitate, then finally give a nod.
“I’m not generous enough to return your cloak, girlie.” Marchant flicked a hand at Viviane. “Thank your aunt of the north for me, won’t you?”
“You should hope I do not so much as mention your existence to her, old man,” Viviane said, using the term of disrespect he seemed to like right back at him. “You would not want her to turn her attention, or the attention of her husband, your way.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He rubbed his hands together, his face twisting in what might have been a smile, and Melodie wondered, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with him.
He had brought over three horses, and they looked like the ones from Illoa. One danced a little, as if nervous or disturbed, and Melodie caught the briefest glimpse of a glow.
“Stop.” She raised her voice and everyone stopped, obeying her without question. She very deliberately let the rope loops slide off her hands onto the ground.
No one had yet gotten through the semi-circle.
Marchant’s gaze went to her, and then he frowned at the sight of the rope on the floor.
“Get whatever it is you put under the saddle of the middle horse out. Show me what it is and then put it down.” She should have known he’d try to play dirty. It was the only way he played.
“Well, well. This is interesting.” He tried to sound calm, but he wasn’t. He was thrilled and disappointed at once.
He moved to the horse, loosened its saddle and lifted it, slid out a small piece of cloth and put it carefully in his pocket. Melodie saw he was wearing gloves.
“Thank you,” Caro whispered. “I bet whatever that was, it was nasty.”
Melodie nodded. “Be so, so careful, and don’t wait. Don’t sleep. Just ride.”
“We will.” Caro’s words were a vehement promise.
“Rope, or no one goes.” Marchant waved his hand at her, and Melodie bent and put the rope loops over her wrists again, waggled her hands.
Gallain went first, sliding carefully along the wall for a few steps and then turning to keep an eye on the others coming through, as well as watching Marchant.
One by one the children made it through, and then Ivan and Jacinta walked out, grabbing the horses by their trailing reins.
“Now your turn.” Marchant smiled.
“I hate this.” Caro walked with her to the exit point and stepped on the boundary. Melodie held her hands out to her, and she pulled the middle piece of rope down and the loops tightened around her wrists.
Her hands came together, and just to test things, she slid her left hand down her right sleeve and touched the handkerchief with her fingertips. It settled her.
“Go.” She watched Caro turn, run to grab one of the horses from Jacinta, and then they sprinted toward the forest, avoiding the path with the trap on it.
“You see the trap?” Marchant asked. “You told them about it?”
“I see everything, old man,” Melodie said. “Everything.” She looked directly at him, and then away, her sense of exposure excruciating.
“You see something on me, don’t you?” Marchant’s voice was soft but urgent. “What is it?”
She didn’t see anything on him, but she didn’t think he was testing her or lying. She didn’t know what he was talking about.
“You must surely know.” She judged that the most prudent response, and then she ignored him, watching as Gallain reached the tree line and waited for the others, and then how, one by one, they disappeared into the shadows.
“Give me your bag before you step out,” Marchant said, eyes gleaming in the last, fading light of the day. “I want to see how much of the magic is you, and how much you’re carrying with you.”
She studied him—how close he was to her, whether she could pull the handkerchief out quickly enough and loosen the knot to get the sparkles out before he noticed.
Now was the best time to do it, while the barrier was standing open, while he didn’t even have hold of the rope yet. But the wind was blowing straight in her face and would surely snatch the sparkles away, and he was keeping a wary distance.
“Your bag.” He had been leaning on the magic stick, but now he lifted it up.
She had seen Ric’s bruises. She would find it harder to escape or overcome him if she was badly hurt, so with a sigh of regret, she bent, lifting her bag over her head, and let it drop to the ground at her feet.
She didn’t know how this would go.
She had never thought she was magical. Seeing the magic of spell work wasn’t the same as being magic.
But Marchant gasped, looking between her and the bag.
“I don’t know which shines brighter.” He bent forward and snatched the bag up, dancing back as if suspecting she was still dangerous to him.
“My paints.” He lifted the wooden box out in wonder. “Where did you get this?”
“How do you think we knew were to come find you, old man?” she scoffed. “The trader who stole your goat and your paint box from you read through your letters as well.”
Marchant stared at her in total shock. “I didn’t . . .” His voice trailed away.
He didn’t know he’d been robbed.
Perhaps he thought Theo in his goat form had taken the bag that contained the paint box and escaped. She could see how he would come to that conclusion with both of them missing.
“He saw the children, too, of course. That’s why we knew we were on the right trail. And one of us went back to let the rest of the army know where you are.” She smiled, and felt her heart soar when he took a step back at the sight of it. “The commander of the Rising Wave is very unhappy. Very, very unhappy.”
“You’ve never met the commander of the Rising Wave,” Marchant scoffed.
“What am I, old man? What role do you think someone like me would have in the court of Kassia and Cervantes? The commander and his queen sent their best magic users out with their best military units. Looking for the first children to be taken since the Commander destroyed the Chosen camps.” She thought that sounded plausible. She wouldn’t mind that future, actually.
He looked at her, and she stared straight back.
“You work for the court.” He said the words carefully.
“I work for the court,” she agreed. “And for the military, when they need me.”
“And they know about me by now?” He pursed his lips.
“Your name, where you live. What you’ve been up to. Everything.” She enunciated each word.
“I very much doubt everything,” he said, utterly serious.
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But once they get here, and start looking around, it won’t take long.”
“They’ll lose people,” he said. “I have protections.”
“They have people like me,” she countered. “Do you think I’m the only one?”
He paused. “Yes.” He clicked his tongue. “You went too far, little girl. I believe most of what you told me, but now you’re just being ridiculous. In all my time actively searching for another like me, I’ve never come across a single one, until you. Maybe the Commander and his queen have other magic users. I’ve never heard so, but the shirts their soldiers wear confirms they do, and that’s a well-kept secret. But another like you?” He shook his head. “You present me with a real conundrum.”
“And what is that?” But she already knew what he was going to say. She saw it in his covetous eyes.
“You would fetch me so much money with a court, rich or poor—they’d pay whatever I ask for you. But equally, you would be so useful to me as to be priceless. Absolutely priceless.”
“I’ll only be yours for so long,” she told him, keeping her fear of his words and intentions from her voice. “The Rising Wave is coming for you.”
“The Rising Wave crested, broke, and has done nothing more than lap at Kassia’s shores for the last fifteen years,” he said.
“You think the original members of the Wave don’t remember why they rose up to begin with?” she asked. “You think the queen and her commander are so complacent?”
He didn’t think that. She could see him trying to keep his hands from shaking as he held the paint box.
“Nice paint set, by the way,” she said, prodding him with whatever she could. “It was handy in breaking the children and my fellow soldiers out from their restraints.”
He looked down at the paints. “You used it?” The look he sent her was astounded. “You actually used it?” The last words were almost a screech.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. “I bought it from that trader fair and square.”
He opened the box, squinting a little, like she’d had to do, because of the bright glow coming off it.
“The black is nearly finished.” He sounded barely able to say the words.
She shrugged. “It takes a lot of black to draw hand tongs that snap shackles.”
“I will kill you for this.” He snapped the paint box closed.
She laughed at him, keeping the fear from her face. “No, you won’t.”
He seemed to try to get a grip on himself, then stepped closer to her. At the last moment, she saw him swinging the stick.
It hit her lightly in the side, with hardly any force at all given the angle and how far away he stood, but it seemed to reverberate through her, like she had been smashed into a wall.
She fell to the ground, unable to breathe, and at last he approached, grabbed up the rope, and crouched beside her.
“You’re right, I won’t. But I can make you wish I would.”