CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
“Sylas.” After the way they’d parted, he’d expected the next time he heard his name from her mouth, if he ever heard it again, to sound wretched with hate – or worse, indifference.
But her voice flowed with relief. She rushed to his side. “Are you hurt?”
Her reaction stunned him. Perhaps the note he had left and the foolish nobility it signaled was enough to redeem his viscousness in her eyes. “Only embarrassed,” he managed, easing into a more dignified position. He gestured to the trap. “It seems I’ve been ensnared.”
“You’re on a rabbit run,” Anya explained. The openness of her voice had choked off. She pointed, and the faint trail of worn earth and bent grass seemed to materialize before his eyes. He must have unconsciously settled upon the path of least resistance and as a result, walked directly into a trap.
Anya pulled the wire between her fingers and carefully felt toward his ankle.
She found the lock and loosened it, then pulled his ankle free.
“Expensive snare. A city hunter must’ve set it.
They’re miles off if they think they’ll catch the phoenix here.
Suppose when you have money to spare, you feel free to take your chances. ”
Something was different about her. She was rambling. Nervous. Small wisps of hair had escaped her braid and framed her face, which was shining with sweat.
Gingerly, he pulled his foot free from his boot. He rolled his ankle, testing the damage. It was lightly bruised, more from his lack of blood than from the strain. It didn’t feel sprained.
He felt her examining him. He knew she had never thought highly of him. What must she think of him now?
“I must admit, I’m glad to see you,” he said, pulling his boot back on. It came out stilted, stiff, and he closed his eyes in annoyance at himself.
“You could have freed yourself after a bit of fumbling around,” she said dully.
“That…” He took a deep breath. His eyes sought hers, but she wouldn’t meet them. “That isn’t what I meant.”
At his voice, she lifted her head imperiously. “I couldn’t pretend to know what you meant. Surely only an educated mind could decipher it.”
His words thrown back at him pierced him like talons. “I want to apologize,” he began inadequately. “What I said was–”
“You’ve seen things, haven’t you?” Chastened, he nodded. “And so you believe me now.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you–”
“What was it, then?” Her eyes found his, and he felt stricken. The anger in them was startling enough.
But in the sunlight, they should be dazzling. Instead, they were flatter, deadened, their beautiful color dulled. Almost as if they reflected no light at all.
She backed away. She still wore his gloves. Looking closer at the dewiness upon her skin, he began to suspect it wasn’t only sweat. Perhaps it wasn’t sweat at all.
If she expected an answer, she didn’t wait for it. “Where is my shotgun?”
He took a deep breath. “I was involved in a misunderstanding–”
“Have you any idea how much those cost?”
Irritation tingled his tongue. “Then why did you give it to me?”
“I wouldn’t have if I’d known you’d steal it. Along with my map.”
He balked. Steal seemed overly harsh, though technically true. “I – I didn’t think you needed it.”
“Then why in all seven skies would I have brought it?”
He lost his composure. “I don’t know. That’s gone, too.”
Her face fell. He realized her connection to her mentor’s map was more than practical. “Gone?”
“The misunderstanding I mentioned,” he said, rising to his feet. He offered her a hand. She stood without even glancing at it.
“What happened?” she demanded. “What did you see?”
He chewed on his tongue, debating his answer. But he saw no point in lying. “An apple tree.”
She nodded. “I know the one.” Her imperious anger wavered. “Did anyone–”
“No one I’ll miss,” he said bluntly. “I told him not to.” His head throbbed; he rubbed his temples. “I… might have been more insistent.”
He heard her sharp inhale, and he expected a fresh outburst of indignation.
But her voice was plaintive. “Do you understand, now? What you saw, that could happen to you, or worse. Give this up. Go home.”
“If there were any other way, I would happily take it.”
Something in his tone gave her pause. “There are others on the hunt, too,” she offered. “From Preule. Somehow word got to their king and he’s decided to hold a contest of his own.”
Of course it had. It was only a matter of time, though he’d hoped he’d have more. “It doesn’t matter; magic is illegal in Preule. Gescany has the only scribes.”
“As if none of you would defect. We’re already halfway to the border, and Preule’s king is offering a higher prize.”
She had a point. He could hardly defect; if Edgard found out about the treachery, as he surely would, Sy was sure the summons would be swift and merciless, and from that far away, unending.
Aquila was a loyalist; David would not risk his father’s factory, nor his sister’s education.
But what about restless, flighty Sabina? What of social climber Claude?
“And,” he wondered aloud, “how long before other kings are on the hunt, too?”
“Kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers. They’ll all be after it, and they’ll never stop until they’ve done what your king set out to do. It’s spilled, and we’re all wet with it, and it can’t be put back.”
He bristled. “My king?”
“A nationalist, are you? The king, then.”
He relaxed; she hadn’t meant it the way he thought. The last day had opened him raw, and he’d been rash.
But she was still acting strange, and he was too exhausted to keep pretending she wasn’t. “As citizens of Gescany, with the winning ruler, and thus the winning nation, promised supremacy, it is in our best interests to ensure our king wins the contest. Don’t you agree?”
“Who else would I be hunting it for?” She laughed. A false, wholly unconvincing laugh. At his blank expression, she tensed. “What, you think I’m a spy for Preule? Is that it?”
“I think you’re hiding something.” He nodded at his gloves on her hands. “I know you are.”
“Well, that would make two of us, then. Sabina told me–”
His breath caught. “Sabina is alive?”
“Well – she was the last I saw her. We got separated.”
David’s fresh betrayal pricked him like the sting of an angry bee. Only a sleeping spell, but Sy might have been killed or captured in his sleep. It was not a mercy. He couldn’t believe David had done it. And David was far more conscientious than Sabina.
He looked Anya over carefully, lingering a second too long on her dull eyes. “Did she hurt you again?”
“What? No, I–” She broke off, obviously flustered and turning pink.
Now, a wary fear gripped him. He didn’t know Anya, not really. And she had every reason to want Sabina out of her way; to want revenge. It slipped out before he could stop it. “Did you hurt her?”