Chapter 21 Declan #2
And we tried to remain upright, though everything in my feet and legs screamed for a chair or bench or boulder, anything that let me toss off my boots and rub my aching toes.
By the time we were allowed to step away from the crossing for a late midday meal, any excitement I had felt over doing “something important” had evaporated into the mountain air.
“Spirits, this is boring,” I said, stabbing a piece of stringy meat I assumed was heavily seasoned boar.
Ayden nodded as he washed down a bite with water. “I expected a lot more traffic.”
That was an odd answer. How would he know how much traffic there should be crossing to and from our neighbor?
He must’ve heard me thinking.
“My father is one of the Chief Merchants in the country. Trade flows freely between our house and the Kingdom. House Byrne alone sends dozens of carts per day across the border, yet we have seen three in four hours—and none of them bearing the owl of my house. Something feels off about that.”
I chewed my meat, wishing we’d been served anything but shoe leather for lunch.
“You think too much. Maybe it’s just a slow day.”
He stabbed a potato and pointed it at me. “And you think too little. We are supposed to have our eyes open here, always seeing, always studying. Rangers notice what others miss. It is how Melucia remains safe. I merely point out an anomaly that disturbs my senses.”
“It disturbs your senses?” I grunted, somewhere between a laugh and chuckle, the most a full mouth allowed. “My Lord Byrne, how ghastly. One must never disturb his lord’s precious senses.”
He scowled and glanced away. I’d hit far too close to the mark, it seemed. Shit. I actually hadn’t been trying to offend him that time.
“Ayden, I’m sorry—”
He turned back, a dark look in his eyes.
“Thank you, but I have had enough of my heritage being mocked for one day. You know I cannot help being born into my station. It is my lot in life, as everyone else is born into theirs. By now, if you do not know I try to be a good man and use my privilege for . . . helping others . . . perhaps,
you do not know me at all.”
He rose, gathered his plate and tankard, and stepped out of the mess hall, leaving me alone at the table staring into what remained of my boar.
By the time I returned to the line, Ayden already stood watch.
The senior Rangers lounged twenty or so paces behind, some sitting in the bed of a cart, while others stood smoking cherry-tobacco in their pipes and chatting quietly.
They appeared unfazed by the numbing boredom of their duty or the apparent lack of inspections required that day.
We stood in silence for a half hour.
Ayden never once looked in my direction.
Waves of anger flowed off him, like he was the epicenter of a dying sun.
“Ayden, please. Look at me.” I kept my voice low, to not attract the attention of the senior Rangers. They didn’t need to know we were squabbling.
“I have to watch the road. It is our job, remember.” Ayden didn’t so much as glance in my direction.
“Please, stop.” I gripped his arm.
He shrugged me off, but finally met my gaze.
The ice in his brilliant blue eyes stabbed through me. Regret crept up my spine.
“Ayden, I really am sorry. I know you aren’t your title. I mean, you are, or will be, but that isn’t who you are. At least, it’s not all you are.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Dammit, I’m mucking this all up.”
He waited, and I swear his lips twitched, though he was careful to remain perfectly still otherwise.
I looked back into his eyes and made a decision.
It was time to be honest.
He needed to know.
“Ayden, I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to say it or what you’ll think or . . . Spirits, I don’t even know what I think about it. I’m so confused, and it’s eating me up inside, but I can’t keep this to myself anymore. You’ve become . . . I mean, you are . . . Fuck, Ayden,
I can’t stop thinking about—”
“Cart!”
The crack of the Lieutenant’s voice sliced through anything I was about to say, and both our heads snapped up.
A lone horse pulled a wooden cart with two men in the front, each wearing mud-colored robes that shimmered faintly when sunlight found its way through the leaves.
Each man—I assumed they were men by the width of their shoulders—also wore strange masks.
One in the form of a horned bird, the other a heavily tusked cat.
“Fuckin’ Children,” one of the guards griped loud enough for me to hear.
A known quantity then. That was reassuring.
As the cart drew closer, the occupants became clear, and far more disturbing.
“Are those—?” Ayden asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered back as I nodded. “The same as those men in the woods, the ones with the woman.”
“And the magic.”
I shuddered at the memory of unseen icy fingers gripping my throat, at gasping for air and knowing my end was near. My hand rose to rub beneath my collar.
Ayden rested a hand on my shoulder, as if sensing my disquiet.
“Be alert,” he muttered. “The men behind us are standing now, hands on hilts. Even the Lieutenant is on his feet.”
I nodded once, keeping my eyes on the cart’s driver.
As the cart rolled closer, I could see these weren’t the same men as those we’d encountered on the mountain.
Their masks were heavily detailed but of a different mix of animal and bird from those we’d seen before, the driver’s bearing the likeness of a snorting bull with the wings of some massive bird.
But it was the men’s eyes that truly caused my heart to seize.
Orbs of onyx glared through holes, scanning, never settling.
They were the same lifeless eyes we’d seen so many weeks before.
When they landed on me, it felt as though invisible hands ran along the length of my body—searching for what, I couldn’t guess.
Ayden stepped forward and raised a palm. “This is your inspection. I have the driver.”
I nodded and took my position to the side of the cart while Ayden stepped up beside the driver.
“Hold. Where are you headed, and what’s your business crossing the border?” Ayden summoned the authority of both his Cloak and House as he spoke.
A low rasp answered. “We are Children returning home.”
“Children?”
“Yes. We are her Children.”
Silence lingered before Ayden asked, “What’s in the cart?”
“It is empty,” the driver hissed. “We sold our silks and now return for more.”
Ayden eyed the man a moment, then nodded toward me. “My partner will need to inspect your cart. Please remain seated with your hands well away from the reins.”
The driver nodded and folded his hands in his lap.
I stepped around, scanning the sides of the cart, then the wheels, not entirely sure how wheels could tell me anything useful but knowing it was part of the routine. When I got to the back, I lifted the latch that secured the lid, then raised the lid over my head.
Sunlight brightened the insides of the dark, empty box.
A few wisps of stray straw had gathered in the corner, and a few pieces of lovely white silk cloth lay rumpled to one side. Otherwise, the cart was empty.
I rapped the wooden floor, checking to ensure there were no hidden compartments. It would be our luck that the senior Rangers would send a cart through with all sorts of hidden contraband just to test our thoroughness. I refused to be tricked.
And yet, something about this cart felt . . . odd.
I couldn’t hear anything, but I could feel something, as though gentle waves of wind flowed into me, one after the next, and I shivered at the overwhelming sense of being watched.
“Done yet?” Ayden asked.
I held up a hand without looking up. “Almost.”
I leaned down, as if to listen closer, bracing myself with a hand on the side. The moment my hand touched wood, my whole arm vibrated. The sensation ebbed as quickly as it began, as though someone had kicked the side of the cart. The waves of air surged, and I pulled back.
I scanned the space again.
There was nothing there.
I was imagining things.
I nodded to Ayden.
He smiled up at the driver, who had remained a statue throughout the inspection. “Going home empty-handed, it seems. That is not always a bad thing. Be careful in the mountains. We have had several traders go up and not return recently. Safe travels.”