Chapter 5 #2
“Alvar lai Orros. His scent was all over that village, and the device itself. I want to know how and where he found it, and what he needed over a hundred souls for.”
I would have gasped, had my lungs not iced over.
In many ways, I was separate from the nobility’s politics in the Rivers; a tolerated outsider, an oddity, and generally grateful for the peaceful life it afforded me.
But even in my solitude, I knew of those who were held in the highest regard, and I caught hints of the whispers discussing their reputations.
Everyone knew Kajarin lai Orros had borne two sons to different men.
Alvar was older than me by a year, on the cusp of thirty, and some noblewomen were banking on him finding a loophole in the Blood Accords to win Owlhorn for himself upon Wroth’s death.
He was the male version of Esteri lai Auvray: endlessly lauded, celebrated for his fine features and the riches he’d inherit from his mother’s side, but anyone who spent time talking over tea in the parlors of the nobility knew he had a volatile temper and a cruel streak.
There was vicious competition among the younger female lais to catch his attention.
He was a fellow Master Artificer, but as he was both high nobility and a year ahead of me, we hadn’t crossed paths much. If anything, Alvar lai Orros went out of his way to never be seen among his peers, preferring his golden pedestal and the accompanying adulation of the loyalist nobles.
However, the younger son, Rasmus lai Orros, had never been interested in exploiting the Accords. I knew him personally, as a fellow student in the Collegium, though he specialized in alchemy. He was everything his brother was not: kind, patient, pleasant.
But how many times in history had the younger, softer brother bent to the whims of the elder? It had taken Prince Stoyan of Foria, the younger brother of Radomil, inheriting the throne upon Radomil’s death to open friendly trading relations between Veladar and Foria.
I thought of the advanced alchemy. The pale golden oil left in the reservoir of the Fae device, the powder designed specifically to burn out the olfactory senses of a fiend. The tiny device designed to puff the powder on touch, and the Fae Artifice adapted to utilize human alchemy.
All of it to kidnap two hundred people, and we already knew damn well that Alvar lai Orros despised Wroth with a passion.
What the hell was he planning to do with them?
“Fuck,” I croaked, and Wroth raised an eyebrow, then threw his head back with a throaty laugh.
“That about sums it up,” he agreed. “But now I have an iron-clad excuse to kill the bastard, and I’ll be exercising that right with great enthusiasm.”
A chill ran down my spine at his glee.
When the fel Arron manor came into view, the sun reflected off the steel bars of my father’s wheelchair, and I resisted the urge to turn my horse around and flee.
Mathis had beaten us here, and had clearly wasted no time in spilling the whole story to Papa. He stood at my father’s side, arms folded sternly, face set in a gruff scowl.
“Jesamin.” Papa reached for me, his face creased with concern. “What’s this I hear about the Below? Don’t tell me you really mean to do this?”
His voice cracked. I slid from the saddle, staring at him helplessly.
When had he become so old, so frail? His thinning hair blew across his scalp, and though he wore his fine jacket and looked every inch the gentleman, not even the velvet blanket draped across his legs could hide how thin and wasted they’d become.
Somehow, in my mind, he would always be the dashing warrior of my childhood, the man who had stolen himself the exact woman he wanted and never given a damn for the scorn of others, the man who had killed seven bandits with his own hands before the axe took everything from him.
But no one stayed young and whole forever. No one could spend their entire life hiding behind four walls…or hiding in a cavernous workshop, doing nothing but marinating in their own misery.
From the moment I had laid hands on the chthonium Artifice, something had come to life inside me again. A faint tick…a gear trying to fit its teeth in the proper grooves. The machina of my heart was stirring in its wreckage of rust.
I took a shuddering breath, reaching out to grasp his icy fingers in mine and dropping to my knees in the mud.
“I must,” I whispered, squeezing his hands. “Papa, someone deliberately did this, and they must be stopped. You once protected these lands. Now it’s my turn.”
His face crumpled, and the lump in my throat felt larger than ever.
“Why else did you have Mathis teach me? Why else did I put my blood, sweat, and tears into learning Artifice? You cannot keep me safe forever, not if this could happen again.”
“I know,” he whispered, tears leaving silver tracks on his lined cheeks. “I know, but Jesamin, I cannot lose you, too.”
A horned shadow fell over us, and Papa looked up, his pale eyes burning with a cold light I hadn’t seen in years.
“Lord Wroth.”
I didn’t dare turn, didn’t dare see whatever fury Wroth was projecting at my only living family. I clutched Papa’s hands, silently praying this would end well.
“Abelard fel Arron.” Wroth’s voice was gentle when he spoke. “It has been many years.”
Papa nodded slowly, his hands a vise grip on mine. “Under these circumstances, some might say not enough. If you take her, Wroth, you will defend her to your last breath. She is all I have left. Protect her like she’s my greatest treasure.”
“No,” Wroth said. “I will protect her like she’s mine.”
My breath came out in a rush, and a warmth rose inside me the likes of which I’d never felt before. Another gear seemed to slip into place, igniting a flame in the cold and empty furnace where my passion had once resided.
I had won. I was going Below.
“Go, fel Arron. Retrieve what you need. Once we’re Below, there’s no turning back until it’s finished.” Wroth looked at my father, and I knew he wanted me out of the way for what they spoke of, but there was no time to waste.
I squeezed Papa’s hands, offered him a watery smile, and ran inside.
I quickly pulled off Kajarin’s old clothes.
They were too tight in the bust and too loose in the waist, and now covered in mud besides.
I grabbed my own comfortable leather breeches, stacking them in a saddlebag alongside blouses and several bespoke waistcoats, each possessing pockets and loops for my tools.
My most comfortable boots were still in Owlhorn, so I kept Kajarin’s for now, but I also brought my own coat.
I ran lopsidedly into the shop with the saddlebags and began throwing my tools in their oilcloth rolls, tying them tightly and stacking them in any free space I had left.
Fine bits of clockwork were wrapped and carefully stowed.
When the saddlebag was almost bulging, the seams screaming for mercy, I chewed a nail and looked at what was left that I couldn’t live without.
Oddly, it was the Thing that drew my eye. My constant companion in misery, never to be finished, and yet I had found a reason for breaking away from this dark and stifling room.
Perhaps the Thing would find its reason for existence elsewhere as well. I folded it in its velvet pouch and tucked the bundle into one of my coat pockets, and then found a spot in the saddlebag for a third wrench. There was no such thing as too many wrenches.
That was all I could fit. I grunted under the weight of the bags and brought them outside.
My father looked no happier than he had before I packed, but there was some kind of peace in his lined face.
“Forgive me, darling girl.” He took my hands again. “We’ve spent so long within this house, I forgot you had your mother’s blood as much as mine. Once she settled on a choice, she never backed down. Go with my love, and come home again.”
“I will. I will be back,” I said fiercely, and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”
The knights took my saddlebags, stowing them with the Fae device, and I mounted the white horse. Mathis came to me, his face set in a scowl I doubted would dislodge anytime soon, and offered his flask.
“Not your brandy, Math,” I protested, but he wrapped my fingers around it. It was heavy with fresh liquor.
He nodded abruptly. “You’re going Below, and I can always get more. Believe me, Jes, you’ll need it. Don’t forget your lessons, and may the Lady walk at your side.”
I tucked the flask away, and held up a hand to my family as the lord’s people moved out.
Wroth walked at my side again, silent and brooding. He glanced up at me sidelong. “Last chance.”
“I’m with you.” I raised my chin, and he snorted, switching his tail.
We fell into silence and I patted my pocket, making sure the Thing was still there. No more hiding away, alone and rudderless. We would find Alvar lai Orros and make him answer for this. I would retrieve priceless artifacts for my old teachers. I would find my people and bring them home.
How odd, that I hadn’t thought of Renaud fel Telyr much at all since I arrived on Wroth’s doorstep.
Perhaps I’d just needed a purpose.