Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 23

  Less than a moon later, Raven had arrived. She had black hair, black eyes, and a black humor that made grown men blanch. She was also a mongrel. Whereas Seph had found comfort in the mighty swings of his heavy hammer, her father had found comfort in the arms of a common woman.

  The Vanguard leaders discouraged, but tolerated, copulation with the locals. Progeny, at least acknowledged, were out of the question. Upon Raven’s birth, her father had been dismissed from the Vanguard. The man had met the verdict without objection—relief if the stories were true—and had soon married her mother and settled into the life that had been meant as a cover, forbidden from revealing the truth to his family.

  Raven had walked through the doors of the Tarried Tinker to the jingle of the door bells, and Seph had mistaken her for one of his regular customers. “Did you bring payment this time?” he’d asked without turning.

  “I did.” He’d spun around at the female voice—definitely not the fat farrier with the club foot who he’d expected. Raven was striking—lithe and tall, exuding a contagious enthusiasm for life. She’d told him her father had sent her on the three-day journey to the Tarried Tinker to purchase a saw—something that could have been easily and more cheaply procured from the local blacksmith. It had been obvious to Seph the errand was no more than an excuse for them to meet. Based on Raven’s manner and the way she’d weighed his responses and appearance, she’d known also.

  “Three for the price of one.” Seph had handed her the saws hoping to impress her with his generosity.

  “You don’t wish me to return for a replacement?” she’d asked, then smiled at his tongue-tied attempt to respond. Seph had fallen for Raven at first sight, but any doubt that lingered was whisked away by that smile. She didn’t smile with her mouth, but with her whole being.

  They were soon married, and he’d used the full force of his influence in the Vanguard to have the union recognized. She was, after all, every bit as much Faerie as the multitude of others across the Blight with mixed blood. To his delight, she embraced every aspect of her life with him—from cooking, to cleaning, to lovemaking—with the same enthusiasm he’d noticed during their first meeting. But then she’d turned her eye toward his business. The Tarried Tinker was never the same.

  Although their union was recognized, Seph had promised to keep from his young bride both his involvement in the Vanguard and his Faerie lineage. To Seph, the Tarried Tinker was a front. To Raven, the quaint shop was their livelihood. If they were to have children—she’d made no secret of her desire to have many—the business had needed to grow.

  It was her idea to hire the two salesmen instead of waiting for customers to come to them. It was her initiative that had created the delivery network that spanned the city and several surrounding towns. It was she who’d devised a stocking system with their largest customers—farriers, mine owners, and several others—so they’d never have reason to send urgent business to the competition. And finally, it was she who’d had the foresight to plan for the growth by borrowing to purchase the five neighboring shops, giving the Tarried Tinker an entire block to expand the forge and workshop.

  Seph had never regretted his decision to let Raven take the lead in managing both the business and the household. He didn’t have time. The order volume was so large he’d had to hire several junior smiths. Even with their help, he’d needed to sneak in a bit of magic here and there to meet delivery schedules.

  He was already well behind on his work when he’d had to take time off to rescue the boys from the slavers. His mind was on how to catch up when the bells on the door jingled and the salesmen arrived with more orders. Seph studied the new orders and shook his head. “Who’s providing these dates?” he asked, more complaint than question, since he knew the answer.

  “The Lady—” Raven insisted employees using her name implied too much familiarity—“told us to promise what the customers needed,” the salesman answered with his cloying voice.

  “Unless she’s planning to pick up a hammer and join me, you’d best start checking with me before you commit.” Seph rubbed his temples as he considered how to work the new orders into the schedule so his employees wouldn’t suspect his after-closing “work.” And I’ve still got to deal with the three slaves. Wonder when they’ll wake?

  “Well done, fellas.” Raven entered the room and shot Seph a look that made clear she’d overheard and disapproved of what he’d said. One of her tenets to their commercial success was to always handle the salesmen with a cheerful disposition. “My husband’s just jealous you’re so much better at sales.”

  Seph rolled his eyes, turning his head so she’d not see. She ushered the salesmen out so they could start their day then turned, hands on hips, to glare at him. “Why are three naked slaves locked in the unfinished storeroom? And why is my daughter standing guard?”

  “I can explain,” he started, but her expression dared him to spin the lie he’d prepared. “But I can’t tell you.” Seph looked toward the floor and away from his wife. He knew she’d tear apart any of the stories he’d concocted, and, with her mood swings during this second pregnancy, he didn’t want her to explode at him. He’d decided it was better to refuse to say anything than lie to her.

  “Does this have to do with the Vanguard?” Her voice sounded more concerned than angry.

  Seph looked up in shock. He didn’t have to say anything. His surprise gave away the answer. Raven stepped forward and placed her hand on his immense forearm—his hammering arm—and looked at him tenderly. “Father told me before I first met you, but warned it was a secret.”

  “And you’ve gone this whole time saying nothing?”

  “Your secrets are yours to share when you see fit—your affiliation with the Vanguard, your magic.” He’d not spoken of his magic to anyone since crossing the Blight. She smiled at his open-mouthed gape.

  “Husband. Surely you know by now you can hide nothing from me. It’s why I trust you with Lady Wiles when I most certainly don’t trust her.” She gave him a coy wink. “Are they Faerie?”

  Honesty—or else. Salazar’s message had told him the seeker’s two apprentices were Faerie who were unaware of their ancestry. He’d assumed they were bastards of the Vanguard until he’d seen Kutan’s birthmark—the telltale mark of the Akapinga, the lost Faerie tribe. “Two are, though from what I was told, I don’t believe they know the fact themselves. I’m unsure about the third.” He wasn’t even certain why he’d purchased the third, and doubted Salazar would compensate him for the purchase price.

  “Tell me more later, then?” She patted his arm and gave him a peck on his whiskered cheek before heading back toward the shop they’d renovated to be their home. “I’ll feed them when they wake.”

  Even after turns of marriage, his wife was a constant surprise. He watched her leave, then headed to the warehouse, eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together in thought. It’s lucky Salazar warned me they were coming, luckier still I notified my own eyes and ears. The vendor in Aldhaven will need to be rewarded. Without his information, they might have disappeared into the mines.

  He stepped through the doors of the workshop into a cacophony of hammer blows. The hired smiths were fast at work. “Good morning,” he called to them and readied to join in the hammering. All morning, sparks flew with his downward strikes. But Seph’s mind wasn’t on his work. He was thinking about what Raven had just revealed and about the three men locked in the storeroom. An Akapinga! Who’d have believed I’d find one in the foothills of the Crags?

  Colodor, Chapter 38

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  The word of Jah is truth. There is but one Truth.

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  —Truth (Origins 1:1)

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  Colodor

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  .The small oil lamp beside the door
still illuminated the windowless room as Whym wiped crust from his eyes. The room reeked of urine and feces, at least part of the stench coming from the mat he’d soiled while sleeping. Kutan and Tedel lay beside him, motionless but for the gentle rise and fall of their chests. An untouched loaf of bread waited between them. With no sun to gauge the time, he had no idea how long they’d slept. Based on the stiffness of his muscles, though, he guessed a very long time.

  What was in that drink?

  He started to sit up, but his back muscles seized, jerking him back down. He was still lying there, trying to relax and stop the cramping, when the door groaned open. Lily peeked inside. “Mama, one’s awake.”

  The door groaned more, and a woman stepped inside. She balanced a tray of food on her shoulder with one hand while supporting the swell of her stomach with the other. Her hair, twisted and pinned with a metal comb to the top of her head, was black as night. Her eyes were equally dark. She set the tray on the floor then covered her mouth with the neck of her blouse, her face screwed up as if she might vomit.

  “You okay?” Lily tugged at the hip of the woman’s skirt.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just be a dear and get some wet cloths and soap.” When Lily was gone, the woman turned to Whym. “You stink!” She scooted the tray of food toward him with her foot, sending milk splashing from a pitcher onto the tray. “Eat. You’ve been asleep more than two days.”

  “Two days?” Whym pushed through the cramps to force himself into a seated position.

  “Two days and a night.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and pursed her lips. “I’ve told Seph not to touch my herbs. A pinch of wormtail between his thick fingers is enough to knock out an ox.”

  Wormtail? Whym had never heard of such an herb. “It was the drink, right? It made us sleep?”

  “It clears the rot from your body. Undisturbed, you sleep as long as you’re rotten,” she explained. “You three were in rough shape.” Whym reached his hand around to where Ard’s whip had left his back cut and infected. The oozing sores had been replaced with scabs.

  Before he could ask more, Lily returned with sopping wet cloths and held them up to her mother, water streaming down her arm and soaking her shift. The woman, who he assumed was Seph’s wife and Lily’s mother, took them. She tossed them with a plop onto the floor beside Whym, splashing cold drops onto his filthy legs. “Wake your friends and eat. Then wash yourselves. When it’s safe, we’ll get you a bath and some clothes. Then you can scrub this room.”

  Lily stepped over to Whym and handed him the bar of soap. “Get back here.” Her mother tugged her away and out of the room by her ear.

  Before the door closed and the lock slid into place, Whym mouthed “thank you” to the pretty green eyes looking back at him. I guess whatever story Seph was working out didn’t go over too well.

  “Wake up.” Whym nudged Tedel’s shoulder with his foot. His friend’s eyes cracked open.

  “Ohhhh! Owww!” Tedel arched his back as cramps gripped him.

  “It’ll pass.” Whym scooted over. “Kutan, wake up.”

  “Mmmmm.” Kutan rolled over to face away. “I’m awake,” he grumbled when Whym poked his ribs, his first words since their second day of captivity.

  “We’ve been asleep for two and a half days,” Whym informed them. Tedel’s eyes widened. Kutan only curled his body and drew his knees to his chest.

  Whym had no way to understand what Kutan was feeling after the abuse he’d suffered, so he resigned himself to waiting for his friend to come around. Despite sitting in a reeking room, on a soiled mat with equally soiled legs, he was ravenous. He chose one of the bowls from the tray and started scooping the contents into his mouth with a hunk of bread. The creamy wheat porridge, with swirls of an unfamiliar berry jam, stuck satisfyingly to his insides. There were also bowls of dried fruits and nuts, and a pitcher of warm milk. He scarfed down the food until he felt the comfort of fullness for the first time since before Aldhaven.

  Tedel, as well, devoured his food. Kutan didn’t touch his, remaining with his knees curled to his chest. Whym remembered what the woman had said about the effect of the drink, assumed he was still rotten, and decided to let him sleep.

  “How’d the blacksmith know to save you?” Tedel dipped a crusty piece of bread into the milk. “And why did he save me?” He shoved the sopping hunk into his mouth, spilling milk down his chin and onto the floor.

  Whym had anticipated the question and had prepared a mostly truthful response. “He’s a business associate of our master. But I don’t know how he knew where to find us.” Whym stood, pushed the soiled mat away, then squeezed water from one of the cloths onto his body.

  “But why me?” Tedel asked again.

  “I don’t know.” Whym guessed Seph had noticed the look he’d given Tedel and had pitied him, but it seemed presumptuous to voice the thought. The conversation continued for some time—Tedel probing, Whym dancing around the truth—as they both cleaned themselves. When Tedel asked why Whym and Kutan were headed for Colodor if the Steward was north of the Mysts, Whym had run out of good answers.

  “Enough! You got lucky.” Kutan rolled over to face them, his tone and look both fierce. “But I’d advise you to come up with a story better than being a runaway Faerie if you want to be believed. Not everyone’s as gullible as Whym. They’re likely to sell you to the mines.”

  Tedel, his feelings clearly hurt, glared at Kutan but bit his tongue. Kutan turned his face to the wall and slept, the exchange ending all conversation.

  What would happen if Tedel’s story wasn’t believed? Would Seph keep him as a slave? Would he really sell him to the mines? Whym didn’t know anything about the blacksmith beyond his involvement with Salazar, which was itself disconcerting since Whym’s impression of the man had been influenced by Kutan’s distrust. When he tired of worrying, he resolved that he’d make certain Tedel left with them.

  Colodor, Chapter 39

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  Any who speaketh against Truth, speaketh lies. Liars are the enemy of Jah and the enemy of those who follow His words.

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  —Truth (Origins 4:5-6)

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  Colodor

  Four Moons Later

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  .Life at the Tarried Tinker had become a comfortable routine as they waited for Stern to arrive and winter to pass. Seph needed to maintain appearances, so they were confined to the block of buildings the blacksmith owned. The hired smiths and the people of Colodor still considered them slaves. In private, though, they were treated more like family. Raven, after her frosty initial reception, had warmed to them. Her herbal remedies had driven the remaining infection from their bodies, and her amazing cooking had restored their strength. Ugly scars still served as reminders of their captivity, but physically, they were healthy.

  Emotionally, though, their conditions diverged. Whym, if anything, was stronger for the experience. Though he carried the burden of guilt for his part in their capture in Aldhaven, the time in captivity had toughened him and reminded him to appreciate things—bathing, eating, being unchained—that before he’d taken for granted.

  Tedel, on the other hand, acted chipper, but the seed of doubt Kutan had planted continued to grow and fester inside of him. Although he spoke as if he looked forward to joining them on their mission to find the Steward, he often worried aloud he wouldn’t be freed. His sleep remained fitful and plagued by nightmares, despite Whym’s assurances they wouldn’t leave him behind.

  But Kutan was different. Despite having spent less time than Tedel in captivity, due to Murck’s attention, Kutan was the worst off of the three. He was broken, chaffing at others’ good spirits, his mercurial presence like storm clouds in the room. He seldom spoke, and when he did, it was to water Tedel’
s seed of doubt with snide and hurtful remarks.

  It was in this condition Seph found them when he entered the workshop. “Mornin’ boys.” He swept in, carrying a tray heaped with soft bread and pasties. “The missus thinks you three scrawny boys are a small army.” The big-armed blacksmith gave them a playful wink as he set the tray on the table, then moved to grab his thick leather apron and gloves.

  “She’s very kind—” Whym bit into one of the pasties, a warm flaky crust filled with leek, mutton, and crushed potatoes—“but I wish she’d do less. She looks about to pop, yet still prepares two hot meals a day.” He didn’t mention taking care of Lily and the house.

  “Don’t tell her that.” Seph flopped the thick gloves on the table and grabbed one of the spongey breads shaped like the head of a mushroom. “Don’t tell her anything. Trust me, I learned the hard way when she carried Lily. Until that baby arrives, you’d best say nothing but ‘thank you’ and ‘tastes delicious.’”

  Whym swallowed the last of his pastie and started on one of the breads. When he broke it open, it was dotted with plump raisins and had what looked like a dried apricot in the center. “I wish there was a way to help her.” He plucked out the apricot and ate it first.

  “You want to help? Stick with ‘thank you’ and ‘delicious.’” Seph swallowed hard and looked around for something to drink. “Lily!”

  His daughter arrived on cue with two pitchers—warm milk and hot water. Most days, Lily joined them for the early breakfast, but didn’t this day. She darted back toward the house after exchanging pleasantries. Whym suspected they ate so early so they could relax and enjoy the meal before the hired smiths and salesmen arrived. With others around, they’d need to act like slaves.

  He was appreciative, at least, that they were no longer restrained. Seph had seen to that on their first day in the workshop. He’d made a show of taking off their shackles. “Darn near worthless with these things on!” he’d complained as he removed them, loud enough the hired smiths would hear. “I didn’t bloody pay for worthless.” The restraints had remained stashed away since.