A Veil of Secrets Page 4

  He punched her in the face, and she dropped from the sky.

  After a flick of his gaze over me, he faced forward and worked our ursus into a lather.

  The temperature grew colder, until ahead of me I saw a wall of wavering white.

  It struck me then how Idra had been mist inside the veil. Now that we readied to pass through it, she was as solid as she had ever been. Sinister forces were at work here. I hesitated to call it magic, but what else could it be? The veil itself was celestial. Whosever’s hand had forged it—the two gods or not—they were not Araneaean.

  Snarling at our retreat, I turned as Idra dug her toes into the ground and leapt onto my back.

  Her iron grip around my throat strangled my warning to Edan, but as solid as Idra was now, the impact had jostled him. He twisted in the saddle with a fist raised, waiting for an opportunity, but Idra used me as her shield. As the static crackle of the curtain’s edge descended, Idra kicked off the ursus. She slammed me flat onto the ground, knocking the wind out of me and crunching my wings painfully.

  “You have what you want.” I pushed myself upright. “Let him go.”

  The vicious smile she cast over her shoulder chilled the marrow in my bones.

  Faster than my eyes could track, she hovered over Edan. One of her sickly yellow talons pierced the skin of the ursus, and it bellowed. It bucked and sent Edan sailing over its head. He didn’t get up. Idra lit beside him and stabbed him in the neck with the same tainted fingernail. When he still failed to rouse, she gathered him against her breast. His head lolled. Blood covered his face.

  “Are you happy?” She pushed up his eyelids. “He’s broken and of no use to either of us now.”

  “Give him to me. Please,” I begged her. “Grant me that much.”

  “No.” She cupped his cheek. “He’s still warm. No use letting good meat sour.”

  Shock cost me precious seconds before my stunned mind caught up to her meaning.

  Idra bolted into the mists where the crossroad’s faint outline shimmered into existence.

  I ran after them. Ripping the fabric covering my wings, I took flight.

  From one blink to the next, buildings vanished. “No.” I screamed for Edan until I tasted blood. I flew blindly toward the spot where I last saw him, circled the area, cried his name, yanked my hair while the tears spilled. From that great height I spied Asher stumbling and lost, and I cared not at all.

  Exhaustion bore me to the ground. My knees buckled, and I scraped them raw in my landing.

  I stared ahead, willing Edan to emerge from the mists.

  The outline of a masculine figure striding toward me slammed my heart against my ribs.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran toward him.

  Asher.

  Not Edan.

  My eyes rolled back in my head.

  If there was more, I don’t remember it.

  Chapter Four

  I woke on my back with a starry sky glittering overhead. Thick furs warmed the ground beneath me. Blankets bunched under my chin. Fever slicked my skin, and the slow burn made my joints ache.

  Tears came then, hot and bitter and stinging.

  “Edan,” I croaked. My voice was hoarse from screaming. I tasted bile when I swallowed.

  “You’re awake.”

  The weight of those two words spoken in another male’s voice crushed me.

  Pain ricocheted between my temples when I turned my head. “Asher.”

  He offered me a waterskin I recognized as one of mine. “Drink this.”

  My arms were leaden. My mouth filled with ashes. I wanted nothing but Edan, and he was gone.

  No. Not gone. Gone implied he might return.

  Edan was dead.

  I turned onto my side and curled into a ball under the covers, where reality was softer.

  Asher’s wide palm wrapped my forehead. “You’re burning with fever.”

  I nestled deeper into my pallet, crushing my eyes closed, pretending this was all a nightmare.

  Fever was the first stage of withdrawal. Then delirium set in. On its heels came agonizing death.

  I didn’t fear the end. There could be no ending worse than this, worse than living without Edan.

  Without an injection, I would die. I was grateful now I had skipped my morning dose.

  “I found syringes in your pack.” He shook me. I let him rattle my teeth. I was too weak, too sore to complain. “Edan mentioned some type of injection. Is that your problem? Is that what you need?”

  Figured he would snoop through my things as though I were already dead.

  “Answer me,” he barked. “Tell me how to save you.”

  “I don’t want to be saved.”

  He made a disgusted sound as he stood. “Then Edan’s sacrifice was for nothing.”

  A cry eased past my lips. He was right. If I died here, now, it was all for nothing.

  How could I face Edan in the spiritlands and tell him I died a sobbing coward?

  Asher’s voice sounded muffled by distance. “You leave me no choice.”

  Behind me, an ursus grumbled. It must be mine for him to have found the syringes.

  Metal clinked, the clasps on my saddlebags being unbuckled. Paper rustled. Paper.

  My journal.

  He called, “It says here you require an injection daily.”

  My gut twisted. “Give that to me.”

  He held the story of my life in his hands. All my secrets scribbled for him to read at his leisure.

  Stories of my brother and me, and I could bear no one to read them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  More noises carried from over my shoulder, but try as I might, I lacked the strength to roll over.

  His footsteps were muffled by grass, but his quick approach alarmed me. His face appeared over my side. Pity lent his features a gentleness I was past appreciating. “Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

  My skirt was rucked over my hip, my drawers tugged past the curve of my arse. Cold metal pierced my skin. I gasped as liquid fire set my body ablaze.

  “It hurts,” I told him, because I didn’t have to be strong for Asher as I had for Edan.

  He pulled my drawers back in place and smoothed down my skirt. He lifted me onto his lap and arranged my wings to get out the kinks. He placed the waterskin against my cracked lips and poured.

  After choking down a mouthful, I knocked it from his hand to keep him from drenching me.

  With a soft grumble, he tucked me tighter against him. I rested my head against his chest and tried pretending he was my brother. But each inhale told the truth. Asher’s scent was foreign, not familiar.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled into my hair. “You saved me back there.”

  The antivenin always made me drowsy, and the rumble of his voice through his chest lulled me.

  “Marne?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “We’re going to lie down now.” Cradling me in his arms, he walked on his knees until reaching the pallet’s edge. He laid us down, stretching me alongside him so my back faced his front. “Sleep.”

  With Asher curled protectively around me, I did.

  The customary mourning period for a wife was one week. I was no wife, and Edan had no grave for me to tend, no headstone for me to wreath with flowers. Instead those melancholy days passed in silence while I stared into the veil and willed him to walk out of it. For a time, I welcomed the notion risers might appear and set upon me in a savage end to a brutal life. But none appeared. Nothing did.

  Asher gave me seven days to the minute before bundling me up and sitting me on my ursus. The poor thing couldn’t stop sneezing. I had refused to bathe, or to even leave the pallet he had made me.

  My eyes watered when the wind changed and I smelled myself.

  Shifting to get
comfortable in the saddle, I sucked in a harsh breath that almost choked me.

  My arse was covered in purple and yellowish bruises. Asher’s nursing skills had not improved.

  He pinned down my thigh. “Hold still or you’ll fall off.”

  I peeled his hand off my leg. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can and you will. We’re out of supplies.” He glared at me. “We’re leaving today.”

  I swung my leg over the opposite side of my mount, slid to the ground and rubbed my bottom.

  He strode around the sow and grasped my chin between his fingers. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I narrowed my eyes. “My arse feels like a pincushion.”

  His cheeks went ruddy. “Be grateful I bothered.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes.” His gaze was a steel trap that captured mine. “I did.”

  “You don’t owe me.” I swallowed. “What I did for you I would have done for anyone.”

  His lips flattened, and he released me. “I see.”

  Sprung from his trap, I backed out of his reach while I had my wits about me. The marks of his fingers still burned. “As much as I disgust you, I’m shocked you saved me.”

  “I thought you were like them.” His brow creased. “You aren’t.”

  Well, this was new. “How can you be sure?”

  “You would have died for him.” His jaw flexed. “Harbingers don’t love as you do.”

  While I absorbed that, he dragged his fingers through his hair.

  “What you said before…” he scratched his scalp, “…I don’t hate you.”

  Unsure how to respond to him, I spun on my heel and began walking the well-worn road.

  Asher led the ursus, who sneezed until he took pity and lagged behind me. I was content to roam ahead, to sift the dirt through my toes. Asher had been right. If I had died, Edan’s legacy would have died with me. The work I had agreed to do on Henri’s behalf was important and would enable him to save other females like me who lacked the savior I had in Edan. That would be my brother’s legacy.

  I would finish my journal. I would create inroads with the Salticidae. And then, once I had done all I swore to do, when I had made my contributions to aiding other fledglings, I would go after Idra.

  With Edan gone, there was no one left who could stop me.

  Chapter Five

  Our arrival in Beltania was met with little fanfare, as if bedraggled couples often ambled into their quaint city seeking asylum. Three young males, each leading a massive varanus harnessed to its own plow, paused to soak in the spectacle of two grungy foreigners strolling down their dusty main street.

  Though I suppose they might have been more interested in our remaining ursus than in us.

  Ursus were a rare sight in the southlands. Bred with thick coats, they suffered in the humid heat.

  One of the varanus craned its neck to peer at us, flicking its forked tongue out to taste the air. Its eyes were dull black and set deep in its scaly face. Locals called them dragons. I called them dinner.

  Despite the rations I had consumed, the gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach threatened.

  It had been a long time since I had fresh varanus steaks. The ones served in Erania were frozen.

  The sound of clinking metal drew my attention toward one of the many multilevel homes lining the road. The structures were all built from baked mud bricks, lending the city an elegant simplicity. Wooden ladders leaned against the walls and braced on roofs to reach the higher rooms. Bright, woven rugs hung in place of doors, and scraps of the same material were tacked in the open windows.

  An elderly male approached us, clanking with each step under the weight of his silver amulets.

  His eyes were milky green, his thick white hair divided by two fading streaks of black.

  A slender youth dogged his steps. When he noticed me watching him, he winked.

  “Welcome to Beltania.” He clutched a walking stick in his hand. “You must be our guests.” His smile was weatherworn and earnest. “I am Masikookyang, but you may call me Old Father. I am the povosqa of the Salticidae clan. I must apologize for the absence of our maven and paladin. They will greet you properly over first meal.” He snapped his fingers. “You will have time to bathe, of course.”

  My ripeness must have told his nose what his eyes could not.

  “Thank you.” Fire kindled in my cheeks. “A bath would be most welcome.”

  Asher extended his arm. “I am Asher of the Mimetidae. We met in passing last year.” He jerked his chin toward me. “This is Marne of the Thomisidae. Marne brings greetings from the Araneidae.”

  “Thomisidae,” Old Father mused. “That is a clan name not often heard in these parts.”

  Thank the gods for it. “The Thomisidae rarely leave the Black Coast.”

  “Where is the rest of your party?” The elder peered around us. “Where is your husband?”

  Asher lowered his voice. “Edan passed on the journey.”

  Though I had hardened my heart to what must be done, those words crackled my veneer.

  Old Father took my hand between his dry, wrinkled ones. “You have my condolences.”

  His sincerity warmed me. I squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”

  “What in the gods’ names are you doing here so bloody early in the morning?” a voice boomed.

  Asher’s face split into a grin that made him seem almost friendly, then he excused himself from Old Father’s company to greet the giant male lumbering down the street while rubbing his face.

  His hair was closely cropped and blond. When he managed to open his eyes, they were brown.

  Nothing about him indicated he was Mimetidae, except perhaps the menace rolling off him.

  “There were complications.” Asher clasped forearms with the sleep-tousled male.

  “When aren’t there?” After a yawn worthy of an ursus, the male blinked blearily at us.

  Old Father ignored the exchange. He was deep in conversation with the boy at his side.

  With much less enthusiasm, Asher waved a hand at us. “Lleu, this is Marne.”

  Lleu straightened his shirt with a slow grin. “Well, hello, lovely.”

  Asher bent to whisper in his friend’s ear. “She was recently widowed.”

  “Oh.” Lleu’s forehead creased. “How recent? A few days? Weeks? Months?”

  I offered him my hand, pretending not to have overheard. “You’re a bit of a charmer, I see.”

  Perking up, Lleu winked at me. “You’d see more than a bit if you weren’t married—I mean…”

  Asher’s jaw popped. He slapped the back of Lleu’s head.

  “Sorry.” Lleu’s eyes twinkled. “My tongue gets away from me sometimes.”

  Asher clamped a hand over Lleu’s mouth as the good-natured giant tried to stick out his tongue.

  I tapped the side of my head and asked Asher, “Is he touched?”

  “No,” Lleu mumbled. “But he would like to be.”

  With a firm kick to the bend of his knees, Asher dropped Lleu grinning into the dirt at his feet. I stifled laughter when Lleu tripped Asher as he tried to escape and they both ended up flat on their backs.

  “Enough.” Old Father thumped Lleu’s shoulder with the bulbous head of his walking stick.

  “Gods above.” Lleu rolled out of reach. “That hurt.”

  “You will wake the entire city,” the youth chastised them.

  Old Father thumped him on the arm too. “I can speak for myself, Wishövi.”

  Wishövi rubbed above his elbow. “I meant no disrespect.”

  The elder jabbed the butt of his staff into the ground. “No one ever does.”

  “I will fetch Pascale.” Wishövi darted off before Old Father replied.
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  “Pascale,” I said. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  All eyes slid toward Old Father, who nodded at Asher.

  “She is Maven Lourdes’s sister,” Asher said. “Henri must have mentioned her to you.”

  “I see.” Now the gossip I had overheard in Henri’s laboratory made sense. If the Salticidae were miffed at hosting Pascale, I understood why they might balk at sheltering and providing for me also.

  That tidbit of gossip burned in my ears. I wondered why the maven had sent Pascale here.

  A sudden pang rocked me. Edan would have known.

  Given how his position as cook allowed him freedom to move within the Araneidae nest, he had known secrets about everyone. I knew few outside what Henri confided since I avoided the company of others in order to protect my rather difficult-to-conceal appendages. Even now I fretted over them.

  I might have planned my exit from this world, but the discovery of my wings would hasten it.

  At least in the northlands I had been able to wear sweeping jackets that concealed me from neck to ankle. In this heat, I wouldn’t last a day, and since the ursus had vanished, so had all of my clothes. Edan had divided our luggage among the guards, leaving me to carry my most precious items.

  The hour was early and the sun had not risen, but already sweat stuck my shirt to my skin. After being in the northlands for so long, the humidity threatened to drown me.

  Not long after dashing off on his mission, Wishövi returned with a remarkable female in tow.

  Golden hair tumbled down her back. Knots from sleep tangled her hand when she tried raking a clump of matted curls from her forehead. Her eyes were clear blue, an exact match for Henri’s, and a pang of jealousy made me resent the fact her fair skin, so like my mine, glowed with health I lacked.

  The fabric of her simple dress was fine, but sturdy. Much like her brother, her carriage betrayed her. Though her stride hitched bizarrely from time to time, her bearing proclaimed nobility of birth.

  Old Father gestured her forward, and she went to his side after dropping a kiss on his cheek.

  He patted her hand. “Will you humor a very old male and see to our weary travelers’ needs?” The snap of his fingers brought Wishövi running. “See to their mount. Keep it far from the varanus.”