Brightly Woven (15 page)

“No. Besides, it suits you.”

“Red and red?” I sighed.

He winked. “My favorite color.”

We followed the short path from Lady Aphra’s cottage to the main village below. The thatched roofs were uneven from our vantage point, each small cabin seemingly built on its own hill in the valley. A small river ran along the far edge of the village, catching the early-morning light. Mist rolled off the mountain’s tree-lined slopes like a swirling light stream.

“It’s so quiet and peaceful,” I said.

“Just wait until everyone knows we’re here,” North said, laughing. “You’ll be singing a different song then.”

Rather ungracefully, North scaled the fence surrounding one of the small homes. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and buried it at the foot of their stoop.

“What are you doing?” I asked. He handed me a slip of paper over the fence before bending down to bury another one. Written across the thick paper were symbols I didn’t recognize.

“These should ward off anyone with ill intent,” he said. “Including our friend Dorwan.”

When I leaned over to get a better look, my hand slid against a sharp edge of the fence. I sucked in a quick breath, pulling it away. North snatched up my hand, a strange expression transforming his face as he watched the blood well up along the cut. He didn’t move, but held my hand firmly in his own.

“North?”

He started slightly. “Careful, careful,” he mumbled. He pulled a purple handkerchief from his bag. It was embroidered with his initials and the crest of Palmarta. He held it there until the bleeding was staunched, and only then did he pull away.

“I’ll wash it,” I promised, but he tucked it into the pocket of his trousers before I had the chance to take it back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking at the ground.
“Hard to believe, I know, but there was a time in my life when I had to do my own washing.”

We moved down the main row of cottages. At each stoop, he would stop, dig a small hole, and bury the paper. After the fourth cottage, I realized he was mumbling to himself under his breath—something that sounded vaguely like a prayer. I added my own, rubbing the frozen metal of my necklace between my palms.

With all ten cottages taken care of, North and I settled on the side of the hill, halfway up the path to Lady Aphra’s cottage.

“I didn’t even know this village existed,” I said. North reclined back on his elbows, his eyes closed.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Lady Aphra actually owns the entire valley. She bought the land grant from the king himself.”

“How did you meet Lady Aphra?” I asked. “She’s an interesting choice for a patroness.”

“Why, because she’s not wealthy?” North asked with a teasing smile. I winced at the memory.

“No…I would have thought she’d be…much younger, and more attractive,” I said.

North laughed. “So I only help attractive people? You realize you’re flattering yourself.”

“You’re not helping me,” I said. “I’m helping you, remember?”

“Yes, of course,” North said.

“Good,” I said, happy to be in agreement. “Now answer my question!”

“So nosy,” he said, toying with one of my ringlets. “Magister Pascal and Lady Aphra have been…
friends
for quite some time. He used to bring Oliver and me up here all the time to help with building the cottages. After I left Magister, I stayed with Lady Aphra and offered my services.”

“I thought wizards relied on their patrons to earn money,” I said. “Do you have another one?”

“No,” he said. “Some of us do odd jobs here and there to get by. You take a patron because you like them or because you’re in for some gold. I chose the former.”

Just then, a small figure came out of the school and rang a large bell four times. The sound echoed off the mountains and carried throughout the valley. North and I watched silently as one by one the door to each cottage opened and scores of children poured out, each followed closely by an adult. I counted thirty-four small heads lined up outside the school.

“Good morning,” came a new voice behind us. We turned to find Lady Aphra descending the path, resplendent in a worn navy dress. A decorative clip pulled back her gray hair, but wild strands were already escaping. Everything about the way she carried herself provided evidence for North’s story. When she reached the school, the children broke ranks and swarmed the old woman.

“She’s a good teacher,” North said. He was on his back, nearly buried in the long grass. His eyes were shut, and his gloved hands were loosely folded across his chest. The smile on his face must have been as wide as my own. I had never seen him like this before, and it was such a pleasant sight I almost didn’t feel the cold.

I lay down next to him in the wet grass, feeling the dew and the new sun. A light breeze whispered through my hair and across my cheeks. And despite the threat of Dorwan and the ache of travel in the soles of my feet, there was little else but happiness in my heart.

Later that day, just as I finished the first quarter of the cloak, a young boy brought two letters up the hill to Aphra’s cabin. North was at the schoolhouse asking a few of the older children about the wolf, so the boy handed the letters to me. They had been forwarded from Fairwell.

The shock that went through my system stole any coherent thought from my mind. Henry had
finally
written me back.

Turning the envelope over, my fingers brushed the seal almost reverently. There were small bumps in the wax. I brought it to my face for closer inspection. There, in the deep crimson sealing wax, were dozens of small granules of desert sand—of home.

Delle
,

I hope you’re safe and this letter finds you somehow. I’m sending a copy to various inns in the major cities, hoping you’ll stop in at least one of them. I want you to know that I’m safe and that the Bailey brothers and I slipped out of Cliffton several days ago on your father’s orders. He wants us to go to Provincia and have me help in the war effort in his stead, but I’m more concerned about spreading the news about Cliffton. When we left, most of the crops had been picked over by the soldiers, but no one had been seriously hurt. The few who tried to get out and were caught were beaten, but not to the point of death. Your family is fine—mine, too—though our mothers are a little worse for wear
.

You’ll get to Provincia before us, so I’ll come find you. Stay safe until I can see you again. I miss you
.

Henry

“Anything good in the post?” North asked. I pressed the letter to my chest and turned around slowly. He had a smile on his face, and it was such a rare sight that I almost didn’t want to tell him.

“A letter from Henry,” I said quickly. “You have a letter from Pascal.”

“What did Henry have to say?” he asked. He leaned over my shoulder to get a better look, but I kept the paper close.

“That my family is safe and that he and a few others escaped,” I said. “They’ll be in Provincia a few days after us.”

“How
very
convenient,” North said. “It’s really too bad we won’t have time to drop in for a cup of tea.”

“I’ll have the time,” I said.

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, and reached for one of my loose curls. “Maybe I’ll keep you all to myself.”

I pulled away, my stomach flipping. It was such a familiar touch, something that North had done a dozen times over the past few weeks, but it seemed so wrong for me to like it, to want him to do it again, when I had Henry’s letter in my hands.

“Read your letter and leave me alone,” I said, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Yes, my beautiful, beautiful darling!” he said. “As my beautiful, beautiful darling wishes.”

When I finally had the courage to look up again, North’s brows were drawn together.

“Bad news from Pascal?”

“He’s the same as always, the old grump,” he replied distractedly. “Still treats me like the seven-year-old he took in.”

“You only trained with him for seven years?” I knew only so much about wizarding education.

“Yes. I lived with him until I finished training at fourteen and was supposed to be ranked.” North glanced up from the letter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You aren’t ranked?” I asked.

“I thought you knew,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“But all of the other wizards are.”

“I’m nothing like the other wizards,” he said. “Nor do I intend to be. It…just wasn’t the right way for me.”

“I’m surprised you had a magister then,” I said, a page of the wizard book floating up in my memory. “Isn’t that the whole point of being trained—to be ranked and join the Wizard Guard? The unranked wizards are usually…like Dorwan, right?”

North narrowed his eyes, obviously offended. “Are you comparing me to the hedges?”

“No! Well, a little—but not really,” I finished lamely, watching the expression on his face darken.

“You aren’t ranked,” I tried again. “And you left, wandered, and…er, I’m sorry?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I suppose you’re forgiven—as long as you write a letter for me.”

“I’m sure you can write your own letter,” I said. “Or is it one of my duties as your
assistant?”

“Actually, I only asked because your penmanship is much nicer than mine. Magister is fond of telling me that my handwriting looks like the scratches of a blind chicken.”

I sighed, pulling a small writing quill and a fresh sheet of paper from my bag.

“Dear Magister,” North dictated. “Thank you for your help. I do think you’re correct in supposing that the ingredient should work, but I’ve tried once to little effect. I don’t believe I will try again, not for lack of curiosity but for lack of propriety. Also, I’m quite glad that your wheat fields have
finally picked up again. As if there was any doubt that you could fix them yourself—keeping up, Syd?”

I cursed under my breath and crossed out where I had written,
Keeping up, Syd?

“Yes,” I said, sighing. “Keep going.”

“I have the information I need, though I’m not sure my very dear friend will hear me out,” North continued. “Yes, I am aware of what has been going on with Oliver, though I haven’t received a letter from him in quite some time.”

“What’s going on with Oliver?” I asked, looking up.

“Nosy today, aren’t we?” He smiled.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Keep going.”

“I’ve sent him numerous messages, but he seems too enthralled with his newfound power to listen. I’ll try to write to him again, but I can’t trust the post with these things. Magister, I know you wanted to see us, but I won’t be coming to see you with my beautiful, beautiful darling—!”

“Stop it!” I said, crossing out the last three words I had written. “You are so ridiculous!”

“Here, I’ll finish it,” he said. He pulled the paper away before I could protest. I thought it was strange he didn’t want me to see what he was writing—and I did try to look, but his magister had been correct. He wrote like a blind chicken.

There was only enough time for him to seal the letter with wax before one of the village boys burst into the cabin.

“It’s here,” he said breathlessly. “We saw it through the schoolhouse windows—down by the stream.”

North and I stood at the same moment, but his arm lashed out, stalling me.

“Stay here!” he said. I took a step forward, but he would have none of it.

“Right here!”
he said. “For once in your life, do as I say!”

The cabin door slammed shut behind him, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The last time North had gone off like this, he had come back with burns from a dragon. I wasn’t going to be left behind, not again.

The afternoon air cut through my thin dress as I ran, following North down the long hill. And when he and his cloaks finally got so far ahead that they were out of sight, I followed the trail his boot prints had left behind.

At the first sign of the specter the children had been drawn inside, and the bell inside the school’s small tower was still ringing. I was sure I heard someone call my name, once, maybe even twice, but I kept running. My hair flew around my face as I made a sharp turn straight into the forest.

The sound of the bell died slowly, just as I lost the trail of North’s boot prints in a clearing. I glanced around. He must have twisted—it was the only explanation. That, or he had climbed up into the trees.

I moved to the other edge of the clearing. Nothing. Not even a rabbit or bird.

There was, however, the strangest sensation at my feet. Even through the leather of my boots, I could feel the brush of cool silk against my skin. The mist from the mountains
had rolled down into the forest, hovering around my ankles in a pool of white.

Yet when I moved, so did the mist. It swirled without the aid of wind, gathering into large pockets between the trees. A breeze lifted the hem of my dress and sent my hair flying.

I took a step back. My skin felt ready to crawl off my bones.