The Silvered (26 page)

“They have fifteen minutes, Sergeant.” The lieutenant flicked open his watch. “For the privy
and
for food.”

Danika suspected they were intended to use the privy in the same pairs they traveled in—keep them from sharing information, keep them from knowing how their friends were faring—but Jesine slipped in front of Kirstin; Carlsan, clearly annoyed at being forced to guard the privy while the others were already eating, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Has she said anything?” the Healer-mage asked when the door closed.

“No.” Danika raised a brow at the rough wood, but needs must. “She hears what’s being said, though. And she’s reacting.”

“I’d like the time to examine her properly. Annalyse is pregnant.”

It sounded like a non sequitur, but Danika had known Jesine long enough to know differently. “Yes.”

“And so are you. And I think, although it hasn’t been long enough to be certain, I think I am as well.” Jesine shot her a glance heavy with implication.

“We all are. They’re following a prophecy.” She frowned trying to recall the exact words she’d overheard. “
When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”

“Six in one?” Jesine stood and let her skirts fall. For all she wore the calm and practical manner taught to Healer-mages, Danika heard hysteria barely held at bay in her laugh. “I certainly hope not. Do the soldiers know?”

“No. Even the captain was only told when they came up a mage short.”

“Should we tell them?”

“The soldiers? I don’t know.” How would soldiers feel about their orders coming from Soothsayers? Would they care about risking their lives on the word of the insane? Or would they see the order as coming from the emperor himself? “I do know that separated as we are, there’s no way we can all escape together, so we’ll have to wait.”

“They’re taking us to Karis, Dani.”

“I know.”

“If they keep moving all night at post speeds, we’ll be in the empire before morning and at Karis no more than two days after that. You think we can escape from the emperor himself and make our way home across half the empire and two recently conquered duchies still crawling with Imperial soldiers?”

“I think…” Danika stood and settled her skirts in turn. “…we will do whatever we have to and we’ll do it together. All of us.”

After a long moment, Jesine nodded and showed teeth. “I think you’re right. Danika…” She paused, hand on the privy door. “Berger was an enemy.”

Danika didn’t want to know how much Jesine suspected. “I know,” she said, and pushed past her into the inn yard where a young woman, girl really, handed her a bowl of stew and a spoon, wincing as she moved. With her hands bound, Danika had to hold the bowl at her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the first bite; she finished the rest so quickly she barely tasted it. She thought the lieutenant might have lingered, that the time limit would apply to everyone save him, but after fifteen minutes, they were loaded back into the coaches and, a moment after that, the horses were given their heads, horn sounding to clear the road.

It appeared they were to travel at post speed through the night.

It was nearly dark by the time Tomas began to stir. Mirian had slept a little herself, stretched aching muscles, drank a bit of water, ate another biscuit, and wished she had her mirror so she could talk to her sister. Lorela would be horrified by the situation and tell her to return to Aydori at once. Mirian would tell her why she couldn’t, and that would make the whole impossible situation real in a way saying the same words to herself couldn’t.

Tomas was going after Lady Hagen.

All the evidence so far indicated he couldn’t do it without her help.

But mostly, sitting in last year’s grass by the side of the road, Tomas’ head on her lap, she just wanted to talk to her sister. She wanted Lorela to make it right, like she always had when they were growing up. Lorela would sit on her bed, wrapped in a shawl, and explain that
the world as they wanted it to be and the world as it was weren’t always the same place. Their mother’s drive for social advancement, their father always putting the bank first, that was how it was. A smart girl would figure out a way to work around it.

Mirian ran gentle fingers over Tomas’ shoulder, trying to decide if the skin around the scar felt hotter than the rest. The road to Karis went through two recently conquered duchies—logically, therefore, full of Imperial soldiers—as well as through half the empire. The coaches carrying the captured Mage-pack already had a full day on them and unless the people of Pyrahn or Traiton decided to spontaneously block the road and stop them, she and Tomas wouldn’t catch up. Emperor Leopald would have the Mage-pack for days, maybe weeks before they could be rescued. This is how the world was.

She stared down the road toward Karis—eventually Karis—and then back toward Aydori. In the gathering dusk it would be impossible to see something even the size of a small gray pony racing down the road to the rescue. That didn’t stop her from looking, from hoping to see Jaspyr Hagen suddenly appear, leading the Hunt Pack, coming to her rescue.

Jaspyr Hagen.

She wanted to talk to Lorela about that, too. About Jasper and Tomas and things that seemed like they should be unimportant next to war and capture and burning a man to death, but weren’t. Unfortunately, her mirror was probably in Trouge by now, wrapped in a silk scarf her mother had given her after having accidentally dipped the end in a glass of sherry. Mirian had no idea of how to enchant another, it needed at least fourth level air and second level metals, and mirrors, backed with silver, were both rare and expensive in Aydori.

Of course, she wasn’t
in
Aydori.

Tomas’ ear flicked, then his back legs began to kick at the air. Mirian moved her hands away, just in case, as he pushed against her thigh with a front paw. Then his eyes snapped open and an instant later he was on his feet, growling, hackles raised, ears tight to his head.

“They’re not here. They shot you and kept going. It’s just me.” Moving slowly, carefully, she reached into the soldier’s pouch and pulled out a piece of dried meat. “There’s food and water. I’m assuming,
given how much healing you required, that you won’t be strong enough to hunt right away. I could be wrong but…”

His teeth grazed her fingers.

“You’ll have to change to drink,” she said as he swallowed. She pulled out another piece of meat and tossed it to him. He snapped it out of the air. “Or you’ll have to lap from my hands. The only water we have is in this can…” Sitting on the ground, it was harder to look at his face now he was on two legs, so she stared at his knees instead as she passed him the canteen. His knees were dirty.

He tried to make it look like he chose to sit, legs folding as he collapsed to the ground. It looked more like a barely controlled fall to Mirian.

“There’s hard biscuits, too.”

“More meat?”

“Yes.” This must have been why she’d only eaten the biscuits. She’d known he’d need the meat. Known he’d get shot running after the coaches like an idiot, right down the center of the road where any decent marksman could take him out. Known she’d have to pull the silver out of him again. Known he’d nearly die and leave her alone to save…

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She wiped the biscuit crumbs off on her skirt and put half of it back in the pouch like she’d meant to break it.

Still chewing, he turned his head to peer down at his shoulder, working the arm and wincing. Against his pale skin, the scar was an angry pink—not a shade Mirian had previously been familiar with, even considering Lorela had ribbons in every other imaginable shade of pink.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Bats dipped and soared overhead, irregular shadows against the deepening dusk. In amidst the ash and birch behind them, an owl made its first cry of the night.

The moment after that, Tomas said, “So what do we do now?”

“We free the Mage-pack.”

“We’ll never catch them.”

“We know where they’re going.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ve been thinking about it…”

“While you were unconscious?”

“…and I should have stopped you.” His tone suggested he knew what was best for her. He was a year younger, and he’d needed her to save him not once but twice, but he was Pack. As Mirian stiffened, he added, “I should never have allowed you to come this far.”

“Allowed?” Mirian forced the word through clenched teeth.

“I need to take you home.”

“How?”

They were sitting close enough she could see him blink. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t convince me to return home and you can’t physically force me, so how did you plan to
take
me home?”

“Miss Maylin…”

“Mirian. If I’m not to call you Lord Hagen, you may use my given name as well.”

“Fine. Mirian.” His tone slid from barely excusable concern to patronizing. “You have no idea of what dangers you could face on the road.”

“Apparently,” she snapped, “neither do you.” Yanking her stocking tight around the end of the bedroll, she slung it over her shoulder and stood. “I’ve come too far to quit now, so
I
am going to free the Mage-pack. As you’re no longer bleeding to death by the side of the road, and therefore no longer need my assistance, you may accompany me or not as you see fit.” The pivot on one heel would have worked better had she been wearing her boots and not winced at the movement, but she stepped out onto the road with her head up.

One step.

Of all the arrogant…

Two steps.

You’re welcome. Next time, you can remove the silver yourself.

Three steps.

It’s not like I didn’t kill someone to keep him from shooting you.

Four steps and Tomas stood in front of her, growling softly.

Mirian kept walking. “You’re not going to attack me and I’m certainly not frightened of you, so I don’t know what you think you’re trying to prove.”

As she brushed by him, he grabbed her skirt in his teeth and yanked.

“Really?” she said, as she stumbled. “Really?” She grabbed for the bedroll with one hand as it slid off her shoulder and reached out with the other, pressing the first two fingers down into the fur between his eyes. “Sleep.”

Tomas woke lying in the middle of the road, one front leg tucked under his head, the other stretched out, shoulder throbbing. It took a moment to figure out where and why—he’d been shot, again, there’d been pain and darkness and then a voice…Mirian! He scrambled onto to his feet and shook, trying to throw off the lingering effect of the mage-craft.

How dare she!

And, more importantly, how long had he been asleep?

The night smelled young; the hunters and hunted who roamed at dusk and dawn still out and about. In the west, the evening star lingered on the horizon. He’d been asleep for minutes then, not hours. Turning to face east, the direction the coaches had been traveling, he saw, no more than half a mile down the road, a single figure walking away. Downwind, so he couldn’t catch a scent, but there could be little question of who it was.

Mirian Maylin, walking to Karis to free the Mage-pack.

She had no idea of what she was walking into.

She had no mage marks in her eyes.

She couldn’t fight.

She’d barely been able to cover the distance between the cave where they’d spent the night and the track where the Mage-pack and their captors had emerged from Aydori. He’d have been there on time if not for her.

He’d have been dead if not for her.

She smelled like power. And home. And…

Of course, she smelled so good, he supposed legs weren’t actually necessary.

…and something more he was not going to think about right now. Or like that, at least.

Clearly, she wouldn’t turn back no matter what he said or did, and she’d proven that, while he couldn’t stop her, she could stop him.

He was either going to help her free the Mage-pack, or he wasn’t.

He sat and scratched for a moment, putting off the inevitable, then he sighed and stood. Even in a small pack, pack members needed to know their place; it kept the world from degenerating into chaos and confusion.