The Twisting (23 page)

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

Daeryn’s head jerked
up at the hedge-rider’s demand. In two steps he had Annmar behind him and the old lady blocked. “No,” he snapped at Old Terry. “You can’t have
her
.” He couldn’t lose Annmar to this…this
witch
. He’d given the hedge-rider a chance earlier, but any Knack-bearer who sought to control others was exactly that.

The muscles down his back sang with the urge to change, to leap, to protect.

“Name a price in coins, Basin business tender,” he spat. He might not win Annmar, but he wasn’t about to stand aside and let her get whisked away to the dark tunnels Rivley had described, to be a slave for some crafty old fox.

Old Terry’s eyes narrowed. “My arrangements with her don’t concern you.”

“It—” He bit back the rest. They didn’t. He had no more claim to Annmar than this woman did—for now. But when she stepped forward, fur flared over his skin, sending his musk wafting around the booth. “I won’t see her taken advantage of.”

Behind him someone clasped his side. “Daeryn, please,” Annmar said. “I’m not a fool. I’ve handled business transactions for years.”

He stilled.
By the Creator
,
this is different
, a voice roared in his head, but how could he explain it?

“Basin ways take years—a lifetime, even—to learn,” Rivley said. “You may not grasp some of the more…interesting barter methods.”

Thank you.
Once again, his beta had—no, not his beta. And neither was Annmar his mate. Daeryn’s head cleared enough to remind himself of their status. Hell, he was acting exactly how he’d told himself he wouldn’t since the night he nearly marked Jac. The pack urge was even stronger now—and would get him in as much trouble. He had to let Annmar handle this.
After
he made sure this witch understood Annmar wasn’t alone. He fixed Old Terry with the kind of look he’d bestow on a truculent packmate.

“Humph.” The woman glared back for a moment. Her expression changed to a frown, and she waved dismissively. “You are
somewhat
mistaken in my intent. I—”

“Somewhat? Be direct, or don’t speak at all.” Again, he couldn’t stop himself from spewing demands.

“Daeryn?” Mary Clare tugged at his sleeve. “Let me through.”

He moved the barest amount, though why, he couldn’t say, allowing Mary Clare past him into the small booth.

The smaller girl stopped before the woman and studied her, head cocked as if
she
were going to sketch a portrait. Annmar had squeezed in next to him by the time Mary Clare finally asked, “Are you being honest with us?”

Old Terry snorted and gave a curt nod.

Mary Clare whirled around, her curly hair bobbing. She nodded to Annmar, but said to Daeryn, “Let her talk to Annmar. She’s not going to
do
anything to her.”

That’s not what his ’cambire side sensed. Yet, as Riv had said, Mary Clare knew human intentions better than he ever would. Daeryn forced himself to remain human, determined to listen before his polecat form reacted. Annmar was already stepping forward, pulling Mary Clare along with her by linking their arms and having the redheaded girl stand where he should have been. Damn. Rivley’s female—well, the female he ought to have—had mysteriously maneuvered things to go her way, as usual.

Old Terry heaved an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want
her
,” she said to them all before turning to Annmar. “I want your services. As a guide. I can enter the tunnels, but I can’t read them myself.”

Rivley burst forth with a series of guttural clicks and then spat, “A horrible request.” The distaste was clear on his face.

Old Terry pointed at him. “I’ve told you to stay out of it. Your fears sway your thinking. And yes, I remember your warning that she’s under Constance Gere’s protection. Nothing I’m asking violates what’s considered a fair trade.”

Daeryn glanced at Rivley. True, he’d always known Riv hated the dense forest stands and would never enter a burrow, but he usually managed to hide his aversion. They were both overtired, giving in to ’cambire outbursts. Or else these tunnels were truly awful. But Annmar had liked them. Now
he
was confused. Daeryn rubbed a knuckle to his brow. What would help Annmar to decide how to deal with this woman? And in a flash, the talk he’d had with Riv just hours ago about their gildan lesson echoed through his head:
Honestly work together to restore yourselves and your pack.

Daeryn took a step closer. “In fairness to Annmar, you ought to be completely honest and tell her how you
travel
to those tunnels.”

“You do your Elders’ training proud in recognizing the old ways. Very well.” Old Terry turned to Annmar. “I practice what some call the wild ways. From those ancient nature traditions, I hold dear a rarity: the dirt supporting our lives.” She chuckled. “Some say I am dirt, and I take that as a compliment. My spirit is one with the underground and can be there at will.”

Annmar licked her lips. “So if you wish to be with the…element you love, you can be?”

“Exactly.” The hedge-rider smiled. “Air”—she gestured at Rivley—“fire and water block me. But earth is my element, my home, and I travel it freely. That doesn’t mean, however, that I can find what I want there. That’s where your talents would be of use. Your service would be to lead me on a number of trips, lasting—”

“How many trips?” Mary Clare’s chin rose. “My pa says deals have to be specific.”

Old Terry cocked a brow. “He’s trained you well. Too well.” She turned to Annmar. “Twenty-four should be adequate.”

Annmar’s eyes narrowed. “With a day off a week, that’s a month of workdays. How about
three
weeks’ worth?”

Why she put an emphasis on
three
, Daeryn didn’t know, but Old Terry agreed.

“Eighteen days,” she said. “As I was saying, trips last a quarter hour to several hours, depending on how quickly you master your skills and find what I need. When I have enough from a trip, we’ll be done for the day and you go home.”

“What do you need?” Annmar asked. “I should know. I won’t be party to, er,
outright
theft.”

Old Terry put a hand into her pocket and withdrew something.

Daeryn leaned in with the others, but the old lady held only a fistful of powdery blue-gray dirt.

“Clay?” Rivley said. “You want clay for your doodems?”

“Don’t you go saying I can get
argilla
anywhere. This isn’t surface soil. It’s richer in ways it needs to be.”

Argilla
. Daeryn met Rivley’s gaze. He hadn’t given the doodem clay any special thought, having grown up with a plentiful supply in Rockbridge. But now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen sources of the fine gray dirt on Wellspring property or the surrounding land. And he did plenty of digging and burrow roaming while out.

“Doesn’t someone own the land you’re taking it from?” Mary Clare asked.

“Not that deep. Where I go, no Basin dweller lays claim to the land.”

“Could I come to any harm while with you?” Annmar asked.

Old Terry shrugged. “Those ancient tunnels won’t collapse, if that’s what you’re asking. The rest”—she shrugged—“depends on the path chosen. If danger lurks, I’ll steer us away like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I won’t lose you, if that’s your concern.” She grinned. “You are quite valuable to me as a guide.”

That rubbed Daeryn’s fur wrong, and in front of him, Annmar’s shoulders tightened.

But instead of balking, she asked, “Can my friends accompany me?”

“Whoever, whatever you want.” Old Terry rolled her eyes. “All I require is you to lead me.”

“How can I guide you in a place I’ve never been?”

“You’re a natural, from your birthright. In fact”—a glint appeared in the lady’s eye—“just what you asked, right, my pet?” Again, she crossed her hands around her ample belly. “I can rectify your ignorance while you guide me. At the end of our agreement, I’ll show you where to search for your sire.” She shrugged one shoulder. “If that’s of any interest to you.”

“Come on now,” Daeryn said. “That’s a bribe.”

Annmar spun around, mouth opening—

“I want that clay as much as she wants information.” Old Terry nodded sagely. “I need a guide to get to it, and one hasn’t been available for a long time. And you’re also receiving the proper doodem. Now. When you need it.” She gave him that smug smile. “Is this acceptable to you?”

Annmar loosed her arm from Mary Clare’s and took a step forward with her arms folded. “What do you mean asking him? I’m the one who’ll be guiding you.”

“You obviously want their approval. Do you need these—this doodem for your machine, or not?”

This time Annmar didn’t so much as glance back. “Yes, I’ll be your guide.”

Daeryn pressed his lips closed. Someone vying for mate, or even pack membership, would never make a decision like this without seeking alpha approval. Annmar wasn’t proper pack material, not by Rockbridge standards. Her direct gaze, her straight back, the set of her shoulders…nothing about Annmar was submissive.

But he liked what he saw.

“When can you start?” Old Terry asked.

“Not until the pest issue is resolved and the harvest is in,” she said firmly. “But I’ll do it by the end of the year.”

Old Terry nodded. “Before the solstice. Acceptable.” She put out a hand. “Come along, then. Let’s go make the arrangement final.”

Mary Clare slipped her arm back through Annmar’s. “We’re going, too.”

Great Creator, the observant Mary Clare was a step ahead of him. He might have underestimated her. Daeryn crowded closer, and after a glance between the old woman and the redhead, Rivley followed.

Old Terry sighed. “Bring them along if you must. Link arms.”

They did, and Annmar grasped the lady’s extended hand. Daeryn kept his eyes open to watch. They didn’t move, but instantly all five of them stood in a rough underground passage carved through soil and winding among jutting rocks. His body tensed in preparation, his hackles rose. Next to him, Rivley stiffened, his fear as palpable as Mary Clare’s. She shifted closer, muttering something about the dark.
Of course, neither of them can see.

Daeryn studied the corridor in both directions, the rich scent of the earth filling his nostrils. Nothing of danger lurked nearby. And neither was it completely dark. Luminescent nodules in the walls cast enough light that the others would soon be able to see that for themselves, but he bent toward Mary Clare. “The tunnel is empty,” he murmured.

Annmar inhaled deeply and sighed in a satisfied way. Daeryn’s nose twitched at her relaxed, buoyant fragrance—and then he backed up. He had to stay alert.

“Like it, don’t you, my pet?” Old Terry said.

“It’s like…like drinking a well-blended tea.” She moved along the closest wall, sniffing again and running her hands over the dirt and rocks. “The aroma invigorates me.”

Great Creator, she sounded so wistful...happy even, picking at the dirt and studying pebbles she plucked from it.
How can she see them?
He’d lose her through these trips, he knew it, unless he found a way to make aboveground life more appealing. Annmar’s element might indeed be earth, like the hedge-rider’s…but wouldn’t it be a polecat’s, too? He’d never given the ground much thought. Roaming tunnels had always been a part of his life—particularly his life with Sylvan—like soaring for hours was Rivley’s.

Mary Clare scrunched her nose. “Stimulating, yes,” she muttered, “but for making me ready to run.” She frowned and glanced at Rivley. He stood apart from them, his arms twitching like he was about to flap them. She hesitated, the frown deepening. She stepped his way, then stopped and turned back to Daeryn.

Damn, their row was serious if Mary Clare wasn’t going to Riv for mutual comfort. He dipped his chin toward Annmar. “Take your cues from her. She’s in her element down here.”

Mary Clare nodded and stepped after Annmar as Old Terry drew her to a different spot along the wall.

“You see it, pet?” The hedge-rider gestured to a tangle of roots edging the curved surface of a worn rock. She stroked the surface, which, except for one duller, pockmarked edge, was shiny. Crystalline bits reflected the dim light and sparkled.

Annmar nodded. “I do.”

“What is it?” Mary Clare said. “Tell us what you see.”

“Blue threads encircle that rock, pulsing with a most vibrant light. The surrounding wall flickers like glowworms.” She sighed. “It’s beautiful. I wish you all could see it.”

The threads. That explained her ability to see here, but Daeryn didn’t like the way she sounded mesmerized. He edged closer to her.

“They like this type of rock,” Old Terry said. “Touch it and make your pledge.”

Annmar put her hand to the rock. “I will serve as guide to Old Terry for eighteen days.”

The old lady pressed her hand to the stone and cleared her throat. “I accept the service of Ann Marie Masterson in exchange for doodems and training I provide her. Bound together this day.”