The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (18 page)

“Miz Gere likes her drawings. Annmar could be here months. Longer, with encouragement.”

“She plans to leave.” Rivley tucked in his shirt and adjusted his braces. “Why should she stay if she doesn’t trust her Knack?”

Daeryn leaned forward. “That’s why she needs me.” The words rang with the certainty he felt in his heart.

Rivley closed his eyes. “You said this wasn’t the situation for pack. Using that voice—your pack voice—will not get me to do what you want.”

“Don’t tell me no,” Daeryn said. “We’ll make a plan—”

“No.” Eyes flashing open, Rivley backed a step. He flattened the feathers prickling up in his hair and spun to the door. “I’ll take care of seeing you healed, but that’s it.”

chapter twenty

Freshly bathed and
settled into the wingback chair, Annmar sipped her steaming tea. Bits of herb eddied in the pale liquid, their mossy, ocher and even pink flecks hitting her tongue with sweet, tang and mint. Refreshing, delicious…stalling.

Over the brim of the cup, she surveyed the tray Mary Clare had put together with Rivley helping at her elbow. More likely whispering Annmar’s secrets, because when the two left her at the base of her stairs, Mary Clare completed her good-bye with, “Don’t worry so. You’ll do just fine.”

Clearly she meant Daeryn’s drawing. Which wouldn’t take long, if Annmar just got started. The drawing was merely one—one of dozens she created on an average day. Yet the importance of this one had her stomach doing somersaults.

Several jars of the special jams glinted under her gas lamp. Annmar heaved a sigh and reached for the bread plate, but decided to refresh her tea first. In place of a teapot, they’d given her a hot water crock, complete with a compact machine that kept the crock heated. Mary Clare had laughingly told her their mechanic dreamed it up after many trips to the kitchen to reheat his forgotten tea. A motor below the hot brass surface puttered softly, with no oily smell. Rivley confirmed it had oil lubrication, though the engine ran more like a clock. That was clear, just as it’d been on the spider-like machines at the base of her stairway.

She’d sketch it first. Not a delay, but a warm-up. Gears, rods and pistons paralleled the hard lines of bones, tendons and muscles, after all. Annmar poured more hot water, opened her sketchbook and started drawing. Slender screws churned from openings in the base, whirling fine-toothed gears that pumped other rods around the delicate railings holding the urn in place.

A few more pencil strokes filled in a tiny swinging weight, completing the equivalent of a technical drawing. It wasn’t as if she had the skill to build one herself, but the visible components were displayed correctly. Each piece shone, placed precisely for aesthetics as well as function, as if the inventor acted more as an artist than mechanic. How different this exquisite device was from Mr. Shearing’s spewing engines.

Thoughts of him still made Annmar’s stomach lurch. She dropped her pencil on the table and picked up her cup. A test sip told her the tea had cooled, so she took a long draught. The fragrant liquid touched and soothed nerves as it spread through her.

She closed her eyes and brought up the image of Daeryn, his muscular calves and sturdy feet. Yes, she could make the drawing, but could she heal him?

Rivley seemed sure she could. So did Mary Clare. The carefree Daeryn had said,
No obligation
. This wasn’t a life-threatening injury… Still she wanted to help.

In seconds, Annmar had a jam jar open and bread topped by a mound of the amber gel containing hunks of peach. Pat’s peaches. Before she thought any more about it, Annmar bit into the sweet compote.

The jam launched her into a riot of flavor, summer sun, light breezes and fragrant flowers. She chewed, the sugar awakening her palate. Annmar took another bite, and another, her dream of summer growing. My, the wonder of it all. She cracked an eyelid and eyed the second slice of bread.

No. Daeryn’s foot hurt. She would do this.

Annmar wiped her fingers on the napkin and picked up her pencil. On a fresh page, she made a rough outline of a figure. A figure running, what Daeryn needed to be able to do. The longer strands of his dark hair would be blowing back…no, whipping around his face as he turned to smile at her.

Ah, no…why do I think he would do that?

That last smile he’d given her…it was hopeful, so she let her flying hand create the smile, half-blocked by dashes of hair across his cheek. The pencil proceeded down his body, filling it out. She was as curious about her ability to do this as she was about Daeryn himself. How old was he? Why did he choose to work at night? And why here? He didn’t appear to have a sweetheart, despite the close playfulness she’d seen with one of those dark-haired girls.

Thoughts of them made Annmar’s pencil hesitate. They fit into this rough country life so much better than she did.

Annmar squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took a long breath. Summer fluttered by—the heat of the sun, the smells of the earth, the crackling of the stiff peach leaves trembling against each other in the wind, and Pat with hair flowing over her shoulders and her arms reaching. The tree nymph beckoned her, a mournful smile on her normally peaceful face.

Annmar wiped at her eyes. She would not let Jac be right. She would last this trial, long enough to get her answers about her Knack. And make friends, if not something more with Daeryn. Mary Clare was proof that not everyone found her too different to relate to. She refocused her gaze on the page.

The lines had taken on a bit of a blue tint in the gaslight. She hadn’t noticed that happening before. She pushed the distraction aside. Her pencil tip traced the edge of Daeryn’s right foot, darkening the sole of his lifting heel as he ran.

* * *

Waiting was killing
Daeryn. Stuck in this bed, he had far too much time to think. About Annmar. About Rivley telling him no. About everything else that damn cluck had to bring up. About the gildan.

So think. What else did the Elders throw at us during the Determination Trial?

That night three years ago was a blur of misery and pain. The Elders had made it clear that losing Sylvan was only part of the reason they’d restricted Rivley and him in a gildan. Only the two of them, the alpha and the beta, not any of the other packmates.

Of all the pronouncements, the line about leading stood out to Daeryn because he’d fumed over it. He’d been a good pack leader. His pack served their shifts on the Borderlands Protective Chain without fail. Over their two years running guard, his pack turned away many Outsiders from the OverEdge Gateway without the humans ever reaching the rim, let alone learning a hidden valley lay within those spell-protected ridges. Even through member changes, his team had performed their duties in harmony. So what problems did the Elders see that he couldn’t?

Daeryn closed his eyes and let his head fall to the pillow. Everyone said Sylvan’s death had been an accident, so the problem had to be elsewhere. With him…Rivley…or things they had done. They needed to understand these lessons, otherwise the Elders’ limited directions would never be clear. He’d counted on Rivley to grasp their reasons. If he didn’t…

Daeryn groaned. Hell. They could work on the lessons but if they ended up chasing their tails, they’d have to make a trip down to Rockbridge to see their enclave Elders. Between the harvest’s end and winter setting in, if they wanted to begin soon.

And he wanted to begin, because Annmar’s scent had his head tangled in knots.

Daeryn looked up as light footsteps sounded in the hall. The sickroom door opened and Rivley slipped in. “Finally,” Daeryn growled. “Decided to have a roll while I’m waiting with my teeth on edge here?”

Rivley looked down his lean legs. “Avians don’t roll,” he muttered, but brushed off his trouser knees and ran a hand around his waistband, checking his shirttails. Only then did he flop into the wing chair closest to the bed.

Daeryn rolled his eyes. “Mary Clare did notice then.”

“Felt—er, saw you better so soon. I had to give over the whole story to ensure she’d help get the girl calmed and self-assured again. Her Knack won’t be worth anything if she hesitates to use it.”

“So you left her persuaded she has the talent?”

Rivley nodded. “And after we saw her to her room access, Mary Clare and I had a long talk—”

Daeryn snickered.

Rivley glared. “Shut up about it, would you? Mary Clare’s motivated to keep the secret. She likes the girl and wants her to stay.”

“She likes you, you mean.”

Rivley wrinkled his nose. “Parts of me. We’ve agreed—”

“To remain friends. I know.” Daeryn clamped his jaws on his own opinion of how they kept each other from finding real suitors. “But keep her liking those parts.”

“No need to worry about that.” He waved a hand to cut off the conversation, then crossed his arms. “We’ll go with the version of you being a fast healer. Just pray to the Creator the girl’s gift extends to the other Rockbridge resident if those weird vermin manage to take a swipe at me, not just the fellow she’s got her eye on.”

Daeryn’s chest swelled with hope. “Really? You think she does?”

Rivley snorted. “Glad to see you do have an ounce of humble about you.”

“Ah, humble. It’s gotten you so far with the females. You could take a lesson from—”

Scritch!

Their gazes met. Rivley rolled his eyes, but Daeryn shrugged. “Let her in.”

Rivley’s brow quirked.

He shouldn’t order the avian. They were no longer pack, but old habits were hard to break. Daeryn added, “Please?”

Rivley pushed himself out of the chair and leaned in. “It’s not your manners I’m protesting,” he hissed. “Maraquin comes in…it is Maraquin, isn’t it?”

Daeryn raised his nose, sniffed and nodded.

“Maraquin comes in here, and guaranteed she’s in your bed. Is that what you want?
Who
you want? The girl—”

“Is off-limits until she tells me so.” Despite his quick retort, disappointment cut through Daeryn. Too bad it wasn’t Annmar coming to his door. But that might not be for some time, if ever. He clenched his abdominal muscles to quell the hopeless feeling and faced Rivley with a steady gaze. “We’re both injured. Maraquin is here because Jac is on duty. She’s lonely. For us mammals it’s a companionship thing, cuddling…” Uh, most of the time. “Assurance, that’s all.” That’s all it’d be tonight.

Rivley crossed his arms, a superior look upon his face.

“What? A male’s virility attracts a good mate.” But as soon as he said it, Daeryn’s gut squirmed.

“In Basin terms. Not by city terms.”

“And what makes you an expert?”

“I know you hate her, but Mary Clare is closer to human than we are. She rants about your casual antics with that wolf. She’d never put up with it, so certainly that new girl won’t.”

“What I do is no business of—” Daeryn bit his tongue. He didn’t need to get in a row with his best friend. Not because of what Mary Clare thought of him, but because Riv was defending Annmar, just like they were…pack. Great Creator. The fellow had a point. A number of them probably. Playing around with Maraquin wasn’t going anywhere. If he wanted Annmar, he had to resolve his gildan with Rivley first. Which would happen only if he acted like a leader. Daeryn rolled his head back. Easier said than done. But until he took the first step—

“Fine. Kid yourself.” Rivley crossed the stone floor, almost in a stomp, and opened the door. His ire flooded the room, no hiding it. From Maraquin either.

Two limping paces into the room, and the black-furred wolf stopped on three paws and swung her long head toward Rivley. Her pale yellow eyes flashed anger.

Daeryn cringed. That lupine look wasn’t good, more Jac’s personality than Maraquin’s. She must have heard their conversation.
Step back,
he silently willed Rivley.

Instead, Rivley clicked deep in his throat.

Lips curled, Maraquin darted forward to nip.

With lightning reflexes, Rivley leaped back and smacked her snout in the same movement. “Nice try.”

“Cut it out,” Daeryn snapped, and promptly cringed. Rivley would surely bristle. Too authoritative. Not pack. Friends. “What’s with you two?”

Maraquin had started at his yell. She shook herself, a bit awkwardly. Raw flesh showed through missing patches of fur on her shoulder. The full impact of her scent hit him. Angst and agitation. Why?

She gave Rivley another look, one with no hint of apology, and limped toward the bed. Rivley never had been on personal terms with either of the wolves. Avian species aside, his personality was too reserved for them to handle. Definitely not the rough-and-tumble type. As Rivley said himself, avians didn’t roll.

Daeryn needed to diffuse the mood. “Hey, Maraquin. How you feeling tonight?”

Her head swung to him and sank low. Maraquin blinked, and when her eyes opened again, their look had changed to sorrow. Her shoulders shrugged up and dropped with a flinch. She turned her gaze on the end of the bed.

He bent his knees and pulled his injured foot out of the way just before she jumped onto the white blanket. After circling twice, she lay down and lowered her head to her crossed paws. She kept Rivley directly in her line of sight, daring him to say anything.

Daeryn looked from the wolf to his stony-faced friend. Mimicking Maraquin, he shrugged one shoulder. “It’s night. Time for us to be awake. Especially after sleeping all day.”

Rivley cocked a superior brow. “Right. You don’t need me.” He stepped through the doorway, closed the door and stomped off.

Maraquin raised her head and they listened as the outer door banged closed and Rivley’s feet drummed on the paving stones, crunched over the gravel and faded.

Then the wolf wiggled. Her body elongated, her fur coat dwindled to a short length, except over her head where her lowering ears disappeared into thick hair. She licked her lips and her tongue shrank back into a human mouth, a transformation he’d seen thousands of times when the team changed.