The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (23 page)

“And your older sister?”

“Mary Alice isn’t a Knack-bearer.” At Annmar’s questioning brow, Mary Clare smiled. “It doesn’t pass to everyone. But her beau has a Knack, and they’re off in Derby pretending to be normal while he apprentices to a clockmaker. They plan to bring the trade back. Like I said, I’m saving up to visit her before they return. Maybe try my hand at a position there. My Knack is easy enough to hide.” She waved to the storefront before them. “I simply need to dress and act the part of an Outsider, just as you’re about to adopt a farm appearance so at tomorrow’s Market Day no one will know any different.”

Farm supplies filled Davies’ displays, including gentlemen’s clothing from suits to everyday clothes. And of course, bib-and-brace trousers and flannel shirts.

“I think the blue one would be perfect for your eyes. Or perhaps the rose, but you’ll get a lot of teasing wearing a light color that readily shows the dirt. Although, with your skirts and fancy shoes, you’ve already been tagged prim.”

Ugh. It figured people were talking about her. Annmar shook the thought away. She had Mary Clare, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, arms linked like they’d been bosom friends for ages. It was a comfort in all the newness.

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Mary Clare said quietly. “The others will look out for you.”

“Really?” She didn’t dare ask if this included Jac.

“Or they’ll have me to answer to.” She laughed. “Really. They will. You’re perfectly safe in Miz Gere’s fold.”

True, she had her secure room, Mary Clare to teach her, Mrs. Betsy overseeing her work. And how could she forget her rescuer, Rivley? In only two days she’d learned enough about her Knack that by the end of the trial she might never have to worry about just being one of Mr. Shearing’s cogs.

The shirts were nice pastel shades, yet Annmar’s gaze landed on another shirt and wouldn’t move off. Not even its location tucked within a folded stack hid the bright yellow. A maize. What a thing to choose. Annmar sighed.

Mary Clare tugged her arm. “Which one?”

“Oh, it’s much too forward.”

“Honey, forward is good. Those mourning clothes aren’t doing a thing for you.”

Annmar pulled her gaze from the inappropriately beautiful color and searched Mary Clare’s frank expression for any hint of teasing. There was none. Dressing in a bold shirt—a
man’s
shirt—was such an improper thing to do, and yet here she could. Just like with the selection of underclothes, in Blighted Basin the choice was hers. Annmar laughed. “What are we waiting for? Let’s shop.”

Chapter twenty-five

Daeryn swung his
crutches through the doors of the workshop, his injured foot swaddled in a bandage and held aloft. Inside, Rivley glanced up from wrestling with the last leg on a spider machine.

“Damn that Henry. I’d like to kick his tail feathers for ruining my spider.” Rivley dropped a wrench and yanked until the jointed leg came loose.

“That’s why you aren’t in charge,” Daeryn said. “People make mistakes. You’ve got to be more tolerant.”

Rivley sat back on his heels. “All it takes is a little observation. Anyone with even human eyesight could see this machine was struggling. Look at it. Worked to its last breath before the boy brought it in.”

The legless body of the machine cradled on sawhorses didn’t look like much. “Most of us don’t think of these spiders as pets like you do. Henry is young. He’ll learn. Leave that to Master Brightwell, and do your part to salvage the equipment. It’s not dead.”

“Nearly,” Rivley muttered. “Oil is like blood for them. No oil, no life.” He picked up one of the legs and sat with it on a nearby crate. “Guess you’ve answered any question about your healing.” He pulled a rubbish can between his feet and started wiping the leg’s joints with a rag. Dirt rained down into the metal bucket.

Daeryn shrugged. “Maybe.” He shifted the crutches to one hand. When Rivley looked up, he rocked slightly as if it hurt, then walked across the room and pivoted with a grin. “Lying low until Annmar tells me she’s comfortable with her Knack.”

Rivley whistled his approval. “That girl has some powerful Knack. But you’re an idiot. Someone could have seen you walk on it.”

“Give me some credit. No one’s nearby.” Daeryn leaned against a post to watch Rivley work. “Why are you so grumpy? I’m the one who lost a girl this morning.”

“You didn’t have her.”

Ouch. “Lost my chance at a girl, then. Same thing.”

Rivley ignored him. He dropped the rag, picked up a clean one and the oilcan. He dripped oil over each joint and watched it soak around the grime.

The tedious cleaning of the machine was too much for Daeryn when more important matters had to be resolved. He dragged over another crate. “Look, I know I blew it, but do you think I have any hope?”

“Can’t say. Human females…” Rivley shrugged.

“But of any ’cambire I know, you’ve had the most success with females. Any number of them have gone breathless under your attention. You just don’t choose to go after many of them.” And the one Riv did choose, Mary Clare, had to be the most difficult of all humans to—“How do you and Mary Clare do so well together?”

Rivley fairly scrubbed the metal leg.

Daeryn leaned across and nudged him. “You and Mary Clare on the outs again?” When Rivley scowled in his direction, Daeryn kept his gaze steady. While he’d never gotten on with Mary Clare, he respected Rivley’s feelings for her. To a point. She didn’t live by ’cambire rules.

Rivley nodded.

“The right one hasn’t come along for you,” he said. “She will.”

Rivley went back to spreading oil over the leg’s joints.

If Riv, who tried his damnedest with Mary Clare, couldn’t succeed, then why did Daeryn think he had any chance with Annmar? Annmar wasn’t just a human female, she was also a city one. With city rules. ’Cambire denning wasn’t even heard of there. This morning, he’d told Rivley about his amiable breakup with Maraquin. “Surely Annmar can’t blame us for dropping off when we both hurt so much.”

But apparently Riv didn’t think their injuries were a worthy excuse. The avian set aside the spider leg and picked up another, ignoring Daeryn.

Daeryn sighed. Even if all he’d done was normal by his standards, it had scared Annmar off. Worse than scaring her off, he’d made her cry. “Even trying to stop trouble, I cause it.”

“Might be easier to stick with our kind.” Rivley cast him an eye roll.

“For that, I’d have to go home—”

“Don’t you dare.” Jac stood in the doorway. She lifted a wad of black fur in each hand. “Leaving now for
any
reason will land you deep on my shit list. Make no mistake, I will hunt you down.”

Daeryn snorted, but her point stuck. He’d be viewed as a deserter. Almost as bad as a pack member going off-mark. His gaze trailed to the mangled carcasses in Jac’s hands. “Are those pests?” He shot to his feet, but Rivley was faster, his spider leg clattering into the bucket as he grabbed Daeryn’s arm. His steel grip stopped Daeryn from stepping forward.

“She’ll bring them to you,” Rivley said. “No need to walk on your injured foot.”

Hell. He’d nearly given the game away, all over finally seeing this damned pest. Daeryn gave Rivley a look of thanks and sank back onto his crate.

“Believe me, it’s not worth hurting yourself over.” Jac sniffed and offered them each a body she’d kept from touching her bib-and-brace. “Not enough to call a carcass, let alone a stoat or a rabbit or whatever combination it might be.”

Daeryn pinched an ear and one foot and pulled it this way and that, trying to get the shape, but the damned thing was torn up. Rivley’s was the same. The thick fur and incisors were exactly as he remembered them. In fact, the teeth seemed even bigger in this slack jaw. The remaining limbs bore a running mammal’s muscles and paws. “Couldn’t you have brought better ones?”

“Hardly. Of the eleven the day guards found, these are the best. The others…” She grimaced and shook her head.

Daeryn gave it a sniff. The scent was spot-on—that weird clean smell. “Once I can get out there, I’m checking the lot. I swear those things had two heads apiece.”

“The way those ropens shred them, we’ll never know,” Jac huffed. “That’s how they can claim they killed twenty.”

“Were they counting heads or pelts?” Rivley asked. “Who checked the count?”

“Miz Gere and Famil.”

They handed back the carcasses. “It’s like they don’t want us to identify the vermin,” Rivley said.

Jac’s eyes narrowed. “Huh. Suppose that shouldn’t surprise me on top of everything else I had to put up with.”

Uh oh, sounded like there was more to report than Jac had revealed at the morning meeting. “Tell me.”

She blew out an exasperated puff of air, clearly ready to vent now that she’d slept a few hours. “Though Paet
finally
kept to his assigned section, the bastard found every excuse to complain: how the team should be run, the fields divided and the assignments rearranged. He
reported
catching almost as many as Maxillon, but how many more pests would be dead if he’d just focused on hunting them?”

Guilt churned Daeryn’s gut. He darted a look to Rivley, who’d stepped back out of Jac’s line of sight. His best friend shook his head. Daeryn clenched his hands and did the same, showing sympathy while his instincts screamed. With his foot healed, he could run. He could resume his leadership. With their team numbers increased, the bastards would behave and they’d clear their fields. “Maybe tonight will be better? Second time out, getting the lay of the sections, the rhythm of the rotations.”

“Maybe.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she didn’t look him in the eye, but most telling was her agitated scent. Jac was hedging her bets. Daeryn knocked her boot with the tip of one crutch.

Her lip curled. “Instead of being able to do much hunting of my own, I’m trotted around in circles,” Jac blurted out. “And the bastard delights in sneaking up on me. You’d think it’d be impossible with wings the size of bedsheets, but that leathery skin is as quiet as owls’ wings. I feel his gaze first, and it’s like Paet knows I have. By the time I turn, he’s swooping down, landing and changing, always one step ahead of me. Once, he caught a creature feet from me.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “It made me ill, seeing him tear…”

“Are these bat things flying canines or felines, then?” Rivley asked before Daeryn could, though he hoped his voice wouldn’t have come out pitched that high.

“Canine.” Jac wrinkled her nose. “Both show so much wolf in their changing forms, it’s like being among my gran’s pack again, and believe me, that’s not a pleasant feeling either.” Her body shuddered like it was in ’cambire form. “Anyway, the point is Paet treats the job like a lark, and Maxillon nearly so. Far into the middle section, we’re seeing vermin regularly.” Her head lifted. “We’re not stopping them, Dae.”

His gut twisted tighter. “But you’re catching—”

“Paet had me so turned around, I wasn’t sure until I’d slept. I just told Miz Gere more have to be arriving. On the wing, those ropens have the better view, so I’ll ask them to compare last night with tonight’s numbers.”

“Maraquin?”

“Will hunt tonight.” Her gaze dropped to his foot. “But not you. Or Terrent.”

Hell, for the first time in the two and a half years he’d been on the team, Jac’s voice actually carried a note of regret. At least he’d had plenty of time this morning to think about how to help, and how to return. “I spoke with James. He’s available and said he’d grab a nap this afternoon.
The pests are turning up by midnight?”

She nodded. “I spotted Maxillon hovering then. I caught my first a quarter hour later.”

“I’ll tell him at dinner to find you by then. Put him in the middle section with Mar, and you hunt the north section to keep an eye on the bastards.
Are the pests always coming in from the northeast?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re using those paths we take into the Davies’ woodlot.” Her eyes had taken on a glint and Jac added pointedly, “I haven’t been up there again to check.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” He swung a hand to brush off any hard feelings. “I’m just trying to get a better grasp on their habits. Focus the guards up north. Check those woods if you have the chance.” His plan was falling into place. “I’ll see how I do tomorrow with the foot, but it’s looking good for me being out.”

Her head tilted like she was going to laugh, but Jac pressed her lips into a line and nodded. She began to turn, stopped, her nostrils flaring to sniff. “Who is…?”

Daeryn did the same. “Females.” Daeryn snatched up the crutches and got to his feet, but Rivley and Jac were already at the doorway. Beyond them, Mary Clare and another girl approached, both carrying paper-wrapped bundles. Who was the second? The strong smell of new fabric covered her scent, so he peered at—

By the Path, it was Annmar, her earthy, sweet grass scent muddled by a new bib-and-brace. She wore the garb of most farmworkers, with a straw hat covering her head, but her hair still hung in curls, drawn back from her face. Her blue eyes darted from Rivley stepping aside, to Jac…who didn’t.

“If you think that works as camouflage,” Jac said in a low voice, “you’re wrong. Everyone still knows you’re an Outsider. Even those who can’t smell the stink of city.”

Mary Clare’s face twisted in anger, but Annmar said, “I’m not hiding.” She didn’t drop her gaze. “Let me do my job, and I’ll stay out of your way so you can do yours.”

Jac’s hands lifted slightly, each still holding the black fur of a pest. “Damned right you will.” She pushed by Annmar, knocking one of her packages to the ground. Jac didn’t stop to help, but paused at the doorway. “The sooner those labels are done, the sooner you’re out of our fur.” With that, she bounded away across the farmyard.

Mary Clare’s mouth sagged open, and she turned to stare after Jac. Then she shook her red curls and picked up the paper bundle. “Damn, if she doesn’t have some nerve. But you did great, Annmar. That’s as close to telling off Jac as anyone gets.”

Daeryn met Rivley’s gaze. “Er, I’d suggest steering clear of Jac. She’s facing other problems.”

“Yet she’ll still make time to pick on me?” Annmar asked with a wry smile.

“Apparently,” Rivley said.

Giving a brief look to the avian, Mary Clare’s lips crooked in a grimace, then she turned to Daeryn. “You’re up.”

He tapped the crutches. “Came over on these.” He glanced between the two girls, trying not to stare at Annmar. She looked less formal, younger, more approachable…right, maybe if Maraquin had left once they’d agreed they wouldn’t have sex with each other anymore…and he didn’t have Miz Gere’s warning to honor. Too late Daeryn realized he was still tapping his fingers. He cleared his throat. “My foot is healed.”

Mary Clare gave a squeak of excitement and jostled Annmar with a half hug.

“Annmar, thank you,” Daeryn said. “I appreciate what you did.”

“You’re welcome.” She nodded, her face devoid of emotion.

“I, er, I’m sorry about putting you off this morning.”

She turned. “We…I have to go…put these away.” Hugging her packages, she headed to the machinery storage opposite the workroom.

Mary Clare threw him a questioning look, but scooted after Annmar. “Wait.”

They had a whispered conversation, then grasped hands. The two walked past the equipment to a jumbled mess at the base of the old staircase. Ah, her room access. She’d opened it for Mary Clare. Those two had fast become friends.

Yet the sight of the girls together left a hollow feeling in him, like he’d missed a meal. “Er, that didn’t go well, did it?” Daeryn slowly returned to his seat on the crate.

Rivley dropped back onto his crate. They fell into silence except for dirt hitting the metal bucket under Rivley’s wiping.