Threats of Sky and Sea Read online

  I don’t need any further encouragement. In my haste to get away, I scramble backward on my hands and knees. I’m still afraid to turn my back on them, but I rise to my feet and take off for home at a sprint before she can change her mind about releasing me.

  Her voice follows me as I run. “Bear in mind what we’ve spoken of,” she calls. “I don’t do well with disappointment.”

  One thing I could have told her that would have been the truth: she’s not someone I’ll soon forget.

  Two

  It’s a relief to stumble back over the familiar forest floor, to put distance between the Elementals and me. My muscles relax with every step I take toward the tavern. As Elementals go, Piggy would have been bad enough, but that woman… There had been an almost manic gleam in her eye. She’d enjoyed scaring me to within an inch of my life. I shudder.

  The rushing sound of the river is as welcome to me as the sound of the closing bell after a particularly grueling shift in the tavern. The swinging sign over the doorway that depicts an arched bridge and a woman in a headdress, even more so.

  Most days, I privately think that the woman’s pinched expression looks more like she hasn’t used the privy in a while than anything else, but today it seems a sweet greeting as I come upon the derelict Bridge and Duchess. I’ve never been so glad to see it.

  It’s hardly the height to which all inns aspire, but it’s home. Three stories tall, but a slim building, it looks as though a sudden rainstorm might send it toppling to the ground. It’s proved the assumption wrong time after time. I hope it continues to fault it.

  I push my way inside, the door giving a mighty wail of protest. Da’s already behind the bar. His bald head reflects the silvery sunlight that filters in through the windows as he pulls tankards for the night’s use and stacks them on top of the bar.

  “About time!” he calls.

  I shrug out of the coat I borrowed from him and hang it on the coat rack just inside the door. It’s still morning. It seems like I’ve been in the woods for days. I try to quell my trembling from a combination of cold and death threats.

  “I hope you’re plenty ready to work,” Da continues, oblivious to my shivers. The tinkle of pewter as the drinkware clanks together plays a background to his words. “Jowyck’s wife sent word that he’s been ill with the drink for two days now, so they won’t be serving any of their brew tonight. We should have quite the crowd. I’ve fixed up a rabbit stew to warm everyone’s bones. Think we’ll get snow soon?”

  “I’d bet on it.”

  “Don’t go promising our coins away,” he says.

  I ease myself onto a stool before the counter. This is good. This is a normal conversation. I can forget that the Elementals ever happened.

  “It was only a joke, Da. I’d never gamble our profits.” We barely keep the tavern running as it is.

  “A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed then. But that’s good news, the snow. Might be that people will be wanting to avoid the cold by staying here. We’ll get ‘em good and soused and, with luck, have a few rooms let tonight. But we won’t be able to keep them here if we can’t keep the place warm, so I hope you’ve got that firewood.”

  The firewood. Damn. I remember where I left it: set beside my axe. The entire reason for my presence in the Makers-forsaken wood in the first place.

  “N-no.” I bite down on my chattering teeth and try to keep my feelings from squirming their way into my voice. “Got distracted. Sorry, Da.”

  “Distracted?” Da’s head pops up and gives me a hard look, brows wrinkling.

  I don’t fidget. It would be a dead giveaway. I tell Da just about everything, but I don’t need to worry him with this. Now that he’s over the bar, I can see the tufts of gray hair still left near his ears and the matching mustache that rests above his lip. He says his hair used to be a reddish-brown like mine, but time weeded the color away from him. I’ve wondered before if he had his hair shorn as mine is or if he was the vain sort, wearing it long and tying it back.

  “You’ve been gone nigh on two hours, Breena Rose. What in Egria’s green pastures distracted you for that long?”

  I met a few Elementals and had a little romp about the woods, Da. Didn’t I tell you that was the plan? The sarcasm is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it slip back, remembering the promise the Rider made.

  “Helped someone get back to the village,” I say instead.

  “Ah.” The confusion on Da’s face clears. “Bet that cost you a fair bit of patience,” he says, winking at me.

  I force a laugh and roll my eyes. “You’ve no idea.” None.

  “Not everyone finds their way to the river as easily as you, my girl.” He disappears below the bar again. “Best be off though. We really do need the wood for a fire tonight.”

  “Right.” I slip the coat back on and don my fear with it. The coat is still cold to the touch. I don’t want to return to the forest where the Elementals might be waiting, but there’s nothing for it. We need the firewood and we need it soon.

  Later that night, I’m grateful for the rare crowd that floods into The Bridge and Duchess. The work helps take my mind off of things. I’ve barely had time to pause to wipe the sweat that forms on my brow between filling tankards.

  Some men might balk at the idea of their daughters working a bar, but thankfully Da’s not one of them. I ladle stew into a bowl for a hungry patron. I like contributing to our livelihood, and the pace of serving in the tavern isn’t bad either.

  “Thom,” the customer in front of me says to his comrade. Bits of chicken hang in his beard, and he wipes his sleeve over his mouth. He’s slopped a fair bit of stew onto his shirt collar as well but isn’t too fussed about cleaning that up. “Would you believe it if I told you I was a Shaker?”

  My ladle stills. I’ve moved down the counter and I’m three patrons away from him, but his whisper drifts to me. Is this man the truant that the Air Rider’s hunting party was after? An Earth Elemental? I eye him, heart speeding up when I realize that he’s only one of many unfamiliar faces here tonight. They’re part of a band of travelers heading north to Clavins. Maybe the truant isn’t someone I’ve known my entire life.

  Guilt swamps over me at the relief that thought brings. I should still warn him.

  But I can’t.

  “Shut it, Jerald,” Thom says, darting a look around. Moving closer, I drop my eyes. I don’t need them thinking I’m eavesdropping. Thom’s voice lowers to a hoarse whisper. “You haven’t had a Reveal, have you?”

  “Nooo,” Jerald draws out with a sly grin. “It’s only your Ma swore she felt the earth move when she was with me last night.”

  Thom shoves him, groaning. “Right. And I’m the Duke of Secan.” He takes another swig of his ale.

  I should have guessed it was only a joke. I roll my eyes and move on. I’m still no closer to knowing who the truant is.

  Not that I can help them anyway.

  I swipe my graying rag at an unidentifiable bit of food someone’s left behind and push the thought aside. “What’ll you have?” I ask of the scruffy man who’s elbowed another aside for a stool at the counter.

  It’s, by and large, a pointless question. The Bridge and Duchess only has one kind of ale in its barrels, but the larger the customer’s pockets, the less it gets watered down.

  “Your finest ale.” He hiccups, but thumps a silver coin down.

  He’ll be wanting the ale with less water then. I grab a clean glass and retrieve the requested beverage.

  I fill four tankards while I’m at the spout and slide from behind the counter to wait on the tables. They’ve been neglected since there’s been a run on the bar. Hustling the drinks off to the different seats that they belong to, I keep an eye on the sloshing liquid near the brim of the cups. It’s a point of pride for me that I rarely spill a drop now. When I first started serving in the tavern, I was twelve. Still in my child’s skirts and tripping about in the pretty slippers I’d begged for on Market Day. Back then, it ha
d been a miracle if I made it to a table with one glass I carried still full.

  The fire in the hearth jumps a bit higher, and I eye it nervously.

  None of that, I silently warn myself. I can’t go overthinking everything. Nature doesn’t always do what you expect. That doesn’t mean that Elementals are involved.

  Rushing about has taken my mind off of things a bit, true enough, but I haven’t managed to put the incident out of my mind completely.

  I’m not even sure which type of Elemental the mysterious truant is. It could be any of the four elements. A chill runs through me. It could be anyone.

  The tavern’s full of people I’ve never seen before, travelers passing through who heard the raucous gathering of Abeline villagers inside and sought to fill their stomachs with warm food and drink. I set a tankard in front of a woman perched on a brute’s lap in the corner. There’s a mole above her upper lip, and she adjusts her spectacular cleavage. I don’t know her either. My troubled imagination turns on me as the woman trails a suggestive finger over the man’s collarbone.

  If it’s her maybe the woman will turn out to be a Shaker, and the moment the man spurns her advances, the ground will quake beneath our feet. Or—my mind spins me a story as I collect their discarded bowls and scurry back toward the kitchen—perhaps the brute’s a Thrower and he’ll send water spiraling toward the flames, leaving us blanketed in darkness while he makes a getaway with the night’s profits.

  I keep a sharp eye out after that thought occurs to me. Elemental or not, we can’t afford to let any coin slip away.

  The customers are slinging back drinks faster than I can carry them. I pause to collect another empty mug. I’ve been called “barmaid,” “brat,” and “wench” more times than I can count tonight.

  Despite the fact that we’ll likely earn a decent profit for a change, I long for the tavern to be quiet, filled with only the crowd of regulars. At least they call me “Bree.” But they’re few and far between tonight—though I think I spot Jowyck, the rival village brewer, ducking into a back corner. I’d know those wiry gray curls anywhere. Wonder if his wife knows he’s “recovered” enough to come have a drink.

  Da disappeared into the kitchen earlier tonight, claiming to be checking on the stew. Our customer’s stomachs are filled, but still—I maneuver around a puddle on the floor—an extra pair of hands delivering drinks would be appreciated. I take a moment and pause, slipping behind the counter to rotate my ankle. My feet are beginning to ache.

  They’d ache that much more if the Rider had made good on her threat to break them.

  I don’t have the time or the patience to wallow in my worries right now. With effort, I throw the thought away and take a moment for myself to cool off, customers be damned. It’s like a waterfall is running down my back from all the sweat.

  A regular sneaks in. Break’s over. I know just what to get Bitsi; she likes the weak ale. I grab a mug.

  “Crowded in here.” Da’s voice comes from just behind me.

  Despite myself, I jump.

  He startled me. It’s growing so loud that I barely heard his quiet voice over the din of clanking drinks and booming laughter. Lucky it’s only him. I’d have my own hide if some petty little pocket-filcher snuck behind the counter and got away with our earnings.

  “You didn’t expect anything else, surely,” I say, a little rattled. “Don’t you know the Bridge and Duchess is the only place to be tonight?”

  Next to the taps, Da balances a stool on two legs. His expression is contorted in concentration, narrow nose wrinkled. I can’t help but be amused, but still…

  “Fine time for you to play a game with the furniture.”

  The legs clatter back to the ground. “I’m not playing games,” he says, affronted. “I’m testing the sturdiness of our seats.” He pauses and sweeps an examining eye over me. I don’t let my worries show on my face. “I’ve been busy in the kitchen. Are you all right, Breena?”

  “Fine,” I say irritably. My face is too telling. I push a sweaty strand of hair from my face and lean to the side to ease the strain in my back. “Oh no, please, don’t get up.” I put syrup in my voice as Da continues to sit. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you. You might lose what little hair you have left.”

  Da waves an airy hand. “I trust you to handle things. Carry on.”

  “Yes, your lordship.” It’s muttered beneath my breath.

  Da catches it and shoots me a grin. “I suppose I can help a little peasant like you out.”

  Well, thank the Makers for their small blessings then.

  He hops from his seat, chucks me under the chin, and winks. I laugh, shoving his hands away. Grabbing two mugs, Da fills them to the brim and shouts theatrically. “Oy! Who’ll trade me a coin or two for these? Someone please relieve me of my heavy burden.”

  The patrons greet him with shouts and cheers.

  I shake my head as I whisk trays from vacated seats at the counter. Da always could playact better than anyone else I know, stepping into whatever role he deems appropriate with ease. He’ll never change. I’d never want him to.

  With two sets of hands, the night speeds by. Da takes one side of the bar, and I take the other. But when he reaches for the pulley of the tavern’s bell, I sag with relief. There’s not a single part of my body that isn’t aching. I scratch at my head. I swear even my hair hurts.

  “Settle up!” Da’s voice rings out after the bell. Coins jangle amidst several grumbles. “Stop your wailing. It’s practically the new day,” Da tells one prune of man who’s trying to wheedle his way into “just one more.”

  When the dimly lit tavern is finally clear of anyone who doesn’t belong there, Da grabs the sack of the night’s profits for us to count out, while I let myself fall, stomach-first, onto a bench. My breeches will be pulled even more than they already are from the splinters in the wood, but I can’t bring myself to care.

  “I’m dying,” I groan. “The Makers are calling me home. I can see the light of the Great Beyond.” I turn on my side to look at Da through one eye. “Tell the cat I loved her.”

  “We haven’t got a cat.”

  “There’s that stray that’s been lurking about. She’s taken a shine to me.”

  “Ah. Well then. Tell her yourself when you see her in the morn.”

  “No sympathy for those at death’s door. I see how it is.” I peer at the modest pile of copper, silver, and a hint of gold. The hustle in my step tonight may have been worth it. “How’d we do?”

  “You get to eat another day.”

  I stretch, sitting up. “That’s a comfort. Do I get to enjoy a roof over my head with my meal?”

  I meant to keep my tone light, joking, but something must bely the stress of my day because Da looks up sharply from the pile and eyes me.

  “Things aren’t all that bad for us, Breena Rose.”

  He’s lying. I look away in annoyance. I hate it when he does that—when he coddles me—mostly because it’s so rare an occurrence. Da and I are business partners. I know the state of things: the Bridge and Duchess breaks even most nights, but only just. A night we turn an actual profit should be cause for celebration.

  I look back at Da’s carefully benign expression. He’ll never admit to any of that. He wants only to protect me from the truth of things. I drop the subject. “Any rooms let tonight?”

  “Not a one. The travelers preferred to camp in the cold and save their coin for drink.” Da stands and rolls his neck. “It’s off to bed with me. If you’ll do the sweep up, I’ll do the morning scrub down.”

  I agree, and he musses my hair before heading upstairs.

  Surveying the night’s damage, I don’t think it’s too much to hope that the sweep up won’t take long. The windows are all intact. That’s definitely positive. There’s a broken chair in the corner, but I’m fairly sure it’s the same one we’ve been putting back together at least once a week for the past month. Da always settles it just so, balanced so that it looks all right in
its spot of shadow. But whenever someone heavier than a lady’s peacock plume takes their seat there, down it goes again. It may be time to chuck it for firewood.

  Heaving a sigh, I take up the broom to push the glass, scraps of half-chewed food, and probably a few rat droppings into a pile. I keep telling Da we can spare a few bits of coin for some traps, but he insists the vermin add to The Bridge and Duchess’s “roguish charm.”

  The ache in my back makes me slower than usual; I’m unwilling to push my body for more speed after the day I’ve had. Unfortunately, the tedious work leaves plenty of time for me to ruminate on its events.

  How exactly did the king’s little hunting squad know to look in Abeline for the truant? I wonder. Is it some sort of magic, like the fire scrying that priestesses do in the old myths? Simple investigation? Did they hear a rumor and follow it up? Or—I hesitate, the broom’s bristles hovering over the floor—is it the Rider’s doing? Does she just sift through the air for whispers of an Elemental? If that’s the case, she could know anything she wished.

  And she’s clearly the leader of the three. Piggy just enjoys the cruelty of the job; he wears it like a medal of honor. Tregle’s plainly afraid of the other two. So afraid that he wouldn’t even try to help me. Coward.

  My dealings with them are over now. The thought is a small comfort as I empty a pile of dirt and bread crusts into the waste bucket. The most I can do is hope that, whoever this truant is, they’re clever enough not to flaunt their abilities. I can’t spread the word of the hunting party and risk my neck—or Da’s, if he were to get caught with me—for someone that the trio mightn’t even find.

  Contrary to what I thought, sweeping up the room takes longer than I expected. Hours later, well past the time when the moon rose to its highest in the sky, I’m still downstairs. I grab a candle, douse the fire, sweep up the ashes, and as I stow my broom in the cupboard, finally finished, the door rattles.

  Couldn’t be the wind, could it? I take a hesitant step toward the door. I hadn’t noticed it howling, but that snowstorm may well be moving in. It’s a bit late for someone to come wandering for a drink, so I doubt anyone’s waiting outside.