Now I turned my attention to another Ballenger.
I walked over to one of the older Vendan boys testing notes on a flute. I asked him if he knew “Wolf Moon,” a common Fenlander song that Synové sometimes hummed. He did, and when he started playing the first tentative notes, I ambled over to Jase, still deep in conversation with Mason and Titus, and I curtsied in front of him, quickly getting their attention. “We never got to dance last night, Patrei. Would now be a good time?”
He looked at me uncertainly. “What about your ankle?”
“I’ve ridden for hours, dug up a barrel of parsnips and potatoes, and helped unload two wagons today, and now you’re worried about my ankle? Maybe it is your delicate feet that are too weary? Are you trying to get out of this dance, Patrei? Just say so and I’ll find someone else to—”
Jase was on his feet, his arm sliding around me, pulling me to the center of the Ballenger-Vendan divide. The truth was my ankle was still tender, but Jase seemed to sense this in spite of my protest, and he limited our dancing to gentle swaying.
“I think this is the least we can do to warm the chill between these two camps,” I said.
“So this is all for show?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I don’t care anymore, as long as you’re in my arms.”
The tune was slow and dreamy, the notes gliding through the air like birds heading home through a dusky sky to roost. Jase pulled me closer, his lips resting against my temple. “Everyone’s watching,” he whispered.
“That is entirely the point.”
“Not entirely.” His mouth edged closer to my lips.
The question of whether it was a show was swept aside, forgotten. There may have been other secrets between us, but this much was true and honest—I wanted to be in his arms, and he wanted to be in mine.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe moments like this were all the truth we could expect to get from the world. I held on to it as if it were.
“Last time we danced we were knee deep in grass,” I said.
“And now there’s not even a chain between us,” Jase whispered.
“Maybe we don’t need one anymore.” We were in the wilderness again, and it felt easy and natural to allow ourselves to slip through a hole that was familiar.
I had an awareness of others joining us, but my eyes were locked on Jase’s and his on mine, and as I heard more feet shuffling, others dancing around us, I wondered if they had fallen through that same hole with us, and I wondered if, this time, we would be able to make it last.
* * *
Tell me a riddle, Kazi.
Jase had seen me, restless, walking, organizing supplies that were already ordered. Everyone else was asleep on their bedrolls. He came up behind me, his hands circling my waist. “I can’t sleep either,” he said. His lips grazed my neck, and he whispered, “Tell me a riddle, Kazi.”
We laid out a blanket on a bed of grass, the stars of Hetisha’s Chariot, Eagle’s Nest, and Thieves’ Gold lighting our way, far from everyone else.
I settled in next to him, laying my head in the crook of his shoulder, his arm wrapping around me, pulling me close.
“Listen carefully now, Jase Ballenger. I won’t repeat myself.”
“I’m a good listener.”
I know you are. I’ve known that since our first night together. That’s what makes you dangerous. You make me want to share everything with you. I cleared my throat, signaling I was ready to begin.
“If I were a color, I’d be red as a rose,
I make your blood rush, and tingle your toes,
I taste of honey and spring, and a good bit of trouble,
But I make the birds sing, and all the stars double.
I can be quick, a mere peck, or slow and divine,
And that is probably, the very best kind.”
“Hmm…” he said, as if stumped. “Let me think for a minute…” He rolled up on one elbow, looking down at me, the stars dusting his cheekbones. “Honey?” He kissed my forehead. “Spring?” He kissed my chin. “You are a good bit of trouble, Kazi of Brightmist.”
“I try my best.”
“I may have to take this one slowly…” His hand traveled leisurely from my waist, across my ribs, to my neck, until he was cupping my cheek. My blood rushed; the stars blurred. “Very slowly … to figure it all out.” And then his lips pressed, warm and demanding onto to mine, and I hoped it would take him an eternity to solve the riddle.
* * *
Wren, Synové, and I sat on a stack of lumber, fanning ourselves in the shade and taking a break from leveling a foundation. It was midmorning but already sweltering with the height of summer.
I thought Jase would be gone by now, that all the family would be on their way back home this morning, along with us, but Jase got caught up in discussions with Caemus about the barn and then with Lothar, one of his hired workers he was leaving to supervise the crews, and then when he watched stonemasons moving in to lay the foundation for one of the sheds, he decided it needed to be a bit larger first, and then he paused, eyeing the whole valley, the children swinging from the oak tree, and his gaze fell on the future shed again. He turned to Mason and said, “I’m thinking they need a root cellar too. Why bother with a bigger garden if they have no cool storage? If we put our backs behind it, we should be able to dig it in a few hours.”
A root cellar?
I wasn’t sure I could believe what I was hearing.
It became a competition between Jase, Mason, and Samuel digging on one side, and Aram, Gunner, and Titus on the other. A slow competition. They were feeling the heat too, their shirts long shed. Sweat glistened on their backs. They stopped to wipe their brows often and drink long gulps of water from buckets brought from the river. Sometimes they just poured the water over their heads.
Synové was mostly silent, her eyes wide, forgetting to blink. “I swear, I’ve never seen so much beautiful artwork on skin in all my life.”
“We should probably get back to work,” I said.
“Hell’s bells we shouldn’t,” she said firmly. “I’m certain we need to rest a bit longer.”
We didn’t need much encouragement. None of us moved.
Wren took a long sip of water. “It looks like a whole flock of beautiful, muscled birds taking flight.”
Their tattoos were all different—some on chests, some on shoulders, backs, or arms—but they all had some form of the Ballenger crest on them, the wings of eagles fluttering in front of us. I stared at Jase’s, as taken with it now as the first time I had seen it. Synové was right; it was a work of art, one that I happily gazed upon.
He looked up, catching me watching him. He smiled and flames shot through my belly. “Halfway done,” he called.
Halfway.
That’s what I felt like. I was halfway between worlds, trying to find a story that fit neatly into both. When the root cellar was finished, he moved onto the barn, and then the waterwheel and a sluice from the river. A day passed, and then another. Four days, four nights. The valley was alive with banging, hammering, and sawing. Gunner went back to Tor’s Watch. Titus went back. Aram and Drake went back. There was business to tend to. But Jase stayed. He was giving up tomorrows he didn’t have to spare, tomorrows I had been unable to promise to him.
I began to wonder if I’d been wrong about everything, wrong about the way they ruled Hell’s Mouth, wrong about their history and place among the kingdoms, wrong about their right to govern. Their work here wasn’t just a grudging gift to fulfill an agreement. It felt like far more. It felt like a wish stalk pressed to a blistered foot, like words spoken under a midnight moon to lull me to sleep.
* * *
We stood together at the cookwagon, waiting in line for our food. Jase was close behind me, his hip brushing mine, a reminder that he was there, and I suddenly thought there were things I was hungrier for than dinner.
“Ten?”
A whisper.
My shoulders went rigid. The question came from somewhere behind me. I didn’t dare turn with recognition, but it came again, louder this time.
“Ten?”
A girl circled in front of me. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you Ten? I’ve been trying to place you ever since the first day, and I just remembered. My family was in Sanctum City for a year when—”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“But—”
“My name’s Kazi,” I said firmly. “Bogeve ya.” Move on.
Her eyes shifted to Jase and then she quickly looked down, as if she realized her mistake. “Of course. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No bother.”
“Ten?” Jase said as she walked away. “What kind of name is that?”
I shrugged. “I think it’s a highland name—short for Tenashe.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t already know that your name was Kazi.”
“There are a lot of new names to learn. She probably just got confused.”
I was grateful that Jase’s attention turned back to food as the cook cut off a slab of venison for our plates, and I decided I was glad that we were returning to Tor’s Watch in the morning after all.
Just before dusk, Aleski rode in with news that made our return more urgent. It was a message from Gunner. Come home. A letter has arrived from Venda. The queen is on her way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JASE
Mije snorted. The braids Jalaine had woven into his mane were brushed out, and I think he and I both preferred it that way. He was a magnificent beast, muscled but balanced, with a gleaming black coat. The Vendans knew something about breeding. Kazi finished brushing him then slid his saddle blanket down his withers. I picked up his saddle.
“I can do that,” Kazi said, reaching for it. She was on edge. Maybe because we were going back to Tor’s Watch the unspoken words between us simmered closer to the surface.
I held it firm. “Please, let me help, Kazi. Besides, I think he likes me.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s because you feed him treats. Don’t think that I don’t see.”
I shrugged and lifted the saddle onto him. “Only a few snap peas.”
“And parsnips.”
The traitorous Mije nudged my arm, exposing me.
“See? You’ve spoiled him.” She patted his side. “And he’s getting thick around the middle.”
He wasn’t, and I knew she didn’t really mind. She reached down and tightened his cinch. “We’ll catch up soon,” she said.
“Our horses won’t be moving fast,” I said, rubbing Mije’s neck. “Take your time.”
She spotted where I had nicked my thumb this morning. “What happened?”
The cut was business between me and the gods. Blood vows weren’t only made in temples, but sometimes in meadows. “Nothing,” I answered. “Just a scratch.” I turned back to the wagon I’d be driving, double-checking the hitch and then the tack on my horses.
Mason, Samuel, and I were each driving teams of horses back to the arena. Tiago would go with us. The long timber wagons that had brought in supplies were specially equipped for heavy loads, and they’d be needed soon back at the lumber camps. They were empty now except for a few rocks loaded on the back to keep them from bouncing. The drivers who had brought them in would stay and help with the work.
I’d only intended to stay one night. I had a lot of work to take care of back home, but wagons had come each morning with more supplies—and with reports that all was well at home and at the arena. Gunner had everything under control. With the momentum here, it seemed important to keep the progress rolling. The animal pens were done, and we had raised the barn in one day. But now, for the next several days, most of the work was left to the stonemasons, bricking up the root cellar, finishing up the ovens, and laying the stones for the foundation lines before walls went up on the homes. Maybe there were other reasons I wanted to stay too. Things were different between Kazi and me out here. In some ways, I never wanted to go back.
Kazi finished strapping on her saddlebag and turned to face me. “I’ve been wondering, what will the king do if he finds out you moved them?”
“He’ll never find out, and if he does, he won’t care. This world up here means nothing to him. One piece of land is the same as the next as far as he’s concerned.”
“Are you sure, Jase? What if he deliberately chose the other site to aggravate you—a site that was in clear view of your memorial?”
“He’d have no idea about that. It’s just a pile of rocks to him and the rest of the world—not to mention, he’s never been there. He left it to scouts to find a suitable site.”
“What about his tax money you keep? Could he be angry about that?”
“We only keep half. Who do you think pays the magistrates, the patrols, the teachers? Repairs the cisterns and skywalks? It takes a lot to keep a town running. There was never a single coin of his tax money put into this town until we started holding back. The Ballengers made a big mistake when we sold it for a round of drinks. It doesn’t mean everyone in Hell’s Mouth has to pay the price. The one percent we keep doesn’t begin to cover the expenses. He knows that. We cover the rest. He’s getting a deal—and even he isn’t stupid enough to walk away from it.”
She nodded, as if still not convinced, then her attention was drawn away to the children playing beneath the oak. We’d strung a fresh rope because the old one was frayed.
“Caemus says you’re sending a teacher. They can’t afford that, Jase. They barely—”
“You ordered reparations with interest. This is the interest. The teacher will be on the Ballenger tab. Maybe that way Kerry will have other things to interest him besides bashing in my kneecaps the next time I come.”
“Next time?”
“When we come back out to see the finished work. It could be as early as another week. It’s moving along fast.”
“So you’ve decided not to drag it out after all?”
“I’m not going to play games with you, Kazi. You know how I feel. You know what I want. But sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
“What happens to us when we get back?”
“I guess once the settlement is finished, and the queen leaves, that will be up to you.”
* * *
The trail was wide and we rode in a staggered line to avoid eating each other’s dust. Driving alone gave my mind time to wander back to the settlement. I was still pondering something I’d seen last night. It was late and I was walking through the oak grove to meet Kazi, trying not to make noise. A sliver of moon shone through the boughs, and I spotted Mason leaning forward against a tree. I thought he was sick. I heard moans. But then I saw there was something between him and the tree.
Synové.
She had spotted me and silently waved me on. More like a scat, get out of here.
And I did, as fast and as quietly as I could.
Mason and Synové? After all his protests?
I guessed he had either succumbed to her advances or had been charmed by them all along but didn’t want to admit it to me. He was the one, after all, who told me Kazi couldn’t be trusted. I wondered if he still felt that way.
The pace was slow and as we plodded along I made a mental list of more supplies the settlement would need. Sheep, I thought. Send some sheep too. One of the women said she used to spin wool back in Venda. What they didn’t use for themselves they could sell. Yarn was always in demand. They needed more lanterns too. Oil. Paper. Writing tools.
Fruit trees.
Fruit would grow well in the valley. Kerry had given me the idea.
I had worked with him each day, either digging a hole, shoring up the sluice, or showing him how to sharpen the edge of an ax. He did his best not to smile through any of it, but one day he spotted Kazi walking by and he grinned. I thought maybe I had competition.
“What’s the smile for?” I asked.
“I like he
r better than I like you.”
I couldn’t blame him. “Why’s that?” I asked.
“She’s the one who snuck oranges into our sack. We didn’t even know they were there till we got home.”
I had turned then and watched as Kazi helped a Vendan woman lift a tub of water. I thought back to the first time I had ever seen her.
I paid for those oranges. You and your bunch of thugs were too drunk to see beyond your own inebriated noses.
Maybe she did pay for them. Maybe she didn’t. She was right; I’d been too fuzzy-headed to be sure of what I saw. But I’d never stopped to wonder what happened to those oranges.
Orange trees would grow well in the valley too.
For when the Dragon strikes,
It is without mercy,
And his teeth sink in,
With hungry delight.
—Song of Venda
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
KAZI
“Hurry up, Synové!”
She was still scrubbing her face and hair in the river. She’d had an unfortunate incident with horse dung. She’d fallen face-first into a large warm pile, and everyone in camp heard her screams. While we were sympathetic, Wren and I were ready to go, and an unwritten rule of the Rahtan was to be on time. Always. Eben and Natiya had made us pay for it dearly when we were late for drills. We were supposed to leave at dawn with the others. I felt like Griz, impatiently shuffling from foot to foot.
“Next time keep your eyes on where you’re going, not on the artwork,” Wren said. We didn’t know for sure what had distracted her—she refused to say—but we had a good idea.
She stomped out of the river, dripping with water, indignation, and utter nakedness, far beyond caring who gazed upon her beautiful curves. She jerked on her clothes, the fabric sticking to her wet skin, and then proceeded to comb and tightly braid her long hair, checking it often, making sure no trace of horse dung was left.
When we were finally on the trail, a good half-hour behind Jase and the others, we talked about the surprising progress made at the settlement.