Fall
Chapter 32

Piper

Reine was far ahead of them in the flight. Her paws devoured the plains, each length she jumped equaling easily three of Piper’s. The leopard poured her energy into the task. Pure anger fueled her dash—and a sizable chunk of embarrassment she refused to accept.

Piper knew her thoughts would be as faint as her voice at this distance, but she tried anyway. Taft was bigger than you, stronger. That’s because he’s a different kind of leopard! He could beat any Northern leopard by far. Don’t be upset!

I am upset! We’re running again! Reine let out a frustrated roar. And I can’t fix it this time. We’re running—because of me!

We’re fleeing because we want to lose those thieves. I don’t think they would follow us into the East. They’re not known for their friendliness to strangers.

Even with King Kayden and Queen Celia on peaceful terms? Reine snarled.

I don’t know. But the East’s reputation is questionable enough for Tennyson and Taft to think twice about crossing the border. Piper looked up as she ran. The sun had moved closer to its evening resting place, burning the sky with its descent.

Finch looked up with her. “I think they’re awake now. Our head start’s over.”

A curse played on the tip of Piper’s tongue. She didn’t need another trouble added to her list, especially when they didn’t have a map or clear plan of what they would do in the East. She would go to the address Lucy gave them, but then what? A more foresighted plan had to be made.

Her foot caught on a jutting piece of sledge, and she fell. Reine was so far away and self-absorbed, Piper was unsure if she noticed.

Finch helped her, his breathing labored. “We’ll slow our pace.” He huffed, sending Chip to ruffling his feathers. “It’s times like these when I wish we had a horse fera.”

This gave Piper an idea. She scanned the wide plains around them. It appeared as lifeless as the moon. “Do you think there are any towns before we hit the East?”

Taking out a worn map from his pack, Finch frowned over the replica of the West. “Well, it’s hard to tell where we are in this mess of green. But, if I were to take a guess…” He started walking.

“What?” Piper kept pace beside him, rubbing her skinned knee. The wind blew her hair wildly around her face.

“There’s one, possibly, a mile away.” Finch returned the map to his pack. “Recognize the name Swiftford?”

“Um, not really. I never went far from Biscay.”

“Right, right. That was in your file.” Finch waved the topic away. “Why do you want to go to Swiftford?”

“We don’t need a horse fera to get away from Tennyson and Taft. There’s always someone willing to sell an unbonded horse. At least, I hope so,” she said.

“Hope is better than nothing.” Finch shrugged. “It’s your mission, I’m just here to make sure you don’t get killed. Lead the way.”

Atlas

Water rolled down the knife handle and collected at the tip of the blade for an agonizing second. Atlas tried to keep himself from imagining it as blood as it dripped on the floor.

A scruffy young man swung the knife freely around Milla, as if conducting a private orchestra. “Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want?”

Common, simple questions. Atlas could answer these in Chestic, with Hudson double-checking his pronunciation. “We’re ambassadors for King Asher of the North, here to speak with the South’s leaders for their gathering. We want peace.” He put his palms forward in a show of amity.

Once Atlas had come out of the Bay of Shiloh, he and Skye had been moved with Milla to the nearest building for questioning. Atlas was still sopping wet, and Skye slyly wrung her hair in the corner.

“What is that?” The scruffy man, whom Atlas had dubbed Armadillo after his fera, pointed to Hudson.

“That’s Hudson, my black bear.”

Armadillo unslung the pack he had taken from June. He fished through the pack until he pulled out a vitrum disk. “And this?”

“A tool,” Atlas said.

“What kind of tool?” Armadillo growled. He poked it with his knife.

Atlas was unconcerned. The vitrum could withstand his probing, as long as he didn’t shatter it from a high place. “Others in this room may have heard of vitrum.”

The vitrum disk was passed from hand to grimy hand around them. A few bit it with their teeth, as if it were gold. Chestic questions glided through the air like spider silk, but there were so many it tangled into a low murmuring, and Atlas couldn’t make out distinct voices.

Armadillo acted as their mouthpiece. “What do you wish to speak to our mayors about?”

Milla had the vocabulary and finesse for this. She addressed the whole group. “Friends, we are here on a mission to strengthen your land in exchange for help.”

“Strengthen?” Armadillo scoffed. “We are strong enough.” His knife flicked close to her throat. Atlas would strangle the man if he hurt Milla. “And help you with what? Is the great North in peril?”

“I’m afraid that will be discussed more at the gathering,” Milla said. “But you will also be rewarded for your hospitality, rest assured.”

Armadillo spat next to Milla’s shoes. “Northerners, bah! Coming in uninvited, bathing in our bay, expecting our help. We owe you nothing.”

Milla’s face was calm. She looked past Armadillo, to the group lining the peeling plaster walls. “My former apprentice and I have been here on a previous mission, although younger generations may not recall it. We came on request of your mayors to settle squabbles and act as a fair jury. Our services were thanked, and we did not require payment. But if we perish under your hospitality,” she let the word linger, “expect retribution from our king.”

A middle-aged woman stepped forward. “I remember you.” She swallowed. “My house is your home, ambassadors.”

Atlas hid his shock. Milla has a way with people.

It could be said the same of us, Hudson thought. Sometimes, anyway.

Armadillo nodded. “Linden. You’re willing to take…” He flicked his knife to Milla, then to Atlas and Skye. “This?”

“I am.” Linden shuffled her feet.

This sent a new ripple through the semi-hostile group. With the approval from one of their own, they seemed to crumble into indecision. Armadillo was losing sway.

“We’ll have guards!” Armadillo said.

Atlas’s heart sunk. So Chesa would be another Trene. Milla didn’t say anything in their defense.

But Linden did. “They will be my guests. I don’t think they’ll need guards.” She asked the group, “Do they look dangerous to you?”

Do they have a leader? A mayor? Hudson wondered.

I thought it was Armadillo, but Linden seems to have taken the floor easily enough. Chesa had a mayor last time we were here… Atlas waited for the group’s decision.

One by one, the Chestic people turned their eyes from Armadillo for direction, and to Linden.

Atlas let his shoulders slump in relief. Maybe they would stay in one piece until the mayors arrived.