Janto held a glass shard up to the sunlight and wiggled his blurry fingers behind it. The shard was dark blue, about an inch thick, and the sunlight exposed a pearlescent sheen on one of its faces. Tilt it any other way, and the sheen disappeared. That was how he knew this shard came from the oldest days, the ones when only Rasselerians had lived in Lansera and Madel’s hand had not needed to reach so far. The Rasselerian sorters had described its qualities when they brought a barrel full of glass and emptied it at his feet no more than a day after they had rid the elder’s hut of claren. Many piles of glass surrounded Janto now, the colors as varied as the feathers had been on Braven.
He sat on a bench in the sticky air, grateful for every wind gust from Lake Ashra, a mile to the north. Each breeze dispelled the jocal flies, if only for a moment. His party had traveled throughout the marshlands for the past four days, following news of other villagers who had been subsumed. Janto’s patience with flies and the wet heat wore thin. The hut he sat in front of was a meeting place for the Rasselerians who scoured the swamps for the glass and other artifacts. They had more chances to hear news and rumors here than anywhere else the marshfolk gathered.
Their team was six now. Flivio had arrived last night with two rynnas guiding him. He sorted glass now with Janto, Hamsyn, and a handful of Rasselerians. He peppered their silence with the occasional insult at Vesperi’s expense, although she was not around. “Practice,” Flivio had called it, admiration for her laced in with his sarcasm. It had taken all of ten minutes after his arrival to begin a heated exchange that had brought a genuine smile to Vesperi’s face.
She and Serra were a few miles away, investigating another report of a villager gone silent, with Sar Mertina and Nap as their guards. Janto had resisted when Vesperi insisted she try to control her magic without him there to prod her, but he acquiesced. Just yesterday morning, she had destroyed a tiny swarm. Ten charred shells had fallen from the sky, and no thistle on the surrounding reeds had so much as sparked. So he agreed, knowing with the surety that fixed his frown to his face that they would be fine without him. At least sorting glass to pass the time was something useful he could do.
“This piece is the sickliest green I have ever seen, aside from that Meduan’s disposition.” Flivio tossed the offending glass onto a pile of old, but not old enough, shards. A Rasselerian picked it up and nodded before letting it fall back down again.
“And apparently, I am not trusted to tell if these things have a sheen or not.” Flivio brushed specks of glass dust from his pants, making the mud beneath him sparkle. Janto lifted another shard from his own pile to the sun, pink with a pearlescent surface. It also bore a broken sigil of the distinctive Xantas heraldry, a bear raised on its haunches. The shard went in yet another pile, hopefully to be reunited with its mates that held the rest of the sigil from when it had once been a vase or a plate.
“Come on, Janto.” Flivio tossed another shard onto the pile from which it had come. “There has to be something else we can do while waiting for your women to come back—”
“They are not my women.” His voice came across bitterer than intended. One of those women should be his, and he hated that she wasn’t. They should have been doing this together as husband and wife, and he did not understand why they weren’t. Serra would not speak with him for longer than courtesy allowed, and she avoided it half the time regardless. Vesperi, on the other hand, was not his woman at all.
“Calm down, little child.” Flivio mimicked Sielban’s voice so perfectly both Hamsyn and Janto laughed. “All I meant is you three are in this together, from what I understand. Your bedroom is none of my concern.”
Janto rolled his eyes with good humor, refreshed to be around his friends again despite the circumstances. Three weeks of living in a forest with them during the Murat made this almost seem normal. And it would be for quite a long time if the claren had spread nearly as far as they feared. Janto was not certain they would ever gain the advantage. They could ride through all of Lansera for years eradicating them, but if the claren kept breeding in Medua, his people would never be safe. Janto’s face fell again, and he reached for another piece of glass.
As he did, the Rasselerians among them lifted their heads in unison. They turned toward each other then rose and walked off in the same direction, away from the hut and toward the road that led north from Wasyla.
Hamsyn, Janto, and Flivio exchanged glances.
“They are little Sielbans, aren’t they?” Hamsyn blinked with surprise. “Do you think they have been in our minds, too? I hope I haven’t thought anything too offensive.”
“Right.” Flivio snorted. “Like you have worries. I only grace you with the tamest opinions that run through my head. I am fairly certain I was pondering the sex lives of frogs a few minutes ago.”
Janto was too fascinated by the Rasselerians’ movement to give Flivio the shove he deserved. Two others approached from the road, and they wiggled with what might have been excitement, one of them reaching into a bag slung over his shoulder. The Rasselerians leaned in as one, and an excited hum spread between them.
“What are you staring at?” Someone breathed into his ear then laughed mercilessly as he jumped.
Vesperi’s amusement lightened her face, then she smiled. “We did it.”
His pride soared, and he forgot the Rasselerians entirely.
“And she only lit a curtain on fire.” Serra sounded just as satisfied, coming around the cabin’s side.
Janto dropped the glass in his hand and pressed an arm around each woman in a hug. “That’s amazing.” He had been so focused on the Rasselerians, he had missed their party coming up behind them.
Janto directed his next statement to Nap, who was helping Mertina tie up the horses. “Come now, Nap. They left a trail of burned huts and reeds in their wake, did they not?”
Nap startled, the color draining from his face. “No, they speak the truth, of course.”
Janto laughed. The Wasylim had yet to develop a sense of humor, but in a group with Flivio in it, that might be a survival instinct. The Meditlan had enough humor for them all.
The Rasselerians made their way back, and the new arrivals came to stand before Janto, the others gathered behind them. The colors of their suits shifted in fast succession, no attempt at camouflage made though the coarse, carnelian hair on their heads matched the reed tassels around them.
Janto took a deep breath to steady himself. It was time to be an Albrecht again, and that he knew how to do. “How can I aid you, fellow Lanserim?”
“We have spoken.” The woman did not need to explain she meant all the Rasselerians with them. Their eyes were trained on Janto with the same intensity. “And we believe this finding is meant for you.”
“It is rare,” one of her companions took over. “From the days before the divide when Madel’s reach went over the mountains. It is not so old as glass, but it is costlier. Wood breaks down when glass does not.”
“I will gladly accept this gift on my father’s behalf. I am certain he will be pleased. But I am afraid I don’t know when I can give it to him. Madel’s plan may be to keep us far from Callyn for some time.” Not even his destination was his decision, or at least it didn’t feel that way.
The Rasselerians sucked air through their teeth with a tuuut. “No, slayer, you need this now.” The man unfurled his webbed fingers, revealing a box of petrified wood, dark and streaked with red on its edges as though blood had stained it.
It may well be blood. When he saw the insignia it bore, he took Serra’s hand with what he hoped was reassurance. The moment she recognized it, he knew. Tension gathered in her limbs. The sigil was carved masterfully. After centuries caked in mud, every scale of the snake’s raised hood could be counted.
“That’s a Sellwyn chest.” Vesperi took the box and rubbed her finger over the symbol, yet no gooseflesh rose on her arms like it had on his. She put it aside thoughtlessly, and the lack of heft in her action felt grotesque. “But we have not made these in at least a decade. We stopped harvesting rosewood for craft when they grew too thin. My father thinks using malnourished wood would reflect badly on our name.”
She laughed to herself for a moment, a cynical sound that had grown rarer the longer they’d traveled together. Yet her tone was pleasant, happy even, as she addressed the Rasselerians. “That is what you found in the marshes? It does not seem like much to get your lot so excited.” She shrugged.
“How do you know?” Janto feared the answer. “How do you know this is from your family?”
“It is our sigil—the forest viper. I have always been rather taken with it. Suits me, don’t you think?” She smirked.
His mind filled with ashes, remembered the greasy residue they had left on his fingers when he had reached to pull a ring engraved with grapevines out of a box such as this. Anger wound itself up inside him, a coil of metal wire pulled tight.
He said nothing but gripped Serra’s hand. She trembled. Whatever anger he felt, her body reflected it back tenfold. Silver flecks flashed in her green eyes. Yet she kept her voice calm as she spoke.
“Is it? Does it adorn all your boxes back in Sellwyn?”
“Oh yes,” Vesperi answered. “I use one whenever I have something important to send.”
He held tight to Serra’s wrist. She jerked her arm, but he did not let go, did not want her to provoke Vesperi or to see what would happen if she did. Vesperi struck first, thought second, no matter what control she had learned, and Esye was rising this time of day, its moonslight amplified in the heavy air by the lake’s reflecting waters. Serra would not consider that right now. Her vision was clouded, and Janto could only stop himself from choking on the same rage by keeping her from stumbling into the crosshairs.
Her tone was ice when Serra spoke again. “How does it feel when you use the flame? When you smite something?”
Vesperi frowned at the abrupt subject change, but her usual smirk came back fast. “Exhilarating. Like I have all the power in the world.”
“What did he do?” The love of Janto’s life had never sounded so frightening before, but he recognized a flickering hope in her words, a chance for Vesperi to explain. “What did he do to make you kill him? He was stupid, sometimes. I lived with him my whole life, Madel knows. Did he make an advance on you? Maybe he was trying to fit in?”
If they were wrong, then Vesperi would pretend confusion. She would look at Janto with unspoken questions, maybe cast a concerned glance toward Serra if brave enough to let herself show it.
Instead she flinched as realization dawned. Then she drew herself up tall and haughty. “He called me a lady. I could not let that go unaddressed.”
All the color but red drained from Serra’s face. “You killed my brother.”
Janto held on tighter.
“You filthy Meduan, you killed my brother.” Her voice was calm no longer.
Several glass shards fell to the piles with a tinkle as someone dropped them.
“Madel’s hand,” Hamsyn gaped. “Is it true?”
“Should I bind her, Janto?” Nap’s voice was unsure. Janto did not know the answer.
The Rasselerians did not react, though they scrutinized the trio, if Janto read the meaning of their flicking tongues correctly.
Vesperi spoke next, disdain laced into her words. Venom, he thought. Her speech is always venomous. “Yes, I killed Agler. He was a spy and not a very good one.”
“He was my brother!” Tears rushed over Serra’s reddened face, hot lava down a mountainside. Fists clenched, she lunged at Vesperi with enough speed to escape his grip. The Meduan jumped back and began to raise her hand—
No, no, no. Janto slid between the two women, raising his arms up. “Nap, Flivio, please hold Serra back. Please.” The Rasselerians had thrown themselves to the ground, but they were not his concern right now. There was nothing more important than the brown pair of eyes before him, filling with a silver glow.
“Vesperi,” he said calmly, “Block it out. Block out the moon.”
“Why should I?” Her hair lifted. She was close. “I have no choice. I know what happens to women who kill men.”
“Block it out. Breathe. Focus. Send Esye back.” It was pointless. Vesperi would not listen. She did not need to hide her magic anymore. Too many people knew the silver flame had returned, the weapon been reborn. She would strike. She was a killer.
“Breathe. Focus. Pull it back.”
She lowered her arm. Relief flooded him but only until Serra yelled. He spun around to find her staring up at the heavens, fists raised as high as they could reach.
“I cannot do this! I cannot do this!”
Nap and Flivio released her when he gestured to, and then Serra ran far from them all. Sar Mertina made to follow, but Janto waved her back.
“She will be back.” He tried to sound certain, but her cries as she disappeared into the miry forest to the east reminded him of his own the day she had not returned for him. If she did not return again—“Never mind, Sar Mertina. Trail her, but give her space?”
The guardswoman mounted up in an instant.
Janto had to have faith something greater was happening here. Madel required the three of them to stop the claren, and that was what mattered most. Protecting their people. He would be damned if he let anything get in the way of that. Even his anger.
“You are not our prisoner, Vesperi.” She sat on the bench beside him, silent and perhaps as shocked as he that nothing had changed when everything felt different. Her mouth was tight but the silver was gone from her eyes, leaving only the brown of a doe’s.
He averted his gaze. “But I do not think I can look on you right now.”
He picked up a purple shard of glass and held it to the light.