The Twisting Read online

  If Annmar returned to Derby now, she wouldn’t have the money to lease a shop. She’d be forced to take any job, including one Mr. Shearing might offer. Would offer.

  One accompanied by improper advances.

  She was loath to accept anything from the oppressive man, which left…

  She had to believe what Mary Clare believed: No one would attack her again, not at Wellspring. Mistress Gere would protect her. And the Collective guards would protect her, too. Not just Daeryn, but many of them had fought for her. Mary Clare had said Annmar had been able to heal them, but she must give them a proper thanks when she was allowed up. Then she would seek her new friends’ advice on how to approach Old Terry safely.

  Having made the decision, Annmar felt better. It was a good choice, and her choice. She wasn’t being scared off. She opened her eyes and looked around her room, pain-free. She could see the wrinkles in Miriam’s country gown, and when the other woman turned with a mug, Annmar noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. “You’ve slept poorly.”

  “Again, nothing we will discuss now. You mustn’t be thinking about anything except yourself.” Miriam carried the tea to the bedside.

  The minty smell wafted to her. Annmar couldn’t stop a frown from forming. “More medicine? I’m feeling much better. Much.”

  “And we shall keep you that way.” Miriam lifted the mug, and a smile etched itself across her tired face. “You’re a strong-willed woman. Just like your mother.”

  Annmar’s eyes widened. “Mother? You knew my mother?” Without realizing it, she lifted up, only to wince at the beat of pain between her ears.

  Miriam pressed her shoulder. “Lie back. Or not another word will cross my lips.”

  Annmar fell against her pillows, but she gripped Miriam’s long fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Miriam laughed. “You’ve been here eight days, the last four bed-ridden with a head injury I missed. When did we have time to discuss a delicate subject?”

  “Now?” Annmar squeezed Miriam’s hand. “Please?”

  “Take the remedy, and I’ll tell you what I know of Anna Mary.”

  Now that Annmar’s head wasn’t so blurry, drinking down the nasty herbs was difficult. When she finished, Miriam set aside the mug.

  The healer folded her hands on her lap. “I met your mother during my last year apprenticing to a healer in Chapel Hollow. I’d come to town to get experience with a greater variety of peoples than we had in my local practice. But because I’d been exposed to country traditions, Anna Mary Masterson requested to see me. I was more like the healers back home, she said.”

  Annmar drew a quick breath. “Where was back home?”

  “Bramble Corner. I knew she thought I wouldn’t have heard of the village, but I had. My traveling family collected wildland herbs to peddle at the chapel Market Days.” The lines on Miriam’s forehead smoothed, and her voice softened with the unwinding tale. “We went through Bramble Corner yearly. A richly diverse area of plants lies nearby, most of which is off-limits to all but a few Bramble folk. My father knew the boundary edges and stuck to them. Plus, the area residents very much appreciated our herbs, because of their frequent clashes between the species.”

  Mary Clare had told her the species fought, but Annmar could learn the details of the battles in Mother’s village later. Now her chest was tight with more important questions. “Why did Mother come to see you?”

  “Pregnant. But you figured that out.” Annmar nodded. “So did she. At seventeen. She loved the young man.”

  Oh, thank the heavens. Not until she heard the answer did Annmar realize she’d always wondered if she’d been the result of an attack…like Paet might have planned. Her birth might have been a mistake, but Annmar preferred knowing Mother loved him.

  “He’d moved with her to Chapel Hollow,” Miriam said. “They’d been here a month or so. He hired out as a grower, and she sold her drawings at Market Day.”

  “What was his name?”

  “They said it was Michael, but sometimes she pronounced it differently. I can’t remember how.” Miriam shrugged. “Me-coal or Mi-coal? My-cal? Masterson was his family name, I gathered.”

  Perhaps. Since they had used the name before Mother left the Basin, maybe it wasn’t made up, as she’d claimed. Annmar closed her eyes. Michael. Her father’s name was Michael. They were from Bramble Corner. She could learn more with this information.

  “Do you think—were they married?”

  “They wore matching woven wristbands, a pledge symbol of the Creator Path Unity in some enclaves, but in others it simply means intended or betrothed. Because the use is inconsistent, people tend not to ask, like so many other details of Basin life.”

  Then they had planned a future together, and Annmar had two possible names to look for: Master Brightwell’s guess that Mother’s family name was Shaw, and now her father’s name. Michael Masterson. “What was he? I mean, planta or ’cambire?”

  “I have no idea. I saw him around town the few months they lived here. Tall, pale and skinny. Long, blond hair he kept tied back. The attempt at a goatee on his chin. Right before he left your mother, I saw him professionally. In the middle of the night.”

  Mother had said she left him. Annmar kept still, but her insides fell apart. “He must not have wanted a baby.”

  “Anna Mary half-carried him to my mentor’s house and rapped on my window. Michael had been badly beaten. I tended the cuts and bruises in the kitchen and got the barest scrapings of the story. It was someone he knew, threatening him with worse. If he didn’t do what the man wanted, Michael was afraid Anna Mary would be hurt. And the baby. He wanted me to confirm there was a baby. I couldn’t. Not without her permission. But before they left that night, I pulled her aside and told her to tell him. That he wanted to know.” Miriam sighed and reached out to loosen Annmar’s hands from where they clenched the covers.

  “Why did he leave, if he knew?”

  “I thought about that a lot. Either he was forced to, or he left to protect your mother. And you. He told me he’d pay, and sure enough, the next day a basket of mushrooms appeared on the bench outside the door. Rare ones. Some I recognized, and others I’d only seen in my pa’s drawings and descriptions of species he hoped to find on our hunts. The note said the mushrooms were to pay for any medical care Anna Mary or the baby might need.”

  “So they did talk about…me?” Annmar’s voice broke, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Oh, my dear,” Miriam said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Mother had never allowed a conversation about this, despite Annmar’s desperate longing for one. But the next best thing was talking to people who had known her mother. “I want to hear about them. Please? Mother would never say anything about her life here.”

  A shadow of sadness crossed Miriam’s tired face. “I don’t believe they talked about her pregnancy, because a few days later she dropped off these.” The healer picked up a basket from the floor and handed Annmar a stack of thick rectangular papers. “Her payment for treating him.”

  Watercolor paintings. The lines, the delicate coloring…even without the signature, they were clearly Mother’s. And knowing Mother’s work, Annmar could see in an instant the strokes were generous, the colors bright and gay. Mother had been happy when she made them.

  Again, Annmar’s eyes welled with tears, and Miriam put a hand over the paintings. “We don’t need to view these now if it’s too sad. I can bring them again on another day.”

  Annmar shook her head, and winced. She had to close her eyes and steady her breathing for a minute against the dull throb. “It’s not. I have wished for this since Mr. Fetcher told me he traced Mother through her paintings. Please, let me look.”

  Miriam released her hand. “Constance came to me the evening you asked her. I felt I had to know you better before I could tell you what little I know of their story.”

  Several paintings showed plants, others the rolling Basin hills wi
th the mountains behind, the local chapel with its square tower. A few others depicted stone pavilions…other chapels? The last painting was of Miriam. The willowy woman looked relaxed, her long hair loose and blowing in the wind, caught up with flowers, leaves and other bits of plants. And in the centers of her eyes, tiny silhouettes of people were visible.

  Annmar lifted her gaze to the older woman. “She captured you perfectly. And you’ve only grown more connected to plants and people.”

  Miriam flashed a quick smile. “You see that, too? Your mother’s insight amazed people. She would have been very successful. If she’d stayed.” She tapped a painting of stone buildings peeking from between towering trees, then another of a rocky hill. “I thought she’d gone back home. These are Bramble Corner.”

  They were? Annmar set them side-by-side and studied the layers of green in the lush images, trying to glean from them what Mother’s home must have been like. But the myriad lines blurred. Her eyes were too tired and growing heavier with each yawn. She didn’t dare consider pushing things by using her Knack. “But she didn’t,” she whispered.

  “Anna Mary Masterson had made a name for herself rendering portraits in town, and her landscapes were gaining popularity. I could have sold the paintings to any number of people. But I love them, and am glad I never had to. Instead, I dried the mushrooms and traded them as I needed things.”

  Annmar shuffled through the paintings again, but she couldn’t properly focus on their details. The medicine was taking effect. She handed the stack to Miriam and slumped into her pillow, eyelids drooping. “What happened next?”

  “I wanted to return one payment, so looked for her at Market Day. She was gone.”

  “Michael, too?” Annmar asked. “Nothing about my father?”

  “No one heard from either of them again.” She shrugged her bony shoulders.

  That was it? A numbness crawled through Annmar. There had to be more. “You showed these to Mistress Gere when she was looking for an artist.”

  “I did. I wanted to know what had happened with that girl and her baby. If anyone could find her, Constance would. She hired Mr. Fetcher, and he learned where to look.”

  Mr. Fetcher. Annmar yawned again. Perhaps he discovered more…about Michael, or Bramble Corner. She just had to remember all these pieces of Mother’s mystery. “I-I’m falling asleep. Will you tell me this again? And may I study the paintings when I’m better?”

  “Any time.” Miriam brushed her fingers over Annmar’s brow. “Do you forgive me for missing your injury?”

  “I also hid it so I could help the others, but yes, I forgive you.” She sighed.

  “Thank you,” Miriam whispered.

  “I hope the farm is doing well.”

  “Wellspring is doing as well as it can in the circumstances, but only because our guards rebounded from their injuries. You helped the others and Wellspring at the same time. I’ve kept my promise and not asked, but be assured I am always available if you’d like to talk.”

  Annmar nodded. “That’s kind of you.” The fuzziness in her head forced Annmar to close her eyes. She’d come to Wellspring to escape Mr. Shearing, and to earn money for a shop. The unexpected thrill of opening her Knack and now seeing Mother’s artwork were surprises she’d never expected. Yet unraveling those mysteries had only twisted into more mysteries.

  Who had beaten her father and scared him enough that he and Mother didn’t—perhaps couldn’t—stay together? Where had her father gone, and was he still there?

  “When might I be allowed up?”

  “Up?” Miriam sounded horrified. “Constance is delighted you’ve agreed to continue the trial, but I’ve warned her we must let your head fully heal. No close work for the next few days. Possibly a week. At the first twinge of pain, you must stop whatever you are doing, whether through your sight or Knack. Understand?”

  Annmar’s eyes flew open. “But I’m here to work. I can’t expect her to pay—”

  Miriam tapped a finger to Annmar’s lips. “You completed a week’s worth of label drawings in a few days and returned seven of Wellspring’s employees to work within an hour. Constance will continue to pay you. Your trial continues when you can return to drawing. No arguing.”

  Annmar blinked back tears. She could stay. She had the freedom, at least for the length of the extended trial, to make plans toward learning more about herself.

  Chapter FOUR

  Daeryn fell into a chair beside Rivley at the dining room table and stared at his breakfast. He didn’t feel like eating, but he should. Then he could see Annmar. And sleep.

  “How’d it go?” Rivley asked quietly.

  “Not bad,” he answered in a flat voice. “For a night working with a…stunner.”

  “You did the killing, then.”

  Daeryn met his gaze. “The easy part.”

  Rivley clapped him on the shoulder.

  His best friend understood, like no one else would. Daeryn nodded his thanks. He should say more after the progress they’d made on their gildan obligation a few days ago, but his head was too blurry to form the appropriate words. He’d had great hopes the second lesson would be an easy one to finish—Honestly work together to restore yourselves and your pack—but with Annmar still abed, Daeryn had lost the energy to even try. Maybe once she showed some sign of healing he’d have less on his mind and be able to turn his efforts to working with Riv to free them both from the blood binding.

  Luckily, the burden was no longer Daeryn’s to bear alone. With the resolution of the first gildan lesson, he and Rivley had agreed to co-lead, to share the leadership of resolving the remaining two lessons. Just how they were to both be alphas was still a mystery.

  Daeryn shook himself and managed to confide, “I couldn’t have done the shooting. I held the thing, but…” He shrugged. “Terrent’s a much better shot, so why even try?”

  “Someday you will.”

  No, he wouldn’t. Daeryn picked up his fork.

  Miz Gere and Master Brightwell came into the dining room. She went to the head of the table, while the inventor got his coffee and took a seat at the back. Good, the morning meeting, which had been moved inside because of rain, would be done soon. Daeryn met Jac’s gaze across the table. Today he was here to give the count, but his heart wasn’t in it. He jerked his chin toward their employer and began eating.

  “Reports?” Miz Gere asked.

  “Better with the stunners, ma’am,” Jac said. “Our practice yesterday afternoon with the first device paid off. Zar and James got a hundred and fifty-two, Maraquin and I got a hundred and forty, and Terrent and Daeryn netted ninety-eight after their later start.”

  Miz Gere nodded. “Excellent. What ways do you see to improve? Either the machines or your efforts?”

  “Uh.” Jac shot a look to Daeryn. He ducked his head and kept eating. “The stunners operate just fine. All the teams had some time down, but we’re learning how to avoid the fungus.”

  “So we can expect the vermin to be cleared soon?”

  This time every fork stopped moving, and the room fell to dead silence. Every team member, including Jac, looked at Daeryn. He set down his fork and sat up straight. “Ma’am? Those are good numbers, but we’re hardly making headway. They just keep coming.”

  “Oh.” Miz Gere gripped the back of the nearest chair. Her lips pressed tight into a firm line as she stared off into space. Finally, she swept her gaze over each of them. “I have an alternative plan to pursue. Yet at this point, we’ll continue using the stunners.” She shifted her gaze to the back of the room. “Any suggestions, Master Brightwell?”

  He lowered his cup. “We have the components for three more stunners. Mr. Slipwing will assemble them today while I fetch more parts. I don’t have a suggestion for who could operate them.”

  “I do,” Zar drawled. Every head turned to the man who never spoke up at meetings. His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but his voice rang strong across the quieted table. “Bet the diurnal predators can h
andle the stunners well enough in the moonlight. Maybe there’s a few others willing to try. That frees the six of us with night vision to locate the black creatures and dispense with them.”

  “Hmm,” Miz Gere said. “Interesting suggestion. Any discussion?”

  Glances shot around the table, most of them aimed at Rivley, the only diurnal predator in the room. Daeryn nudged him.

  “I could do it. At least for the week the moon is waning. But I’ve never shot a…anything. I won’t have the aim of Terrent or James.”

  “But you’ll do as well as I have,” Jac said. “And you’ll improve. In yesterday’s session behind the shed, I couldn’t hit the target rag at first.”

  “Give me a couple of hours of sleep,” Terrent said, “and I’ll give yous and any others pointers. Right now, I’m too beat to have a stunner in my hands.”

  Daeryn gave the Forestridge boy a nod of thanks. James had remarked that Terrent had more skill than any on Wellspring Collective. Though Daeryn’s gut still tightened at the thought of curling his finger around the trigger, he ought to attend the training.

  “Do you think the others will agree as easily?” Maraquin asked.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Rivley said. “This is our home.”

  Maraquin and Jac exchanged glances. “Well,” Jac said, “they’d need to work with us, and in the past we haven’t exactly been the nicest beasts to be around.”

  No, they hadn’t. There’d be some grumbling from Famil, the leader of the day guards. It would help if the golden eagle ’cambire knew Jac still answered to him. Privately. He couldn’t make Jac angry. Daeryn slid a glance to the wolf girl. “That can change, can’t it?” he asked.

  Both wolves nodded.

  “It’s settled then,” Miz Gere said. Her gaze lit on Jac and then on Daeryn.