While Caz and Meep went to retrieve duckweed from the pond, Kiela mashed rosebuds and elder-bush leaves together with a few drops of water.
“I’m sorry the false wall won’t work,” Larran said.
“It would have if we had more time,” she told him. “You tried.”
“We could put the books back in their crates and move them in the library boat . . .”
“To where?” Kiela asked. The cave hadn’t worked; Radane had found it nearly instantly. His house was no safer than hers. Besides, this was her home. I have to protect it. She pricked her thumb and added blood to the paste.
He winced at the sight of her blood. “How can I help?”
“Can you board up the windows and doors?” Kiela asked Larran. She wasn’t sure how enthusiastic the growth was going to be, and she didn’t want it shattering the glass.
“But why . . .” He shook his head. “Questions later. Of course I can. Whatever you need.” He disappeared out to the front yard, and soon she heard the sounds of sawing and hammering.
As she memorized the syllables of the spell, her heart felt like it was hammering. There were so many unknowns in her plan. She didn’t know why the imperials had come or what they were looking for or how hard they’d look. She was working with limited information and that was uncomfortable. But she was going to try to keep the books safe. And her friends.
They finished at about the same time: Kiela finished committing the spell to memory as the plants returned with the duckweed and Larran finished boarding up the windows and doors. As soon as Kiela mashed the paste, the four of them gathered in the garden. Larran opened his mouth, but Caz shushed him, which was fine by Kiela. She was nervous enough as it was.
She’d start with the vines already on the house, she decided. Kneeling by the base of an ivy vine, Kiela placed the paste for fast growth. “Wish me luck.”
Caz backed away. Reaching out a tendril, he pulled Meep back too. “Larran, you might want to give it some space.”
Larran retreated. “What’s going to happen?”
“Watch,” Caz said.
Kiela recited the spell once, twice, and then three times. Quickly, she retreated from the vine. An instant later, it shot upward into the air. Vines sprouted out of it, and they spread over the roof. Without waiting, she moved on to the next vine. She repeated the process until the entire cottage had been engulfed in vines.
She then moved on to the brambles.
She selected a raspberry bush that was closest to the house. As she buried the paste, she hoped the brambles didn’t subsume the entire garden. They’d worked so hard to tame it and had been making such progress. “Meep, can you release the chicken? I don’t want her caught in this.”
The cactus scurried over and unlatched the coop.
The chicken didn’t budge. She clucked at the cactus, who meeped back at her.
Kiela began the spell.
As the brambles erupted, the chicken squawked and fled the garden, following Meep. The raspberry bushes grew larger and larger in bursts that shook the ground, until the whole of the cottage was obscured.
A few seconds later, they stilled.
She could barely see a hint of the roof or the walls. She swallowed hard. It had seemed like a sensible choice, but seeing her parents’ home this way . . . My home.
“That should keep the books safe,” Caz said with satisfaction.
Kiela reminded herself that was the point. We can fix it later. This wasn’t permanent. After the warship left . . . After she was sure they were all okay . . . If that ever happened . . . What if the imperials saw through the lies?
Larran laid his hand on her shoulder. “Now, how do we keep you safe?”
She’d told him Bryn’s original plan for Radane—lying about why she was on Caltrey and how long she’d been here. “There isn’t enough time to convince everyone in town to say I’ve been here my whole life. But maybe there is a story that will throw them off the track?” She was going to have to think about it. Perhaps she could pretend to work at the bakery? That sounded harmless enough and not spellbook-adjacent. “In the meantime, we can’t stay here. The imperials have to believe this place is abandoned. Caz—”
“We’ll hide in the brambles,” Caz said. “It’s perfect.”
Demonstrating, Meep darted beneath the raspberry bush, out of view.
“Stay safe,” Kiela told them.
“You too,” Caz said.
“Meep.”
So anxious that she had to remind herself to breathe, Kiela strolled into town with Larran. It took every bit of courage she had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and not look as if she were screaming inside.
Maybe I should have asked the cloud bears to hide me too.
But that would’ve been shortsighted. She had to appear in town, act innocent, and not draw any suspicion to the cottage. She planned to slip into Radane’s role at the bakery, as Bryn’s assistant, and pretend she’d always worked there. With luck, the imperials would overlook her entirely.
She knew from her life in Alyssium that those in power, whether nobles or military, overlooked ordinary people. Librarians and shopkeepers were virtually invisible to them, just tools to complete a task. She could guarantee that, unlike Radane, no one on that ship was going to recognize her. I left so little mark on anyone in Alyssium after years. Yet here, after only a few days . . . Kiela looked at Larran and, despite everything, she felt like smiling. He was by her side, despite the risk and uncertainty.
Together they strolled past the mermaid fountain. It flowed with a cheerful burble, as if nothing was wrong. On the rooftops, the winged cats lounged in patches of sun. She kept reminding herself to look relaxed, casual, innocent, and she couldn’t help but critique every step: Was it casual enough? Was her expression bland enough? Were her shoulders relaxed? What in the world was she supposed to do with her arms? Swing them or keep them still? She couldn’t seem to remember how she normally walked. And what about her expression? Was her smile normal? Should she pretend to laugh at whatever Larran had just said that she completely hadn’t heard because she was too focused on her own feet, hands, and face?
Larran squeezed her fingers as they approached. They’d taken too long at the cottage—the imperials were clustered around the bakery. The boy Tobin was scurrying between them, serving up muffins as quickly as Bryn could put platters on the counter.
If I can’t claim I work at the bakery . . .
Plan B? Or were they up to Plan C? D?
Bryn waved cheerfully. “Hello, Kiela! Larran, we were just talking about you!” She bustled between the tables, distributing mugs to several imperials. They were dressed in military uniform, stiff tunics as red as the sails on their boat, with leather-armor-like pants and swords strapped to their waists. She counted three men and five women, but she didn’t doubt there were others in the town. A ship that size typically carried a crew of at least two dozen.
One man with hair twisted in a spiral had gold stripes on his tunic—he had to be the captain, Radane’s would-be fiancé. He was seated next to Eadie. “Ah, yes, there’s Larran!” Eadie said. “He’s the one who pulled that red-haired girl from the ocean.”
“You said she was calling herself Radane?” the captain asked. “Can you describe her for me, as well as the boat she arrived in?” He stood, and Kiela noted that he was quite a bit taller than Larran, though skeleton-thin. He had thin, long fingers that he moved as he spoke.
“Of course. You are?”
He bowed slightly. “Captain Varrik of the Alyssium Rover.”
“I’m Larran of Caltrey. And this is my wife, Kiela.” He lifted Kiela’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Kiela managed, barely, not to react. She knew it was just what Larran said to keep her safe, but she couldn’t help a little birdlike trill that echoed in her head. Summoning a smile, she said to the captain, “Pleasure to meet you.” She did not look at Bryn or Eadie to catch their reactions. She did hear Tobin let out a little gasp, then a yelp, as if someone had kicked him in the shin.
“We spotted the boat mid-storm,” Larran said. “It was getting tossed around on the waves. Midsize, designed for one to four passengers. But with all the chaos of the storm, I couldn’t get a good look at it. Did you, dear?” he asked Kiela.
“It had a mast,” Kiela said helpfully.
“What color sail?” the captain asked.
Kiela frowned as if trying to remember. She felt as if the moment was seared into her memory—the scream of the wind, the fury of the waves, and how fragile the boat had looked. Of course she remembered every detail. “I didn’t see a sail. I think the wind had ripped it away?”
“It was already half-capsized,” Larran explained. “I rode one of my merhorses out to the wreck. Barely got there when the woman went under, but I made it in time. Got her inside and warm fast, and she recovered quickly. She wasn’t in the water long enough for hypothermia to set in.”
Fenerer lurched to his feet. “Go get her, Larran. She’s staying at your house. Or is it in your bed? Tell us, Larran’s wife, do you share your bed with Larran and the investigator, or do you clear out when the two of them are together?”
“She’s not at Larran’s,” Bryn said. “She was staying in the empty room above my bakery, until she decided to leave Caltrey.”
Eadie jumped in. “And just because you weren’t invited to their wedding doesn’t mean you can disrespect Kiela. You better watch your tone or Bryn won’t give you any more of those biscuits you like.”
Fenerer snorted.
Before he could speak again, Larran cut him off. “At first, she didn’t identify herself, but after she recovered, she claimed to be an imperial investigator.”
“Made a mess of my bakery, until things were sorted out,” Bryn complained.
Captain Varrik said, “Sorted out?”
He’s good. He hadn’t said much. Just let people talk. Luckily, with the exception of Fenerer, Kiela’s friends had stayed on script, which was remarkable given how little time they’d had to prepare. It helped that they were mostly telling the truth. She tried not to fidget.
“She found nothing suspicious,” Bryn said. “In fact, she wanted to make amends, so she helped me clean up the bakery, and in return I offered her a place to stay.”
Fenerer jabbed his thumb toward the bakery. “Nothing suspicious? Ha! I’d like to hear that from her own mouth. Bring her out! Why isn’t she here briefing these fine soldiers? She should be reporting her finds.”
“I would indeed like to speak to the investigator,” Captain Varrik said, much more politely than Fenerer. Kiela wished there was a way to eject everyone’s grumpiest neighbor from the conversation. With Fenerer here, everything was much more likely to go awry. She hoped no one got too extravagant with their lies.
Bryn shrugged. “She moved on, once she finished here.”
“To where?” Captain Varrik asked.
Scooping up several empty plates, Bryn carried them back to the bakery counter. “She didn’t say, but personally I don’t see why anyone would ever want to leave Caltrey.” There were ragged cheers from the other customers, all the Caltreyans. The other imperials watched the streets and the houses, as if on guard against attack. From who? she wondered. The cats?
“Have there been other recent arrivals?” Captain Varrik asked.
Kiela felt Larran tense beside her.
Before Fenerer could jump in with any kind of accusation, Eadie said, “We could help you better if we knew why you’re asking. Who are you looking for?”
“Of course.” He bowed his head politely. “We are looking for Ravandil Etra L’sari. Due to . . . recent events, she is currently the only living heir to Emperor Mevorin. It is imperative we find her.”
They really were sent to find Radane.
“So you can crown her or kill her?” Eadie asked.
Bryn bustled out again. “Eadie.”
“What?” Eadie asked. “I can’t ask questions?” To the captain, she said, “Forgive an old lady’s bluntness. We get so little news out here. How did you misplace the sole living heir? Seems like that’s the sort of person one wants to keep track of. It’s not like she’s a pretty bauble that got stuck in a box.”
“She’s certainly not a bauble,” Captain Varrik said. He touched his hair spiral as if soothing himself and then sighed. “Frankly, if she doesn’t wish to be found, she shouldn’t be. But I have my orders. And I come offering a substantial reward: a deed to a recently vacated palace in Alyssium. It comes with all the furnishings and treasures of its former owner, as well as the title Baron or Baroness.”
Fenerer jumped to his feet and pointed at Kiela. “She’s new to Caltrey.”
Her heart clenched. So much for that lie working.
Larran stepped in front of Kiela, and she tried to look shocked. She did feel shocked. That was a very substantial reward. It could tempt anyone in Caltrey. Even Bryn or Eadie. She wondered if either of them had guessed that Radane was this heir. It was no more or less plausible than that she was an investigator who wanted to leave her job. Still . . . They don’t know where she’s hidden.
And besides, she didn’t think either Bryn or Eadie wanted to leave Caltrey.
Captain Varrik crossed the courtyard to Larran. The two men eyed each other, and the captain said mildly, “I would like to speak with your wife.”
Kiela laid her hand on Larran’s arm. “It’s all right. I’m obviously not heir to anything, except a cookbook.” She stepped out from around Larran. “I’m Kiela Orobidan, daughter of Atlan and Binna. I was born on Caltrey.” All true.
Varrik studied her for only a heartbeat—took in her blue skin, her hair, the shape of her face, her eyes, her new freckles—and dismissed her. “She’s not the imperial heir.”
She began to breathe normally again.
Fenerer shook his finger. “She’s suspicious, though. Came to this island and things started happening. You should search that cottage of hers. She keeps unnatural things. Bet she knows what really happened to the imperial investigator. Probably did something unnatural to her, to make her stop asking questions.”
Eadie smacked his finger with a napkin. “That’s enough, Fenerer. Captain Varrik . . .”
At the same time, Larran said, “Captain Varrik . . .”
Bryn said, “Ignore Fenerer. He’s suspicious of everyone.”
Captain Varrik inclined his head. “My mandate does not include the investigation of local island matters. I have one priority.”
“Mark my words,” Fenerer said, “that woman is hiding secrets.”
With the air of someone who was used to interviewing the islands’ most irritating residents, Captain Varrik said, “Describe this investigator to me, please.”
Fenerer happily jumped in with a description: height, shape, skin, eyes, hair. It was so detailed that he might as well have painted a picture of her. Kiela watched the captain and saw the moment that his suspicion was confirmed.
Until that instant, she’d had the sense that the captain was simply going through the motions, humoring the islanders while they discussed the latest event—the shipwreck and the absent imperial investigator. He hadn’t truly thought it had anything to do with his mission. Now, though, he looked like a hunting dog who’d scented a rabbit.
Oh, this is not good.
“Who was the last to see her?” he demanded.
His sailors sensed the change in his tone as well, and they became more alert. Kiela noticed their postures straightening, their eyes darting to observe everything and everyone. She didn’t doubt that they’d report back the slightest suspicion.
“That would be me,” Bryn said cheerily. “She helped me out at the bakery before she went on her way, and I gave her a bag of cinnamon rolls for her journey. You need sugar for the sail to the next island in the chain—it’s not a short journey, and my cinnamon rolls are the best. Would you like to try one?”
“What ship did she take, if hers crashed?”
Bryn glanced at Kiela, just a quick flash of the eyes, but the captain noticed it. He turned to Kiela. “How are you involved in all of this?”
She didn’t think. She just answered. “I sold her my parents’ boat.”
“Did you now?”
“I didn’t need it,” Kiela said. “I’m not planning on ever leaving Caltrey.” She smiled at Larran, and this time the smile was real. He smiled back at her.
“Eh, she’s lying,” Fenerer said. “That citygirl has no boat but the one she sailed in on—a kind of scow with a sail. Not Caltreyan. She’s from Alyssium. I’d bet she knows everything about this heir of yours. I’d bet they’re in cahoots. Or else sworn enemies. She did her in. Buried the body. Or transformed her into something nasty. A bit of moss. Or a slug. I’m telling you: she’s brewing up illegal spellcraft in that cottage of hers. You need to arrest her.”
Primly, the captain said, “I’m not in the habit of arresting civilians on no evidence. But that said, I must insist on seeing this cottage.”
“I don’t live there,” Kiela said. “No one does. It’s abandoned.”
“You have a jam shop, run out of your cottage!” Fenerer cried. “Obviously a front for something shady. How can you survive just selling jam? Especially just one flavor.”
Captain Varrik turned to him. “Is your accusation that she’s a rogue sorcerer, a murderer, or a bad businesswoman? I am losing track of your complaints.”
Fenerer drew himself up. “I am only saying that she doesn’t belong here.”
Bryn slammed a mug of tea down on one of the tables. “It’s you who doesn’t belong. Perhaps when Captain Varrik’s ship leaves, you should be on it.”
“Oh, I will, and you’ll be calling me Baron. Because I’m telling you: there’s something wrong about that blue-haired citygirl.” He wagged his finger at Eadie then Kiela.
Larran stalked toward him. “Enough, Fenerer.”
“She’s spelled you too, she has,” Fenerer said. “Otherwise you’d see it. She’s the source of everything strange that’s happened on this island. She’s a rogue sorcerer. And I’ll say it again: she knows exactly what happened to your investigator.”
Captain Varrik turned to Kiela. “Forgive the imposition, but I must ask you to show us this cottage now.” It was clearly not a request, but it was just as clear that he wasn’t happy with the source of his inspiration. She hoped that meant they weren’t doomed.
“Ha!” Fenerer said in victory.
In a low voice, Larran said, “You must see that Fenerer is . . . not our most reliable citizen. He’s prone to paranoia, and he took a dislike to my wife from the start. An irrational dislike. He’s chosen her as his scapegoat for everything from the tide to whether his fish stew was oversalted.”
“Then it should be no problem to show us this cottage he speaks of,” Captain Varrik said. “You must understand my position—my superiors have set a clear task, and no matter my personal feelings on the matter, I cannot be anything less than thorough.”
“And what are your personal feelings?” Kiela asked.
“Irrelevant,” he said. “Please, lead the way.”