Concealed: The Taellaneth - Book 1 Read online

  Her understanding questioned, Arrow kept her senses open and looked again. Ten years was little time to a long-lived race like the ‘kin. And the apparently-human woman before her had had powerful magic grafted to her bones. A longevity spell, Arrow guessed. Somehow Marianne and Lucy had kept their relationship fresh over the course of a decade. And apparently managed to hide the existence of the relationship from the Erith, given their concern about the effect Marianne’s death would have on the Prime. With Erith relationships themselves sometimes tortuously complex, no further enquiry had been made, as far as Arrow knew.

  “Yes.” That sharpness was back in Lucy’s tone, drawing Arrow’s attention. For all that she appeared delicate and fragile, Arrow thought that Lucy Steers had a tough core. The human woman reminded Arrow forcibly of one of the very few Erith who had befriended Arrow at the Academy, another seemingly delicate female, ready to laugh and stubborn enough to stare down the stars. “Apparently ‘kin don’t divorce.”

  Arrow had been right about the toughness, the human confident in her claim on the Prime’s mate, standing her ground against him. Arrow could not help wondering how many times Zachary Farraway, the most powerful shifkin alive, had been spoken to in that way, with so little respect and biting hurt.

  “I’ve explained.” Zachary’s voice was low, and underneath his words an almost subliminal hum lifted hairs along Arrow’s neck. Shifkin anger. She had been right not to trust the facade. The anger was core-deep. She wondered if the Prime knew any magicians that could cloak themselves from discovery and kill with weapons that left no trace and realised that, even if he did not, personally, know any, he had resources to find them.

  “Yes,” Lucy said again, shoulders slumping, fight draining from her. She rubbed her hands over her face, careless of her makeup, and Arrow saw that underneath the perfect grooming, Lucy’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

  Arrow searched for something to say as the silence wore on. Her senses were closing slowly, tension grating her nerves.

  “What now?” Lucy broke the silence, speaking to Zachary.

  “Now Arrow will retrace Marianne’s steps and we’ll deal with her killer.” The hard determination on Zachary’s face said more clearly than any words that the killer would not survive the meeting. A chill ran through her, though it was nothing more than she had expected. The Erith were equally harsh on murderers. Lucy’s head jerked, part denial, part acceptance, jaw set.

  “Retrace?” Arrow’s attention caught. She lifted her brows, something about the way he had said it catching her attention. “Marianne Stillwater was missing?”

  “For four months,” Zachary confirmed, his age showing for a fleeting moment. Arrow’s breath caught. He was the Prime, connected to his people in ways she did not fully understand, and he had not known where his mate was for four months. An eternity. “And I did not feel her die.” That admission was quiet, holding Arrow’s attention. Erith knowledge suggested that bonded ‘kin were closely connected. He should certainly have felt Marianne’s death.

  “She disappeared,” Lucy confirmed, hugging herself, arms wrapped around her middle, staring at nothing. “No note, no message. Nothing. Just gone.”

  “What was she doing before that?” Arrow asked, curiosity overriding manners.

  “Her job.” Lucy’s tone was sharp, sharper than either the question or her grief warranted. She took a breath, shook her head, apparently realising that Arrow did not understand, tone still edged as she went on. “We ran a business together. Art gallery. I deal with the paperwork and accounts, mostly, and Marianne finds art to display and tracks down specific items for clients. Found.” Her voice choked on the last word.

  As interesting as that sounded, it did not appear inherently dangerous. Experience had taught Arrow not to dismiss minor details.

  “Was she tracking down a particular piece when she went missing?”

  “No.” Lucy’s tone was curt, and she did not look at Arrow. “She’d just finished a series of jobs for a new, well, new-ish, client. He’d had her running about a bit. Looking for paintings and some wooden carvings. She’d been to Hallveran and across to the north island, too.”

  A long journey. The north island was a human-only enclave involving at least two full days’ travel each way, as both Erith and ‘kin had forbidden human aircraft over their territories. Marianne would have needed a permit to visit, so there would be an official record of her visit.

  “Was she successful?”

  “Marianne was always successful in her hunts.” Lucy’s hostility slipped, mouth curving with a smile, pride in her partner evident.

  “And she had not taken on any more tasks?” Arrow pressed, something snagging her attention in what Lucy had said, or not said. Or perhaps it was that small smile, which made the human woman seem almost familiar although Arrow was quite sure that they had never met. Or perhaps it was the odd hostility, which had not lessened.

  “No.” Lucy’s smile was gone.

  “She hadn’t been to the mountain in that time,” Zachary offered, “though she usually visited about once a month.” Arrow wondered how many of Zachary’s immediate muster had known about Marianne’s other life, if her mate regarded her as a visitor to what had once been her home.

  He had adopted a deliberately casual pose, hands shoved in his pockets, feet slightly apart, shoulders relaxed. As if he were taking part in an everyday pleasant conversation and not discussing his dead mate’s last movements with his mate’s mistress and an Erith agent. Another facade. Arrow wanted to give it more attention, but Lucy stiffened and tilted her head pointedly towards the door.

  Not sure what more she could learn for the moment, Arrow decided to follow the woman’s lead.

  “Thank you for your time, Miss Steers.” Arrow turned to the Prime and he waved her ahead of him through the door.

  “Lucy.” Zachary nodded in place of a goodbye, and followed Arrow out of the house. She walked along the drive to the gates, Zachary keeping easy pace beside her, waiting for him to speak.

  He remained quiet until the gates had shut behind them and he had glanced back to check that Lucy was not observing them.

  “Marianne could be stubborn,” he observed, although Arrow did not think that was what he wanted to say. Even with ten years to grow used to his mate’s betrayal he seemed overly calm. He turned a critical gaze to her. “We’ll be hiking across the mountain after her trail,” he took her compliance for granted, “and you’ll need better gear. Go here,” he produced a small piece of card from his pocket, a business card, “and speak to Peter. He’s one of the local muster.”

  “Prime.” Arrow took the card, skin heating. It was somehow humiliating that her lack of preparation had been so obviously noted. The Prime’s mouth twitched, unexpected humour bringing further heat to her face. He said nothing directly, simply told her to meet him at the township hotel early the next morning and walked away.

  ~

  With too much to think about, and the unfamiliar road, she managed to take a wrong turn when leaving the estate, ending up on a narrower road that was definitely not the one she needed. Turning the car around was an exercise in concentration and she was about to leave, return to the city and find the outdoors shop that the Prime had recommended, when the faint trace of old wards caught her attention. The entire estate was bounded by old wards, human-made. These wards, though, had a taste of Erith magic about them. Old and not renewed for many years. Dormant and close by. A glance at the vehicle’s clock told her that there was no time to investigate and do everything else that needed to be done if she was to keep her appointment with the Prime the next day.

  Marking the location in her mind, she drove away, finally finding something to smile about as she realised that buying new clothing would mean that could avoid the Taellaneth’s stern laundry mistress for a little while longer. And she would have new clothes, without holes or worn patches, for the journey across Farraway Mountain. Anticipation and apprehension mixed together. A whol
ly new environment, unknown magic and companions who had every reason to hate her. It promised to be a challenging journey.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Arrow caught the edge of her borrowed snow shoes on an unseen obstacle yet again, stumbling and catching herself, this time, before she fell. The weight of her backpack shifted fractionally, again, just enough to be awkward, and she paused, face warming at the sideways glance from the nearby ‘kin, adjusting the straps once more before forcing her feet to move on. The Prime himself had provided her with the snow shoes and given her brief instructions how to use them. Easier to move across the mountain for the most part, he had said. Awkward was how Arrow would describe it, though she was grateful that they held her up and stopped her sinking into the snow with every second step.

  A morning’s walk had taken them past the site of Marianne’s death, Arrow having no difficulty in finding the shifkin’s trail now, and further onto the mountain. The Prime had chosen a very small group to accompany him; only four other ‘kin. Matthias and his mate, Tamara, were in their animal forms, running ahead. The other two, males that Arrow recognised from her encounter outside the municipal offices, were walking with loose, easy strides, not hampered by the packs they carried, the snow shoes, or the weaponry that she could see. They carried long knives strapped to their thighs, rifles in their packs and at least one handgun. Used to the White Guard’s presence, Arrow still felt disturbed by the human-made weaponry, wondering what dangers the ‘kin expected within their own territory.

  The Prime himself carried a pack, no weapon visible, and was taking the lead at the moment, bright red jacket a vivid beacon for her to follow. He moved as easily as his companions and had not even looked back when she stumbled this time.

  Silently thanking the Prime for sending her to the outdoors shop in Lix, Arrow found a moment to be grateful that at least she was warm. The shifkin shop owner had been quiet and efficient, sending Arrow away with what seemed a daunting pile of items, and doubtless delighted to part the Erith from some of their funds. As far as Arrow was concerned, it had been worth it. Despite the freezing air, her heavy breathing creating clouds, her fingers and toes were warm and mobile.

  She was also, for the first time she could recall, wearing colour. The shop owner had insisted she needed a coloured jacket to stand out in the snow. Bypassing purple, the Erith colour for mourning, she had given in to a clear, rich, blue, sombre enough that she did not feel foolish, like a servant playing dress up, and vivid enough to satisfy both the shop owner and a secret part of her that she had not known existed, but which revelled in the wardrobe change. Seen first in the shop, the blue had reminded her of the velvet-soft flowers that had grown in the garden around Nassaran’s cottage, and wearing the colour now felt like carrying a tiny piece of him with her. She thought she might need his patience and wisdom on this journey.

  The silver thread that was Marianne’s trail, clear in her second sight, and direct since she had picked it up earlier, suddenly swerved, taking a loop that Arrow did not think was physically possible for any creature. A little further ahead the trail wound back on itself then dived into a huge knot, reminding Arrow of a ball of yarn, with not one single thread leading out from the knot.

  Focusing on the first world it looked no different than the forest they had been walking through all morning. Giant trees poked up into the sky, bark black against the light, smaller trees huddled among them, thick covering of snow over every piece of ground, drifting in piles against wide tree trunks.

  She must have made a sound as the Prime had stopped, too, the pair of ‘kin in human form taking a few steps out to either side, relaxed and watchful.

  “The trail has been compromised,” Arrow told the Prime. He had known, she saw, and was watching for her reaction.

  Aware of his scrutiny, she looked again, opening her second sight more, and winced.

  “There has been magic used. A lot. Someone has hidden Marianne Stillwater’s trail.”

  “Can you follow it?”

  “Not yet.” She unfastened her pack and slid it off her shoulders, trying not to sigh in relief as she set it down. It had grown heavier with every step. “The trail has been wound up, and there is nothing beyond it.” She hesitated before going on at the silent query from the Prime. “The spells used were designed to confuse a tracker hunting by sight or smell.”

  “We were unable to follow the trail,” Zachary confirmed, voice even. One of the other ‘kin gave a low growl, an unhappy sound that silenced quickly at a sideways glance from his leader. A little shiver ran through her. Shifkin did not easily admit defeat. Although the Prime appeared calm and confident, they needed her, or another skilled magician, to go further. Being needed did not mean she was safe.

  “Can you break through it?”

  “I do not think that breaking it will be wise. There are … traps laid in the spellwork.” The ‘kin growled again, and she realised her hand had lifted, unconsciously, one finger tracing the power lines that only she could see. She stopped, shoving her hands into pockets.

  “Traps? Booby-trapped spells?” The Prime was sceptical.

  “Indeed. If the spells are tripped then everything within twenty paces will vanish,” she told him, wincing a little at the power coiled into the spells. Someone had spent a long time creating this web of spells.

  The Prime’s scepticism vanished and she remembered that he had been part of the last great battle fought between ‘kin and Erith, so had seen first-hand the destructive power of battle magic. There were pockets of ground near the highway to Hallveran that were still devoid of life many years later, places where even people with no magic sensitivity at all avoided walking.

  “What do you need?”

  “A little space and some time,” she told him, careful to keep her shoulders rounded and not to meet his eyes, avoiding any possible perception that she thought she was in charge. Somehow, from her few interactions with the Prime, she thought he was confident enough in his own abilities to not bother. He was a little like the elder in that respect. However, the two ‘kin with him were prickly of their leader’s dignity, lips curling to show glimpses of bright white teeth when they looked in her direction.

  “Very well.” Zachary glanced at the darkening sky. “We’ll set camp while you work.”

  “Prime,” she acknowledged and fetched a groundsheet from her pack, laying it on the snow in the centre of the spells.

  “How far away?” Zachary asked, picking up her pack to take with him.

  “At least thirty paces,” she told him. They should be safe at that distance if anything went wrong.

  ~

  Settling cross-legged, awkward in hiking boots, she slowed her breathing, closing her eyes and dropping into the calm state that was most efficient for spell working. The sounds of the first world, the ‘kin’s soft footfalls, rustle of canvas, soft murmur of conversation, breeze in the trees, crunch of snow, all fell away.

  Opening her eyes to the second world she was met with a blinding knot of spells in a world flat and devoid of natural life. Here was only power, the lines of magic that a magic user had laid, the faint shades of shifkin natural magic just at the edge of her range.

  The spellwork took some time to understand, a triple-layered concoction of different types of higher magic interlinked in a way that the Academy had declared to be impossible. The three circles of spellwork criss-crossed in a slowly turning perpetual spiral, dizzying to her eyes at first.

  There was a dense pattern of crimson runes, thick strand of destruction, the colour of dried blood. Powered by forbidden blood magic. Somewhere nearby, under the snow, were the remains of whatever sacrifice had unwillingly surrendered its life to create this spell. Threaded into those runes were commands for wider dispersal. It was designed to destroy all trace of Marianne Stillwater, to prevent anyone from following her trail.

  Twisted around the crimson runes were primitive black and white shapes, one of the earliest forms of Erith magic, still taught
at the Academy. The apparently crude shapes protected the main spells held in the crimson runes.

  And underneath all of that, sliding through the black, white and blood, was the sinuous shape of a destroyer worm. Creatures of spirit, they existed slightly out of phase with the first world, feeding on the power in the second world, normally harmless as they swam through the currents. They could be trapped, as this one had been, and bound closer to the first world, brought into phase with the second world which allowed them to feed directly from life in the first world. Their preferred meals were Erith. Even the weakest Erith had magic enough to satisfy a worm. This one was bound, starved of the magic that was its normal food source. Any magician attempting to use their power to unravel either of the other spells would quickly find themselves eaten by the worm.

  Arrow shivered, memories surfacing. This giant worm, barely there even in her second sight, had smaller cousins, the flickers of their life barely the size of her palm, which were trapped inside suppressor collars that the Academy occasionally used for troublesome students. Arrow had worn one of those collars for much of her Academy career, once the Erith had decided she needed training, had lived with the twisting sensation about her neck and the whispers in the dark. Unable to use her magic while the collar was on, unable to block out the murmur.

  More than one magician had died thinking that the little worms could be controlled, calling the things to them for experimentation, the worms latching on to power and draining them. And there were far greater threats, out of phase beyond the second world.

  It was a deadly, masterful trap constructed with unparallelled skill. Not one of the Academy masters, even the Preceptor, would be able to build this trap.

  Which raised the question as to who had made the trap. The Academy masters were amongst the finest magicians trained by the Erith, and where they did not have knowledge, they called in other magicians who did. None of them could have done this. Another Erith could have done. Or a human. A chill worked down her spine. Humans rarely managed such complex magic as this. On the rare occasions where they had, it had proved deadly to the Erith. There was a reason Arrow, and members of the White Guard, were sent to watch various humans. The Erith remembered.