Fire and Feathers_Novelette Prequel to Moss Forest Orchid Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE Bird Hunting

  CHAPTER TWO That's Not a Bird

  CHAPTER THREE The Plan

  CHAPTER FOUR It's Just a Little Forest Fire

  CHAPTER FIVE Let's Be Adventurers

  Moss Forest Orchid

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fire and Feathers: Prequel Novelette to Moss Forest Orchid

  Silver and Orchids

  Copyright © 2017 by Shari L. Tapscott

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Z.A. Sunday

  Cover Design by Shari L. Tapscott

  Here’s to new adventures

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bird Hunting

  “You’re telling me that feather is worth four hundred denats?” I lounge against the jeweler’s long case, resting my elbow on the glass top, and peer at the item in question. It lies on a silken pillow like a crown jewel. I’m itching to get my hands on it. “That little feather?”

  Sebastian grimaces and shoves my elbow aside. He then polishes the glass like I’ve smudged it with my commonness.

  The current shopkeeper’s not old—nineteen, same as I am—but he’s as tight-laced as the owner. For as long as I can remember, Sebastian’s been working for the proprietor of Sapphire Antiquities and Alchemy Supply—his grandfather. The shoppe is just one of Lord Thane’s many business investments, and it’s the finest art and alchemy supply in all Reginae. That little fact is going to Sebastian’s head. He calls himself a curator. In truth, he is a glorified errand boy.

  As soon as Sebastian sets the soft cloth aside, I reclaim my spot on the glass case. “So if I find a phoenix and rob him of a handful of plumage, you’ll pay me four hundred denats?”

  Sebastian meets my gaze, his expression wry. “As if you know where to find a phoenix.”

  I straighten. “I can find anything.”

  My childhood friend narrows his eyes at the pile of common garnets I’ve just emptied out of my pockets. “If you’re capable of finding anything, why have you brought me this rubbish?”

  The garnets aren’t impressive, I’ll admit. But it’s all I managed to snatch from the cave before the crotchety common dragon found me snooping about in his lair this morning. The worthless beasts are thieves, but they don’t take kindly to looters.

  “The man who brought this in was a skilled scout, Lucia.” Sebastian idly motions to the feather with one hand as he counts the not-so-precious jewels with his other.

  I set my hands on my hips. “And you’re saying I’m not?”

  Sebastian’s dark green eyes meet mine, and he runs a hand through his short, teak-colored hair. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Setting my palms on the case, I lean forward. “You watch me. Next time I walk through that door”—I jab my thumb toward the entrance—“I’ll be back with a phoenix feather.”

  He frowns, and I can tell from the way his fingers twitch, he’s already itching to shoo me away so he can clean the smudges off the case again. “Yes, you do that. Now, in fact, would be a good time.”

  I lean across the counter, snatch the cloth from his hands, and wipe the glass for him. Then, satisfied with the sour look on his face, I turn toward the door.

  “Next time you see me, you won’t be able to deny that I am, in fact, an adventuress—as skilled as any scout.” I look over my shoulder and toss the rag at him. “And while I’m out there, soaking up the praises of the people, you’ll still be here—too prim, proper, and pampered to ever leave your grandfather’s shoppe.”

  Satisfied by the rigid set of his jaw, I give him one last smile and disappear out the door. I realize my mistake the moment I’m outside. I made my grand exit before Sebastian paid me for the garnets.

  It’s too late now. I’m not going back in.

  My stomach rumbles, disappointed. That’s all right. A person doesn’t necessarily need to eat every day.

  Putting thoughts of food aside, I debate how I’m going to track down a phoenix. They live far away, in the kingdom of Bellaray, but I’ve heard they migrate through Kalae at certain times of the year. If anyone knows where to find the birds of fire, it’s the traveling merchants who come through the village once or twice a week. If I’m lucky, they’ll arrive tonight.

  With nothing left to do but wait until dark, I decide to prepare my supplies. I walk down the street, my mind on my task. I return greetings when addressed, but I mostly keep to myself until I arrive in Reshire’s business district. My house isn’t large—or a house, if we’re being particular.

  Last winter, ready to be away from my family’s chicken farm and five younger siblings, I talked the chandler’s wife into renting me the room above her husband’s shoppe. It’s small, only as wide as I am tall, and my clothes always smell like beeswax. On the upside, candle-making isn’t a loud process, so it’s quieter than home.

  And it’s all mine.

  As I pass through the shoppe, I wave a quick hello to Rembard.

  He looks up from the duo of tapered candles he’s dipping. “Your rent’s late, Lucia.”

  I pause halfway up the staircase that leads to my closet-sized room. “I’ll have it to you by the end of the week, I swear.”

  Unless I’m off, chasing phoenixes.

  In reply, he grunts and lowers the candles back into the melted wax. “You’ll have to work it off if you don’t.”

  He doesn’t care about the money. In fact, if I know the chandler as well as I think I do, I’d say he would rather put me to work. But the simple fact is I hate dipping candles. I’d rather skip back into that dragon’s cave and invite him to tea.

  After assuring the chandler, again, that he’ll have his money in a few days, I escape to the quiet safety of my room. I glance about, taking stock of my current inventory. I’m out of arrows, there’s no food left in the cupboard, my water skin has a hole, and the only clothes I own are on my back.

  Several moments go by. I slide a dagger into the sheath at my hip.

  There. All packed.

  ***

  I slink through the village, trying not to draw attention to myself. The sun is down, and a whole different crowd comes out at night. The peasant women are home, tending to their evening chores. Their children are with them, scrubbed clean from their baths, tucked into beds, yawning as they beg their fathers for just one more story.

  This is the night crowd, those who don’t leave the safety of their homes until the sun sets behind the nearby mountains. They are the swindlers, the cheats, the looters, the con-artists.

  And the traveling merchants.

  I can see from the dim light in the square that the caravans have just arrived. Their wagons are tan with dust from the road, and their donkeys look weary. Already, several characters of questionable morality loiter in the darkest of shadows, waiting for just the right moment to approach the group and sell parcels of items that are likely stolen or won in gambling rings. Either way, they’ll want to be rid of them before they’re caught.

  Up ahead, the constable, a thick man with sharp eyes, rides past me on his fine black horse. Hi
s gaze is on the merchants. It’s not late, but already he’s looking for signs of trouble. If he sees the bandits lurking in the shadows, he doesn’t pay them any mind. He pauses for a moment, drawing his horse back a few steps. After several minutes of staring into the square, he tosses his long cloak over his shoulder and continues on.

  Slowly, I let out a held breath. I’m not wanted for anything—haven’t done anything that deserves a warrant for my arrest, but the constable and his men still make me nervous.

  Once he’s gone, I continue toward the merchant stalls. I’m not familiar with this group, which means they’re not familiar with me. That’s going to make my task more difficult. Without a little money to coax them, the men of the caravans are notoriously tight-lipped, and they’ll be even more so since I’m a stranger.

  Still, I have to try.

  I wait by the side of a building and scan my possible targets. There’s a man with a hardened face and broad shoulders. He directs the unloading process, and I can immediately tell he’s not the one to ask. Near him, a woman attempts to break up an argument between her two overly-tired children. She seems to be unsuccessful at this point, and she grows more frustrated with every passing moment. She won’t do, either.

  I’m about to give up and talk to the gruff-looking man in charge when a boy a year or two younger than I am—probably seventeen or eighteen—steps down from one of the wagons. His arms are full of bolts of fabric, and he grimaces when he drops one. It bounces to the ground, unrolling as it goes. Chagrined, he looks around to see if anyone noticed.

  Here’s my mark.

  Quickly, I stride across the square as the boy attempts to pick up the bolt without dropping the rest of his load. He leans down, but the fabric tilts with him, its future precarious at best.

  Without a word, I rescue the bolt and roll it up. Bewildered, the young man looks at me, probably wondering where I came from.

  “I’m Lucia.” I cock my head to the side, giving him the tiniest of smiles, and set the bolt on top of his wobbling stack.

  He blinks. “Gorin.”

  I shift my weight, cocking out my hip just a bit. “Travel far?”

  “We did about sixteen hours.” His shoulders sag as if the weight of the day is far more tiresome than the load he’s carrying.

  After I whistle to show I’m impressed, I say, “But imagine the things you’ve seen.”

  “I’m not sure it’s worth it, but, yes, I’ve seen incredible sights.” With a jerk of his head, the young man motions for me to follow him.

  He drops the bolts on a table and turns back to me. His eyes travel over my old bodice, rough-spun trousers, and scuffed up boots—practically the official garb of a scavenger or bandit. “You here to sell?”

  Shaking my head, I take a tiny step closer. “I need information.”

  His expression turns wary, and he crosses his arms. “What kind of information?”

  I sidle another step in, satisfied when Gorin’s eyes widen. “I’ve made a bet with…we’ll call him a friend.”

  Gorin eyes me, wary but intrigued. “I’m listening.”

  He’s a cute puppy—all gangly limbs and baby fat. He’ll be handsome enough in a few years, but right now he’s awkward and not used to attention. He’s so easy, I almost feel guilty.

  Almost.

  Slowly, with the barest of feline smiles, I say, “I’m looking for a phoenix.”

  “Good luck with that.” He laughs under his breath.

  “Come on…” I step a tiny bit closer. “You said it’s Gorin, right?”

  He gulps. “Yes.”

  “Well, you see, Gorin, my reputation’s at stake here. I really have to track one down, and if there’s anything you can tell me…I’d be very grateful.”

  “Are you brave?” he asks, properly disconcerted by the practiced flutter of my eyelashes. “Resourceful?”

  “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  Someone hollers the young man’s name from across the square, and he flinches. “I should go.”

  I tap my finger on his chest. “Give me a hint. I can find the bird myself, just tell me where to start.”

  “Eromoore.” He cringes as he says the province’s name. “But it’s not exactly—”

  “A place for a lady? Don’t worry about that—I’m not one.” Elated, I press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Gorin. You’ve been ever so helpful.”

  With owlish eyes, he gapes at me. After a moment, he blinks and shakes his head. “You’re welcome, but…”

  I wave a quick goodbye over my shoulder and hurry from the square.

  “Wait!” Gorin calls.

  His voice sounds so urgent, I look back.

  The young man fishes a handful of various items out of his pouch. He sorts through them and then tosses me a ring. “Bring me back a feather, and we’ll call it an even exchange.”

  The band is etched with snowflakes—an elemental enchantment. “Worried I’ll singe myself?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, thank you, Gorin. It’s nice to know someone cares.” Laughing, I pocket the ring and hurry down the streets, toward the city’s west exit.

  ***

  I don’t spook easily, but there’s something about this night that has me on edge. I walk with my hand on my dagger, ready to draw it from its sheath should I need it. A fat summer moon rises over the mountains. It shines down, bathing the black night in silver light. Occasionally, clouds roll over the sky, leaving the land dark.

  It’s no different than any other night on the road, but I swear something watches me. I feel my bow’s absence. I should have skipped a few meals and bought some arrows.

  I’m nearing the town of Trelane, a medium-sized village on the shores of a large lake bearing the same name. A breeze picks up, cool from the water, and the nearby reeds sing. My skin prickles. I gaze toward the merry lights of the inn. I could offer to wait tables, sleep a bit in the morning, and continue my journey in the light of day.

  At my pace, it’s going to take another week and a half to reach the Eromoore border as it is. One night won’t hurt.

  Leaves rustle behind me, and I whirl around, drawing my dagger as I turn. The trees sway gently in the light breeze, but nothing else moves. Yet my pulse races.

  This is ridiculous.

  I swallow and take a long, careful breath in through my nose, forcing myself to remain calm. Slowly, feeling as if I’m exposing my back to danger, I turn toward the small village.

  I’ve only taken two steps when I’m yanked back, and a blade meets my throat. A deep, dark voice whispers in my ear, “You’re not as good as you think you are.”

  “Let me go.” Relief and irritation mingle as I sag in my assailant’s arms. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

  Sebastian releases me and lowers the hood of his fine cloak. He grins, and moonlight glints off his dark hair. He holds a velvet pouch in front of my face and swings it back and forth. “You forgot your payment for the garnets.”

  When I try to snatch the bag, he jerks it away, holding it over his head. He’s tall, towering a good seven inches over me.

  I cross my arms and wait. “You followed me.”

  “Good thing I did. I took out a bandit who’d been tailing you since you left the caravan.” His grin morphs to a smirk, and he tosses me the pouch. “You’re welcome.”

  I open the bag, examining my earnings. “You did not.”

  “You’ll never know, will you?”

  “That’s big talk for an errand boy.” I point into the pouch. “You owe me at least another silver.”

  We both know he gave me too much.

  “Consider it my commission for keeping you alive.”

  I pull the bag’s drawstrings and tuck the bundle into my cloak’s inner pocket. “Yes, well, it looks like your job here is done.” I motion him back the way we came. “Off you go.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Startled, I jerk my head up to meet
his eyes. “You most certainly are not.”

  He’ll never travel as far as Eromoore, especially not on foot. His grandfather wouldn’t allow it.

  “Your mother will have my head if you die a horrible, fiery death and she finds out I was the one who gave you the idea to take off in the first place.”

  “There is only one reason I would die a ‘horrible, fiery death,’ and that’s if I’m forced to watch over you.” I poke my finger at his chest. “Go play adventurer with someone else.”

  Sebastian raises his eyebrow and gives me a pointed look. “Is this how you charmed the foolish boy from the caravan? Because, honestly, I’m not sure why it worked.”

  I rip my hand away. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “I’m going to Eromoore,” I say, a little disconcerted that he witnessed me coercing Gorin out of information. “And you’re going home.”

  A cloud clears the moon, and light washes over the valley once again, illuminating Sebastian’s face. In the night, his eyes seem darker. He has strong cheekbones and a defined jaw, both of which are more noticeable in the shadows.

  It hits me for the first time that Sebastian has become rather handsome.

  “I’m not going back.” Sebastian catches me staring. His expression goes guarded. “What?”

  “I was just wondering how many days you’ll make it out here before something eats you.” With those words, I turn from Trelane and continue down the road that will eventually lead to Eromoore.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That's Not a Bird

  Eromoore isn’t the kind of place you’d build a summer home. Trees tower overhead—deciduous giants with gnarled, black trunks and limbs that are prone to breaking grow alongside stubby, spindly evergreens. The ground is spongy, smelling of moss and mold and decaying pine needles. It’s dark under the tree’s canopy, but persistent, prickly bushes grow on the forest floor, thriving in the sparse, dappled light.

  Sebastian studies his map, scowling. We’ve come to a fork in the road. Unfortunately, we’re not sure which way to go—higher into the mountains or lower, toward the swamps. To make matters worse, the signpost has rotted, and it’s unreadable. We’re not even sure where we are.