Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 15

  “Sir. My instrument, can you repair it?”

  Morris gripped the barrel and brought the string section up to eye level for a closer inspection.

  “Of course I can.”

  “Thank you, but . . .” Nadja flushed, unsure how to phrase her next request.

  “What is it, my dear?”

  She took a deep breath and rushed on, “You see, I didn’t actually craft this instrument. My partner did. It is my fault it’s broken, but he doesn’t know.”

  “And you don’t want him to know, is that it?”

  Nadja cringed. “Yes. Is there any way . . .”

  Morris chuckled once more. “Have no fear. When I’m finished with the repairs, it will look like nothing ever happened.” He gave her a wink.

  Nadja’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you so much.”

  “You may pick it up tomorrow.”

  “You can have it done so quickly?”

  Morris’s eyes twinkled. “Of course, my dear.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir.”

  “And no more of this ‘sir’ business,” he chided, waving her away. “Call me Morris like everyone else. And give your uncle my best the next time you see him.”

  And just like that he disappeared again into the jungle, instrument in hand.

  Nadja retraced her steps until she found the door.

  The brisk autumn breeze whipped around her as she stepped onto the porch. It carried with it smells of roasted corn and spiced fruit, making her mouth water. As she crept down the porch steps, she decided to indulge herself by taking a stroll through the bazaar on her way back to the conservatory. It wouldn’t be hard to blend in with the crowd. She should be fine as long as she didn’t draw any extra attention to herself. She grinned as she pulled up the hood of her cloak and practically skipped down the road.

  Miles of colorful bunting draped back and forth across the road, its little flags waving a cheery welcome. Stalls lined either side of the street, dotted with every type of produce imaginable. Baskets of apples, gourds, figs, and dates, and even an occasional gemfruit, all the way from the Gelid Highlands, dotted the walkways. The harvest had been good in Amrantir this year.

  Giant slabs of preserved meats and wheels of cheeses were sold by weight, while the street performances were free. To her left, a musician whipped up a small whirlwind, spinning crisp red and orange leaves around in a miniature tornado, much to the delight of a crowd of children. As she meandered down the road, the music around her morphed from relaxed folk melodies to rollicking jigs and back again.

  A stall selling little balls of fried apple dough topped with cinnamon and sugar drew Nadja in with its delicious scent. She bought a small sack and munched happily on them, savoring the warm sweetness and cozy feeling accompanying every bite.

  A group of acrobats caught her attention, and she moved along to join the small crowd which had gathered to watch their performance. She oohed and aahed along with the crowd while the performers flipped and stacked themselves into human pyramids and towers. Nadja watched in amazement as the smallest acrobat, a boy who looked no more than nine or ten years old, climbed to the top of one tower and produced a baton from thin air, which he set aflame and twirled above his head.

  The crowd erupted in applause. Nadja did to, almost knocking the rest of her fried dough from her hand. As she fumbled with the sack, trying desperately not to lose one precious bite of the sugary deliciousness, a musical laugh floated above the cheers and grabbed her attention.

  Nadja snapped her head towards the sound. Only a few steps away stood the ever-lovely Laurel Willowcroft, her arm linked with Pax’s. Nadja shifted back behind a large gentleman, hoping they had not seen her. She peered around the man and saw that both Laurel’s and Pax’s attentions were directed at the diminutive fire twirler, not at her.

  Just then, Laurel’s chin dropped. Her eyes followed and landed on Nadja.

  Panicked, Nadja jerked around and worked her way to the edge of the crowd. That was too close. She was almost certain Laurel had recognized her. Would she say something to Pax? Nadja couldn’t take that chance. Stuffing the remaining fried dough into her mouth, she disposed of the paper sack and took the fastest route out of the bazaar.

  Leaving the festivities behind, Nadja wound through narrow paths between businesses and government buildings. With most of the city gathered for the bazaar, the side streets and alleyways were empty and quiet. The afternoon sun did little to warm the air. Instead, it made the taller buildings cast long shadows which enveloped the world around her, bringing with them colder air and making it more difficult to see. Eager to curl up next to a fire in the comfort of her own room, she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and turned her steps towards the conservatory.

  With the sounds of the bazaar now a faint hum in the distance, Nadja wondered about Laurel and Pax. They looked the part of the cozy couple, standing arm in arm, sharing warmth. Pax may have said he wasn’t interest in Laurel as more than a friend, but their body language and the delighted expression he wore told another story.

  But, that was good, right? As long as Pax was focused on Laurel, he wouldn’t have time to focus on her.

  So why did she have a knot growing in the pit of her stomach?

  Just then, Nadja heard scuffing behind her. Freezing, she turned and glanced over her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes, searching the dim alleyway.

  Nothing.

  It was probably a stray animal searching for something to eat or for shelter from the cold. Smart animal. If you weren’t soaking up the warmth and activity of the bazaar, the best place to be was somewhere out of the wind and cold. Nadja picked up her pace. Up ahead, there was a break in the buildings, and she could see little beams of sunlight streaming diagonals across the otherwise darkened alley.

  The moment she turned the corner, a gust of crosswind hit her with full force, lifting the hem of her cloak and flapping it like a wild bird. She stumbled back. The gust dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and she paused to adjust her cloak. Just then, she felt a sharp pain on her left side.

  Nadja grunted and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

  She looked down. The world stopped.

  A dart, about the length of her palm, protruded from her side just above her hip. The eerie familiarity of the little stinger made her blood run cold.

  Without another thought, she pulled out the dart, tossed it on the ground, and broke into a sprint. A cold, dead feeling surrounded the wound spreading outwards in every direction with each step she took. Her head swam and her vision began to blur around the edges. Her gait became irregular, and by the time she had gone no more than thirty paces, she stumbled to the ground, having lost the use of her left leg.

  Nadja clawed at the hard-packed dirt, trying desperately to pull herself forward, but it was no use. Her vision was darkening. Her left arm was gone, and she was rapidly losing the use of her right.

  Diamphoria.

  It was the Wanderer’s poison of choice for taking down large game. Luca had taught her about its use during their time together. It paralyzes the muscles of the prey, eventually killing it. But the disorientation it caused was unexpected.

  Her cheek hit the dirt as she struggled for breath, no longer able to raise her head. Through the syrupy thickness of her hearing, she could make out the drumming thud of approaching footsteps.

  She pried open her eyelids. If she was about to die, she wanted to see the face of her killer.

  A pair of dark leather boots came into view, and someone knelt beside her.

  Her surprise and disbelief forced a rueful chuckle from her lips as the last thing she saw before fading into oblivion was Luca’s cold stare.

  A bone-rattling bump jarred Nadja into consciousness. Through the mist which clouded her mind, she could discern the lazy rhythm of horse’s hooves, though she couldn’t open her eyes. She was on her back, lying on a hard surface, and her body felt . . . well, it didn’t. The effects of the diamphoria were
in full swing. But, the irregular rocking and sporadic bumps reminded her of riding in a boat.

  The rocking slowed, then stopped.

  A low, muffled rumble met her thick ears. Maybe distant thunder?

  As she slipped away again, her mind drifted into a dream. My sister . . . sick . . . taking her home.

  Brisk wind ruffled her hair, and the hard surface vibrated beneath her. They were moving faster now. Still unable to open her eyes, the darkness beyond her eyelids told her the sun had set.

  Did you pay him?

  How long ago that had happened, she had no idea. Was it still the same day? The same week?

  Of course.

  The sensation of having no body was disturbing, but perhaps it was a blessing, if it really was as cold as she imagined.

  Probably more than his servant salary for an entire year.

  At least she wasn’t dead yet though she was beginning to wish she was. Being trapped in her body, winking in and out of consciousness, was maddening.

  Should be enough to buy his silence, too.

  As her window of awareness closed once again, she hoped the diamphoria wouldn’t take much longer to finish its job.

  Nadja awoke to a thousand tiny pinpricks dancing across her face. Surprised by feeling anything at all, she tried to lift her hand to touch it.

  No, she still couldn’t move.

  Was it possible the diamphoria was wearing off? She had never heard of that happening before, but there was no denying the tingling sensitivity beginning to spread throughout her whole body.

  She pried her eyelids open. Another good sign.

  A host of twinkling stars filled the cloudless sky. They were a beautiful assurance that yes, she was alive. A lump formed in her throat, and she tried to swallow it, but her throat was raw from breathing the cold night air.

  Still unable to move her head, she tried to figure out where she was. The short, wooden rails on either side of her, along with the jostling and the sound of horses’ hooves, confirmed she was lying in the back of an open cart. She lifted her eyes and saw the dark heads of two men bobbing above the driver’s seat. Luca’s long ponytail gave him away at once, but the short-haired man offered no distinguishable features from the back.

  “What do you think he’ll do with her?” asked Luca.

  “He’s not a man to stray from tradition.” Nadja didn’t recognize the other voice. “He’ll push for full and exact punishment. After what she did, I can’t say I blame him.”

  Who were they talking about? Nadja would have thought, of all people, Luca would have been the man most injured by her disappearance. Of course, her decision to leave the Wanderers was not only injurious to Luca, but a slap in the face to everyone in the tribe. By abandoning them, she had essentially offended all of their beliefs, traditions, and their whole way of life.

  Surely they weren’t talking about her grandfather, Goran. As the Speaker for her family, he would have been the most dishonored by her decision to flee. But, he had always championed his daughters’ and granddaughters’ independence. Perhaps her choice to leave was one step too far.

  At that moment, the man with the short hair glanced back over his shoulder. Nadja snapped her eyelids shut and clenched her jaw to stop the chattering. Her best course of action would be to appear unconscious and unmoving. Hopefully she could glean some more information from her captors. And, if escape was at all a possibility, it was in her favor to hide the fact that feeling was returning to her body.

  “This looks like a good spot.”

  The horses slowed to a standstill.

  She listened as the two men began unloading the cart and making camp for the night. Within minutes, the sound of a crackling fire reached her ears. They seemed to pay her no attention, which was a good thing at the rate she was regaining sensation and mobility. She could wiggle her fingers now and was surprised to discover, though her face was frozen, her body had been wrapped in a warm, heavy blanket. Not as nice to discover were her bound hands, stiff joints, and aching muscles which were the result of being knocked around flat on her back in a hard wagon bed.

  Just then, a pair of large hands wrapped around each of her ankles and yanked her towards the back of the cart.

  “Take it easy,” came Luca’s level voice, mercifully covering her muffled groan.

  Her legs dangled off the back at an uncomfortable angle, pinching her spine, and she fought the urge to pull up her knees.

  “Huh. I would have thought you, of all people, wouldn’t care what happens to her,” said the other man.

  “I don’t,” replied Luca. “I just want to make sure we deliver her to the Elders as ordered. We don’t want it to look like we passed judgment and sentencing on our own.”

  Nadja’s backbone relaxed as Luca slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, lifting her out of the wagon. A few months ago, the thought of being held so intimately in his arms might have made her heart flutter. But now, she was terrified. For all of his gentleness, she’d heard what he’d said. He didn’t care what happened to her. He was looking forward to her judgment.

  The crackling and popping of the fire grew louder as they drew near. Nadja hoped Luca would at least be kind enough to put her close to it.

  As his steps slowed, he unexpectedly lurched forward. Nadja’s eyes flew open with a gasp as she felt her body being lifted, then dropped, then cradled once more in a pair of sturdy arms.

  “Fonso! Get this bag out of the way and over there with the others,” barked Luca. “I almost broke my neck.”

  Biting the inside of her cheeks, she closed her eyes and smoothed her features once more, hoping Luca had been too distracted to notice her slip.

  The warmth of the fire washed over her as he knelt and laid her on her side, facing it. He tucked the blanket around her, blocking out the cold. Just when it seemed he was finished with her, his body stilled.

  Nadja held her breath.

  The leather of his boots creaked as he shifted next to her, and the heat from the fire disappeared, blocked by something solid.

  She felt his breath on her cheek.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  Chapter 18

  Obeying Luca’s command proved to be more difficult than she expected. The effects of the diamphoria had long since worn off, and her shoulder and hipbone throbbed from bearing her weight against the ground. She longed to roll, stretch, anything, but Luca’s warning held her firmly in place.

  Robbed of her vision, her ears allowed the rest of the evening’s activities to play out in her mind. Her captors settled in, one near her foot and the other near her head. They said little to one another. She held her breath as they filled their bellies, defying her stomach to growl and give her away. After the meal, a quietness descended upon the camp as her captors tucked into their bedrolls. Within a few minutes, the only sounds of their presence in the forest were the snapping and hissing of the fire and the echoing boom of Fonso’s discordant snores.

  No longer able to bear the darkness, Nadja cracked her eyelids. The camp was much as she had expected. Fonso’s lumpy silhouette rested on his back at her feet, mouth agape as he projected his nocturnal symphony to the stars. She knew of him, but that was as far as their acquaintance went. He was many years older than her, unmarried, and, being a scout, spent much of his time away from the Wanderer camp.

  She slid her eyes upwards. The bedroll at her head was empty.

  Strange.

  She remembered hearing Luca lie down. Then nothing.

  Without warning, a hand clamped over her mouth and nose, muffling her involuntary rasp. Luca flipped her onto her back, straddling her body and pinning her arms to her chest. Nadja struggled against his weight, but couldn’t free herself. She tried to draw breath for another scream, but his hand pressed against her face harder as he bent over her.

  “I said, ‘Don’t move,’ woman,” he hissed. “This won’t end well if Fonso wakes up.”

  Right on cue, Fons
o snorted as if in agreement and rolled onto his side.

  Nadja froze. Memories of Baulo and Kizzy flashed in her mind’s eye. Except, in her imagination, their faces were replaced with hers and Luca’s.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Luca whispered low and deliberately. “Now, I’m going to move my hand, but don’t make a sound.”

  Wide-eyed, Nadja wiggled her head in agreement. Luca released his grip, and she sucked in a deep breath. Right away her teeth began to chatter. Whether from fear or the cold, she didn’t know.

  Placing a finger to his lips, he climbed off of her, eyeing her warily. She thought for a moment she might be able to land a solid kick to his groin, but, though her legs were free, her hands were still bound. And the possibility of waking Fonso and having two men to contend with was more than she could handle.

  Luca gripped her elbows and pulled her to her feet. Taking ahold of the rope tied around her wrists, he jerked his head towards the woods. He led her away from the campfire and into the darkness, stepping lightly and motioning for her to stay quiet.

  As the shadows swallowed them, Nadja’s mind raced with scenarios of how the night might play out. She was no match for Luca’s strength. Running was an option, but again, she knew she wouldn’t get far. And she knew he wouldn’t kill her. He had said as much to Fonso.

  No, the night would unfold as she had feared.

  Tears streamed down her face, and she bit her bottom lip. The idea of the two of them coming together had once filled her with a sense of curiosity and intrigue. Now it filled her throat with bile as her stomach revolted against the possibility.

  She looked back. The glow of the campfire had completely disappeared. Only the moon and stars lit their way.

  “That’s far enough,” said Luca, stopping under a break in the forest canopy. He turned around to face her, and closed the distance between them, his eyes narrow. “Are you all right?”

  Caught off guard by his supposed concern for her welfare, Nadja only stared back in response. She had expected his approach to be more forceful.