Book Preview - Spyder's Kiss

Chapter One

The blue, cloudless skies held the promise of dry clothing for the first time in nearly two full moons. Liris weighed staying in her forest camp long enough to dry her tunic and trews against allowing them to dry as she rode the last furlongs to her room beneath Orinshire Castle’s great hall. She wasn’t far from the little town of Ashton Fork, where the Duchess of Danforth, Aurelia “Bree” Makena, kept her steading.

She poked at the fire struggling to burn the damp brush she’d scrounged from the sodden forest floor. The wood smoked and hissed as the flames nearly sputtered out in response to her fussing. Leaning forward, she hurriedly blew them into life for the tenth time that morning. Most of the smaller twigs she’d set around the fire’s perimeter had miraculously dried from the pitiful amount of heat emanating from the struggling flames.

Liris gathered the drier ones and positioned them so they’d, in turn, burn hot enough to dry the damp wood sputtering in the middle of her fire ring. Drying the smaller sticks first was a trick one of her tentmates had taught her when she was still a young squire in the Estian army. While she waited for the flames to grow, she sat back on her haunches and stared at the surrounding forest, sorting through a tangle of memories of her childhood home.

Her life there had been both good and bad; she smiled at the good and dismissed the bad. There was no sense dwelling on the past; at least, that’s what her Spirit Guide, Legan, always reminded her whenever her thoughts edged toward the maudlin. Her grandmother, once the queen of Estia and a strict disciplinarian, topped the list of good. The betrayal and subsequent branding by one of her constables topped the bad.

The dry sticks did the trick, and before long, the flames grew into a respectable fire that might just dry her assortment of wet clothes and stockings. Earlier that morning, on the off chance the skies would remain clear, Liris had shoved two sticks into the damp earth, fork ends up. Since she was missing the third crossbar for her drying rack, she grabbed her hand ax from a nearby rock and chopped at a green sapling growing on the edge of her encampment. The bar had to be low enough to dry her things yet high enough that her one extra outfit wouldn’t burn to a blackened crisp.

 Tiny droplets sprayed from the sapling with each thwack. Realizing the rain had put her in a foul mood the past few days, she paused a moment to appreciate the beauty surrounding her. Everything around her glistened brightly in the early morning sunshine. The downpour had soaked the surrounding Sinclair Runyion trees, which grew thick in this patch of the Ironmoor forest. She loved these ancient giants, with their white trunks and dense canopies that towered over her like mushroom-capped sentries. One of the reasons she’d left the main road when choosing a place to bed down for the night was that the wide canopies provided protection from the unrelenting drizzle she’d had to endure for the last fortnight.

She resumed her chopping, and the sapling fell without too much effort. As Liris knelt to retrieve it, the wind shifted and came out of the west. That was different than the northeasterly gusts that had been plaguing her for the last several days. While it wasn’t a strong breeze, the gust carried on it a distinctive odor she knew only too well.

Sensing her ripple of unease, her Spirit Guide, Legan, materialized near the fire. The Fisher Cat studied her a moment before lowering his hindquarters into a seated position and wrapping his long, bushy tail around his front paws. His nostrils flared several times as he stared into the surrounding forest. Dead human. He turned his head slightly and sniffed the breeze again. More than one. Far enough away that you couldn’t detect the odor until the wind shifted.

Growling slightly, Liris threw down the sapling and kicked dirt over her fire. There was no way she’d leave a fire unattended while she went to investigate the odor. She grumbled quietly to herself, “Morgred’s balls. I just coaxed that into a nice, warm flame.” Only a thin wisp of smoke rose from the firepit by the time she disappeared into her tent. Irritated by the interruption, she strapped on her short sword and grabbed her bow and quiver.

Legan was gone by the time she reemerged. Casting a forlorn glance at her sodden firepit, she climbed into the upper branches of the nearest tree and silently made her way through the forest, using the upper canopy to conceal her presence.

She moved slowly, studying the ground beneath her and looking for any signs that other humans had come this way. She didn’t expect to see any. Judging by the stench of the decomposing bodies, it had been a while since the people had died. She trusted Legan’s sense of smell, and even though she couldn’t differentiate between one body or two, he certainly could.

Over here, Apprentice.

Liris smiled inwardly and replied to him using the same mind-to-mind communication he’d used with her. Over here, where?

Do you see that outcropping of rock halfway up the hill directly behind your campsite?

Yes.

I’m to the left of that at the bottom of the hill. It isn’t pretty. You’d better steel yourself.

I thought things had been going much too well on this assignment. I think the king will be surprised that we managed to get his message out to seven members of the King’s Watch without anyone being any the wiser. The King’s Watch was a secretive society of Anacafrian spies. The identities of the men and women in the Watch were a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few of the king’s trusted commanders. And now, to her as well. It was a testament to how much the king trusted his cousin, the Duchess of Danforth. Bree had convinced King Leopold that Liris was both loyal and reliable, and so she’d been sent on this secret mission.

Legan’s mind voice had a slight growl when he replied, I doubt this has anything to do with your assignment, Apprentice. This is just…

Very little upset her Guide, and Liris wondered what he’d found to unsettle him. She climbed down using the tangle of limbs for hand and footholds. Since none of the branches extended all the way to the ground, she had to shimmy down the rough bark on the final third of the trunk. When her feet touched the ground, she immediately crouched at the base, waiting and listening.

There are no living humans in the area, Apprentice. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do for these people, and there is no need for stealth.

Out of habit, Liris moved silently anyway until she came to a small clearing. She stopped abruptly at the sight of three bodies hanging from the lower branches of a massive tree. The black shapes were silhouetted against the white tree trunks, looking like three different-sized chess pieces hanging from a child’s string—a king, a rook, and a very small pawn.

From left to right, the bodies of an older man, a younger woman, and the small, pitiful form of a small boy hung stiff and eerily still. What struck her immediately was the precision with which they’d been hung. The tops of their heads were in exact alignment with each other. The man’s feet dangled about the height of one man standing on a short man’s shoulders. The woman’s feet came to his knees, and the boy’s barely reached her hips.

Liris carefully circled the glade. Although someone in the distant past had felled all the trees and cleared the stumps from the area, the small field had since returned to its natural, wild state. Grass and smaller shrubs covered the area, and grazing animals such as deer, moose, and elk had kept the grass low and neatly trimmed. If it weren’t for the three bodies hanging from the trees, this would have been an inviting place to camp.

The bodies hung on the northernmost edge of the clearing. Liris circled to the east, wanting to get an overall feeling for what had happened before she went barging in to investigate. Orienting herself by the sun’s position, she stopped on the east side and looked west. From this vantage point, she saw two parallel lines where the grass lay trampled and broken. Someone had entered from the west, moved toward the center of the clearing, and then turned north. She decided to wait to check out the path. No sense tramping through the middle of the field and possibly ruining any clues she might use if she decided to track the murderers.

Each step brought her closer to the bodies, increasing the stench tenfold. Unfortunately, predators had gotten to the man, disfiguring his left leg from the knee down and making off with his right foot.

By contrast, the little boy’s feet were too high for any beast to reach. It might have been possible for an enormous sarican bear to reach him with the tips of its claws if the animal had risen onto its hindquarters, but she doubted it. Liris hoped their deaths had been quick, that they hadn’t lingered knowing their fate. Contrary to popular belief, the simple act of stringing a person up by their neck doesn’t always bring immediate death. She’d seen men linger for days if the rope allowed them enough movement to bring in even a tiny breath of air.

Shaking her head to rid herself of grim memories, she returned her attention to the problem at hand. She examined the stump where the man’s boot and foot should have been. She absently wondered how the beast had ripped off the foot and its covering and yet left the boot’s leather shaft that ran from ankle to knee relatively intact.

The left leg, which was still in possession of its foot, was also clad in a knee-high leather boot. Some animal, most probably a bear since that was the only forest inhabitant with the requisite reach, had ripped it to shreds, and the coagulated blood around the sole and on the ground told her that the unfortunate man had indeed been alive when the animal attacked. Dead men tend to bleed sparingly, if at all, and even then, it tends to be a black, viscous mush that had remained in the lower limbs when the heart had stopped. This amount of blood, albeit black as well, given the amount of time that had elapsed between death and discovery, had pooled and sprayed from a fresh, arterial wound that could only have come from a still-pumping heart.

Wondering why the incessant rain hadn’t thoroughly washed away the blood, she glanced up and realized the canopies of three trees met directly above, covering the bodies with a double or even triple layer of protection. She knelt and felt the slightly damp ground, thinking it was a pity such a dry campsite was ruined now that three people had hung above it and died. She wasn’t a particularly superstitious woman, but she’d seen enough to know she didn’t want to make camp in a place where angry spirits might remain to wreak havoc on unsuspecting travelers. Not to mention the copious amounts of blood pooled beneath the bodies.

Sighing, she turned her attention to the woman. The first thing she noticed was her dress. Liris had been an Estian royal long enough to recognize high-quality damask fabric when she saw it. Add to that the fur trim around the collar and wrists and the finely woven silk underkirtle, and you have a woman of wealth and breeding. She recognized the pattern on the damask as one being worn by many of the more fashionable ladies of the court. “Whoa.”

You have such a clever way with the subtle understatement, Apprentice. Is there enough left of their faces for you to make an identification?

Nothing about the man’s clothing had immediately caught her attention. Now that she knew what to look for, she realized that while sharp teeth and claws had shredded his boots and trews to ribbons, they were of an excellent make and material.

Liris stepped back a few paces to get a better angle on their faces. She immediately regretted doing so and had to fight to keep what little she’d had for breakfast from making a reappearance. Some animals, or more likely some birds, had plucked out and eaten five of the six eyes. The sixth was so grotesque it defied description. She’d seen men who’d had their eyes put out by other humans, and she’d seen the leftovers from what the crows considered a battlefield delicacy. This was definitely the latter.

Liris had seen many, many grossly mutilated bodies in her lifetime. You don’t grow up in the Estian Army without becoming hardened to the indecency of death. What made this worse was that it wasn’t grizzled soldiers or rapists hanging from the tree. This was a woman and child.

Seeing the man upset her as well, but not on the same level as the other two. It was for that reason she concentrated on his features instead of theirs. The man’s broad forehead and high cheekbones were the top of an inverted triangle that ended at a sharp, pointy chin. A long, thin nose cascaded down toward equally thin lips, which were somewhat parted, exposing a set of clenched, slightly yellowed teeth. The rope circled a weak neck, one not too dissimilar to the scrawny neck of the unlucky pheasant that had nested in the tree next to hers the previous evening—the same pheasant she’d expertly brought down with a single, well-placed arrow.

Judging by the creases ironed into them, the man’s blouse and vest had been professionally laundered. The sticky white bird droppings that had slid down his face and chest were a stark contrast to his expertly trimmed hair.

Liris circled around behind, where a stripe of dirt mixed with grass ran shoulder to buttock, indicating the man had been dragged by his feet. He wasn’t wearing an overcoat, and as she glanced around the area, she spotted a piece of clothing thrown haphazardly beneath an Aecheron thorn bush.

She broke off part of a branch and used it to work the coat forward until she could hook the end beneath the collar and bring the whole garment out into the open. The colors were the distinctive blue and gold worn by the inhabitants of Bree’s duchy. If these people lived in Danforth, Bree would immediately want to know what she’d found. “Legan, could you let Ebi know so she can tell Bree what happened here?”

His face puckered in the Fisher Cat’s version of a scowl. I’d rather take a bite out of that man’s putrified arm than talk to Ebi right now. She’s been in a foul mood lately.

“So, what’s new about that?”

To hear the other Guides talk, the duchess gets moody whenever you’re away from the castle, which irritates the Badger no end. An irritated Badger is not a pretty sight.

Liris glanced at him and smiled. That was something she liked to hear since she hoped to become a much closer companion to the duchess one day.

Legan remained silent with his head tilted to the side, a gesture Liris knew well. It meant he was speaking with one of the other Spirit Guides. He blinked and turned his shaggy head her way. I told Denabi, who can relay the message to the duchess.

“It’s not anything you needed to bother Denabi about, you coward. Ebi would have done just fine.” The Black Panther, Denabi, was one of the oldest and wisest Spirit Guides, revered by humans and Guides alike. Truth be told, she made Liris a little nervous, the same way the Shona shaman, Taklishim, did whenever she had dealings with him. Royalty and nobles, she could handle. Interacting with near gods was another matter altogether.

Denabi would want to know anyway, so I simply cut out the middle Badger. He padded a little ways away from the bodies, lowered his nose to the ground, and sniffed. Several horses, at least three, possibly more. And four disgustingly unwashed humans as well. Only one that I’ve smelled before, which is unusual. I’ve gotten to know most everyone, at least in Bree’s Duchy. I wonder if they were brought in from another city to kidnap and murder these people.

“They must’ve been kidnapped after I left on my assignment. The bodies certainly haven’t been hanging here for half a full moon, and we’ve been gone a little longer than that.” Since she didn’t recognize the man’s face, she reluctantly turned her attention to the woman. Liris pulled her lips into a thin line, and she forced herself to look past the putrification to study the woman’s face.

Something familiar about the heart-shaped face tugged at her subconscious. She squinted at the full-bodied lips and dimpled chin, hoping to bring the picture more into focus. She never realized how hard it was to identify someone if you can’t look them in the eyes. She’d often recognize someone simply by their unique shape and color. Lady Hazlitt’s, for example, were an almond-shaped green, almost the color of celery, and the blacksmith’s were as blue as a clear summer sky. Not only that, but quite often, you could tell whether a person was evil or good, whether they were lying or telling the truth, or whether they were happy, sad, cheerful, or full of disdain simply by gazing into their eyes.

The crows had taken one eye and, unfortunately, had only succeeded in partially removing the second. Liris had to step a few feet to the right because the eye was hanging loose and seemed to be looking over the woman’s shoulder. She’d seen enough dead bodies to know that pupils dilate after death and turn a milky white. However, the color remains the same. This woman’s eye was a nondescript brown. Grinding her jaw to keep the bile from rising, Liris looked down at the grass as she tried to place the face. She pictured two intact brown eyes staring out at her from an undamaged face.

A thought niggled at the back of her mind, and she looked at the face again, mentally placing a sneer on those once beautiful, rounded lips. That was it. Except for the eyes, this woman’s features were relaxed in death. But in life, her personality had transformed her into an ugly harridan whose pinched lips thinned when something, or someone, displeased her. This was the young wife of the Marquis of Lockbridge. The Marquis and Marchioness had come to Danforth to ask Bree to help with a particularly nasty border dispute. The marchioness had been a spoiled harpy with a caustic personality and a biting tongue she wasn’t afraid to use. She fawned over Bree and disdainfully snapped at all of the servants and other non-entities she deigned not worthy of her time.

Now that Liris had a frame of reference, she recognized the boy immediately. He was the nasty little worm who’d taken a very sharp knife and jabbed it through her leather trews, piercing her thigh. The knife hadn’t penetrated far, but it had drawn blood. If Bree and the Marchioness hadn’t been standing five feet away, Liris wasn’t sure what she would’ve done to the little hellion.

What had really saved her, though, was when Kaiti, Bree’s ten-year-old adopted daughter, had grabbed the boy’s wrist and the back of his pants and had taken him to the ground. Kaiti had wrenched the knife from his hand and thrown it across the room. She’d been taking knife fighting lessons from Bree but wasn’t yet good enough to embed the knife in her target. It had thumped against the wooden door and fallen harmlessly to the floor.

The harridan had screeched, and Bree, who’d had her back to the boy, had turned and gaped.

Kaiti was sitting with her knees planted firmly on the boy’s back.

Bree had had a difficult time keeping the amusement out of her voice. “Kaiti.” She’d walked over and pulled her off the boy. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Liris smiled at the memory. That is until she gazed up into the little boy’s ruined eyes. None of them deserved this, no matter how malicious or unpleasant they’d been. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The boy had been small for his age. The killers had left his red doublet buttoned up to his chin, making him look like a forty-year-old corpse instead of the nine-year-old boy he’d been. The doublet was crafted from expensive cloth and had gold embroidery running down the front and around the sleeves. His soft leather breaches and shoes were made of the same high-quality material worn by his father.

Liris turned her attention back to the man and, now that she could put him in the proper context, immediately recognized the marquis. He hadn’t been quite as unpleasant as his wife and son. As part of Bree’s security detail, Liris had been present for most of their meetings. Each time the marquis had entered the room, he’d nodded to her, acknowledging her place as head of security. Liris could still hear the nasal intonations he’d produced whenever he spoke—a product of having too long and too thin of a nose. He hadn’t been a handsome man, but she far preferred him to the marchioness.

Legan walked up and sat next to her, seemingly more interested in the grass beneath them than in the bodies themselves.

Ebi materialized next to him and squinted up at Liris. You had to go and find something to keep you out of the castle even longer, didn’t you? I can’t tell you how testy she’s been this last fortnight. Not pleasant to be around, I tell you.

Liris bit her tongue to keep from asking the fat Badger whether that comment wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black. Instead, she simply said, “I go where I’m told to go and do what I’m told to do. She could’ve come with me if she wanted.”

Come with you? With all the minor nobles in the kingdom descending on the castle to bathe in the duchess’s reflected glory after the battle with Organdy? She’s miserable with all the petty posturing, and she’s even more so because you’re not there.

Even though her stomach did a little flip at the Badger’s words, she pushed away any hope she might have of the king allowing his cousin to marry a common soldier. Because, like it or not, she’d stopped being a princess the moment Estia had placed a hot brand against her cheek. “It’s not like we’re a couple, Ebi. She’s kept me at arm’s length ever since the Orgundian fleet attacked Anacafria. It’s easier for me to be away from her than it is for me to stay close by.”

The Badger sniffed. She’s been closer to you since her wife died than she’s been with anyone else in the kingdom. I don’t think you realize how deeply Timur’s death affected her and how difficult it’s been for her to let go and move on with her life. Ebi tilted her head and looked directly into Liris’ eyes. She will, though.

Surprised, Liris raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that. You usually walk around grumbling at everyone and everything you see.”

The Badger’s thoughtful look morphed into her customary glare. I may be fierce, she snapped at Liris, and my standards might be more rigorous than most, but I’ve raised enough apprentices to know when one’s heart has been broken beyond repair. Before the Spirit Child arrived, I thought we were going to lose her. Thank Aevala the goddess had other plans. And, believe it or not, I thank her for you. She turned her attention to the three bodies. Now, what do we have here?

Liris tamped down her surprise at Ebi’s words. The irascible Guide had never said more than a few words to her, and those mostly in passing. She had no idea Ebi knew about her feelings for the duchess. She glanced down at Legan, wondering if he’d spoken out of school.

He returned her gaze with a steady look of his own. I always keep your confidences, Apprentice. You know that.

Ebi snapped her teeth, accompanied by her typical irritated growl. I asked you a question, and I don’t have all day to wait for an answer. What have you discovered?

Liris shook off her wool-gathering. “Sorry. It’s the Marquis and Marchioness of Lockbridge and their son, um…I don’t remember his name.”

Ebi studied each one in turn. Her gaze finally rested on the boy. He might’ve been an evil little sod and probably would have grown into a hideous excuse for a human being, but this is just wrong. Do you have any idea who murdered these people?

“No, I just now figured out who they are. Legan says there were at least three horses, maybe more, and four humans…well, other than these three. They came from over here.” Liris made her way around the edge of the clearing to where the horses had entered the meadow. She knelt and studied the tracks, looking for anything she might use to identify the horses.

One had thrown a shoe, but that wasn’t unusual enough to help her make an identification. Another had all four shoes, but the right front had a unique wear spot on the outer edge. That could be enough if someone presented the horse to her, but she couldn’t go to every horse in the duchy and examine the right front hoof. She swiveled around and said to Legan, “I find four horses, not three.”

Ebi walked along the edge of the tracks. Yes, four. Each has its own distinct scent. She shook her head. How you humans ever evolved with such inferior senses is beyond me.

Legan cocked his head and looked sideways at his apprentice. You doubted me? I said at least three, possibly more. He gave Liris an insulted look, And I detected them from across the meadow. You have the advantage of standing right on top of the tracks.

Shrugging, Liris pushed to her feet. “I didn’t doubt you. I can only make out four sets, but at this point, each successive horse rode in the lead horse’s track, and it’s difficult to distinguish between them. Given enough time, I could probably sort them out.” She followed the tracks a short way and knelt again, pointing to two sets of prints. “This one here…and here, and…” She paused and studied another track, “…here. Each of these has a distinctive wear pattern on the horseshoe.”

Legan nodded. I noticed that, and there’s one that only has three shoes. It’s possible if we combine those two clues, we can narrow our search. I can also help you track the scent, and maybe we can find the direction they traveled. He glanced at Ebi. I assume we’re to follow?

Yes, but only after Bree’s guards arrive to claim the bodies. She’s concerned the killers might double back, cut them down, and bury the remains. It’s unusual that they would blatantly leave this type of evidence lying around unless they believed no one would find this glade.

“But judging by the decomposition, the murderers are long gone. If we give them even more time, we might never catch them.”

Legan nodded. I agree. We’ll have to split up. I’ll begin tracking them now and see what I can find.

As was typical for the irascible Badger, Ebi gave them a curt nod and faded from sight.

Legan, not one for polite niceties, did the same.

“Well, goodbye to you guys, too.” Liris didn’t like the idea of waiting but understood the necessity of it. She hiked back to her camp, where she made quick work of packing her things. On her way out, she cast a wistful look at the dirt-covered remains of her little campfire. Lifting an apologetic shoulder, she mumbled to the pile of sticks and dirt, “Sorry about that.”

Hefting the pack onto her mule, Fancy, who was enjoying the unexpected sunshine and didn’t appreciate being saddled and bridled, Liris rode back to the glade, where she set up her tent as far away from the bodies as possible. The trees were thicker here than at her original campsite, and she had no problem finding a protected spot with a good amount of relatively dry firewood. Still, the air hung thick with humidity, and it took at least a half-candlemark to get hot flames burning in her fire ring.

The drying rack needed to be reset, but the ground was rockier here, and she struggled to push the forked sticks into the ground. When one snapped as she shoved it between two large stones, she cussed up a storm, broke both pieces over her knee, and threw them into the fire. “Tane cursed piece of…” She continued grumbling as she hiked into the forest, and even though her ax made short work of a replacement branch, it was almost midday before she’d set the sapling between the two forked sticks and was finally able to hang her spare tunic and trews where they could hopefully dry before she climbed into her bedroll that night.