“That’s it,” she told him. “Come, help an old woman to a chair.”
He followed her around the corner, to where the balcony widened and three wicker chairs sat facing the Mire. William held the chair out for her. Grandma Az sat. “Such a well-mannered child you are. Come sit with me.”
William sat. Everything about the old woman was soothing, but he didn’t trust her any more than he trusted the rest of them. She knew what he was, too, and kept it to herself. The question was, why?
Grandmother Az reached to a narrow wicker table on the side and picked up an old leather photo album. She flipped it open. “Look right here.”
A tall man stood next to a young woman. The man was dark-haired and lean, the woman looked like Cerise, but her features were harsher.
“This is me and my husband. Henri was a good man. I loved him.” Her eyes sparkled. “My father didn’t like him. My father was a great swordsman. In the old way.”
“Like Cerise?”
“Like Cerise. Do you know of the old way, William?”
“No.” The more information he got, the better.
“I’ll tell you. Once the New Continent of the Weird was filled with people. They built a great empire.”
That he’d heard before. In the Broken, the Europeans settled the Americas, killing the native tribes. In the Weird, the history had been almost completely turned around. The tlatoke had built a great kingdom, fueled by the magic born in the forest and jungle, and they had raided the Eastern Continent for years until they built a world-destroying weapon, which predictably destroyed them. When the Easterners finally scraped enough courage together to cross the ocean and make landfall, they found an empty north continent and a huge wall that sealed off the southern landmass.
“They called their kingdom the Empire of the Sun Serpent,” Grandmother Az continued. “They were great warriors, with a long tradition and great skill in magic. Their magic was their undoing. They brought about their own destruction and had to flee. Some of them fled here, into the Edge, and here they remained, secure in the swamps for centuries to come. That’s where we take our root. We keep their arts of sword and magic alive.”
“So that’s what Cerise does?”
The old woman nodded with a serene smile. “The path of the lightning blade. Very old art. Very hard to learn.” She picked up a small letter opener from a narrow side table and raised it straight up. A thin streak of brilliant white dashed down the blade.
Damn it all to hell.
Grandmother Az smiled. “Who did you think taught her?”
“Her father.”
“Spoken like a man.”
The old woman turned the blade sideways, and the flash danced across her fingers. “She was a good student for me. This art takes much practice and discipline. You have to be chosen from childhood, the way Cerise was. You have to give yourself to it and practice and practice and practice. Long hours every day. When you work that hard, you start thinking that you should be rewarded for your efforts, so when you decide you want something, you fight tooth and claw to get it.”
She had some sort of purpose for this conversation, but for the life of him, William couldn’t figure out what it was.
“My father was a great swordsman. I told you that. My husband …” Grandmother Az moved her wizened hand from side to side.
“Not so much?” William guessed.
“No.” The old woman smiled. “He was from the Broken, from a place called France. Very handsome. Very valiant. But not that good with his sword. My father didn’t want me to marry him, so he told Henri they had to fight.”
“Did Henri win?”
She shook her head. “No. But when my father put his blade against Henri’s heart, I put mine against my father’s throat. I told him that I only lived once and I wanted to be happy. Do you understand what I am saying to you, child?”
“No.”
“That’s all right. You will. Think on it.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “Tell me about the monster.”
Her face fell. “Stay away from him. He is a terrible thing. Terrible, terrible thing.”
“Who is he? Why is he here?”
“He senses trouble. It will all be over soon. Things are coming to an end.”
William hid a growl. She would tell him nothing.
“What happened to Lark?”
Grandmother Az shook her head, that same serene smile plastered on her face. William exhaled frustration.
“Tell me about Lagar Sheerile.”
“He is handsome. Rich. Strong in the old way.”
Great. “He can stretch his flash on his sword like Cerise?”
“Our feud is old, child. Do you think the Sheeriles would’ve lasted this long if they didn’t hold on to the Old Way?” The old woman heaved a heavy sigh. “But there is trouble in Lagar’s house. Good blood has gone to bad. The tradition will die soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kaitlin.” She spat the word like it was a poisonous fruit. “She came from a good family. We were friends once, back then, before she married the Sheerile. Her father was a hard man. Once her mother passed away, he never remarried. Kaitlin was his only child, his legacy. He had an iron grip on her, and nothing, not even his death, could break it.”
She flicked her hand in disgust. “Kaitlin’s done the same to her children. She drives them, steers them at every turn, like they are horses pulling her carriage.” The old woman snorted. “Lagar … He had promise, that one, but she killed it, smothered his will with hers. Kaitlin doesn’t understand—a swordsman must be free to carve his own path in the world, however long it takes him. Her husband understood.”
Her voice turned bitter. “Such good blood. They’ve stood against us for four generations and survived. And she spoiled it all, the old half-wit. Not even her magic will save her now.”
A vicious blaze flashed in the old woman’s eyes. Her fingers curled into claws. Her lips wrinkled, baring her teeth, and a specter of magic, dark and frightening, flared behind her. Alarm shot through William.
Grandmother Az stared through him, raised her chin high, her eyes afire. Her voice rolled, deep, frightening. “Gone will be Kaitlin, gone will be her children and her house. We’ll purge the memory of the Sheeriles from the world. Ten years from now nobody will recall their name, but we will still be here, watching trees grow from the ground watered with the Sheerile blood we spilled.”
William struggled to draw a breath. All around him the air hung thick with the odorous stillness peculiar to the swamp, fecund, violent, and primal. Rotting mud, the pungent scents of night flowers, the stench of wet dogs from the kennel …
A door bumped to the left, and a woman’s laughter, incongruously normal, sounded through the house.
The savage fury died in Grandmother Az’s eyes, and she patted his hand gently, her face wrinkled by a smile. “Well, look at me, rambling on and on, showing my age. Time to go to bed, I think.”
She rose. “I have a favor to ask of you. I need to borrow Urow’s youngest from you for tomorrow.”
“You can have him, if you don’t put him in harm’s way.”
Grandmother Az’s face split in a smile. “Silly child. He’s my own grandson. I wouldn’t harm my family.” She turned and went inside.
William slumped in the chair.
Insane woman.
Insane family.
And he was mad to think he could lure Cerise away from them. They would never let her go.
Lark climbed over the balcony rail and sat in one of the chairs. Her hair was filthy again.
“Are you going to chase me off to bed?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I can’t sleep.” Lark gathered her knees to her. “I’m scared about tomorrow. Do you think Cerise will die?”
William crossed his arms. “Anything is possible, but no, I think she will live. I’ll be there and I’ll do my best to keep her safe.”
They looked at each other.
“What do you know about Tobias?” he asked. Maybe she would answer his questions. Nobody else would.