Prince Nera Mossveil's Arc

Chapter 21 of 23

Nera rode north with the six fawns in a tight string behind him. The smoke from the twins' stand was thinning at his back. He knew what that meant. Two heads could not hold a line forever against fire riders, and the wind was already carrying the herd's scent north along the watercourse. If the riders broke through and cut the trail, they would run the fawns down before dusk. He needed the trail hidden, and he had nothing to hide it with. He reined in where the dry watercourse widened into stone. A shape stood at the edge of the flat rock, waiting. Silver hair pinned high, wings pale as glass, a fairy in violet and white with vines wound at her ankles. He had not seen her before, but he knew the sign of a court envoy when he saw one. She spoke first. "Luminara Starwhisper. The steward sent word to the council office that you were riding north with what remained of the herd. I came to meet you on the road." "The riders are an hour behind," Nera said. "Less. I cannot mask the trail." "I can." She lifted a small pouch from her belt. "Star-dust across running stone breaks a scent line for half a day. It is council work, not a favor. The forest is failing in the east groves. The council wants the herd home as much as you do." She looked at the fawns, then at him. "Ride the watercourse north until the stone ends. I will walk it behind you and lay the dust. When the riders reach the flat, they will find nothing to follow." Nera hesitated one breath. He had learned to count debts. This one was already paid on the council's side, and the twins would not last the hour. He nodded. "Do it." He put his horse into the watercourse and the fawns followed, hooves clicking on wet stone. Behind him Luminara knelt and worked the pouch open, tracing a line of pale dust along the rock. He did not look back again. He heard the wingbeat of a courier overhead once, striped and low, Tempo Flux turning south toward the smoke to find the twins. That was as much help as he could ask for and more than he had earned. At the head of the watercourse the stone gave out into moss. Luminara caught up on foot, dust pouch empty, wings folded tight. "The trail is broken behind us," she said. "They will cast for it and lose an afternoon. Use the afternoon." Nera counted the fawns again. Six, breathing, roped, alive. He turned the horse north toward the higher country where the rest of the scattered herd had run. The riders were still coming. But the trail behind him was dead stone and pale dust, and for the first time in three days he was ahead of them.