Heir of Autumn Read online

  The Spire was an eighty-foot natural pinnacle of rock that jutted up from the middle of the harbor. It supported the center of the Spire Bridge, a steep, arched walkway that connected the Long Market to Stoneside. The bridge itself was at least fifty feet high, so ships could sail underneath it. Brophy had climbed the Spire once before, with his aunt, years ago. He remembered feeling like he could see the whole world from up there.

  Femera smiled, looking west toward the Spire. “Can you climb up there?”

  Trent headed in that direction. “Climb, walk, crawl, fly. However you want to go, we’re getting up there.”

  Femera shook her head and looked back at Brophy. “I’m supposed to go straight home. My father will miss me.”

  “We won’t be gone long,” Trent assured her. He turned around and walked backward, facing them. “Just tell him you had to haggle for an hour.”

  She frowned and turned to Brophy. “I think you and I should leave Trent and go walk the Windmill Wall,” she whispered.

  “Come on,” Trent groaned. “The night is just starting. Worry about your father tomorrow.”

  Femera glanced at Brophy, and he turned away.

  “Come on!” Trent shouted from twenty paces away. He held up the Siren’s Blood. “The wine is coming with me.”

  “Well,” Brophy started, “maybe we could climb the Spire first. Then we could walk the wall afterward? The view is really great.”

  Femera lingered for a moment. She had dimples when she smiled. “I’ll go if you go.”

  She reached out her hand and took Brophy’s. Together they ran after Trent. Brophy grinned as he saw sparklies all through her hair. They were even more beautiful in the fading light.

  They reached the Spire Bridge just ahead of the last merchants.

  “I’ve never been here,” Femera said, marveling at the towering stone. “I’ve always taken a waterbug across the bay.”

  The pinnacle was at least twenty feet in diameter where it met the bridge. The walkway encircled it to the east and the west, splitting the bridge in half as though the Spire had grown right up through the center. She trailed her hand along the rock and paced around it.

  When she had disappeared on the far side, Trent whispered, “This is your chance. I’ve already had her, but you haven’t. What a perfect opportunity, Broph! Your first time on the top of the Spire. The symbolism is staggering.”

  “What? No. Are you sure she—”

  Femera came around the far side of the Spire. She wiggled her fingers in front of her face as if she had never seen them before.

  Trent pulled Brophy around the corner so she couldn’t see them. “She’s sweet on you, Broph. It’s obvious.” He thunked Brophy on the forehead. “Any man could see that.”

  “Maybe,” Brophy said. “I’m not sure—”

  “That’s because you are still a boy.” He gave Brophy a playful shove. “Or will be until tonight.”

  Brophy shoved him back. “Shut up.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone before long,” Trent promised. “Don’t worry. It’s a sure thing.”

  Brophy blushed just as Femera completed her circuit.

  “What are you whispering about?” she asked.

  “Brophy’s scared to climb up,” Trent said.

  “I am not!”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said to Trent.

  “No?”

  “I don’t think Brophy’s scared of anything.”

  Trent chuckled darkly. “Oh, he’s scared of something.”

  “Come on, let’s go,” Brophy said, blushing as he headed for the steep, narrow steps. The Spire had stone stairs that went the first fifteen feet up from the bridge to a man-made landing. Beyond the landing, the spire grew too narrow for steps. Someone had staked a rope to the top to aid the climb up the last twenty feet.

  “So what do you think?” Trent asked as he joined the two of them on the little landing. He peered over the edge. “It’s a long way down.”

  “Heights don’t bother me,” Femera announced. “The Water Wall is five times this high, and I walked over it.”

  “Well, then, you better hold Brophy’s hand. He looks a little scared.”

  Brophy aimed a kick for Trent’s knee, which he easily dodged.

  “Maybe I will,” she said, taking Brophy’s hand in her own. She brought his fingers up to her lips and kissed them lightly. “Brophy’s sweet.”

  Trent nodded and gave Brophy a knowing look. “He sure is.”

  Trent walked over to the dangling rope and pulled on it a couple of times to test its strength.

  “Who built this?” Femera asked Brophy.

  “The Spire? It’s natural. It’s been here forever.”

  “No silly.” She bumped him with her hip. “This platform.”

  “Brother Morgeon,” Brophy said, glad he knew the answer.

  “Donovan Morgeon?”

  “That’s right, the father of Ohndarien himself,” Trent interjected. “They say the Spire Bridge was his last brainchild, the last thing he sketched out before he died at the ripe old age of 134.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, but Brophy let the comment slide. “Brother Morgeon got too old to move around in the last days of Ohndarien’s construction. He had this platform built so he could supervise the final touches.”

  “They call it Morgeon’s last erection,” Trent added. He giggled at this, but he was the only one. Brophy actually thought it was funny, but Femera didn’t, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Trent shrugged off her silence and handed her the end of the rope. “Ladies first.”

  Femera shook her head. “You think you’re so smooth,” she said, tossing the rope back at him, “I’m not climbing up in front of you. You only want me to go first so you can look up my skirt.”

  “You wound me,” Trent said, putting light fingers against his chest.

  “No. I know men like you.”

  Trent shrugged. “As you wish, my love.”

  He started up the rope, feet braced against the rock as he grabbed each of the thick knots. Brophy started toward the rope, but Femera beat him to it. She winked at him, then started up, as lithe and strong as any boy.

  Brophy swallowed again, took ahold of the rope. He caught a flash of Femera’s smooth, white calves and looked quickly away. He kept his eyes on the stone in front of his face as she climbed.

  “Hey,” he heard Trent call from above, “I thought you said you didn’t want us climbing up behind you.”

  “I said I didn’t want you climbing up behind me,” Femera huffed. She paused and looked up at him.

  “Why him and not me?”

  “Because Brophy is a nice boy, and you’re not.”

  Brophy felt a little guilty, but he couldn’t resist sneaking another glance as he waited for Femera to climb over the edge at the top. That time he saw calf, the back of her knee, and even a little bit of thigh. He was blushing again as he hauled himself up the rest of the way. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a naked woman before. But this was different. This was Femera.

  When Brophy pulled himself over the lip, she was spinning around the top of the Spire staring up at the stars. Trent passed Brophy the bottle with a wink. He drank down a small gulp and handed it back.

  “I wish it was taller,” Femera murmured. The sparklies hovered around her like a cloud. “I wish we could climb all the way up into the sky.”

  “That would be fun,” Brophy said. He looked up at the stars. They were brighter than he had ever seen them before. “I wonder what a star tastes like.”

  Trent began singing a bawdy sailor’s song, “Three salty dogs, they met a whore. Ya-ho. Ya-ho.” He drained the last of the Siren’s Blood, ran to the edge of the Spire, and threw the bottle out into the harbor. It disappeared into the night. Brophy never heard it hit the water.

  Femera walked over and put a hand on Brophy’s arm. “That was strong wine,” she murmured. “I’m dizzy. Let’s go sit down.”

  She led him t
o the southern edge and sat down. Brophy leaned against a lump of rock, and she curled up next to him, laying her head against his chest. Brophy’s heart thumped faster than it had all night. He felt hot in the face. If only Trent would leave, like he said he would.

  “The way the moonlight catches the ocean is so beautiful,” she said. “It looks black, doesn’t it, like a huge hole to the bottom side of the world.”

  “Yeah.” He reached his hand around Femera’s shoulder and rested it gently on her arm.

  Brophy looked across at the Wheel. The torches for the missing Brothers burned bright atop the Hall of Windows. Brophy wondered if his father felt like this the first time he held his mother in his arms.

  Trent came to the conclusion of his song, “The salty dogs, they lost their whore. They lost their money. They lost their war. And they were drowned, drowned, drowned. Ya-ho. Ya-ho. Ya-ho.”

  Femera looked up at the sky again and sighed. “I should go,” she said. “I don’t want to, but I should.”

  Brophy’s heart lurched.

  “Why?”

  She laughed. “If my father knew I was up here at night”—she shook her head—“alone, with the two of you, he’d kill us all.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Brophy reassured her. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  Femera laughed. “You don’t know my father. Virginity is very important for a bride in Faradan.”

  Brophy giggled. “Well it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

  She jerked her head up, her brows furrowed, and pulled away from him. “What do you mean?”

  “Uh,” Brophy blushed. “Well, I mean. What about you and Trent?”

  She shot Trent a deadly look. He smiled at her, holding his hands out helplessly. To Brophy’s surprise, she started laughing, sharp and venomous. She stood up, her skirts swishing across Brophy’s face.

  “Is that what he said?” she asked. Her eyes never left Trent. “Me and Trent? Hah!”

  Trent’s smile curved into a sneer.

  Brophy scrambled to his feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Femera turned her anger toward Brophy. “You actually believe I would do that? With him? Take such a peacock to my bed? ‘Look at me, I’m so rich, I’m so handsome, I’m such a big man. I can draw a dagger on a man who doesn’t dare touch me.’”

  Trent said nothing, but Brophy could see his temper rising.

  She turned back to Trent. “Inside he is just a scared little boy and always will be.”

  Trent stalked up to her and cocked back a fist. “You’re a lying slut.”

  Brophy stepped between them.

  “Out of the way, Broph,” Trent growled. He shoved Brophy to the side and pointed his finger at her face. “You begged me to give it to you, and you cooed when I did.”

  She glared right back at him. “I might have begged in my life, but never for you, little boy. And I never lie.”

  Trent slapped her across the face.

  Brophy punched him in the jaw.

  Trent stumbled, falling to the ground, dangerously close to the edge. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

  “Enough, Trent! Don’t make it worse,” Brophy said. “We’re all drunk. Let’s just go home.”

  Trent jumped to his feet and charged. His fist grazed Brophy’s temple, but Brophy dodged and brought his knee up into Trent’s stomach. His friend grunted and fell to his knees, shuddering as if he would throw up. Brophy blinked, trying to shrug off the glancing blow that could easily have taken his head off.

  Femera leaned over and spat on Trent. “Peacock.”

  Brophy grabbed her by the arm and led her away. “Let’s just go home.”

  Femera couldn’t take her eyes from Trent.

  “He’s a liar,” she murmured. “I hope you know that.”

  “Just climb down the rope.”

  Trent staggered to his feet and rose to his full height. He was three inches taller than Brophy and easily outweighed him by twenty pounds. He was obviously still in pain, but he had his breath back. Trent glared at Brophy the same way he looked at his father. “I can’t believe,” he started, then took a labored breath. “I can’t believe you are taking this little slut’s word over mine. I fucked her. I fucked her and—”

  “You never touched me, and you never will!” Femera screamed.

  Brophy put himself between them, his heart hammering. “Shut up, Trent! Just shut up!”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re a liar!” Brophy yelled. He clenched his fists. “You always have been, and I’m sick of it!”

  Trent stared at Brophy for the space of three ragged breaths. His bottom lip began to quiver. He turned away and stalked to the other side of the spire.

  “It’s all right,” Brophy said to Femera, holding her shaking hands. “He loses his temper sometimes, but it never lasts. He’s good at heart, you just have to get to know him.”

  “I don’t want to get to know him.”

  “Come on,” Brophy said. “You’re shaking. I’ll go down first and hold the rope.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded, but she kept looking over at Trent. Brophy started down. He was almost to the bottom when he heard them arguing, shouting at one another. He jumped down to the ledge and held the rope steady.

  “Femera! Come on!”

  He heard a heavy thump, like a body hitting the ground, and Femera cried out.

  “Trent!” Brophy screamed.

  He grabbed the rope and hauled himself upward. Suddenly, it went slack. His fist hit his chest and he fell back to the tiny landing. He almost slid off the edge, but managed to catch himself at the last second. The rope dropped into a pile next to him.

  “Femera!” he called, but she didn’t reply.

  Brophy gritted his teeth. Wrapping the rope around his waist, he tied it tight and started climbing. The Siren’s Blood rushed through his veins, and he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking.

  “Trent!” he shouted. “Femera!” No one answered.

  Searching frantically for small holds, he forced himself upward. He finally grabbed the dangling fringe of the severed rope and pulled himself over the top.

  Trent was just standing up. His hands tugged at the laces of his breeches. Femera crawled away from him, her skirts up around her waist.

  “Hey, Loverboy,” Trent called out. “Watch this!”

  He ran to the other side of the Spire and leapt off.

  “Trent!” Brophy yelled. He ran to the edge of the pinnacle and barely heard a muted splash.

  “TRENT!” Brophy screamed again. He stared into the blackness.

  “Told you I fucked her,” Trent shouted from below, his voice muffled by the distance. His laughter faded into the night.

  Brophy turned to see Femera standing on the other side of the Spire, looking down. Her pretty blue skirts were dirty, and there was a bleeding scrape on her calf.

  Brophy laid down the rope, crossed the Spire, and put a hand on Femera’s shoulder. She turned but wouldn’t look at him. There were tears on her cheeks, and a drop of blood snaked down from her split lip. She reached up and wiped it off.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, her speech strange because of her fat lip. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Did he…?”

  She stared at him with a look of utter contempt. “You know what he did to me.”

  Her lip trembled, but her eyes held a rage equal to Trent’s. Another tear slid down her cheek. She left him, walked over to the rope, and began tying it back together. “Don’t follow me. If you follow me, I’ll tell everyone what you did. Everyone!” she screamed. She started crying again as she grabbed the rope, wincing as she squatted to lower herself over the edge.

  “Let me walk you home. I want to make sure you’re all right,” he murmured.

  “You’re a little late for that, Brophy,” she spat, then dropped over the edge.

  He took a gulping breath a
nd staggered to the other side of the Spire. His stomach heaved, and he threw up. By the time he returned to the rope, Femera was gone.

  13

  BROPHY FELT like a thief, standing in the shadows of the alley across from Garm’s workshop. The double doors leading to the blacksmith’s forge were shut tight for the night. A few lights still burned in the living quarters upstairs, but Brophy could not see or hear what was happening inside.

  The smell of vomit lingered in Brophy’s nose. He’d been awake for two days straight and was exhausted. His clothes were still damp and clammy, but he couldn’t go home after what had happened. Despite her request to be left alone, Brophy had followed Femera home to make certain she got there safely. He still wanted to make things right somehow.

  Garm’s daughter had disappeared inside her front door over an hour ago, but Brophy still lurked in the shadows, hoping she would come to a window so he could catch her attention. All he wanted to do was apologize and let her know he would help her any way he could.

  Femera finally came to the balcony that overlooked the street. He saw her for an instant as she pulled the shutters closed against the night. Pressing his lips together, he left the shadows and crossed the street. He paused just below her window, wanting to call to her, but he didn’t want to make a scene. He picked up a small stone and tossed it at the window. He still didn’t know what words could possibly comfort her, but it would be better to say something than leave everything unspoken.

  The shutters flew open. It wasn’t Femera.

  “You!” The girl’s brown-haired, black-tempered father shouted. Garm had the stout neck and muscled shoulders of a blacksmith. His burly arms were as thick as most men’s thighs. His bristly black beard stuck out from his face like wicked thorns, and his piercing eyes found Brophy instantly in the dim light.

  Brophy took a few steps backward. The last thing he wanted was to rouse the father instead of the daughter.

  With a growl, Garm threw a leg over the sill and jumped from the second-story window. He landed in a heap on the cobblestoned street, his leg twisted underneath him. Brophy was too shocked to move.