Preview: Piercing the Veil

Rye was reading behind the bar counter when the summons came. Few people sat at the Haven Brewery's tables tonight, and most were human. Usually easy to deal with. Every so often she quit thinking about magic theory, grabbed a pitcher, and went over to give the guests her best bucktoothed smile.

While she was pouring beer for a couple of burly miners, the door's bells jingled. "One moment," she said, but then the men wanted food and she had to ring for mother in the kitchen. She went back to reading her battered pamphlet behind the bar, forgetting everything but the glow of an illustrated knot on its pages. The heart of a spell.

A clawed hand waved over the page. "Rye?"

She startled, feeling her ears perk, her fur stand on end, and her bushy tail flick in instinctive warning. "Oh! Sorry, Yew. How are Yew?"

"Fell in the river, but I'm Rye now," he said. Yew was obviously a Blackthorn at first glance, dark of fur and eye. The miners at the big table peered at him and whispered. Yew grimaced; he and Rye could hear them call him "wizard". Yew said, "They want you tomorrow. In the scheming room."

Rye stared at him. He'd mentioned that part of Blackthorn Manor before, often in the context of -- "Marriage. They're finally calling in my debt."

Yew's hands hesitated near hers, then went for a bowl of acorns. He gnawed one while saying, "Congratulations, I think. The old man will have someone good for you. And there'll be money."

"Yeah." Rye sat there until some customers called for mugs of kvass. She brought them beer by mistake, heard the food bell ring, and lurched to the kitchen doorway with her hands on the frame. "Mother, they called! They want -- I mean --"

Winedrop stood with a saucepan and ladle, frozen, whiskers quivering. She had enough presence of mind to set everything down before rushing over to Rye and hugging her.

Rye buried her black nose in fur, sniffling. Her tail flagged as much as it had when Yew surprised her. "I don't know if I want to do this."

"Of course you do. You'll practically get a duke! I'm sure he'll be wonderful. The Blackthorns are good people."

Heavy steps on the basement stairs. Hops walked in, wearing big boots and big gloves and an apron. "What's wrong? Bar fight?"

"Your girl's getting married," said Winedrop.

Hops stiffened and his tail hid between his legs. "So soon?" Rye nodded. "And you're all right with this?"

Rye let go of her mother, except for one hand. "I owe them. It's practical. And maybe he'll be nice." Or tolerable at least. She reminded herself that she was no duchess in a golden dress, and didn't want to be. Much.

Yew poked his head in and spotted the plates of buttery potatoes steaming on the counter. He pointed with one finger and looked at Winedrop, who nodded with a quivering smile on her muzzle. Yew snatched the plates and took them out to the customers without a word. When Rye went back to work, she felt like her feet weren't touching the floor, and Yew was gone.

#

Rye couldn't do much about her fur. She was speckled red and tan with unruly whiskers, and her one formal dress was plain linen that only made her feel more out of place at Blackthorn Manor. She walked from the brewery along the ground roads, like a human. The town of Ironleaf was still half forest even with all the farms and the new tow-path for river barges. She could watch her people walking the treetop bridges between elevated houses. Human boatmen and miners mostly kept to the groundways and to shops like her Haven, right on the river. June heat prickled her fur when she stepped from the river groves to windy open fields. Rye let herself breathe more slowly and brush a hand along knee-high cornstalks.

The manor had many oaks around it like guard towers, with their living wood stretched out to form walls. But its gate stood wide open for her or anyone else who wanted to smell the always-blooming roses or buy strange fruits from barbarian lands. Rye realized only now that she'd brought her writing tablet, as though she were here for another magic lesson. She passed it back and forth between her hands and clutched it to her chest. _Silly. Maybe they'll let me visit the library while I'm here._ She walked up to the hundred-foot oak that formed the clan's central building, and knocked.

The door opened. A dark-furred beauty with ribbons in her tail smiled at Rye, then let the smile melt. "Oh, it's the brewer's girl. I was waiting for the groundskeeper."

"Camilia! You look lovely," Rye said, blush not showing through her fur. "Are you on that human-style diet? You smell like beef." Rye brushed past her before she could get a reply.

It was hard to tell where the tree itself ended and the halls of the other buildings began. Bare wood, lacquer, carvings, paintings, even a greenhouse tunnel with curved clear glass. As always, she followed the scent of flowers to the greenhouse and smiled politely to the family members and servants. She saw Pine, a younger son, peeking at him over a book. _Oh Lord, he might be the one._ She had prayed this morning of course, but not for anything. Asking for things wasn't how it worked.

"Where is..." Rye found herself stumbling over her tongue, trying to say "the scheming room" and its more dignified name at the same time.

Pine pointed to the door right behind her. He was twitchy all over and happened to be sitting here, now, where he could greet her when she stepped out. Rye stepped away from him and steadied her tail. He was nice enough... She fled through the door.

After that encounter, not that it would've ruffled her any less if her potential husband had been anyone else, her first sight of the scheming room didn't scare her. Everything was severe, dark paneling. The conference table had clawed feet like a griffin, gilded to match the portrait frames on the walls. Three painted generations of mages stared down at her, including the original Blackthorn. The room smelled of old wood. Rye smoothed out her dress and coughed.

Two men were gesturing over a huge scroll. Pierre, the younger one, hopped up from his fancy stool and smiled. "Miss Rye! You're just in time. Did my brother fill you in?"

"Do you mean Yew? He said the family had found someone for me." Pierre Blackthorn might even be a candidate himself. Brilliant, and almost as willing as Pine to visit the brewery once in a while. The brothers had a way of bouncing ideas off each other, fun to watch.

The older man gave his boy an impatient tail-flick. Pierre said, "Glad to hear he's being useful. Have a seat." Rye took a soft leather-topped stool. Her hands clutched at the wood beneath as though she were on a wild horse. The massive chart showed generations of Blackthorns with sketched portraits and intricate notes, some in a family code. Rye strained to remember the symbols she'd seen before, or to spot her own face on the top branch of the tree. Some slots were blank.

Pierre said, "In return for your apprenticeship with the family, my father formally requests that you participate in building the future of the race." He was sliding a clawtip not along the top, but several tiers down. They were planning for her future grandchildren! Rye watched his finger all the way across the page, fatefully stopping at...

"Thomas Blackthorn," said Pierre. The portrait looked defiant, hard-edged around the jaw, and was marked with many symbols. The one Rye recognized from her lessons meant _uncertainty, chaos_. She reached for the page as though that would help her to judge. A dashed line linked him to "Rye Hopsdottir", which was better than "Rye the Beer-Wench" or "Speckle-Fur". She couldn't help but follow the line up from there.

Pierre did too. "One day, if all goes well, your descendants will be introduced to those of his friend Rowan Janiceson. Or should I say, Rowan Magus."

The old man spoke up. "Rowan the Tyrant. Rowan God-Slayer."

Rye's gaze had been locked on the diagram -- Rowan's entry had that same symbol -- and her tail was poised for fleeing the room. Now, though, she looked up at the Blackthorn men with wide eyes. "You mean _that_ Tom?"

"My father means to say that both Councilman Rowan and your betrothed are influential in the capital and beyond." Pierre stood up and paced, tail lashing the air. "Father, don't interrupt. Rye, I'm sorry. My cousin needs you as much as the family does. He's wild and foolish and might bring a race war down on all our heads. He needs someone sensible."

The elder Blackthorn hunched over the map and fixed his hazy eyes on Rye. "Now listen to _me_. That boy is going to give you a fine kid. That's all we need from you. Go to Great Oak and get into his pants. Bring us back a baby, or some twins if you can. We have drugs for that. Doesn't even have to wait until your spring heat."

"Great Lord!" cried Pierre, spinning to glare at his father. "Are we meat sellers now? Should we pay her by the pound?"

"You have minimal obligations, girl. He doesn't have to love you for more than one romp through the treetops, and we'll take care of the kid. Or kids -- bonus for two or more, especially if you get a boy and a girl. We ought to make the Company study how that works."

Pierre hissed, smelling of sharp musk. Rye felt tears sneaking into the corners of her eyes. Then Pierre was at Rye's side, uncurling a fist to lay it on her shoulder. "What my father says is how _his_ generation arranges things. Bear in mind that the point is to make each generation _better_ than the past. And the race." His hand tightened, warm through her dress. "Tom is a good man at heart. I ask that you try this work for us. Only try. If you want to be more than a passing mate for him, you'll have the family's blessing. And if you don't, I..." He hesitated. "I think Pine would be honored to marry you."

Rye looked up at her sometime magic teacher. "Thank you. For the years of help." And not just with her lessons, but with help for her family in a water rights dispute, and for advice in tolerating her sister Camilia. Her fingers reached up to twine with his -- but he was spoken for, caught in the web of his family plan even more than she was.

"Right; out you go," the elder said. "See the bursar for travel funds and the doctor for drugs."

On the way out, she found Pine was gone.