Free Redwing by Holly Bennett Page B

nap.” And Rowan strode out the door, opening it all the way for a nice prolonged screech and letting it slam behind him.
    ROWAN’S RESENTMENT still simmered as he struggled to maneuver the mules, each with a mattress slung over her back, through the narrow streets. Aydin should be helping him do this, he thought, not lying around uselessly, moaning about his head. Had he even thanked Rowan for the mattress? Rowan didn’t think so. The fact that his difficulty was partly the result of his own poor planning—he should, he now realized, have hitched up the mules and taken the caravan to pick up the mattresses on their way out of town—did not put him in a better mood.
    He felt like a fool, remembering how alarmed he had been when he woke up and realized Aydin had not returned. He had roamed the narrow, shadowed streets picturing Aydin ambushed by the warlord’s men, dragged into an alleyway behind the buildings, his body hidden among the heaps of trash. When instead—
    His thoughts were interrupted when he met a farmer pulling a load of produce in a handcart, and he had to wrangle the mules into single file to allow him to pass.
    When he reached the sign of the Boar’s Head Inn, Rowan led the mules into the courtyard where he had paid to park the caravan. Wolf, sprawled in a patch of sun in front of the door, thumped his tail at Rowan but didn’t bother getting up.
    Leaving the mules untied, Rowan pulled open the door and stuck his head inside.
    â€œAydin—give me a hand with these.”
    Silence.
    With an irritated sigh, Rowan strode down to Aydin’s bed, intending to roust him out—but the bed was empty. The caravan was empty. He went back to the courtyard and scanned the yard, taking in the parking area, the stables, and the inn itself. Surely he wasn’t in there, drinking again?
    Wolf got up suddenly and trotted around the side of the caravan. He probably just had to pee, but when Rowan heard the dog whine, he followed. And there was Aydin, standing stock still, ignoring Wolf ’s nudges.
    â€œAydin! What are you doing there?”
    It was as if he hadn’t spoken. Aydin didn’t so much as twitch in reply. Worried now, on top of annoyed—with Aydin it was sometimes hard to tell which emotion won out—Rowan strode over and planted himself in front of the Tarzine.
    â€œWhat in—?” Now he was well and truly spooked. Aydin’s eyes didn’t flicker from the spot they were trained on, nor did his expression change. He genuinely appeared not to see or hear Rowan. Wolf pressed his nose against his master again with a plaintive, worried whine.
    Rowan pivoted and stared in the direction Aydin was focused on. He saw some scrubby shrubs, another caravan. No Tarzine warlords, or anything else that could explain Aydin’s behavior.
    â€œMerik is alive.”
    Rowan whirled back. Aydin’s face was bright with relief and joy. His hand absently stroked Wolf ’s gray head as the dog leaned against him.
    â€œWhat? That’s great! Did you get a letter or something?” Even as he said it, Rowan realized it didn’t make any sense. Or if it did, it meant someone knew where Aydin was, which was not great, not at all.
    â€œNo.” Aydin shook his head serenely, composed once more. “I saw him. He was sitting up eating something—soup, I think.” For the first time he looked directly at Rowan, his smile mischievous. “Of course I don’t know for sure that he is entirely all right, but he can at least feed himself as greedily as ever.”
    Confusion, disbelief, anger at being the butt of a prank—it all came roiling back, just like the night Aydin had first mentioned Ettie. If this was a hoax—and it must be—then Ettie’s ghost was a hoax. Rowan was just a hick Backender, an easy mark, and Aydin was playing him. Well, he’d had enough.
    â€œYou’re brother’s dead, then,”