Caleb brings me through the main camp. Tents are already pitched and the few armored carts that travel with this light and fast faction of our tribe make a barrier wall toward the westerly side. Alaric is outside of the strangest cart I’ve ever seen. It’s completely windowless, so I doubt anyone would live in it, and judging by how deeply the extra thick wheels are sinking into the ground, it’s the heaviest cart I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but wonder what he’s hauling in it. It must be full of metal or an ore of some kind.
The council fire is lit in front of Alaric. He’s hearing a petitioner who is speaking passionately. The conversation stops as soon as I arrive, and the petitioner leaves without finishing his suit. As he passes me I see he isn’t an Outlander. I catch a whiff of hay and the fleecy smell of sheep about him and figure he’s a ranch hand, although I’ve never seen a ranch hand petition a sachem before. There are red patches on his face and hands. Burns. I scan them quickly and find no hint of ash or trace of chemicals in the raw skin. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“Rowan,” Alaric says, standing up on his stiff leg. “Is she still unconscious?”
“No,” I reply. I’m distracted by the man’s injuries. “How did he get those burns?”
“A cooking fire,” Alaric says. I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs. “Okay. Not a cooking fire. But I can’t tell you the real cause, so let’s leave it.”
“Is that where all my salve is going?” I think of how much salve I’ve been making, calculating how many more are burned like that man. Dozens. Hundreds?
“Yes.” Alaric’s eyes say he’s being honest with me because he thinks I have a right to the truth, but they also say he’s not going to tell me anything more. “But onto bigger matters,” he says, smiling wolfishly. “How did you capture Lillian?”
I explain what happened—the café, the chase, and how Tristan and I got her out of the city. Then I tell him about Lillian’s ludicrous claim that she wasn’t our Lillian but a different version of Lillian from another universe. As I say this, Alaric’s face freezes. I stop talking.
“She says her name is Lily,” Caleb finishes for me.
“Interesting,” Alaric says. I notice he doesn’t say “bullshit.” “It almost sounds like she’s been listening to one of our shamans. How could Lillian know about other worlds and spirit walking?”
“I brought the shaman to the Citadel a few years ago and introduced him to Lillian,” I say. I start to think of all those nights I woke up and Lillian wasn’t next to me. She’d told me she’d been working. She never said on what. “It’s possible she met with him more than once, in secret.”
Alaric’s eyes dance around, but he’s not seeing the campfire or the benighted forest. He’s seeing scenarios and possibilities. Caleb tosses me a look.
Why isn’t he laughing at how ridiculous this is? he asks in mindspeak.
He doesn’t think it’s ridiculous. In fact, I think he thinks it’s true, I answer.
“So this Lillian,” Alaric says, thinking out loud, “does she look the same in every way?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Sachem—she’s Lillian. And I’m convinced she’s setting us up. Maybe it’s to get to you—”
“Are any of her mechanics here with her?”
“No,” I say. “Not that I know of.”
“Without mechanics she’s helpless, correct?”
“Not completely, but the tricks she has left I can counter.” At least I think I can. I’ve never really known what she was capable of.
“Good. I want to meet her.”