Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell (18 page)

I heard footsteps in the corridor and raised my face to the door in expectation. Together, Rodden and I would figure out a way to return to Xallentaria to prepare for our assault on Lharmell without him losing his head.

But it wasn’t Rodden who opened the door. It was the maid I’d sent to fetch him. There was confusion on her face.

‘Where’s Rodden?’

‘He wasn’t there, Your Highness,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’

My heart thudded in my chest. ‘Gone?’

‘There was a note.’ The girl held out a slip of paper.

I snatched it from her. ‘Where are his things? Are the brants still here?’

‘I beg your pardon, miss?’

‘The giant birds – are they in the courtyard?’

‘I’ll go and see. But his things are gone, miss. All of them.’ She bobbed out and closed the door behind her.

I unfolded the letter. It was a short missive, written carelessly and without an addressee.

I’ll be gone in the morning. I will leave the brants at the palace and instead take a horse as I do not wish to attract unwanted attention at the mines. Be safe until my return. I urge you to stay indoors. Though you will, of course, follow your own advice.

The note was signed with a perfunctory ‘R’. I had to read it through several times before I realised that he had not abandoned me in Amentia. He had gone to the mines, but he would return. I crumpled the note in my hands, staring out the window at the mountains to the south. If Rodden rode swiftly he could be there and back in three days; four at the most. He was right about the brants attracting attention, and he might even be right about going alone: a man and a girl, both black-haired and visibly armed, turning up at the Teripsiin mines would raise suspicions among any harmings there. By now they would know we had killed the harmings sent to ambush us in the desert and be more enraged than ever. Alone, Rodden would be safer. He could disguise himself as a worker, or perhaps a merchant. It really was the best thing to have done.

And yet, I felt utterly desolated. He had promised never to leave me in Amentia, and I could not shake the unpleasant feeling that I’d been abandoned.

Though the castle had undergone many changes in my absence, the grounds were much the same as they had always been: overgrown, dark, and quiet. I found their familiarity soothing in the days that followed. I stayed out of doors as much as possible and ate in my rooms, pleading headaches whenever I was summoned to table. Renata and Folsum didn’t object. They believed I was heartsick for my lover who had abandoned me at the first sign of danger. I did not tell them of the letter; that Rodden planned to return. Folsum would not petition the Crown Chamber if he thought he had won.

Standing in the clearing with Leap and Griffin, my bow made of Amentine ash and the target forty paces down my sights, I could almost imagine that the last year had been a dream; that Lilith was upstairs composing love letters to Lester, her dead betrothed, and I was still trying to come to terms with my strange cravings.

Then I felt the silver ring tingle on my thumb, and smiled. Rodden’s consciousness brushed the
edges of my mind, as light as a feather. Just as swiftly as the touch came, it was gone. It happened every few hours.

It was a wordless exchange, but it was enough. I looked to the south and saw clouds, heavy with rain, gathering over the mountains. It would storm soon at the mines. I thought briefly of trying to hold off the rain so Rodden wouldn’t be soaked, but it might not be wise. The harmings might suspect something was up. But the prospect excited me. What was I capable of – could I hold off a storm? Could I cause one?

Another sensation touched my mind, one of irritation, and a little fear. It was familiar, but it wasn’t Rodden. Then the thread blazed in fury, and I recognised it: one of our brants. But it was no longer in the courtyard where I had tethered it. I searched the vicinity, letting the thread go slack, allowing it to tug me in the right direction. There – to the south-east, in the forest. I broke into a run, sending Griffin ahead to scout in case it was harmings. She disappeared among the trees and only seconds later threw a picture back at me: Folsum with a horsewhip in one hand and the brant’s reins in the other. I heard shouting, the prince’s voice raised in anger.

A second later I broke into the clearing and saw the scene for myself. The bird was confused and
furious, not understanding the orders Folsum was yelling at it. He’d got a saddle and bridle on the beast, but he’d fastened them awkwardly and far too tight. The stirrups were too high for Folsum to reach while the bird stood, and he was trying to force it to the ground. He struck the bird over the head with the butt of his whip.

I dropped my bow. ‘Stop it!’ I cried, running forward. ‘It’s not a horse. It doesn’t understand.’

‘Brainless bird. A mount is a mount. I have broken enough horses in my time to know how to handle it. Stand back, girl.’ He lashed at the brant’s legs and it screamed in pain.

The bird’s fear blossomed in my chest. Folsum raised his arm again and I leapt at him, trying to wrestle the whip from his grasp. Surprise flashed in his eyes as he felt my strength but then he rallied. He shoved me to the ground and planted a foot in the middle of my chest. I struggled like a pinned insect.

‘Get off me,’ I wheezed.

He pressed harder, anger burning like blue flame in his eyes. ‘Your pride, your
fight
. It’s quite unreasonable for a bastard slut to carry on so. Are you not ashamed of yourself? Were you raised to think yourself better than you are, or is your pride of your own making? Why do you not consider yourself
lower than the worms that squirm beneath you?’ He pressed harder. ‘Because that’s what you are.’

I scrabbled to free myself from under him but he landed a vicious blow across my face.

A piercing scream shattered the air and Griffin flew at Folsum, talons first. He yelled in surprise and staggered back, an arm coming up to shield his face.

My hand flew to my hip but I’d left my knife in its belt sheath and had not thought to don the belt that morning. Folsum had dropped his whip and I lunged for it. He spotted it at the same time and we crashed into each another. With a grunt of surprise he shoved me off with his shoulder. A second later the whip cracked across my upraised arms. I screamed. He lashed me again, and I could barely hear my cries of pain over the cacophony of his shouts, the screams of Griffin and the brant, and Leap’s terrified hissing. Folsum caught the back of my dress and ripped it open, shoving me to the ground. His foot bore down on the back of my neck. The whip whistled through the air, striking the expanse of my back. I screamed in pain, unable to throw him off. In seconds my whole body felt like it was on fire.

I reached out with my mind to the brant, calling to it through the blazing pain in my back.
Beak and claw
, I urged.
Help me, please
.

The sky darkened over us. Folsum stayed his hand as a long, thin shriek pierced the air.

‘What the –’

I looked up. The brant reared on the tips of its talons, wings spreading. It dwarfed the prince, and he cowered beneath the bird’s black gaze. I was reminded of the mighty golden griffin on our standard. Then the bird struck, lightning fast, beak slicing through the leather of the prince’s garb. It struck again, then leapt several feet in the air and raked down his chest with its talons. He screamed. Blood spurted. The bird went for the prince’s face and his screams increased. He fell to the ground and disappeared beneath the brant’s huge body.

I heard the thunder of running feet. The queen’s guard burst into the clearing. The brant looked up, hissing, wings hunched. The men fell back at the sight of the enormous bird, bloodied in beak and talon, and drew their swords.

I flung myself in front of them, clasping my dress about me with one hand, the other outstretched. ‘Don’t harm this bird.’ Already the brant was heeding my silent urgings and was backing away.

The soldiers looked uncertain, but lowered their swords.

Folsum moaned. He was bloodied and torn and
his left eye was missing. I winced, feeling sick. Blood flowed from the cuts that crisscrossed his chest. One gash on his neck was bleeding profusely.

Amid the shouts from the soldiers to fetch a healer and restrain my brant, I knelt down close to Folsum, gasping slightly from pain. Blood ran down my back and dripped onto the dead leaves.

Folsum’s good eye flickered open.

‘Your left eye is in the belly of my brant,’ I said. ‘Touch me again and I will feed it the other.’

I raised myself to my feet and limped back to the castle.

I lay on my belly, stripped to the waist while Eugenia, mother’s maid, dabbed at the ribbons of cuts that covered my back and arms. Every breath was painful. Sweat trickled over my brow and into my eyes. I heard someone enter but had my face turned towards the wall and could not see who it was.

‘She has refused laudanum, My Queen. Sleepin’ elixir, too.’

I heard Renata sigh. ‘Leave us.’ She took up the cloth and the pot of salve and began dabbing at my
wounds. I felt her hands shaking. ‘You hurt only yourself by refusing treatment,’ she said.

She lied. I knew it hurt her to see me enduring this. ‘I cannot.’ I kept my fingers fastened around the ring on my thumb, desperate for any contact from Rodden. If I disappeared into an opium fog we would never find one another. I needed desperately to know if he was any closer to the palace. If he was safe. If he really was returning to me.

Renata laid strips of bandage over my cuts. Then she bandaged my arms, placed a thin blanket over my body, a light kiss on my brow, and departed with the lamp.

At the door she turned and said, ‘It may please you to know that the prince might die. In any case, he suffers. I have mislaid all our laudanum. It is a pity.’

She was gone, and I was left in darkness.

I waited through the sleepless hours. The world behind my eyes turned from black to burning red. My scored flesh swelled and blazed as hot as fire. I sent out thought-fingers to search for Rodden but they came back empty.

Sometime after midnight, a sleepy thought-finger caressed my mind. Rodden, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, reaching out to me. He’d already begun to fade away when he felt my rawness, my
thought-patterns that told him, beyond doubt, that all was not well. That things were, in fact, horrid.

I felt him jerk into consciousness. I let my hurt speak for itself down the thread between us. It spoke volumes. He disappeared.

He emerged again in my mind a short time later, and I felt him vibrant with blood. He’d hunted and fed. I thought I could hear his voice but the words were hopelessly distorted. Then, like a fish rising to the surface of a river, his voice came into focus. He was saying my name. My eyes snapped open.

Twin blue points of light hovered near my face. Rodden’s eyes. He was once again the blue-eyed phantom, the form he’d first appeared to me in.

‘Hello,’ I croaked.

The eyes widened, dazzling me. He spoke rapidly, his words bursting like bubbles before I could catch them.

Cool fingers ran through my hair, traced the curves of my ear, my mouth, my fingers. And then he was gone.