Bloodkin (25 page)

I was not comforted by how fast she healed. Midnight would surely make use of it.

We reached Midnight midmorning the next day. I never would have had the nerve, but as soon as the guards had let us by, Vance knocked loudly on one of the trainer’s doors. It seemed to take forever for Jaguar to answer, half dressed, hair mussed as if he had been roused from sleep.

His expression snapped from irritation to surprise and then amusement within moments.

“Is this from you two, or from the Shantel?” he asked, regarding the sakkri with a thoughtful gaze.

“From the Shantel,” Vance answered. “She is … was … their sakkri. You won’t get anything more from them.”

“I suspect not,” Jaguar replied. “Very well. I will speak
to Jeshickah, but I believe she will agree this is acceptable. Come here, pet,” he ordered the witch, who balked at the endearment … and then stepped forward, acknowledging the name as her own with a shudder.

I turned away as a chill ran up my back, though I couldn’t help but hear Jaguar’s parting words.

“You both stink of blood, and it’s not all hers.”

Vance shut the door, sparing us the need to reply.

We didn’t even consider staying to bathe in Midnight, though I had seen their luxurious washrooms. Instead, the first time we crossed a stream, Vance and I both stripped down one at a time and kept watch for each other so we could wash our bodies and clothes as thoroughly as possible in the icy water. Shivering, we paused long enough to dry our gear by a fire, and then we moved on.

“How dangerous is it for the sakkri to be in Midnight’s hands?” Vance asked me as we walked toward serpiente land, and the Obsidian guild’s main camp. We had spoken before of going back to the Shantel, about seeking my parents with Marcel’s or Andrew’s help, but after that bloodbath, I didn’t dare go back so soon. “They have been trying to acquire magic users for years now.”

“She isn’t the sakkri anymore,” I answered, remembering what she had said about the land rejecting her. “Once she allows herself to be owned, she will lose her connection to her power. At least, that is what the Shantel believe.”

“Maybe she has an elaborate plan to kill them all,”
Vance suggested. “Maybe she sold herself so she could get close enough.”

“I don’t know.” How much power did the sakkri have outside of Shantel land? Most of what I knew of Shantel power boiled down to illusions, but a deathwitch exiled for years from Shantel land had still been strong enough to turn Vance into a deadly weapon. Who knew what a sakkri could do? “I wish we knew,” I added.

We hadn’t started any of this, but we had been bloodied by it. We had been forced to witness.

We both slept restlessly that night, and the five that followed as we returned with heavy steps to the main Obsidian camp. Sometimes my nightmares featured a fire that burned with magic, devouring everything in its path. Sometimes I saw the sakkri, or Alasdair, or Misha, or Shkei, and they were screaming.

Never again
.

Vance and I did not speak more about leaving; I did not dare return to Shantel land to find Marcel, and I did not have the heart for a new adventure.

I would decide what to do about
King
Aaron if he actually took the throne. I would respond to
Queen
Misha if Aaron took her as his mate and the serpiente people didn’t murder her in her bed. I would stand with them against Midnight if the time came, and we had anywhere to stand. Until then, I would hold my own counsel about prophecies and fate.

We were between the serpiente palace and the main Obsidian camp when a thrashing nearby in the woods caused us both to reach for weapons. With my thoughts so dark and my nerves so tight, I nearly put an arrow in Aaron before he raised his hands and hissed, “Kadee, it’s me! Please, help.”

He was dressed in nothing but light pants that were better designed for dancing than hiking; they had been torn in multiple places by the forest, and he had a scrape on his arm as if he had fallen at least once. There were tears on his face, and as far as I could tell, no guard in his wake.

I continued to scan the forest behind him and around us as I said quietly, “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“He told me to leave,” Aaron whispered. “I came to warn them, as soon as I heard I ran to the camp to warn them, but then the guards were there and you have to believe me I wanted to fight but Farrell told me to leave. That I couldn’t afford for the guards to see me with them. Hara sent them because she saw Misha with me and knew the guild had to be close. Farrell said that if they were Hara’s guards, they would probably kill me and tell Julian the guild was responsible.”

Two words of the breathy ramble made it into my mind:
Farrell
and
guards
.

Farrell had told his son to run. Of course he had.

I said the same thing. “You get back to the palace. You’re not a fighter. We will send someone to you when it is safe.”

What I did not add was
You probably led the guards right
to us, you fool! They would never have found our camp on their own
.

Then Vance and I were sprinting through the forest, praying we reached the camp in time. They would have fled if they had been able.

Please, God, please let them be safe
, I prayed as I ran.

My own hypocrisy was stifling. How many minutes before had I been wishing I did not need to face any of them?

I don’t want them dead
.

I tripped over one fallen soldier, at the edge of what had been our camp. I took his weapon, a short-sword I could swing in close quarters where my bow was impractical, and then we continued to track the fight. Our guild was obviously trying to retreat, but the other serpiente were pursuing instead of giving up the chase the way they normally did. How many soldiers had Hara
sent
—the entire palace guard?

Against a clan accused of murdering one royal and abducting another?
I thought.
Why would she send anything less than a lethal force?

Vance and I had each taken out one of the soldiers furthest back before our presence was noted, and then we had to fade into the forest. Neither of us had the skills to engage in a fair fight with a trained soldier. I had rarely wished more fervently that Vance really had a bloodwitch’s magic.

We circled around in time to see most of our kin with their backs to the spring-swollen Salmon River. This was
where many forest travelers lost their lives if they were not careful and did not know where the bridges and safe spaces to ford were.

This was not one of those places.

I suddenly remembered my dream about the river … but there was no bridge here. Vance and I arrived just in time to see Farrell put himself between two guards and Misha. He shouted to her, “Go!” and it became clear that the other members of our guild were mostly fighting because she still was.

Farrell threw a dagger at a third soldier, who had been a hairsbreadth from knocking Aika into the river. It sank into his thigh.

The moment of distraction probably saved Aika’s life, but it was costly. Another soldier got inside Farrell’s guard. I saw Farrell’s eyes widen with surprise as a sword pierced his side, puncturing the abdomen, unhindered by any bones. Such a fragile spot. I drew my bow, whispered a prayer to any god who might be listening, and let fly. The arrow struck the guard’s shoulder, nestling into the armor with enough force to at least make him recoil and look up for the threat, pulling his sword free.

As Aika and Torquil kicked the soldier who had engaged them into the river, I nocked another arrow. Misha slammed a stave into the back of the skull of the one I had hit, so I turned my bow on another who had been creeping up on Malachi with a dagger in his hand. This time my aim
was true, and the arrowhead pierced the unprotected flesh at the guard’s throat.

Malachi, who was bloodied and unarmed, turned with surprise as the guard behind him fell. Then, as I watched, he pounced and dragged another soldier into the river. Both figures disappeared beneath the rolling water.

At last, the woods were silent. Seven soldiers were dead, two lost in the river, and the other five in the woods between the original camp and the final battle. What of our people?

I ran and fell to my knees next to Farrell, reaching him just as Aika let out a wail of despair that told me everything I feared. Torquil was desperately holding a bandage to the wound in Farrell’s side, but even I could tell it was too late.

FARRELL’S GRAY EYES
were open, but they stared at another world. No breath moved his chest.

Others gathered near, creeping close and whispering things like “He’s all right, isn’t he?” I felt Vance’s warmth at my side as he came close and wrapped an arm around me, but I couldn’t look away from Farrell’s pale face and quickly misting gray eyes. Someone else took the bow from my clenched hands. If only I had been a little faster … if my aim had been a little truer …

How could such an important man die so swiftly, with no warning? No final, dramatic words of wisdom, or caution, or love. Just gone, senselessly. He had sent Aaron away and then protected Misha. Always Misha.

“Aaron led them to us,” Aika said, her voice low and
trembling. “We all could have run if he had not brought the soldiers inside the camp.”

“He was trying to warn us,” Torquil replied hotly. “We cannot blame him for being a fool.”

“
Hara
sent them,” Misha spat. “That is what matters. Aaron did not intend to betray us. Hara is the one who called for our deaths.”

I reached out to close Farrell’s eyes, but my hand froze above his brow, unable to complete its task. How could I hide the eyes that had seen a future in this world no one else could even imagine, where freedom was possible?

“Where is Malachi?” Vance asked. “I thought I saw him go into the river.”

My heart constricted even more, but Misha just shook her head. “I can sense him downriver. He is cold and wet but will return to us soon.”

Misha’s hand knocked mine aside and smoothed Farrell’s eyelids down, shutting those gray eyes away forever.

“Do we build a pyre?” Vance asked, obviously less concerned with blame and vengeance than with the proper treatment of the deceased.

“Yes,” I answered.

By the time Malachi came limping back into camp, sodden and bruised—and certainly the only one of us hardy enough to navigate the river currents and return alive—we were struggling to gather enough supplies to create the
pyre. The wood was soaked from recent rain, and there was little good kindling to be found.

“Your magic is dormant,” Malachi said to Vance, “but I think I can use it to focus mine, to make the fire burn hotter and longer. We will send him off properly.”

Vance nodded, looking dazed, and simply extended an arm toward Malachi. Blood was the source of his power. He neither questioned nor objected when Malachi took a blade to his flesh. I remembered Stefan saying,
Let me use his blood, and I can make you a spark that will burn stone
.

I looked away, which meant my gaze was on Misha when she began to speak.

“I am tired,” she said softly, “of losing our own kin because of Cobriana
spite
. I went to the palace without pretense,” she said, her gaze falling to one of the soldiers’ bodies, “but my very presence there was apparently enough of a threat to Cobriana pride that Hara felt it was appropriate to send a
death squad
against us. Some of us were innocent before, but anyone who defended himself or herself today is now guilty of treason for raising a hand against royal guards, as these were.”

She paused to take a breath. Malachi and Vance succeeded in making the fire catch, and suddenly flames were rising into the night.

Aaron crept back into camp beside me. His face was white as he beheld the rising flames, and asked, “Who did we lose?”

For a moment, there was no sound but the crackling whisper of the pyre. It took me two tries to say “Farrell.”

He swayed, and let out a wail so heartfelt it made me shudder. He stumbled toward the fire until he was close enough that others pushed him back before he could burn himself. Misha went to his side, and grasped his hand.

“I see only one real, appropriate response,” Misha said as we all moved to surround the flames, drawing in their warmth and trying to find some form of strength, or comfort.

I am sorry
, I thought to Farrell.
I wish I had had a chance to speak to you again before now
.

I was barely listening to Misha as she explained, “While I was in Midnight, I spoke to one of their trainers. I propose that, before the Cobriana princess can send any more of us to our graves or worse, we send her to the fate she would declare for all of us if she has the chance.”

I must have misheard her.

Torquil replied, “Hear, hear,” as if Misha’s suggestion was indeed appropriate, and I heard murmurs of agreement from the others.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I made a deal,” Misha clarified. “If we can get Hara out of the palace without a fuss, Midnight will quietly take her off our hands. With her gone, Aaron is heir. When he takes the throne—”