Heir of Pendel (A Pandoran Novel, #4) (35 page)

It wasn't perfect because it was beautiful or gaudy or anything like that. It was perfect in its imperfections, its nicks and rough edges, its tarnishes and its scratches. There were no traces of the fractures, but the sword looked as though it had been used, strengthened by battle and refined with age. I didn't hold a weapon in my hands, I held a legacy. A legacy I would embrace to set the world right. A legacy that gave me hope.

The sword was light, and as I turned it over in my hands, I noticed a series of fine hashes and lines etched into the flat of the blade.

"It says 'Flamebearer,'" Lord Dommelier said.

Flamebearer.

It was an appropriate name for a sword made of dragonbone. I made a few quick sweeping arcs with the blade. It sliced easily through the air, already attuned to each of my movements—each twitch with impressive precision. I lowered the sword. Lord Dommelier studied me, looking somewhere between impressed and angry.

"I hope you understand how grateful I am that you've mended this for me," I said.

He looked down at the sword, his gaze haunted. "It is a simple task to piece together broken things, but it is an onerous task to piece together broken people." He paused and looked back at me. Respect flickered in his gaze. "May the spirits protect you and give you strength as you pick up the pieces, because it will take a strong leader to put them back together again."

22

DARIA

M
y stomach turned. I thought I was going to be sick, and it felt as if someone were hammering a nail into the back of my skull. Right. I'd been knocked unconscious. Again.

The number of times I'd been knocked unconscious over the past year was starting to become a real problem. I didn't know if I could tally it anymore. Were there permanent side effects to being knocked out as often as this? There had to be. Maybe I should consider walking around with a helmet. My stomach turned again, and my nausea welled. This wasn't going to end well.

Think, Daria.

My thoughts were muddied and slow, and my attention was quickly drawn to the warmth on my face—no, the entire front side of my body. A fire burned nearby, and just as the thought registered, I heard the crack of splitting wood. There was a warning in my mind, telling me to put out the fire because someone might see it and…

I suddenly remembered everything. My missing horse, the shadow in the middle of the trail, the blow to my head. And then I realized my wrists and ankles were bound.

Well, wasn't this just…typical.

I heard whispers then, growing louder and stronger in my ears as the fog in my head lifted. Two men were talking, and it sounded as if they were seated near my feet. I decided not to open my eyes just yet, so they wouldn't know I was awake listening.

"—supposed to take?" asked one of the men.

"He didn't say," replied another with a much deeper voice. Something about that voice struck a chord of familiarity in me.

"Well, I hope his spirits answer him fast," continued the first. "It's bloody freezing out here."

"Have some more broth."

"Don't think it agreed with me. Stuff gave me the runs." A pause. "And it's a little hard to eat after seeing what he did to that animal, tell you the truth."

The other man was quiet.

"I mean, did you see what he did to that horse?" Runs continued. "I've never seen anything like it in my life, and I've seen a lot of things. Almost pissed myself, I did."

"Maybe you should've," the other man replied. "Would've warmed you right up."

"Maybe I will," Runs grunted. "And maybe I'll have bad aim."

"And maybe you'll live the rest of your life as a eunuch."

There was shuffling near my feet and then a shadow crouched before me, blotting out the warmth of the fire.

"What are you doing?" Runs asked.

There was a light pressure on my forehead, followed by a tingling sensation that spread like a warm breeze over my face.

"I know you're awake, princess," said the man with the deeper voice.

That voice. Where had I heard that voice before? Whoever it was moved away, and my face soaked up the fire's warm glow once again.

"What are you doing?" Runs asked.

"She needs to eat something."

"Lord Cethin said—"

"
Lord Cethin
" —the other man cut him off—"is of the spirit world and has long forgotten the needs of the flesh. She won't survive the journey without nourishment." A pause and a shuffle, and the man crouched before me again, blocking the glow of the fire once more.

"Open your mouth," the man said to me. The bite in his tone was at odds with the concern radiating from his body.

A wave of nausea rolled through me and I curled over and wretched.

"Bloody hell, that's ripe." Runs coughed. I felt him moving away, but the man who'd been trying to get me to eat stayed put, his concern pulsing even stronger.

I wretched again and again, and the man beside me pushed me out of my vomit since my hands were tied and I couldn't do it myself. Still, the acrid tang of vomit tasted so strong I thought I might just throw up again.

"Throw me a cloth," said the man beside me.

A few seconds later, someone sopped up the vomit from my chin, and my lids winced open despite myself. I couldn't see his face, only his silhouette.

"Here, drink this." He held a flask to my lips.

The thought crossed my mind I shouldn’t be accepting unknown beverages, or food for that matter, from a stranger, but if they'd wanted me dead, they would've killed me already. I opened my mouth a crack. I expected to taste water, but this burned a trail of fire down my throat and chest. So maybe they were going to poison me to death.

As if reading my thoughts, the man said, "It's just fire and ice. If we'd wanted you dead, we would've killed you already."

I coughed again, smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but at least the taste of my own vomit was gone.

The man turned away, and then the fire blinded me. I flinched from the sudden and unfiltered brightness, head pounding from the light, and it was a few moments more before my eyes adjusted. A small campfire stood about five feet away from me, and over this campfire stood a metal cooking spit with a small kettle hanging from it. A man tossed my vomit rag into the flames, then hunkered over the pot with his back to me.

Runs sat near my feet, leaning back on thick arms with his legs spread before him. He was covered in so many layers of wool and leather that it was hard to tell just how thick he really was. The skin on his face glistened with old sweat and I couldn't tell if there were smudges of dirt along his jaw or if that was the shadow of a beard. Both, probably. He must have felt my eyes on him because his face turned to look at me. With no small amount of surprise, I realized I'd seen him before—months ago, when I'd first entered this world with the Del Contes, back at Rex Cross. He had been one of the three guards who'd recognized us in the dining hall. He'd had that dark mark tattooed on the back of his neck.

The Mortis worshipper raised a fat brow. "Ain't no one ever taught you it's not nice to stare, princess?"

The other man returned to my side, holding a bowl near my face. I caught a strong whiff of…Vicks VapoRub. Yes, that's what it smelled like. Runs and I might actually agree on this one thing, and I certainly didn't need to be losing fluids at both ends.

The man held a ladle near my mouth. "Eat."

I stared hard at him, trying to see his face through the shadows, but I couldn't. The voice still bothered me, and what had Runs said about the stew? He'd mentioned something I knew was important, but I couldn't remember what it was.

The man pressed the ladle to my mouth, and the salt burned my cracked lips. "Open your mouth," he said, his tone terse. "You can't afford to be picky,
princess
."

My stomach turned over again, but he was right. It had been a long time since I'd had anything to eat, and using all that magic had cost me dearly. If I were to have any chance of getting out of this—whatever
this
was—I needed to eat something. I parted my lips.

He tilted the ladle and warm broth flooded into my mouth.

I choked on it at first, not from the flavor but because it flooded into my mouth faster than I could swallow, and he eased the ladle a bit. I'd never eaten Vicks VapoRub before, but I thought it probably tasted like this. It rose in my throat and I waited for it to come back up but, surprisingly, the gross broth stayed down. The man brought the ladle to my lips again, and this time I gulped it down. It tasted awful, but it warmed me up deep in my belly, and I could already feel the strength returning to my limbs.

Runs was quiet, watching with a disapproval I might've been able to taste had the soup not been so pungent. After a few more bites, I'd completely regained the feeling in my fingers and toes, and when I'd emptied the entire bowl, my anonymous caretaker set it behind him and placed his hand on my forehead again. His hand didn't feel as warm as it had a moment ago.

"If that stuff hits her guts sour, you're getting no help from me," Runs commented.

A few twigs crunched nearby, and both men looked up. Figures emerged from the trees. I counted four in total: two armed men, one man so large and brutish he had to be part giant, and a fourth figure hidden in a cloak the color of wet earth.

"Took you long enough," Runs said to the men.

One of them shrugged, and then I realized they were the other two men I'd seen at Rex Cross. "Yeah, well, it took us a bit longer to find Fritz, because he was a little preoccupied." He smirked and shoved the man I assumed was Fritz on the shoulder.

"She's awake," hissed the cloaked figure.

"Only just," replied the man who'd fed me.

Fritz and the other guard joined Runs near my feet, and the scowling half-giant kept to the edge of the fire light. I wondered if half-giants were surly by nature. The hooded figure, however, moved to stand beside me, its yellow, cat-like eyes shimmering like a wolf's in the night.

A pykan.

Those slit-like pupils narrowed on me. "Why did you feed her?"

The man beside me took his time rinsing out the bowl with snow. "She was too weak. She wouldn't have survived the travel."

"That is beyond the scope of your judgment."

"Actually, I believe it's beyond the scope of yours, Keráth, since, apparently, you would leave her to starve to death when you're technically in charge of her welfare."

Keráth's eyes flashed. "You are not to speak to or touch the girl. That is my lord's will, and his will should be enough."

The other men were silent, watching to see how this would play out. Even the half-giant gazed over with interest.

My anonymous caretaker set down the bowl and ladle near the fire. "It is also his will that we don't bring His Majesty a corpse." He stood tall and faced the pykan directly. Now, the light of the fire illuminated one side of his face, and a soft gasp of surprise escaped my lips. It was Myez Rader.

Myez, the powerful man in Thieves. Myez, who owned a business of charmers so powerful they'd even been able to seduce Alex. Myez, who had betrayed us and thrown us in his dungeons, intending to deliver us right over to Lord Eris. Myez, the same man I had tricked and left to burn in a fire of my own making. And he was here—alive—and had been spoon-feeding me against his master's wishes. Not only spoon-feeding me, but he'd been concerned about me. I'd
felt
it.

A gust of frigid air whirled through the campsite. The fire twisted and coiled in a cyclone of flames, sparks shooting everywhere. One landed near my face, pulsing bright before it faded like a dying star. And then the temperature dropped. The air turned so cold it touched my bones, and the fire withered to glowing embers. The darkness was thick—palpable—and overwhelming with the smell of rotting flesh. My stomach turned again but fear pushed my bile back down.

"Is there a problem, Keráth?"

A new voice sounded…inhuman and terrifying, a rasp of death and darkness and destruction that turned my blood to ice. The voice stretched from another time, another dimension, and it echoed through my head with a power that shut down every other thought, as though it could enslave my mind with mere words. It also seemed this…
thing's
voice had the same effect on the others because the camp fell silent.

"Lord Cethin." It was the pykan who had spoken with deep reverence, cowl bowed as he clasped black-nailed claws before him. "Myez Rader has taken it upon himself to feed the girl." Lord Cethin? Who was Lord Cethin?

The dying fire crackled and hissed, and I suddenly realized I was trembling. I didn't think it was just from the cold. A black figure appeared at the edge of the light, like a hologram fading in and out of reception. The energy radiating from it was constant, though—vile and cold as though it were slowly freezing the world around it and plunging it into darkness. It was the creature I'd seen in the trail right before I'd been knocked unconscious. A new panic filled me. I was not getting out of this.

The pykan continued. "My lord, I have seen what the girl is capable of. We shouldn't be lending her any physical strength."

The shadows darkened. "You believe the girl a threat?"
To me
was implied, his tone sharper than a knife's edge.

The pykan hesitated. "I…I only wish compliance, my lord, and we already know she's invoked the power of the Draconi once before."

They knew about the dragons, not that this power would help me now. I hadn't caught a glimpse of a dragon since Karth, but this Lord Cethin, whoever he was, didn't need to know that.

"Lord Cethin." Myez's voice rang, unfettered. "I too have seen what the girl is capable of." Myez turned his head, illuminating the other half of his face. I thought I might throw up all the food he'd given me. On that side of his face, his skin was bubbled and raw from terrible burns, his features melted together in a rubber mask of shiny pink scar tissue. He wore a patch over that eye, but somehow I could still feel it glaring at me with the same deep loathing that filled his good eye.
I
had done that to him. I had ruined his aged yet handsome face the day I'd set fire to his office, and he was choosing this moment to let me see what I had done—to let me see how I would pay.