White Blood (31 page)

He slipped in. “What took so long? I told Kempich I wouldn’t report him if he snuck off to get us some ale, but he’ll be back soon.”

Siwell held up a hand. “Wait. Maryn has something she needs to tell you first.”

Tior turned to Maryn with a puzzled frown. Maryn gulped, not knowing where to begin. “You’ve got to help me, Tior. Everything Prince Carlich is saying is a lie. I saw what really happened.” She poured out the whole story as tersely as she could.

Tior’s eyes got rounder and rounder as she spoke. Maryn searched his face for signs of outrage or anger, but all she saw were pale cheeks and a pinched mouth. She put all the desperation she could into her voice. “Please, Tior, you’ve got to help us. Barilan and I have to get away.”

Even before she finished speaking, Tior started shaking his head. “I can’t. There’s no way. Captain Tennelan has guards stationed at every door of this building. They check everyone going in or out. Most of them served with Carlich in Hampsia, back before I joined. They’ll never believe you.”

“You believe me, don’t you Tior?” Maryn tried to convey the truth of her words with her gaze, but Tior wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t think you’re lying, exactly, but Prince Carlich…all the other soldiers love him. Are you really sure what you saw, what you heard? Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding.” He twisted his hands together. “You don’t know what you’re asking. I’m sworn to obey my commander. If I tried to help you escape they’d catch us, I know they would. I’d be strung up for treason. And you’d be right back in here. No, you’ve got to be wrong. I can’t believe Prince Carlich would really harm a woman and a baby. If you cooperate with him, you’ll be fine.”

“Not if he finds out I lied to him!” Maryn’s eyes blurred with tears, and her throat was so tight she could barely force the words out. “I know what I saw. Carlich is a murderer, and if you don’t help us he’s going to succeed in putting himself on the throne. Don’t you even care?”

“That’s not—Look, I’m just doing my job. It’s not my place to question my orders.” A quaver in Tior’s voice betrayed his unhappiness. “I’m sorry, but I’m not…I’m not the kind of person who…who gets involved in this sort of thing. I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

He finally looked at Maryn, eyes pleading for understanding. She turned away. “You are involved, whether you want to be or not. But I guess you’re too much of a coward to admit it.”

Tior drew in his breath. Siwell put a hand on Maryn’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Maryn. We’ll find some other way. You’ll just have to continue coming up with excuses to prevent them from scrying Barilan, and bide your time until you get a chance to slip away.”

Maryn turned her back on both of them. “Unless Tior thinks it’s his duty to go to Carlich and tell him everything.”

She could tell her words had stung by his hurt tone. “I wouldn’t do that. I won’t tell anyone what you said, or what you’re planning. I really do want to help you, Maryn.”

“As long as it doesn’t cost you anything.” He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Never mind. Siwell, I’ll manage somehow. I’ll keep working your spell, and keep looking for a chance to get away. Without help.” She glared at Tior, then turned and embraced the midwife. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Siwell hugged her back fiercely. “If what you know can help save Milecha from a civil war, that will be more than thanks enough. But remember, take care. You can’t help Barilan or anyone else if you get yourself killed.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

Tior tugged at Siwell’s sleeve. “Kempich can’t stay gone much longer. You’ve got to go.”

Siwell gave Maryn one last hug and hurried away.

Seventeen

M
aryn was exhausted. Disappointment over Tior’s refusal to help drained all the joyful energy she’d felt on first learning Siwell’s spell. Though the spell gave her the strength to resist Carlich’s compulsion, fighting it still took effort. Her arms felt leaden as she undressed and gathered Barilan up to carry him to the bed. She crawled in and settled him beside her. The disturbance roused him, and he cried a little, but nursing soon soothed him back into slumber.

But Maryn couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too busy with all that had happened. She went over and over the incantation Siwell had taught her. She would have to work it first thing in the morning, then call for Carlich to come renew his spell so he wouldn’t suspect anything. She fretted, wondering what opportunity might come for her to flee with Barilan. Carlich hardly ever let her out of her room. Would she have to wait until he set out on the planned march to Loempno? Would he even take Barilan and Maryn with him? Surely he would, for Barilan was still his best bargaining tool against Voerell.

She tried not to think of those moments alone in Vinhor’s office, when she had moved her hands in the gestures that, if they’d succeeded, would have sent Barilan’s soul to the Holy One’s courts. How much of that had been her own choice, and how much Carlich’s compulsion? The question burned in her heart, but she couldn’t answer it.

She thought back over all Vinhor had taught her concerning sorcery. She’d never given much thought to magic before. She’d certainly never dreamed she’d be able to learn more than the basic cleansing spell. Greater magic was for priests and sorcerers and healers, not ordinary folk.

But when she had spoken the incantation and made the proper gestures, the magic had answered her. It had sprung to life in her hand as crackling bright as it ever had in Carlich’s. If not for the interference of King Froethych’s spell, she was sure it would have worked just as it was supposed to. She ran her thumb along the aching cut in her palm in wonder.

Before Carlich and Vinhor had interrupted her, she’d considered improvising some sort of magic to block their scrying. Maybe she should take advantage of her privacy to try now. She concentrated, calling up Vinhor’s exact words.
Someone with a strong enough will can use almost any motion to direct the spell.
She’d never considered her will to be particularly strong. But she had Siwell’s spell to bolster it, and surely anyone’s will was strongest when their need was great.

The idea frightened her, but she couldn’t put it from her mind. Finally she pushed the blankets down and sat up. She parted the bed’s curtains so that a bit of moonlight could stream in. Arranging herself cross;-;legged, she gazed down at Barilan’s sleeping form.

Just a tiny bit of blood. She didn’t want her experiment to make much light or noise, or risk escaping her very uncertain control. She gnawed at the corner of one fingernail until she had bitten through the layers of dead skin to the living cuticle beneath. Blood seeped out, black in the moonlight. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, then pressed on the little wound until the bleeding stopped.

In a whisper she chanted the incantation to the Holy One, adding a fervent unspoken plea for him to guard her from danger. Finished, she held her blood;-;smeared fingers over Barilan. She hesitated, but then drew a deep breath and pressed her thumb and forefinger together into a ring and swept them down and up again, the other three fingers on that hand spread wide.

The magic woke instantly. Brilliant blue sparks shot from between her pinching fingers. Her throat felt full of buzzing bees.

For a moment she panicked, not knowing what to do. She almost blurted out the words of the cleansing spell. But she stopped herself and gathered all her courage. Almost any gesture would do. She parted her fingers, sending blue sparks showering, and waved her hand, palm down, in a circle over Barilan. She fixed in her mind a vivid image of the ghostly crown of the scrying spell and pictured it fading to invisibility, still there, but unobservable. She drove all her might into the mental image and swept her hand around faster and faster.

It was working; she felt it. Blue fire rained down over Barilan, haloing him with light in which no faintest image of a crown appeared. She pushed harder, exultant that her idea had succeeded.

A sharp pain stabbed into the corner of her nail where she had bitten it. She tried to slow her hand and pull it back to look at the spot, but she couldn’t. Some outside force had taken control of her arm and kept it relentlessly circling. The pain quickly grew to a fierce dragging ache. All the other half;-;healed cuts on her hands and arms throbbed in response. Horrified, she saw a tiny new stream of blood break free from her finger and fly to join the flood of magic, bursting into a shower of blue sparks.

Faster and faster her hand flew. She couldn’t stop it. Suction dragged her veins toward the spell’s vortex. The trickle of blood increased to a stream. The fresh scab on her palm bulged and started to crack. Magic flared higher, brilliant blue flames leaping toward the bed’s canopy, bright as lightning.

Terror lent her strength. With a tremendous effort, Maryn wrenched her hand back. She made a sharp cutting gesture, and cried the closing words of the cleansing spell. The blue fire subsided, and the controlling force released her arm. She fell back and stuck her burning finger in her mouth. The metallic tang of blood bathed her tongue as she sucked at the wound.

Barilan woke with a wail. Outside the bed’s shrouding curtains she heard the door open. Tior’s voice called, “What’s wrong? We felt magic; are you all right?”

Maryn pulled her finger from her mouth and pressed her thumb to the wound. “I’m fine.” Her voice trembled on the edge of a sob. “I, um…Barilan bit me, is all. I had to clean up the blood. I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She scrambled to gather Barilan up and get him latched on to her breast. His cries cut off as he began to suck.

“Oh. You’re sure you don’t need any help? You yelled.” Tior sounded concerned.

“No. It just startled me. Woke me up.” Maryn forced a little laugh. “Everything’s fine.”

“Well, good;-;night, then.” The other guard’s voice rose in a question, though Maryn couldn’t make out the words, and Tior murmured to him as the door closed.

Maryn bowed her head over Barilan and took deep, shuddering breaths. At length she lay down and curled her body around the baby as he continued to nurse. Violent shivers wracked her body.

She had very nearly suffered the same fate as King Froethych. The forces unleashed by that tiny smear of blood and a few waves of her hand had been almost enough to destroy her. If she hadn’t managed to break away, the magic would have continued until it sucked her dry of blood and discarded her like an empty husk.

Such forces were far beyond anything an ignorant girl like herself should dare meddle with. It was worse than a toddler jabbing a poker into a blazing fireplace. Silently she vowed never again to play with magic she didn’t understand. Only then did her trembling subside enough for exhaustion to drag her into sleep.

Maryn was almost too afraid to work Siwell’s spell the next morning. But the thought of falling under Carlich’s mind;-;numbing control once again frightened her even more, so she steeled herself and pried away the scab from the corner of her fingernail until the blood flowed anew. She kept her hands scrupulously still and concentrated on everything Vinhor and Siwell had taught her about the proper pronunciation of the words. The spell worked flawlessly. As the blue lightning subsided and the buzzing in her teeth faded away, she felt a wonderful flush of confidence.

After breakfast, Maryn went to the door and opened it. Both guards were strangers. She looked back and forth between them before dropping her gaze, surprised how disappointed she felt that Tior was not there. Angry as she was with him, still he was the closest thing she had to a friend here. He’d brought Siwell to her; she owed him a great debt for that. With him gone she felt more alone than ever.

She glanced up at one of the strange guards and down again quickly. “Please, I must speak to Prince Carlich. He’ll want to know.”

The soldier nodded. “We have our orders.” He gestured to the other, who hurried away.

Carlich looked red;-;eyed and disheveled. Maryn suspected he hadn’t slept much, if at all. He went though the motions of the spell swiftly and efficiently. She watched his curt gestures with new interest. The scooping gesture at the beginning was quite plain now that she knew what to look for, and here and there through the sequence she recognized other motions Vinhor had taught her.

As soon as he finished, he beckoned to her. “Get Barilan and come with me.”

“But your Highness, I haven’t even changed his diaper yet.” As soon as she’d spoken, Maryn realized her mistake. Normally she wouldn’t be able to contradict Carlich’s wishes, even in so minor a way, immediately after he worked the compulsion spell. She made an effort to let her reinforced will sink into abeyance and allow the compulsion to come to the front of her mind. “But of course I’ll be happy to do whatever you command.”

Carlich’s eyes narrowed. “Did it take him so long to produce the mess you were worried about?”

Maryn hurried to the bed and scooped Barilan up. “Oh, no, your Highness. That happened last night, just as I expected.” She carried the baby to the changing table and rushed to remove his soaked cloth and replace it with clean one. “It got all over everything, too, the way I knew it would. But that’s all cleaned up. He’s just wet now.” Her fingers fumbled in her nervousness, but a quick glance over her shoulder showed her that Carlich had apparently accepted her story and lost interest. He stared at nothing and tapped his foot in an irregular rhythm until she was finished.

Maryn fastened the last tiny button on Barilan’s gown and hoisted him to her shoulder. He was cranky this morning, not outright crying, but seeming constantly on the verge. She bounced him a little to try and settle him. It hardly ever worked, but she always tried. She carried him to Carlich, who nodded and led her out.

Carlich strode without a word through the corridors to Vinhor’s office. He held the door for Maryn to precede him, and slammed it behind them. “Here he is. Go ahead with your scrying.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Vinhor gestured for Maryn to pass Barilan to him. She complied, though her heart raced and she felt cold all over. Could her clumsily improvised attempt at a spell prevail against such a powerful and skilled sorcerer? It had seemed like it was working. By the time she’d managed to break off the uncontrolled magic a great deal of blood had gone into it. That surely must count for something.