The Blood Curse (17 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

D
USK DISSOLVED INTO
night, and still they continued, the pony putting one hoof in front of the other. Stars shone, pinpricks of light, and a bright sliver of moon rose over the horizon.

The night was half gone before Bennick halted.

Jaumé stumbled when he dismounted. His legs trembled with exhaustion.
Do we have to travel so far, so fast?

Bennick gripped his arm, steadied him. “Only a couple more days at this pace, lad. Sit. I’ll see to the horses.”

Jaumé sat, his legs folding bonelessly. His head flopped forward, his chin resting on his chest. He heard the jangle of bridles and stirrups as Bennick unsaddled the horses.

He must have fallen asleep. He woke to Bennick shaking him.

“Eat this.” Firelight flickered over Bennick’s face, over the food he held out.

Jaumé wolfed down the bread and cheese and dried meat. When he’d finished, Bennick reached out and ruffled Jaumé’s hair, like Da had used to do. “Better?”

Jaumé nodded.

“Good lad.” Bennick tossed him his sleeping mat and blanket. “We’ll slow down once we’ve caught up to Vught.”

Vught? Jaumé glanced at Bennick.

“He’s a Brother.”

Jaumé hesitated, and then blurted: “We’ll travel with him?”

“Him and his men.”

Jaumé unrolled his sleeping mat, digesting this information. He’d liked traveling with Nolt and his band of Brothers. There’d been a camaraderie, a sense of belonging. “Is Vught like Nolt?” He remembered Nolt’s grizzled beard, his sternness.

Bennick shook his head. “Younger. Tougher.”

Tougher? Jaumé wrapped his blanket around himself. He couldn’t imagine anyone tougher than Nolt.

“Smarter,” Bennick said, half under his breath.

Smarter? Jaumé glanced at him.

Bennick caught the glance. His lips compressed, as if he sensed the silent question and wanted to rebuke him for it, and then he seemed to relax. He reached for his billy of tea. “Vught has something the prince values. Bait.”

“Bait?” Jaumé tried to imagine what bait could catch a prince. Ropes of jewels? Golden ingots?

Bennick grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “The prince’s sister.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

H
ARKELD WALKED FOR
a long time—around the palace gardens, up to the highest parapet of King Magnas’s castle, through Masse’s red desert and the muddy wasteland of Ankeny’s milled forest and the steaming, stinking jungle—but Innis was nowhere to be found. Anxiety built inside him. “Innis!” he shouted. But his dream remained empty.

He repeated the circuit. Osgaard, Lundegaard, Ankeny. All the places they’d been together. “Innis!”

Still nothing.

He tried the street in Hansgrohe where she’d been attacked. He found the blood where the woman had lain, found the stave. But no Innis.

Harkeld kept walking. He was in unfamiliar territory now. Plains. Forests. Mountains. Coast.

He followed the coastline for a long time. A fishing village came into sight, houses built of red stone, boats bobbing in a small harbor. The village was silent, empty of people. Past it was a headland and a broad sweeping bay, with a fishing fleet and a town and orchards on the hillsides. And people. He heard voices, laughter, children singing. Seagulls hung in the air above him, uttering mewing cries. Dogs barked. Donkeys brayed.

Harkeld walked faster.
She’s here
.

His feet led him through the town square, up a cobbled street so steep it had steps cut into it, past the last red stone house, along a donkey track winding up the hillside, into an orchard. He didn’t recognize the trees. They had leaves that were dark green on one side and silver on the other, and hard pale green berries.

A young woman sat beneath one of the trees, in a patch of sunshine, looking out over the town and the harbor and the sea. She was slender, dressed in men’s clothing, with long, curling black hair. Innis. She turned her head when she heard his footsteps. A smile lit her face, lit her eyes. “Harkeld.”

She remembers who I am
. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Harkeld sat down alongside her, uncertain what to say. “Where is this? Which kingdom?”

“Lirac.”

He reached out and took her hand. With that touch came the familiar sense of deep connection. He could feel her emotions. Calmness. Contentment. She was happy sitting here.

He was the one who was worried. Innis wasn’t worried at all.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s home.”

“I thought you were from Rosny.”

Her contentment faltered slightly. “I grew up in Lirac. My parents were posted here. They were Sentinels.”

“Sentinel mages?” he said. “Both of them?”

“Yes.” Her contentment evaporated. In its place was distress. Innis released his hand, got to her feet, and began climbing the hillside, pushing through the trees.

Harkeld followed. Soon, he was panting. “What are these trees?”

“Olives.”

At the top of the hill, Innis halted. She hugged her arms and stared down at the harbor glittering in the sunlight.

“They both died here. Mother first. And three months later, Father.”

“Ah...” Harkeld stepped up behind her, put his arms around her, rested his chin on her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I was sent back to Rosny. To the Academy.” She shivered.

Harkeld tightened his hug. Innis hadn’t changed shape, but somehow she felt smaller, younger, like a child in his arms. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

Yes, a child.

“You feel like Petrus,” Innis said. “Protective.”

“Petrus looked after you?”

“He became my brother.” Innis slipped out of his embrace. “Come on, I’ll show you the grotto. You’ll like it. There’s a spring coming up out of the rock, and a pool.”

“Innis, wait—”

“Come on.” She took his hand. “We can bathe.”

Harkeld’s heart seemed to turn over in his chest. She’d never looked at him like this in real life, her eyes warm and smiling.

“We need to talk, Innis. It’s serious.”

Her smile dimmed slightly. “How serious?”

“This is a dream. We’re sharing it. You know that, don’t you?”

Her smile died. “Ah... Someone told you.”

Harkeld nodded.

Innis released his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning away, hugging her arms again. “It should have been me who told you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She was silent for a long time, staring down at the harbor. “I didn’t know how to. You’ve been so angry.”

“I’m not angry now.” Harkeld stepped in front of her, took hold of her shoulders, caught her gaze. “Innis, listen to me. This is serious. You were hurt. Really bad. You’ve been unconscious for two and a half days. You need to wake up.”

Her brow creased. “What?”

“Do you remember Hansgrohe? The pregnant woman whose scalp was torn off?”

The crease between Innis’s eyebrows deepened. She shook her head.

“Someone hit you, and it broke your skull, and Rand and Nellis healed it, but you haven’t woken up. Innis—you
need
to wake up.”

She stared up at him. Harkeld felt her confusion, her bewilderment.

“Innis, wake up!”

H
E HEARD PEOPLE
talking quietly. He smelled food. Stew?

Harkeld opened his eyes and saw candlelight flickering on canvas, turned his head and saw Rand and Petrus and Innis. Petrus had an arm around Innis’s shoulders. An empty bowl rested in her lap.

Harkeld pushed aside his blankets and sat up hurriedly. “You woke up!”

Petrus’s expression stiffened. He removed his arm from Innis’s shoulders.

“About an hour ago,” Innis said. “I don’t know why I didn’t wake earlier. I’ve checked and I can’t find anything wrong.” She touched her temple.

“It took me forever to find you. What’s the time?” It felt like morning.

“Nearly dawn,” Rand said.

“I’ll get the gruel on.” Petrus took the empty bowl from Innis’s lap and clambered down from the wagon.

“No patrolling for you today, Innis,” Rand said. “I want you to rest. We’ll see if you’re up to a shift this evening.” He followed Petrus from the wagon.

Harkeld folded up his bedding, wishing Rand and Petrus hadn’t left. The silence between him and Innis felt awkward, self-conscious.

He looked up and met her eyes.
What do I say to her?
It was so much easier in the dreams, when he could sense what she was thinking. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

The awkward silence fell again. Harkeld found his boots, pulled them on. “Innis... we need to talk.”

She nodded warily.

He examined her face. Too thin, too pale. She wasn’t ready for this either. “But not now. When you’re feeling stronger.”

“I’m perfectly all right.”

“I think not.” He reached for his sword belt. “I’ll help them with breakfast. You stay here. Rest.”

Outside, Rand crouched at the fire, hanging a pot on the tripod. Petrus was going through the packsaddles, looking for gruel. Harkeld walked across to him, buckling his sword belt. “Need a hand?”

“No,” Petrus said. “Found it.” He straightened, turned away, turned back. “Thanks for waking her.”

“You’re welcome.”

Petrus gave a short nod and headed towards the fire.

Harkeld caught his arm, halting him. “Don’t stop hugging her. Not because of me.”

Petrus turned his head to look at him. His green eyes were black in the pre-dawn gloom.

“Innis needs you.”

Petrus shrugged Harkeld’s hand off his arm. He shook his head. “Your bond with her is stronger than mine.”

“Not stronger. Just different. She says you’re her brother.”

Petrus grimaced and looked away again, at the dark line of the horizon and the graying sky.

“If I see you do that again—stop hugging her because of me—I swear to the All-Mother I’ll break your nose again.”

Petrus snorted. “You could
try
.”

Harkeld stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what’s going to happen between me and Innis. I don’t even know if we’ll both be alive in a month’s time. But I
do
know how she feels about you, so for
her
sake, don’t do that again. All right, whoreson?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Petrus said, “I should break your rutting ribs again.”

“You could
try
.”

Petrus snorted, was silent, then said, “All right, you’ve made your point. Whoreson.”

“Good.” Harkeld waited until Petrus was several strides away, and then called, “Wrestling tonight?”

Petrus glanced back, bared his teeth. “You’re on.”

“W
ANT TO TRY
today?” Serril asked Rand, during breakfast.

Rand glanced around, counting the mages. No, just the shapeshifters. His gaze came to rest on Petrus. “How tired are you?”

“Not tired at all,” Petrus said.

Serril and Rand exchanged a glance, and then Serril nodded and went to fetch a map. He sat down beside Petrus and unrolled the calfskin. “We need to know where the curse is. And we need to know how fast it’s moving.”

Petrus’s pulse picked up. He leaned forward, studying the map.

“We’re about here.” Serril tapped the calfskin. “We think the curse is somewhere between here... and here.”

“How will I know where it is?”

“The people. If there are any left alive. If there aren’t, you’ll have to land, change into yourself. You should be able to tell by the curse shadows. They’ll be darker and thicker than they are now. But if you
do
land and change into yourself, for the All-Mother’s sake make certain no one sees you. They’ll kill you if they have the curse, and they’ll kill you if they haven’t.”

Petrus suppressed a shiver.

“Animals can’t get the curse,” Rand said. “So theoretically you can’t catch the curse if you’re shifted.”

Petrus’s attention jerked to him.

“The issue’s been debated back and forth at the Academy for decades,” Rand said. “The general consensus is that that shapeshifters in animal form can probably drink cursed water and be unaffected.”

A feeling of panic rose in Petrus’s chest. Was Rand going to ask him to break a Primary Law and drink while shapeshifted?
But I don’t want to drink cursed water!

“You are absolutely forbidden to try. Do you understand me, Petrus?” Rand looked as stern as Dareus ever had, no humor on his face, not the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes. “
Absolutely
forbidden.”

“Yes, sir,” Petrus said. The panicked feeling in his chest subsided.

Rand held his gaze for a long moment, and then nodded.

“You remember that, son,” Serril said, and there was a grim note in his deep voice. “Or I’ll personally flay you. Now, take a good look at this map...”

P
ETRUS STUDIED THE
map while the others dismantled the tents, loaded the packhorses, saddled the riding mounts. When he felt satisfied he knew where he was going, he rolled up the calfskin and gave it to Rand.

“Petrus...” The voice was Innis’s.