The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (8 page)

Coughing on it, I backed up and prepared to lecture the man about looking where he was going, violently. I held off when I saw how badly he was shaking.

Hunched inside a hooded, brown traveling cloak, his white-knuckle grip on the reins loosened slowly. As his slight form uncurled, the edges of his cloak fell away. The hood slipped off, revealing beneath it, not a man, but a boy. No more than fifteen or sixteen years, dressed in garments dyed the
colors of my current employer, King Sarin of Kael, his fresh, round (and unmistakably pale) face was not quite old enough to have seen a single shave.

I grunted in surprise. “You’re from the King’s court. What are you doing way out here?”

Forcing away his anxiety, the boy squared his jaw. “Good day to you, My Lord.” He gave me a quick nod and the careless mop of sandy hair on top of his head bounced down over his face. He tossed it back. “I have been sent to escort you to the home of King Sarin.”

“Did you come through the village?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Was it intact?” I swallowed, waiting.

“My Lord…?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Yes, My Lord. Forgive me.”

Licking dry lips, I blew out a breath and tried again. “Did the village look like it does here?”

Lowering his eyes, he shook his head in confusion and the shock of hair fell across his face again. For a moment, I was tempted to pull out a knife and cut it for him.

“Look around you, boy,” I said, close to yelling. “Did the village look like this?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking.” Noticing my sword, he recoiled. “Please…”

I lowered the weapon. “Just calm down, take a look around, and answer me.”

The young Kaelishman’s nervous gaze moved off mine. Leather creaking, he turned in the saddle, right then left. He stared at the lifeless woods, at the ruined ground and the rotting animals, and for a moment, said nothing. Then revulsion claimed his face and turned it an unbecoming shade of green. “You did this,” he whispered. Horror strained his voice. “You did this with magic.”

His tone stung. “Yes. Now, are they safe in the village?”

“Gods,” he gasped. “You killed it all. You killed everything.”

The air went out of me. My eyes fell closed. “Then they’re all dead.”

“Oh—no, My Lord, that’s not…they aren’t…”

My eyes snapped open. “Tell me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” His flustered stare grew huge with embarrassment. “The village is fine. There’s grass,” he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s just a ways back. I can show you.”

“No. No, it’s all right.” Running a hand over my face, I wiped the emotion from it. “I believe you.”

“Good. Then, can we go now?”

I squinted at him in the growing dark. Clearly, the boy had no grasp of the utter panic that had been moving through me only seconds before. Or what it took to put it away. He’d probably never felt anything like it. “I’ve seen you before. You’re not King Sarin’s page. You belong to his son, Guidon.”

His whole body stiffened. “It is my honor to attend Kael’s heir.”

“Is it?” My mood broke some at his well-practiced lie and I grinned. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Liel,” he said, tentatively.

“Well, Liel, forgive me for being cautious, but in the two years that I’ve been tasked with hunting Kael’s outlaws, Sarin has never once sent someone to fetch me.”

“Escort you, My Lord. I’m an escort. Not a…a dog,” he finished boldly.

I laughed at that and he panicked.

“Forgive me, My Lord.” Liel bent his head and a mountain of hair hid the redness creeping over his cheeks. “I should be punished for speaking so.”

“Speak how you like. Just tell me one thing.” I slid my sword away. “How did Prince Guidon know I’d be on this trail, today, right now? Did he pay for a spell to track me?”

“I wouldn’t know, My Lord. I was told only that my duty is to bring you.”

“Then your duty has to wait.”

The boy got brave again. “I’m sorry, but I must insist.”

“And I insist you go back without me. I have business in the city. I’ll come by the castle after, but you better have my pay ready. It’s best if I don’t stick around.”

Politely, he said, “Yes, My Lord.” But I could almost see the risk of Prince Guidon’s displeasure hanging like a shadow over his head.

“Wait.” Twisting around behind me, I took hold of the leather bag tied to my saddle. “Take this.” I pulled a knife and severed the line.

“What is it?” he asked, standing in his stirrups to see.

“Something that might keep you from getting into too much trouble.” As I turned back around and opened the flap, Liel threw a hand over his mouth. “Use it,” I told him.

“As what?” he balked.

“Proof you found me.” I closed the flap and tossed him Taren’s head.

SEVEN

I
flipped a handful of coins on the counter. “Another.”

The gangly Kaelishman behind the bar pushed the dirty-water-colored hair out of his eyes and tallied the coins with a sour expression. Slowly, his disagreeable stare lifted. “We don’t serve your kind in here,” he said, taking the coins and slipping them in his pocket.

“Your girls have no trouble serving me,” I reminded him.

“My girls have no wits.”

“I’ve been here before. I’ve had your ale. And your girls.”

“I remember.” His pointed, scruffy jaw went tight. “And I remember how my place looked after you left.”

“Your place is a shithole,” I said plainly, kicking at the dirt floor. “But I paid for those damages. Both times.”

“I’m thinking, this time, you should pay in advance.”

My hand twitched. All night, I’d been trying not to give into my temper. Anger was too closely linked to casting for a Shinree soldier and I was barely ignoring the urge as it was. Even so, I almost hit him and got it over with. But I lost interest as a woman’s arm came around the barkeep’s bony shoulder. She moved out from behind him and shamelessly draped her body over his.

Whispering in his ear, she said, “I’ll take care of this one.”

He gave no argument. The barkeep slipped quietly away into the kitchen with an almost blank expression, leaving the woman to size me up with her
pretty blue eyes. They were pale and bottomless, and gave her square face a pleasing, sultry quality.

“What are you drinking, Shinree?” she asked.

The answer was easy. “Whatever you’re pouring.”

“In that case…” Giving me a quick, frisky smile, the winegirl turned to the rows of shelves on the wall behind her. She reached up high for a lone, black jug sitting at the top. “Ever heard of the Wandering Isles?”

“Don’t think so,” I said, enjoying watching her move. Her hair was an avalanche of wide, autumn curls. Her body was healthy, scantily dressed and full of curves, and I liked the way her skirt lifted as she stretched.

“It’s a little group of islands just off the coast of Doratae.” She glanced back. “Some say their spirits are the best ever made.” Making contact with the bottle, she pulled it down, parted a set of lips that were perfect for kissing, and blew the dust off the label. “What do you say, Shinree?” Grinning, she sat the bottle down in front of me. “Are you brave enough to find out?”

“Only if you’re brave enough to join me.”

In reply, she popped the cork, and the man at the bar beside me slurred in a deep voice, “Your presence brings with it a foul odor, witch.”

I turned slightly toward him. He was big for a Kaelishman. He was also considerably drunker than I was. But that didn’t make him wrong.

“I bet it does,” I said, sniffing at the remnants of swamp on my coat.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” he said. “You stink.” Teetering, the brute edged closer. The layer of ash caked on his hair and skin was thicker than the coating of grime on the tavern windows.
Blacksmith,
I thought as he leaned in closer. “You don’t belong here.”

“You’re right in that,” I agreed, surveying the room full of shadowy figures hunched over their mugs. Since none of them had given me anything on my elusive, Shinree enemy, I should have left hours ago. Instead, I chanced staying and, feeling sorry for myself, hit the wine. I thought a mug or two might help. Now, after a few more than two, I could comfortably say that I felt far worse than when I walked in. A cold sweat had my shirt clinging to my skin. Small earthquakes were traveling the length of my insides. My head was pounding.

The only thing I’d found worthy of distracting me from my cravings for magic was the girl behind the bar. So I put my back to the unpleasant
blacksmith and smiled at her. “Shall we?” I nodded at the jug. She put down two cups and began filling them. The liquid, as it came out, was dark with a pungent, spicy smell. I eyed it warily. “What’s your name, girl?” I asked her.

Her reply was an ornery grin. Selecting one of the cups, she saluted me with it, drained it—and her face immediately contorted in pain. She was coughing and laughing so hard, I could barely understand when she wheezed out, “Imma.”

I wasn’t sure yet about the drink, but I liked her.

I dug in my pocket and put a few more coins on the counter. “You get many Shinree in here, Imma?”

Still wincing, she cleared her throat. “Sometimes the nobles come in with their slaves looking for a discreet place to get their money’s worth. If you know what I mean.”

“Not a slave. I’m looking for someone off
Kayn’l
. A man.”

“That’s funny. I’m looking for a man too.” Imma leaned toward me over the bar. “And I think you’ll do just fine.” She inclined her body further in my direction and the rounded collar of her bodice gaped invitingly. I caught the faint scent of lavender that clung to her red-brown hair as she plucked my drink off the counter. She held it to my mouth. “I hope you like it hot.”

With difficulty, I raised my gaze from her overflowing breasts to her sensual eyes. I took the cup from her hand, and a sudden, involuntary shudder of craving raced up my arm. “He’s tall,” I said, tightening my grip. “He was wearing a cloak. I know that doesn’t help much but he came in a while back looking to hire. Met with a woman. Name of Roe.”

Imma scooted back off the counter to her side of the bar. With that slight distance, the scent of her vanished. Strangely, I found myself missing it.

“Roe’s been here before,” she replied, thinking, “but not for some time. As far as your Shinree goes…healers don’t come unless enough blood spills to get the magistrate involved. And oracles don’t come unless you pay them—which we don’t. To cite our great and wise owner,” Imma deepened her voice and slowed it to a coarse drawl, “why in hell’s name would I pay for some friggin’ lout to learn his future when he’ll be too drunk to remember it come morning?” Slapping a hand on the jug between us, she lifted it high. “This is all the entertainment these good-for-nothing, tightfisted, lousy, pricks need.”
Putting the bottle down, Imma ended her impression with a laugh. “You’re in the Wounded Owl, handsome. If you want oracles, you need to go uptown a bit.”

“Nah, I think I’m good here.” I tossed back the drink in my hand. It was like liquid fire. I was still trying to breathe when the blacksmith stumbled into me.

“I heard about you,” he said.

I didn’t even glance at him. “Don’t suppose any of it was good?”

“It was shit. Must be shit,” he said, his words running over each other. “Since you look like just another ugly, spooky-eyed witch to me. Cowardly and cock-lovin’ too, I bet.” He shoved his shoulder into mine. “Prove me wrong.”

“You really don’t want me to do that,” I told him.

“Let’s say I do. Let’s say I grab your head and slam it,” he smacked his hand on the bar for effect, “until it cracks. What would you do then?”

“Something you wouldn’t like. Now, if you don’t mind?” I held my cup out to Imma. She re-filled it, but her posture had changed. The lighthearted casualness of before was gone. She looked angry.

Then she looked scared as the blacksmith shoved me again. This time he pushed me forward, so hard, I bumped into her, dropped my cup, and spilled my drink on us both. She lost her balance and I had to grab her with one hand to keep her from falling, while my other gripped the edge of the counter; fingers digging into the wood as I furiously struggled to re-route my anger.

“You okay?” I said. She nodded and I let her go. I let go of the bar, too. Shaking the wet off my hand, I turned around, hoping to find a way to get rid of the blacksmith without it turning violent—and he hit me.

Knocked once more into the bar, I rubbed my jaw as I righted myself. I spit a generous amount of blood on the floor and the bastard scowled at it as if it wasn’t enough. As if I should have been flat on my back, out cold with one hit.

“Are you Ian Troy?” he said then.

I had to spit again before I could answer. “Maybe you should have asked that before you hit me.”

The brute grunted, possibly in agreement, but he was too busy trying to stare me down to elaborate. He couldn’t manage it, of course. My reputation
regularly drew in aspiring challengers like flies and I’d spent years perfecting the right amount of unshakable, belligerence it took to warn them off with a glance. Not to mention that too much ale swam in this one’s veins for him to see straight.

Still, I let him win. I had to. My nerves were jumping like hot embers from a fire and the effort it was taking to
not
put the bastard down, had spasms running through me, so intense, I picked up the jug and took a long, desperate swig.

Imma frowned at me. “You don’t look so good.”

The jug wobbled in my grip as I lowered it. “It’s nothing.”

“Really?” She put her hand on mine to stop it from shaking. “You should get out of here. Before someone catches what you have.”

“They can’t.” But she was right. I couldn’t stay. The sickness and disorientation had finally reached that critical point. I had two choices now. Continue to deny my body what it yearned for. Or give in.

I didn’t want to even consider the latter. But as long as another was in charge of my spells, it was futile to suffer through the pain of abstinence. Whatever gains I might make would be undone at his whim. Not to mention that, physically, I would be a mess. From here on, there was only one way to stay sharp. I had to alleviate my symptoms as they came on. I had to cast regularly and willingly, and I had to live with it. I had to let go of the years I’d spent honing my self-control and fall back into old patterns; using secluded places to gorge myself; learning to get by on small bursts to avoid draining innocents. I had to accept that once more my life would be measured by how long I could last between spells.