“Stop!” I hissed, looking first at the gargoyle and then the strix. “Do you two want everyone in Blauberg to know we’re here?”
Grimley shuffled back, chastised by my harsh tone. Lyra bobbed her head, as though she was also sorry, then hopped over to Leonidas, who was still lying in the wheelbarrow.
She bent down and nudged him with her beak, but he didn’t stir. “Leo’s hurt.” She faced me again, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Did you hurt him?”
I held my hands out to my sides, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “No. It was a Mortan captain named Wexel.”
Lyra let out an odd, low cry that sounded very similar to one of Grimley’s growls, then raked her talons through the grass, leaving long gouges behind. “Kill him for this. Finally.”
Finally? How long had the strix wanted to kill the captain? And why?
I pushed my questions aside and pointed at Leonidas. “I have some medicine inside that might heal his wound. It’s the only chance he has.”
Lyra quirked her head from side to side, still studying me with narrowed eyes, and I could feel her distrust raking across my heart, the sensation as sharp as her talons tearing through the grass.
“Look at it this way. If you kill me now, then Leonidas will definitely die. But if you let me live, then he might live too.” I paused, an idea popping into my mind. “Besides, you can always kill me later.”
Topacia would have groaned at my pointing out that fact. She was always saying that I needed to be far less flippant and cheerful about things like my own death. She was probably right.
Grimley stepped up beside me. “Try to kill you later,” he snarled. “She won’t succeed.”
Lyra fluffed out her purple feathers in indignation. “Arrogant gargoyle. I smash little rocks like you all the time.”
Grimley grinned, showing off his teeth. “And I gobble down little chicks like you all the time.”
The two creatures glared at each other again.
“We’re wasting time,” I snapped.
A few seconds ticked by in tense silence. Then Lyra’s feathers smoothed down. “Help my Leo,” she chirped, her voice far softer than before. “Please.”
Gemma, Grimley’s voice sounded in my mind. You can’t trust this strix. She’ll try to peck your eyes out the first chance she gets.
No, she won’t. She just wants to save her human, even if that means letting me live. Wouldn’t you do the same if I had been hurt?
You know I would.
Then it’s settled.
Lyra’s head quirked to the side, almost as if she could sense my silent conversation with Grimley. Maybe she could, given her own bond with Leonidas.
I went over, grabbed the wheelbarrow handles, and pushed the container to the front door, which I unlocked and shoved open with my magic. Luckily, the door was wide enough for me to roll the wheelbarrow inside the cottage.
Grimley started to follow me, but I jerked my head at Lyra. He gave me a sour look, but he stayed outside with the strix. I would just have to hope that the two creatures wouldn’t kill each other—and that their scuffle hadn’t already killed Leonidas.
* * *
I kicked the door shut behind me, then rolled the wheelbarrow into the living room and set it down. Next, I used my magic to grab hold of Leonidas, lift him out of the wheelbarrow, and float him down to the rug in front of the fireplace. He still didn’t stir.
I grabbed some supplies, then dropped to my knees beside the prince. His face was still deathly pale, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead, but his chest rose and fell in that slow, steady rhythm—
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
Startled, I turned around. Lyra was standing by a window, pecking her beak against the glass in a quick, annoyed rhythm, clearly telling me to hurry up. Grimley was lurking behind her, his tail lashing from side to side, ready to pounce if the strix did anything stupid, like break through the window to try to kill me.
Don’t worry. He’ll be okay. I sent the thought to the strix, being careful to merely whisper the words, since I had never mentally communicated with her before.
Lyra stopped her incessant pecking, her head jerking back in surprise. Then she leaned closer to the window again.
He’d better be, her voice sounded in my mind, her singsong tone somehow high and menacing at the same time.
I grimaced and turned back to Leonidas.
The first thing I did was remove the shackles from his wrists and the collar from his neck. The coldiron gleamed a dull, flat black, and the metal felt cool and strangely sticky, as though I were holding solid rings of leeches that were eager to feed on my magic.
“Nasty things,” I muttered, tossing the collar, shackles, and attached chain aside.
Next, I unhooked the pin on the front of Leonidas’s cloak—a silver strix with glittering amethyst eyes that looked like Lyra—and tugged the fabric out from under his body. I also wrestled off his riding coat, leaving the prince in his black tunic, leggings, and boots.
Wexel had been aiming for Leonidas’s heart, but thanks to my magic, the captain’s sword had instead punched into the prince’s chest, close to his shoulder. Despite the bumpy wheelbarrow ride, my magic had held the tunic in place, and the black fabric was still balled up around and stuffed down into the wound. Blood had soaked into the fabric, but the makeshift bandage had stopped him from bleeding out.
I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the tunic off him, leaving only the wad of fabric around the wound. Part of me hoped that Leonidas would be hideous beneath his clothing, covered with hairy green warts, fat red boils, and dry scaly skin like a cursed prince out of some old fairy tale, but of course he was gorgeous. Muscles rippled across his chest and stomach, while a light sprinkling of black hair arrowed down below his leggings. Even the bruises that covered his body from the guards’ attacks didn’t detract from his appeal.
My pulse quickened, and my fingertips itched with the sudden urge to stroke his skin and see if his muscles were as hard and glorious as they looked—
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
Lyra pecked on the window again, jarring me out of my reverie.
I kept my face averted from the strix, so she wouldn’t see the blush scalding my cheeks. Then I took hold of the blood-soaked fabric and gently pulled it out of the wound.
Wexel might not have hit Leonidas’s heart, but he had still done plenty of damage. Blood welled up out of the deep, jagged gash and trickled down Leonidas’s ribs, each drop shimmering like a liquid ruby streaking down his skin. The coppery stench of his blood also punched into my nose, making those familiar screams wail in my mind again.
Back in Glitnir, I could go days, weeks, sometimes even months without hearing those screams, but ever since I’d come to Blauberg, they had been bubbling up in my mind like hungry krakens rising to the surface of the sea, eager to wrap their tentacles around my internal ship and drag it—and me—down under the choppy waves.
The sight and stench of Leonidas’s blood made it more difficult than usual, but I managed to shove those krakens back down into the murky deep of my mind.
First, I used a soft cloth and some warm water to thoroughly clean the wound. Then I opened a bottle of witch hazel and poured it into the gash to help lower the risk of infection. While I waited for the witch hazel to dry, I grabbed a jar filled with cucumber-ginger ointment made by Helene Blume, a family friend and powerful plant magier.
Helene was best known for the luxe beauty creams, lotions, and perfumes she sold to wealthy nobles, but she also crafted healing salves, balms, and ointments. Before I had left Glitnir, Helene had given me her latest experimental formula. I just hoped it worked as well as she claimed.
I opened the jar and dipped my fingers into the sticky ointment. A bright tang of ginger flooded my nose, along with softer, more soothing notes of cool cucumber. Just sniffing it made me feel better, and the strong scent also
cleansed the coppery stench of blood from the air.
I slathered the ointment all over Leonidas’s wounds. My rubbing activated Helene’s magic, and my fingers started tingling as the hidden power sparked to life. The thick coating seeped into Leonidas’s skin, and the ointment quickly changed colors, going from a pale, almost translucent green to a darker, more vibrant forest-green. The bruises faded away, and the jagged edges of his wound slowly closed, as though the ointment were full of tiny vines that were stitching his torn flesh back together the way it should be.
A minute later, the last of the ointment vanished into Leonidas’s skin, and Helene’s magic faded away. The wound had closed, although a large, raised, ugly pink stain remained on his chest. He wasn’t completely healed, but he wouldn’t bleed to death now.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
Lyra pecked on the glass again, so I went over and opened the window. The strix stuck her head inside, and I had to jerk back to keep from getting stabbed by her razor-sharp beak. Behind her, Grimley let out a low, warning growl, but I shook my head, telling him to stand down. Lyra hadn’t been trying to hurt me. She was just worried.
“Will Leo be okay?” she chirped.
“The ointment closed his wound. We’ll just have to wait and see how he feels when he wakes up.”
If he wakes up. I didn’t voice my thought, though. I didn’t want to further upset the strix, especially not when her beak was still dangerously close to my heart.
In the distance, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled, like an ominous trumpet heralding the purple-gray storm clouds drifting in this direction. I’d told Penelope that I would bring the wheelbarrow back to the mine, but I wouldn’t be able to beat the storm there. My absence would probably make Conley suspicious, but I’d rather face his wrath than the unpredictable mountain weather.
My gaze flicked back over to the prince. Besides, I couldn’t leave him alone. I knew better than to trust Leonidas Morricone, even when he was unconscious.
I looked at Lyra again. “You need to find a place to hide. The gargoyles will return to the city because of the storm, and they won’t like you being here.”
Lyra fluffed out her feathers. “No. I will stay with Leo.”
Concern surged off her, but I shook my head. “You can’t do anything to help him, and the cottage isn’t big enough for you and Grimley to both be inside at once. It’s barely large enough for Grimley, and he’s always knocking something over with his tail.”
Lyra trilled out a laugh, while Grimley glowered at me.
“Besides,” I continued, “you’re no good to Leonidas if the gargoyles kill you.”
Lyra stabbed one of her wings at Grimley. “You stopped him. You could stop the others.”
She was wrong. The other gargoyles might roost on the city rooftops, but they were still wild creatures with minds and wills of their own. Some of my ancestors, like Queen Armina Ripley, had been able to communicate with legions of gargoyles, but I wasn’t that strong or skilled in my magic. Oh, I could mentally talk to two or three gargoyles at once, but I certainly couldn’t command a whole city of them, much less order them not to attack a strix in their midst.
“Grimley is my friend,” I replied. “That’s why he stopped for me, but I’m not friends with all the gargoyles. Leonidas will be safe here. I’ll put some more ointment on his wound, and maybe he’ll wake up by morning. But you need to find a place to hunker down before the storm arrives. Grimley will help you find a spot.”
“No,” he growled. “I will stay here with you.”
I shook my head again. “You need to stay with Lyra and make sure the other gargoyles don’t attack her. They might not listen to me, but they will definitely listen to you.”
Grimley might not be the biggest gargoyle, but he was certainly one of the fiercest. If anyone could keep Lyra safe, then it was him.
Please. I sent the thought to him. Wouldn’t you want some creature to do the same for you if you were in a strange land and I was hurt?
Grimley gave me another sour look, but he jerked his head at Lyra. “Come.”
The strix bristled at his commanding tone.
Grimley snorted. “Fine. Be stupid and stubborn. But don’t blame me if the other gargoyles pluck off all your pretty purple feathers and eat you.”
Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “No one is eating me, least of all you.”
Grimley snorted again. “Why would I want to eat you? You’re nothing but fluff and bones. Hardly tasty at all.”
“The two of you squabbling doesn’t do anyone any good,” I said. “Now go. If Leonidas takes a turn for the worse, then I’ll summon Grimley.”
Lyra glanced back and forth between me and the gargoyle, and her amethyst eyes brightened with understanding. “Ah, she’s your human. That’s why you’re so protective of her.”
“Of course she’s my human.” Grimley’s chin lifted with pride. “And I will defend her to my death.”
“Just as I would my Leo,” Lyra chirped back.
The two creatures glared at each other again. Grimley’s tail lashed from side to side, while Lyra raked her talons across the ground. Several long, tense seconds slid by.
Grimley’s tail dropped, and he jerked his head. “Come. I know of a nearby cave where you will be safe and dry.” He paused. “There are lots of rabbits there too, if you are hungry.”
Lyra’s feathers ruffled again, but she seemed more intrigued than offended. “Oh, I love Andvarian rabbits! They’re so much more tender than the scrawny jackalopes we have in Morta . . .”
The strix kept extolling the virtues of plump, succulent Andvarian wildlife as she hopped into the woods with Grimley. Perhaps they wouldn’t kill each other after all.
I shut the window, then glanced over at Leonidas. Some color had returned to his face, and his breathing seemed much easier than before. Relief fluttered through my stomach, but I swatted it away. Any sympathy I felt for him was the same as I would feel for anyone who had been betrayed, attacked, and injured. Nothing more, nothing less.
Besides, he was of no use to me dead.
My mind started whirring with possibilities. Perhaps Leonidas could tell me whom Captain Wexel was working for and why that person wanted so much tearstone. Perhaps he could even tell me where Wexel had taken the tearstone. Oh, yes. Leonidas Morricone could be a potential fount of information, and I was going to wring every last drop out of him. As for what I would do with him after that . . . Well, I would cross that mountain when I came to it.
As I stood there, plotting over the prince, a strange thought filled my mind—Xenia would be so proud of me for setting aside my emotions and history with Leonidas and doing what needed to be done. So would Everleigh. They had both taught me well.
Now it was time to use their lessons to get to the bottom of things—and thwart whatever plot was brewing against my kingdom.
Chapter Six
Leonidas might not have been bleeding anymore, but he was still a long way from being fully healed, much less alert enough to be questioned, so I rubbed more ointment onto his wound and found some white cloth to use as a bandage.
I draped one end of the cloth over his chest, then grabbed his shoulder and turned him onto his side, so that I could wrap the cloth around his back. I rolled the prince a little more to the side, exposing even more of his back, and revealing . . .
Scars—so many scars.
Long, thin white lines slashed across Leonidas’s back, starting at the tops of his shoulders and marching down his spine before disappearing below the waistband of his leggings. Small round scars puckered up here and there, along with larger, jagged marks that resembled uneven lines of thick white thread that had been stitched into his skin.
Sick shock punched into my stomach, pummeling the air from my lungs. I had endured my fair share of painful injuries, and I had inflicted horrible, fatal wounds on others in return, but I had never seen anything like this.
Leonida
s Morricone had been tortured.
No, not merely tortured. He had been brutalized—often and repeatedly, over the course of several months, if not years.
Shock kept crashing over me in nauseating waves, but I drew in a shaky breath, leaned down, and took a closer look at his scars. The long lines had probably been made with some sort of whip, while the round spots seemed more like burn marks, caused by a hot fireplace poker or something similar. As for the zigzag, threadlike scars . . . well, I didn’t even want to imagine what had made those.
I shuddered, but I forced myself to check for recent injuries, anything that Helene’s ointment might be able to heal. But he didn’t have any new wounds, just layers and layers of scars. Given how old and faded they were, the wounds must have been inflicted quite some time ago, probably when Leonidas was a boy.
Horror and revulsion twisted and twisted my stomach, as though it were a wet dishrag that was being wrung out, even as sorrow and sympathy flared in my heart, like warm, bright fluorestones lighting up a cold, dark room.
“Who did this to you?” I whispered.
Leonidas didn’t respond, but his muscles clenched under my fingertips, almost as if his unconscious mind could hear my shocked tone and didn’t like my staring at all the pain and trauma he had suffered. I shuddered again, then wrapped the bandage around his back and tied the two ends together—
A knock sounded on the front door.
I shot to my feet, whirled around, and reached out with my magic, wondering if Conley and the other miners were lurking outside. Or worse, Captain Wexel and the Mortan guards. Instead, a calm, familiar presence filled my mind, so I went over and flung open the door.
Topacia stepped inside, then frowned. “Gemma? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Her hazel gaze flicked over me, but I smiled as though nothing was wrong and I didn’t have a half-dead prince laid out on the floor.
“Did you find out anything?” I asked.
Capture the Crown Page 7
