The poison had a harsh, coppery scent, along with a cold note, as if someone had somehow mixed blood and frost together. It was an unusual aroma, and the poison didn’t have a caustic burn like wormroot that would tell me exactly how strong it was—or how quickly it might kill me.
That strange lethargy swept over me again, stronger than before. Even worse, my forearm had gone numb, and I couldn’t even feel the deep, throbbing sting of the gash anymore. I had to do something to counteract the poison right now, before it spread up my arm, across my chest, and over to my heart.
So I ignored the lethargy as best I could and reached for my own magic, pulling it up just like I had when I’d been fighting the magier and the morph. Only this time, instead of coating my hands and sword with it, I forced all the cold, hard power into the cut on my forearm.
I stared at the gash and imagined my immunity like an invisible fist closing over the deep cut. More and more blood welled up out of the wound, turning into a steady stream that slid down my skin, hit my bracelet, and dripped off the silver thorns. The sight and smell of so much of my own blood made me nauseous and light-headed, but that was okay, because it meant that my power was working and pushing the poison out of my body. I gritted my teeth, reached for even more of my immunity, and forced it into the wound.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, watching the blood leave my body. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, although it seemed like an hour, due to the lethargy still creeping through my veins.
I drew in another breath, and the stench of the poison tickled my nose again. Copper and cold, blood and frost. I frowned. I had smelled this poison before. I knew that I had. I could feel the answer in the bottom of my brain, like a fish swimming along a riverbed. Oh, yes, the answer, the memory, was down in there somewhere, but I was too tired to bring it up to the surface right now . . .
“Evie?” Paloma said again.
Sullivan must have heard the concern in her voice. He cursed and lunged forward, probably to clamp his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding, but I waved him off.
“Grab the dagger from the last assassin, the one who cut me,” I whispered to him. “Be careful. The blade is poisoned.”
The scent of anger blasted off him, along with worry, but he whirled around, hurried over, and scooped the dagger up off the ground.
Paloma stayed by my side, her amber eyes wide, as were those of the ogre on her neck. “Wormroot?” she whispered, fear rasping through her voice.
Paloma had once been poisoned with wormroot by a jealous rival gladiator, so she knew how painful and horrible it felt.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Amethyst-eye?”
That was the poison Dahlia had used to try to kill Heinrich at Glitnir a few months ago.
I shook my head again. “No.”
“Then what?” Paloma asked, more worry filling her voice.
I started to tell her that I couldn’t remember exactly what poison it was, but another wave of lethargy swept over me, much stronger than before. All the strength left my body, and the last thing I saw before I hit the cobblestones was the gold statue of Lady Fortuna looming above me.
Chapter Twelve
I was lying on my side, curled up in a little ball, still feigning sleep.
It was well after dark now, and blackness cloaked the woods around the clearing, except for where the patches of snow lightened the ground and frosted the tree branches. Behind me, the campfire had burned down low, taking its warmth along with it, and a chill had soaked into my bones, despite the blanket and the cloak covering my body. Or perhaps the chill had more to do with how much danger I was in.
Some time ago, Rocinda and Caxton had finally quit plotting to sell me to the highest bidder and had lain down next to the fire. Caxton had been steadily, loudly snoring for several minutes. Every once in a while, Rocinda would let out a soft breathy sigh, indicating that she too was asleep.
I wouldn’t get a better chance to escape. I didn’t know who they were working for or where they wanted to take me, but I wasn’t going to be anyone’s slave, toy, or whatever horrible thing they had in mind. I’d already lost my parents, my home, and everything I had ever cared about. I wasn’t losing my freedom too.
It was the only thing I had left.
So I sat up, careful not to rustle my blanket, and glanced over at my would-be kidnappers.
Caxton was lying on his back with his arm thrown up over his head. The deep, throaty snores rumbling out of his mouth matched the lumbering rise and fall of his chest. He was definitely asleep. Rocinda was on her side, turned away from me, and curled into a ball, much like I had been. Her chest also rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and she too appeared to be sleeping.
Now or never.
I pushed the blanket aside, stripped off the borrowed cloak, and got to my feet, making as little noise as possible. I also kept my hand in my dress pocket, my fingers still curled around the dagger hidden there. Despite my furtive movements, my would-be kidnappers remained asleep.
I eyed Rocinda’s and Caxton’s knapsacks a few feet away. I could use their supplies in the woods, but I didn’t dare try to steal the bags. Not when they were lying within arm’s reach of Caxton. I’d rather escape with my life than die for a wheel of cheese and some dried fruit.
I stayed where I was a moment longer, but Caxton kept snoring and Rocinda remained still. Keeping my eyes on them, I stepped back, putting my boot down on the ground—
Crunch.
My boot cracked through a patch of ice, the sound seeming as loud as a trumpet blaring. I froze, but Caxton and Rocinda didn’t move. It didn’t look like I had woken them, so I let out the breath I’d been holding and kept going.
Step by step, I backed away from them, as well as the dwindling heat and light of the campfire. My heart hammered, and my breath puffed out in shallow, frosty clouds, but I made it to the edge of the clearing. All I had to do was slip into the trees and then I could start running. I still didn’t know where I was or where I was going, but hopefully, I could get far enough away that they wouldn’t bother to chase after me—
A soft fluttering sound caught my ear. I froze again. My gaze snapped over to the campfire, but Caxton and Rocinda were in the same positions as before. I glanced around the rest of the clearing, but I didn’t see anyone else.
So who—or what—had made that noise?
The soft fluttering sounded again, and again, and I realized that it was coming from the box Caxton had tied to one of the pines. The black cloth draped over the box was moving back and forth. At first I thought the wind was ruffling the fabric, but then I noticed that the air was completely still.
Something was inside the box.
I hesitated, torn between slipping into the trees and going over to the box. I didn’t want the noise of the fluttering cloth, along with whatever was inside the container, to wake Caxton and Rocinda. But in the end, all that mattered was my escape, so I crept closer to the trees.
The cloth fluttered again, a little louder and more violently than before. I froze yet again. The cloth stilled, and I let out another breath and tiptoed forward.
The cloth fluttered for a third time. But instead of dropping back down into place, the black fabric kept snapping to and fro, as though whatever was inside could sense my leaving.
By this point, the entire box was vibrating, along with the attached rope, and bits of snow were flaking off the surrounding tree branches and plop-plop-plopping onto the ground. It wouldn’t be long before larger chunks of snow and ice started slipping off the branches, making the limbs snap upward and scrape together. The resulting noise would most likely wake my captors, which meant that I had to shut up whatever was inside that bloody box before it ruined my chance to escape.
I ground my teeth at the delay, but I changed direction and sidled toward the box. Luckily, Caxton had tied the box on a low branch, and he had just draped the cloth over the container without bothering to
tie it down. I glanced over at the campfire again, but he and Rocinda still appeared to be sleeping, so I turned back to the box.
I took hold of one corner of the black fabric and gently pulled it down, revealing a small container made of coldiron bars. It wasn’t a box, it was a cage, with a small creature trapped inside.
A caladrius.
My breath caught in my throat, and the black cloth slipped from my fingers and floated down to the snowy ground. Despite the danger, I couldn’t help but lean forward and peer through the bars.
The caladrius’s tiny, owlish body was only a little bigger than my hand. Its feathers were a lovely snow-white and tipped with arrowlike points of light gray, while its beak and talons were a darker, smoky gray. The contrasting colors gave the creature an ethereal air, and its wings seemed to glow like an opal memory stone in the black night.
I had seen caladriuses in menageries, but I’d never been this close to one before. Those creatures had had broken wings and other injuries that made it impossible for them to survive in the wild, but this creature didn’t seem to be wounded. So why was it in a cage?
The answer came to me an instant later. Caxton and Rocinda must be planning to sell it, just like they were me. Anger filled me, along with sadness.
The caladrius had been huddled in the back of the cage, but it hopped forward and peered at me through the bars. The creature crept closer and fluffed up its feathers, as if it were making sure it had my full attention. Then it leaned toward me so that its bright eyes were level with mine.
Help me.
The two words whispered through my mind like wind softly blowing over a field of wildflowers. I jerked back in surprise. My boot crunched on another patch of ice, but I kept staring at the caladrius.
Had the creature just . . . spoken to me?
No, of course not. That was silly. As far as I knew, caladriuses didn’t talk, and only mind magiers could whisper thoughts to someone. Still, the creature was making me uneasy, so I took another step back. I needed to get out of here before Caxton and Rocinda woke up, not waste my time mooning over a pretty bird.
The caladrius let out what sounded like a soft resigned sigh. Its head drooped, along with its feathers, and it seemed to shrink, becoming even smaller than it already was. The creature realized that I was abandoning it, and its dusty resignation washed over me. The scent cut me deeper than a sword through my heart.
I couldn’t leave the caladrius here to become someone’s pet—or worse, to be carved up for its magic. Some people thought eating caladrius meat or ingesting powders made from the creatures’ feathers, beaks, talons, and bones could cure illnesses, increase a person’s magic, and bring good luck. The creatures were protected in Bellona, but they had been hunted to almost extinction in other kingdoms like Morta.
I glanced over at Caxton and Rocinda again, but they were still sleeping, so I tiptoed back over to the cage. The tiny, owlish bird perked up and cocked its head to the side, studying me. For the first time, I noticed that its eyes were a lovely gray-blue that shifted color, going from light to dark and back again, thanks to the campfire’s low flames.
Caladriuses often nested in tearstone mines, and some legends claimed that the birds had dug into so much tearstone that it had turned their eyes the same unique color. Last winter, several caladriuses had nested in my father’s mine, and we had often scattered toasted sunflower seeds and dried bits of bloodcrisp apples on the cavern floor for the creatures to eat.
Thinking about my dead father made my heart ache again, but I pushed the emotion and memories aside, bent down, and studied the small padlock on the cage. The simple metal contraption reeked of magic. Rocinda must have coated the lock with her fire power so that the caladrius couldn’t use its hard beak to peck the metal to pieces and free itself.
I grimaced, knowing how much this was going to hurt, but I wrapped my hand around the padlock anyway. Orange-red fire spewed out from between my fingertips, and I quickly brought my other hand up, covering the flare of flames as best I could.
My immunity roared to life, and I focused my power on the lock, chipping away at the magic that held it together. Rocinda’s fire burned and burned, trying to eat through my immunity and blister my skin. I gritted my teeth again and reached for even more of my magic, forcing it to smother the fire like an invisible blanket.
A few seconds later, the last of the flames were snuffed out. I sighed with relief and pulled down on the base of the metal. Rocinda hadn’t bothered to actually lock it with a key, and the clasp slid free. I unhooked the padlock and slid it into my pocket, right alongside my hidden dagger.
I glanced over at Caxton and Rocinda again, but they hadn’t moved, so I cracked open the cage door. The metal squeaked a bit, making me wince, but I opened it the rest of the way.
I stepped back, expecting the caladrius to immediately fly out, but it stayed where it was, still staring at me with its bright eyes.
“Go on,” I whispered, waving my hand. “You’re free.”
The caladrius shuffled forward to the front of the cage. It fluffed out its white feathers again, lifted its wings, and took off. The creature was much faster than I expected, and it quickly darted across the clearing and disappeared into the trees. I watched it go with a smile on my face.
As soon as the bird vanished, I realized that the clearing was eerily quiet—and that I didn’t hear Caxton snoring anymore. Dread filled me, and I whirled around, hoping that he and Rocinda were still asleep—
The two bounty hunters were standing right in front of me.
Caxton’s hands were curled into fists, while Rocinda was clutching a knife. My nose twitched. The hot, peppery scent of their combined anger filled the clearing.
I started to bolt into the trees, but Caxton was fast as well as strong, and he used his mutt magic to grab my arm and yank me back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.
I opened my mouth to stammer out some lie, but Caxton slapped me across the face. Pain exploded in my left cheek, and white stars winked on and off in my eyes.
“Stupid girl.” He sneered. “You should have saved yourself instead of the bird.”
Caxton shoved me toward Rocinda, who grabbed my hand and sliced her knife across my palm, opening up a deep cut.
I yelped with pain and raised my other hand to hit her, but Rocinda shoved me back, and Caxton’s strong arms clamped around me from behind. I struggled with all my might, but I couldn’t break his tight, bruising grip. I couldn’t move my arms at all, not even to try to reach for the dagger still hidden in my dress pocket.
But the longer and harder I struggled, the more tired I felt—so very, very tired. I glanced down at my palm, which was dripping blood. I could feel magic pulsing through my veins, right alongside the sharp sting of the cut.
Rocinda’s knife had been poisoned.
No, I thought. Not poisoned. The two of them had gone to far too much trouble to feed me earlier just to kill me now, even if I had freed the caladrius. They still wanted to sell me, which meant . . . which meant that . . .
I was having trouble focusing through the fog suddenly clouding my mind. Somehow, I forced myself to look at Rocinda, even though she seemed very far away and was growing more distant by the second.
“What . . . did you . . . do . . . to me?” I rasped out the words, even though my tongue felt numb and heavy in my mouth.
Rocinda brandished her knife, making the sharp edge of the blade gleam in the dying light of the campfire. “This? Oh, it’s just a little trick we use to keep our guests docile while we transport them to their new homes. Say goodbye to Bellona, little girl. Because this is the last time you’re ever going to see it . . .”
Rocinda kept spewing threats, but I couldn’t concentrate on her words. That fog rose up in my mind stronger than before, and I fell down into its dark gray abyss . . .
My eyes fluttered open. At least, I thought they fluttered open. It was hard to tell, since all I could see
was a solid wall of gray. It took me a few moments to realize that it wasn’t a wall, but rather the curve of a tent swooping upward toward a large crown-of-shards crest done in bright, glittering silver thread in the center of the canvas ceiling.
A relieved breath escaped my lips. This was my tent, which meant that I was off the island and back on the Bellonan side of the river, where it was . . . Well, I didn’t know that safe was the right word. Safer, perhaps. Complete, utter, total safety would always be forever out of my reach as long as I was queen.
But since I was currently safer, I wiggled my fingers. The gash on my left forearm was gone, and the clean, lemony scent of soap and magic that lingered on my skin indicated that Aisha, the head of my bone masters, had healed me. I didn’t sense the poison coursing through my veins anymore, although I still felt tired and very, very stiff, as though I’d been frozen alive and was only just now thawing out.
I didn’t know if being poisoned had triggered my nightmarish memory, or if my memory had helped me figure out what the poison was, but I now knew what the DiLucri assassin had dosed me with—blue sperren, the same drug Rocinda had given me all those years ago.
But the strange thing was that blue sperren wasn’t usually fatal. No, it was a paralytic that just made people think you were dead. Combine that with the assassin’s strange words, and how she had seemingly come out of nowhere to join the battle at the very end, and I got the sense that I had been her intended target.
The other assassins had all rushed toward Serilda, but that last woman had hung back and waited for an opportunity to focus on me and me alone. And since she had dosed me with blue sperren, her attack hadn’t been meant to result in my death. At least, not immediately, not right there on the plaza.
I had assumed that Maximus had hired Driscol to send the geldjagers after Serilda, but now I was starting to think there were other forces—other people—at work who had a far different agenda regarding me than the Mortans did. I just wasn’t quite sure what that agenda was yet.
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