Piper Prince

by Amber Argyle

  Fear not the shadow, for you are mine.

  In my arms, the answer lie:

  A light that endures so evil may die.

  The same song Sela had sung.

  Venna’s lovely voice drifted to silence. Her shadowed silhouette appeared, weaving through the trees three dozen paces ahead.

  “The answer is in the song.” Venna sang again:

  In my arms, the answer lie:

  A light that endures so evil may die.

  My arms. The Curse Queen’s arms? But Eiryss had been dead for three centuries!

  “I know you think I’m a mulgar, that I’m trying to trick you. I’m not. You must come with me, Larkin. You must break the curse.”

  In the silence, Larkin’s breaths thundered in her ears. Surely the wraiths could hear her pulse drumming in the night. She ached for a glimpse of her friend, even if she was a mulgar. Just to see her face again—she’d forgotten it, Larkin realized. The features lost to time.

  “You are wise to remain hidden, to suspect us.” A new voice echoed through the dark, along with the twisting sense of wrongness and the smell of an opened grave. “I can sense your presence.” He drew a thick breath. “I can smell your fear.”

  He stepped between two trees not a dozen paces to her right, moving toward her like a dog on the scent. He opened his hand, revealing a tiny lampent, the light unable to penetrate the weightless shadows that shifted around him against the wind. He reached out a mailed hand and beckoned to Venna.

  She stepped into the light, the tined shadows etched in her face and the black nothingness of her eyes wrenching deep inside Larkin. He tucked the lampent behind her ear and shifted behind her. His hand wrapped around her fragile jaw.

  The shadows seeped from her eyes and skin into his hand. Her eyes cleared, turning the gentle brown Larkin remembered. Venna blinked once, twice, then rapidly. “Talox,” she whispered. She began to cry.

  “I can give her back,” the wraith murmured. “I will give them all back. If only you will come with me.”

  Larkin wanted to stuff her fist in her mouth and cover her ears. She dared not move. Poison. Poison. Poison. Poison. His words are poison.

  “All of them in exchange for you, Larkin. Am I not generous?”

  Larkin ached to block out his words, to keep the sob tucked tight in her throat. Loyalty and self-preservation. Poisonous lies. Even if he kept his word and gave all the mulgars back, they would be like Maisy, mad and unable to care for themselves.

  “No?” He stepped closer to Venna. “Perhaps I shall remove her curse and take her home with me. She would make an excellent pet, would she not? The sound of her screams would be … stimulating.”

  Venna whimpered. There came the sharp scent of urine.

  The forest take him! Larkin pushed up. She would die or she would kill him. Either way, she wouldn’t bear another moment of him torturing her friend. She dropped to the ground before him.

  The wraith suddenly whipped around to look behind him. A sacred arrow stirred the shadows past his head, barely missing him. Tucked behind his shield, Talox slammed into the wraith, throwing him back. Venna fell to the ground with a scream. Talox grabbed his ax and bore down on the wraith, striking with a determination the wraith could only retreat from. Larkin rushed to Venna’s side and turned her over.

  “Kill her!” Talox cried. “Before it’s too late.”

  It was already too late. Her eyes were black nothingness. She lunged at Larkin. The two rolled through the forest floor, something hard smacking into Larkin’s ribs. She gasped, her arms losing their strength. Venna whipped behind Larkin. Her legs wrapped around Larkin’s waist, her arm around Larkin’s neck.

  Stars exploded across Larkin’s vision, light eaten away by dark bursts that grew.

  No.

  She would not fail Venna again. She flared her magic, the sword and shield giving off a faint light. She swung her shield above her head. It connected. Venna’s grip loosened just enough for Larkin to twist. Her sword came up and in, pushing into Venna’s soft middle.

  Larkin swore she could taste Venna’s fresh bread slathered with butter and strawberry jam. A strangled groan slipped from Venna’s lips. Larkin gasped on a sob.

  Venna crawled back, one hand gripping her stomach, black blood pouring between her fingers. Her friend was still in there somewhere. But she couldn’t want to live like this. Larkin stepped forward and pulled back her arm to strike.

  A rushing sound. Larkin turned as the wraith imploded, his shadows flailing in his death throes. The oppressive evil was gone, though the smell lingered. Talox gasped and stumbled a few steps before falling to his backside.

  Larkin hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”

  “Did you kill her?” he panted.

  Larkin winced and looked back, to the place Venna had been. The girl was gone.

  The light take her, she had her friend’s black blood on her hands. She crouched down and scrubbed the back of her hands with dirt so hard they bled.

  “I don’t— I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Talox hunched around his drawn knees and sobbed.

  Larkin had thought nothing could be worse than stabbing Venna, but seeing Talox like this was just as bad. “Talox,” she snapped. Her own eyes were dry, the pain distant. But if he kept it up, she would lose it too. And then they would both die.

  She reached down, hauled him to his feet, and shook him. “How many wraiths are still out there?”

  Choking down his sobs, he wiped his streaming eyes and grabbed the lampent, as it was now full night. “Just Vicil.” He limped a couple of steps before his gait settled to normal.

  Relieved he was moving, she fell in behind him. “The other wraiths?”

  “Gone, I think.”

  “Shouldn’t we hide?”

  He headed toward the smoke lit up from below by fire. “Not if mulgars are burning trees.”

  Mulgars never harmed the trees was one of the proverbial laws of the Forbidden Forest, and it had been broken. Why?

  They trekked through the forest, the lampent lighting their way. Talox set a grueling pace. Exhausted as she was, she struggled to keep up as they climbed a hill. “How much farther?”

  “Just to the top of the ridge.” Something was off with his voice. She looked closer. His ashen face shone with sweat. And he hunched to one side.

  A wave of cold heat washed through her. “Talox,” she breathed.

  Ignoring her, he limped the last dozen steps to the ridge. Half a mile distant, the pipers fought mulgars and fire at the base of the gully. Talox’s knees buckled, and he dropped with a muffled groan. “Running has made the poison spread faster. I can’t— I can’t go any farther.”

  By the distant light of the fire, she could see the wound through his torn trousers—a wound that dripped black, tined lines snaking up the back of his neck.

  The wraith blade had cut him. And when the poisoned lines reached his eyes, he would become a mulgar. Just like Venna.

  A sob tore through her. “Oh, Talox. No.”

  He bowed his head. “Tell Denan I kept my promise.”

  She knelt before him. “There has to be something I can do. My magic—”

  He pushed the crushed lampent into her hands, though it was bright enough with the fire not to need it. “If you ever find me as … as one of them, promise me you won’t hesitate.”

  The forest take her. “I-I promise.”

  He pushed her away from him and drew his bow, laying it across his legs and reaching for his arrows. “Run, Larkin. Don’t look back. I’ll cover your retreat as long as I can.”

  The tined lines were already at his cheeks. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, they would reach his eyes, and he would become a mulgar. He would kill her.

  Larkin turned on her heel and sprinted away from Talox—from the fate that awaited him. She ran from shadow and curses and broken men. Toward fire and death and blood, she ran.

  The sense of wrongness came upon her sharply. The
last wraith—a dozen steps to her right. A screech. She risked a glance behind her.

  Vicil—his mantle of wicked thorns distinguished him from the others. She tried to run faster, harder, but she’d already pushed her body far beyond its limits. She struggled on, breath sawing out of her throat, her legs trembling hard. Another screech, so close the sense of wrongness enveloped her like an embrace from the dead.

  She screamed. Below, pipers turned, so close she could see their startled expressions. Two dozen more strides and she would reach them.

  Too late. The wraith shoved her. She crumpled, breath heaving in and out of her throat. Vicil loomed over her. She flared her magic and batted her sword at the hand that reached for her. He deflected, his fingers brushing against her skin like ice and fire and death.

  The snap of Talox’s bowstring. Something rushed through the center of Vicil, his shadows swirling around the sudden hole that opened up in his middle. The wraith screamed, his head thrown back. He was injured, but not yet dead.

  Larkin knew how to fix that.

  Using what little strength she had left, she swung her sword through his chest. Cutting through him was like cutting through mist. Her sword didn’t even catch. He imploded, leaving a shadowy outline. Then he was gone as if he’d never been.

  On the ridge, Talox wavered, convulsed. He rose to his feet, swayed, and shambled toward her. The Talox she knew was gone. If he caught up to her, one of them would kill the other.

  A sob choking her, she scrambled to her feet and ran. An envoy of pipers rushed up the hill toward her. At the flash of colors on the ground, she bent down to snatch up the arrow Talox must have loosed through Vicil.

  To save her life, he’d allowed himself to turn into a mulgar.

  The pipers parted, enveloping her. She was safe. Swaying on her feet, she held the arrow close, the pain in her chest overwhelming her.

  A hand on her shoulder. “Princess? Are you hurt, Princess?”

  She took a deep breath and braced herself. “No.” She looked up into the face of the piper standing over her, his brow furrowed with concern. She wavered, leaning against him for support. He reached for the arrow.

  She jerked back. “No!” It was the last thing Talox had touched.

  He eased back a step. “Why are you here instead of at the promontory?”

  “Wraiths got inside the wards—I don’t know how. I tried to lead them off.”

  He barked orders to a few of his men and led her deeper into the gully. The fire raged to the west. Denan’s army shifted to the east. The last of the mulgars had been slaughtered. The commander—his name was Idin—led her to where the taken were being kept, half a dozen pipers playing songs to keep them calm.

  Larkin balked, one hand wrapped around her dampener, the other around her amulet. “I want to be with Denan.”

  “This is the safest place in the army right now, Princess,” Idin said. “Denan will come for you when he can.” Having delivered her, he left again with his men.

  The takens’ clothes and hair were singed. Ash ringed their noses from breathing smoke. Even with the music, their eyes were wary and haunted.

  Larkin wanted to collapse. Sleep. Instead, she steeled herself and approached one of the guards with a request for medical supplies.

  She might not be the woman meant to break the curse, but she wasn’t useless. She could at least help with the healing. He directed her to a healer who was already moving among the women.

  She limped to him and wrapped the raw rope burns on her hands. Tucking the arrow in her belt, she moved among the women, assisting as he treated the worst burns by peeling away the dead skin, rinsing it, patting it dry, and bandaging it. The women didn’t protest or react to the pain.

  Some were pale and shaking. Those he directed to sit near the fires.

  Their silence and dead eyes … they reminded her of mulgars. So much so that she found it harder and harder to touch them, to look at them.

  The rising sun was a bloodred drop in the gray-brown sky, when Larkin realized someone called her name. Had been for a while. Coughing against the thick smoke, she staggered to her feet and caught sight of Denan searching among the taken for her.

  Alive. He was alive. Relief speared through her. She called out to him. He ran toward her. Her strength spent, she collapsed onto the ground.

  Women ignored Denan completely as he wove through them to kneel before her. He gathered her into his arms. He reeked of smoke. He squeezed her aching, bruised body as if he’d never let her go.

  “Ancestors, when I heard you were here … But you’re all right. You’re all right.” He kept repeating it as if to reassure himself.

  He had found her. He was alive. Talox was not. She wrapped her arms around him and held on—her anchor in the storm. “My mother, Sela, and Brenna?”

  “I sent Tam and my best men to fetch them. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  They were fine. They must be. Talox was not.

  She couldn’t tell him.

  She must tell him.

  “When I heard the report, I thought the worst.” He pulled back to look her over. “You’re not hurt?”

  It didn’t matter.

  “Larkin? What is it?” She shook her head, the words she must say tangling in her mouth. By the dark foreboding in his eyes, he already knew. “Talox?” he whispered.

  His name drew a gasping cry from her. She handed him the arrow. “He kept his promise.” His life for hers. Deep, wrenching sobs overtook her. Denan stared at the arrow, then at her. He shook his head, fighting the truth.

  “I’m sorry. Oh, Denan.”

  “Is he dead?”

  No. Not dead. Worse. “He’s a mulgar.”

  He reeled back from her and lay, stunned. Then they sobbed together as day broke over the distant hill.

  At the edge of the circle of taken, Larkin watched as the smoke cut off, the thick column shifting to rising tendrils.

  “Fire never lasts long in the Forbidden Forest,” Denan said.

  When Larkin was a child, her village had set fire to the forest; it had snuffed out in hours. By doing so, her people had unknowingly broken the treaty between the pipers and druids. In retaliation, many girls were taken over the next week.

  She stared at her lumpy porridge, nausea turning her stomach. A piper staggered past, his eyes bloodshot from crying. He didn’t bother to climb the tree—just lay down with his sword and shield in hand and closed his eyes.

  Denan’s army was in no condition for another forced march. They would rest for the day in the forest and the night behind the safety of the barrier that protected Cordova Road. There, the only danger came from the armies of the Idelmarchians, led by druids. Even if they managed to muster their army to attack the interlopers, they’d never march on them before morning.

  “What happened to Gendrin’s army? The taken?” Her throat was raw from running and smoke.

  “We didn’t lose a single taken,” Denan said.

  “And Demry’s men?”

  “We saved so many. Thanks in no small part to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Had you not insisted, I wouldn’t have come back for them, my curse breaker.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.

  Curse breaker. She should tell him the truth: she’d never been the one the Alamantians had been searching for, the one the wraiths mistakenly hunted. But then she wouldn’t be his curse breaker. He wouldn’t look at her with pride and total belief. The words congealed in her throat.

  “We have to make over thirty-five miles tomorrow. Eat.” Denan tipped the bowl to his mouth and swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  She forced a spoonful into her mouth—one after another until it was all gone. She became aware of Denan calling her name.

  He held out his hand. “Here, I’ll wash it.”

  He hurt every bit as much as she did, thanks to a slice across his ribs and a horrible bruise on his thigh, yet he was still taking care of her. “I need to soak
my ankle.”

  Mouth pursed, he nodded and helped her limp to a nearby stream. She unlaced her boot and eased it off her foot. Her ankle was black and fat, the outline of her boot impressed on her skin. She lowered it into the water with a hiss while he rinsed out their bowls.

  She washed her face and hands as best she could and lay back. As the cold water numbed her foot, she sighed in relief. She fell asleep like that, exhaustion pulling her under. A cry woke her with a start.

  “Larkin!”

  She woke from a deep sleep to find Mama bearing down on her. She hugged Larkin tight, the baby squirming in protest between them. Behind her, Tam held Sela’s hand. Looking hollow-eyed, Dayne and Ulrin trailed behind him.

  Tyer was dead, Larkin remembered with a start. Killed by wraiths in those first few moments after they’d all fallen out of their burning tree. Another life spent to protect her, the curse breaker. Guilt and shame ate through her like acid.

  Trembling, Larkin eased her numb foot out of the river. Her face felt hot—sunburned, probably. She pushed her mother back to arm’s length. She looked no worse for wear than she had the night before.

  Mama sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore! I can’t!”

  Even when their father had abandoned them and Mama had been giving birth as their home flooded from the swollen river, she’d never faltered. Now she broke down like a child.

  In a way, her mother’s distress was also Larkin’s fault. By taking her family from the Idelmarch and the druids, Larkin had meant to protect them. Instead, she’d brought them into the midst of a war.

  Mama rounded on Denan. “You said we would be safe on that promontory!”

  He rubbed the sleep from his face and shot Ulrin and Dayne a look.

  Ulrin picked Sela up. “Come on, Sela. Let’s wash you up downstream, eh?”

  Sela didn’t protest as he carried her away. She was only four, and yet she was somehow communicating with the White Tree—something the Arbors of old had done. What would this mean for her sister? A four-year-old child. Far too young to bear the burden that had crushed Larkin. She had to tell them. The forest take her, this was Larkin’s burden to bear, not Sela’s!