Larkin pushed Garrot out of the way, shifted her sword to an ax, and buried the blade in the center of not-Met’s skull. Her vision ran black with the blood that sprayed across her.
“No!” Garrot shoved her.
Larkin stumbled but managed to keep her balance. She blinked hard to clear her eyes. Within moments, West was at her side and Atara was between Larkin and Garrot, with more enchantresses edging closer.
“The wraiths’ words are poison.” Larkin let her magic fade, the blood falling like rain from where her ax used to be. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Garrot opened his mouth to berate her, turned, and paced away before rounding on her again. “You enjoyed killing him!”
She hadn’t killed a man; she’d freed him. “I did not.”
He tore up his shirtsleeve, baring his arm and the horrible scars where his dark sigils had been excised. “You think I don’t know the joy of a righteous kill when I see it? You think I don’t crave it still?”
“I’m nothing like you,” Larkin bit out.
Garrot bared his teeth. “Aren’t you?”
Atara shoved him. “I’m feeling pretty joyful, druid!”
Garrot ignored her. “What did the wraith mean? Why are they still after you?”
I don’t know! Larkin wanted to scream.
“Stop it!” Caelia marched over to them. “What is all this about?” Then she caught sight of the blood soaking Larkin’s face and shirt. “Light save us, you’re covered in ardent blood.”
Larkin felt it then, the blood rapidly cooling against her skin. Tasted the iron in her mouth. She bent over and spit, the movement pushing her damp collar against her throat.
Caelia grabbed her arm and dragged her away. “Ardent blood is just like wraith blood. You have to get it off.”
Larkin shot her a bewildered look. “No it isn’t.”
Caelia pinched her. “Go find your sister,” she whispered. “I’ll keep him occupied as long as I can.” She rounded on Garrot. “We’re going to test the rest of your men—and we’re going to do it my way.” She herded him toward the Hall of Althea.
Caelia had just given Larkin the perfect excuse to find her sister. But first, she cast about for Mytin. He was pale but looked unharmed. Larkin addressed his guards. “Take a dozen enchantresses and get him somewhere safe.”
Larkin turned on her heel and hustled toward the exit that led to the Hall of Ivy and Farwin.
“Larkin,” Mytin called after her, worry plain in his voice.
“They’re not after me,” she called without looking back. And even if they were, the wraiths wouldn’t allow her to be hurt. I’m probably the safest person in the Alamant.
“You’re not going anywhere without us,” Atara said. Beside her, West wore a stubborn look that said it would be easier to overthrow the curse than shake him.
She motioned for them to follow her as she stepped through the doorpane leading to the Hall of Ivy. A dozen enchantresses and double that in dead ardents clogged the colonnade. Most of the enchantresses bore injuries. Five lay completely prostrate. The others were helping them. There was blood everywhere.
“Where did those ardents even get the weapons?” West asked.
“Probably from other ardents.” Larkin looked him up and down. “You did pretty well fighting with your left hand.”
He grinned.
Farwin and the two remaining pages hauled the ardents’ bodies out of the way. One of the boys limped.
“Light,” Atara said. “They’re just children!”
What had Denan said? Something about there being no place in the Alamant for children. Better they become men now and have a chance at survival.
“Boys,” Larkin called.
Farwin smacked the other two pages to get their attention. Leaping over bodies, they came running over.
Larkin directed one to report to Denan, the other to continue helping the enchantresses. Frowning, they rushed to do as they were told. “Farwin, lead the way.”
Farwin stepped onto the railing and hauled himself onto the roof of the training room. “It’s best way to come up from under the chamber.”
Good thing the enchantresses had turned the panes opaque.
“Where are we going?” West asked suspiciously.
“To fetch my sister,” Larkin said.
West groaned. Atara smiled wolfishly.
“Nesha better appreciate this,” Larkin grumbled as West interlocked his fingers and hoisted her up.
Nesha
Larkin, West, and Atara followed Farwin as he scrambled from branch to branch until they reached the base of a colonnade on the second level. Farwin leaped onto a vertical branch, pushed off it, and caught hold of the bottom railing. He dangled over the training room’s roof—a fall that would break him to bits.
Larkin gasped and hurried to reach him. But he was already pulling himself up. She rested her hand over her heart and tried to squelch the horrid panic twisting her insides.
“Huh.” West’s mustache twitched. “Who knew such a scrawny kid had the strength for that?”
“You obviously don’t know children,” Atara muttered.
Farwin peeked between the railing to confirm the way was clear, rolled over the top, and signed for them to wait. He disappeared. A minute later, he returned and motioned them up.
Instead of trying what Farwin had, West boosted Larkin again.
“Ugh,” he cried. “You stepped on my mustache.”
Trying not to laugh or think of the fall, she scrambled up the railing. Atara followed. They both lay on the colonnade, stuck their hands through the bottom of the railing, and helped West up.
“Maybe you should trim that thing,” Atara puffed.
“Who would I be without my mustache?” he said, clearly offended.
Atara rolled her eyes. Larkin bit off a laugh.
The three of them hurried to where Farwin peered around a branch. He pointed to a single guard on a side colonnade before a three-room chamber. The guard was young, a boy with a blotchy beard. He faced away from them, watching below, where healers were helping the injured.
Larkin bit her lip. “All right. We dart him and—”
“He’d call for help before the venom took effect,” Atara said.
“You need to act helpless and distraught about the blood,” West said. At Larkin’s unsure look, he grunted. “Trust me. Men love a woman in distress.”
Farwin nodded emphatically.
The tips of Larkin’s ears felt hot. “And then what?”
“Then dart him,” Atara said. “Make it look like an accident.”
“Why am I the one doing this?” She was supposed to be a queen, after all.
Atara raised her eyebrows. “Because you’re the one covered in blood.”
Grumbling, Larkin started on her armor straps; it was hard to look helpless when wearing armor. Atara helped her.
“If it isn’t working,” West said, “take off more clothes.”
Farwin blushed furiously.
Larkin stood in nothing but her long tunic, which wasn’t an uncommon a sight in the Alamant but scandalous in the Idelmarch. She tucked in her amulet, reached into Farwin’s coat, and palmed a dart.
She shot West a glare. “Don’t let the boy see.”
West gave Farwin a little shove back the way they’d come. “Watch the other side of the colonnade. Tell us if anyone is coming.”
Farwin slipped away.
Muttering under her breath, Larkin took a deep breath and then staggered into view. Standing in only her damp tunic, she scrubbed at the stains on her skin. “I have to get it off.”
She pretended to see the guard—whose mouth had fallen open—and stumbled toward him. “Ardent blood is poison. I have to wash it off.” She reached for him, gripped his robes in her hands, and pulled his body flush with hers. “Please. I have to get it off.”
He swallowed hard. “All of these chambers have a shower.”
She stepped toward the chamber behind him. He caught her arm. “Not this one.”
She broke down into fake sobs and launched into his arms. He staggered back into the railing. She stabbed him in the back with the dart and quickly dropped it over the side.
“Ah!” He twisted to look behind him. “Something poked me.”
Larkin folded her arms around herself, making sure to push up her breasts, and pretended to cry some more.
His grimace softened. “The next room should be open.”
She nodded and moved down the colonnade.
Behind her, she heard him stagger. “What—why am I dizzy?”
She kept walking, waiting for the sound of a thud. When it came, she hustled back to him. He lay sprawled across the colonnade. He blinked up at her, fear in his eyes. This was going to get the poor boy in trouble. Feeling bad, she crouched at his side.
“I can’t move my legs.” His hands fluttered. “It’s climbing down my arms.”
The boy could still call for help. “It’s the ardent blood—sometimes it affects people like this.” She pulled out the antidote vial. “Take this. It will cure it.” She poured it down his throat so he wouldn’t die of the venom and rose to her feet. “I’ll get water.”
She slipped through the barrier and found herself in a large chamber set up like most Alamantian rooms. A bed, armoire, and table, plus an extra room and a bathroom. Not daring to call her sister’s name for fear of alerting the guard to her true purpose, Larkin eased toward the first room.
A soft snuffing brought her up short. She knew that sound—the sound a baby makes before it’s fixing for a good cry. She followed the sound into the side room. There was a bed and a cradle. And inside the cradle was a three-month-old child. The face had just started to plump out, the soft spots filling in, and there was a shock of black hair against pale skin.
The baby looked just like Bane.
He would have taught the child to swim and fish in the river. Played the game where you had to guess what he held in his hand. Spent hours tending the animals together. The boy’s grin would have been sticky with Venna’s jams.
But for a twist of fate, Larkin would be married to Bane now. She could have a child of her own on the way. She wouldn’t be embroiled in politics and facing a war with the wraiths.
The baby squirmed and let out a little squawk.
A song came to her mind—a song of loss and longing.
Blood of my heart, marrow my bone,
Come hear the saddest story e’er known.
A cursed queen, her lover lost,
A forbidden magic and dreadful cost.
Consumed by evil, agents of night,
Seek the nestling, barred from flight,
Midst vile queen’s curse of thorny vine,
Fear not the shadow, for you are mine.
In my arms, the answer lie:
A light that endures so that evil may die.
She sang it for the child, but also for herself. For her grief at the loss of the life she might have led. For the lives that Bane, Venna, Talox, and countless others should have led.
“Larkin,” someone breathed from behind her.
Larkin knew that voice as thoroughly as she knew her own. It had been the voice that had risen to her defense time and again. The voice that had called Larkin’s name a hundred different ways—from exasperated to gentle to desperate. It was also the voice that had condemned Larkin to burn, even if she hadn’t known it at the time.
Larkin faced her sister. The last time Larkin had seen Nesha, she’d been heavy with child. Larkin had finally been able to convince Nesha of the truth: that the druids’ unholy alliance with the wraiths was going to get Larkin killed. Going to get them all killed. That Larkin had never betrayed her. Nesha had gone behind Garrot’s back to free Larkin so she could warn Denan.
Now Nesha’s stomach was flat, her breasts fuller. She wore a simple dress of black, which made her striking features even more vivid. With her violet eyes, auburn hair, and fine features, she was the most beautiful woman Larkin had ever seen.
No wonder Garrot hadn’t been able to resist her.
“The forest take me,” Nesha said. “You’re covered in blood. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Ardents masquerading as druids attacked. We killed them all.” Larkin swallowed back tears. “Do you ever think what our lives might be like if Sela hadn’t gone into the forest?”
Nesha sagged. “All the time.”
So many horrible things had happened because of that moment. But then, so had many beautiful things. Things she would have missed had that moment never happened. Talox’s gentle protection. Tam’s teasing. Aaryn’s strength and Mytin’s kindness. Magalia’s skill and Alorica’s wit. Just to name a few.
Denan.
Larkin might wish Bane and the others were still with them, but she wouldn’t go back to the way things were before. She wouldn’t wish Denan away.
Larkin stooped and inhaled the baby’s sweet scent. “Boy or girl?”
Nesha twisted her hands. “Boy.”
Larkin smiled. Bane would have loved that. Loved a son to fish with and swim with and love. “He’s beautiful, Nesha. What’s his name?”
“Soren.”
A scuffing sounded from outside the room. Alarmed, Larkin pushed past her sister and stepped into the main room. West dragged the limp guard through the doorpane. Nesha gasped.
Atara followed, her arms loaded with Larkin’s armor. She set it on the table. “Good. You found her. Let’s go.”
“What’s taking you so long?” West exclaimed at the same time Nesha said, “Go? Go where?”
Her step shortened because of her twisted foot, Nesha backed away. “Larkin, what’s going on? Who are those people?”
“We’re here to rescue you.” Larkin picked up a chest. “Pack up whatever you can carry. Hurry.”
Nesha bounced her fussy baby. “Larkin, I’m not sure . . . I mean, I know what Garrot has done—he told me everything. I just . . . I love him. He’s a good man.”
Was serving Larkin up to a mob to be burned at the stake good? What about killing their grandfather and all his councillors? Joining forces with the wraiths? Offering Larkin up like a sacrifice? Refusing to listen to her warnings and starting a war with the pipers that nearly got them all killed? But the worst of it . . .
Larkin opened the armoire and started shoving clothes in the chest. “He killed Bane. And he made me watch.”
Nesha held her baby close. “You didn’t see him after the battle. Didn’t see him racked with torment by what he’d done.” She bit her lip. “Maybe he does have a cruel streak. Maybe all leaders and warriors do. All I know is that he loves me and our son. He would do anything to protect us.”
“Then why did he allow you and your baby”—she refused to think of him as Garrot’s son— “to risk the Forbidden Forest?”
“I didn’t give him much of a choice.”
This surprised Larkin. Nesha had always been the cautious, reasonable one, while Larkin had inherited a wild streak from their father. But then, Nesha was also silently stubborn when she wanted something. She might not go head on against Garrot, but she would hide herself in a supply wagon until it was too late to send her back.
“Why would you—” Larkin began.
“To see my family again!” Nesha cried.
“Nesha—” Larkin began.
“Garrot needs me. You have no idea how much.”
Mama needed her. And Sela. And Brenna. And Larkin. But Nesha would choose this horrible human over all of them. A fine mist of rage filled Larkin’s lungs with all the hateful things she wanted to say. Her sigils ached with raw power. Larkin couldn’t even look at Nesha for fear of setting that rage free.
“Fine. Stay with him, then.” Larkin stormed toward the doorpane.
Nesha hurried after her. “Please, Larkin. Don’t make me chose. I can have you both.”
Larkin rounded on her. “Is posting a guard o
utside your door love? What about hiding the letters Mama wrote?”
With all the shouting, Soren started to cry again. Nesha pulled down her dress to nurse him. “The guard is for my protection! And the letters . . . Wait, what letters?”
Larkin shook her head. “You’re a fool.”
A shout sounded. Garrot darted into the room. West stepped in front of him, his sword at the other man’s throat.
“Drop it,” West said.
Garrot dropped the sword he’d taken off the ardent. Atara hurried to Larkin and helped her strap her armor back on—it looked ridiculous over the fancy dress. Where was Farwin? Why hadn’t the boy warned them?
Garrot’s throat bobbed. “Nesha . . .”
Nesha looked at him with big eyes. “Is it true? Has Mama written me?”
He gritted his teeth. “If you went to them, they would never let you return to me. They would have kept you prisoner.”
A little sob escaped Nesha’s throat. She forced it back. “You promised no more lies. You swore you were going to make it right.”
He took a step toward her. West flicked his sword, slapping the flat side against Garrot’s cheek and leaving a vivid welt. Atara jerked the strap around Larkin’s waist too tight, but she didn’t complain.
Mouth in a hard line, Garrot backed up. “Love, listen—”
“What did you do with the letters I wrote?” Nesha cried over her baby’s wails.
So Nesha had tried to contact them. The forest take him.
Garrot’s shoulders fell. “I still have them.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You know how much I miss my mama. How much I want Soren to know my family. You let me think they hated me!”
“I couldn’t risk losing you.” Garrot’s voice shook. “I can’t. Not you too.”
“I’m not Magalia!” Nesha shoved the baby into Larkin’s arms.
So Nesha knew about Garrot being engaged to Magalia—an engagement broken by the pipers stealing her in the night. Atara finished the last two straps.
Nesha stormed around the room, shoving dresses and jewelry into the chest. “You don’t make my choices for me!”
Tears filled Garrot’s eyes. “Please, Nesha. Don’t take my son from me. Please.”
Wraith King Page 15
