I trusted Lady Meredith, but I couldn’t believe she would send me here, to this dying, desolate wilderness. From childhood stories, I knew the heat in the Wastelands could be brutal. If I didn’t come across a town in a day, two at most, I would die.
But for the sake of Orea, I had to try.
For hours I walked, following the simple map’s instruction. My feet were numb and my mouth parched. Finally, I stumbled over nothing and skidded across the dirt, the coarse ground scraping my hands. I rolled onto my back, watching the pale light of morning kiss the horizon. My wedding day. The supposed happiest day of my life. An unhappy laugh burst from my throat.
I set my hand on the ground and a spiny thorn pierced my thumb, drawing a large drop of blood. The single drop leaked from my thumb, wetting the ground. I angled my head, my cheek resting against the unforgiving ground, and watched the earth greedily drinking in its offering. I’d never seen my blood touch the dirt before.
The soil changed from rocky and dry to loose and moist as my blood seeped through and healed it. It gave off a beautiful, otherworldly glow before fledgling shoots of a green leafy plant pushed through into the morning sun.
I smiled. I’d been attacked by the pirates and betrayed by James, but the earth still loved me. To the soil, at least, I still had purpose.
Muscles shaking, I pushed myself to my feet, determined to press forward. I’d come too far to turn back now.
I woke from a deep sleep, my bones aching from a night on the unforgiving ground. Every muscle hurt while thirst gnawed at me. I stretched, noticing the position of the sun and judging it to be about midday.
Last night, I’d walked until my body refused to push on further, and my body stumbled exhausted to the ground. Now I took in my surroundings. I lay in a field of flowers that I was positive hadn’t been there when I’d fallen asleep. Tender green plants and fragile blooms blew serenely in the breeze. I ignored my muscles’ protests and plucked the bud nearest to me, twisting it in my fingers to examine it. I’d never seen a flower like this— frail and delicate, so white it was nearly translucent. Seven tear-shaped petals spilled out of a dark crimson center, which was split by a jagged white line. Like a heart that had been torn in two.
It smelled of salty tears and apple blossoms, invoking heartache and longing with an undertone of anger—exactly the way I’d felt as I’d cried myself to sleep, too exhausted to move. I gazed around in amazement. My scarred hands couldn’t have bled—the magic had taken its course and I now only had the memory of the pain from the blood-letting. My thumb hadn’t bled more than a drop. Had my tears created these? I didn’t think my tears had any special abilities.
The realization astounded me, but the sound of my stomach grumbling in complaint brought more immediate concerns to my mind. I wondered how far it was to the nearest village, and if I could make it there without having anything to drink. My body was not used to thirst, or the hunger pains I now experienced.
After I finally managed to sit up, I pulled the map from my pouch and examined the distance from the kingdom to the village where the witch lived. There were no notations of any kind, no key either, which I supposed meant the map wasn’t drawn to scale. I squinted at it, trying to make sure I’d been traveling in the right direction.
I was still trying to make sense of the map when the familiar cant of a horse’s hooves pounding the earth sounded from behind me. I clutched the map tighter—I couldn’t outrun a rider. My only choice was to hide. I scrambled into the shadows of the nearby rocks and the tall stems of the flowers and held my breath, watching from my hiding place.
A tremendous horse appeared on the horizon, its gait slowing to an easy walk as it sniffed the field of flowers. A muscular man in travel clothes sat on its back, his face hidden in thick black folds of fabric. Was he a Wastelands man? No, the horse was too fine. But he wasn’t wearing the kingdom’s livery either. Maybe he was just a random traveler from one of the outposts the kingdom maintained.
He dropped from his horse and bent down to examine the flowers more closely, and I felt my body stiffen. He plucked a flower and rolled it between his hands, his nostrils flaring.
With sickening terror, I realized that this was no ordinary traveler stopping to admire a patch of unexpected botanicals in the wilderness. He wasn’t even a soldier from the palace. He was a Royal Hound, a legendary tracker of traitors and thieves, whose abilities were almost magical. James had trained with them, and I knew how ruthless they could be.
I bit my lip hard to keep from whimpering, and pressed my fingers against the rock to steady myself. And at that moment, watching that man, I realized how desperately James sought my execution. Had his words of love been nothing more than insincere promises, his looks of longing nothing but a trap? He’d led me along, happily promising safety and unconditional care and I, like a fool, had believed him.
My stomach turned sour and I choked back a sob. Wasn't it enough that I was gone from his life? Was he so angry and bitter that only my death would appease him?
The Hound closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath as if tasting the air. A rush of wind swept from behind me, tangling my hair in the flowers’ stems. The Hound inhaled and froze, then opened his eyes and looked directly at where I hid.
My heart leapt to my throat as I flattened myself against the rock. He strode toward me, his hand resting on the hilt of a knife. His eyes swept past me and then snapped back, locking with mine.
A smile lit his eyes. “Found you.”
I sprang to my feet to run. With a long lunge, the Hound caught my wrist and jerked me backwards. My training with the Admiral took over. I spun to face the Hound. With a loud cry, I jerked my arm straight upward, breaking free of his hold. I kicked him hard in the knee, shoving my elbow against his nose.
He dropped to his knees, blood gushing from his nose, face twisted in surprise. With another loud cry, I channeled all of my fear and anger into a kick to his groin, and then brought my elbow down on the back of his neck. He curled into a ball on the ground, swearing, and I kicked him in the ribs to make sure he didn’t get back up.
And then I turned to run. I’d only taken a few steps when his monstrous horse reared in front of me.
I screamed, backing away from its flailing hooves. And straight into the Hound. His hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing. I kicked frantically as he lifted me off the ground. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned. Panic took control and my movements turned awkward, useless, as I started to loose strength and blackness crept in at the edges of my vision.
No air—I was dying. The Hound was going to kill me.
But at least this death would be quick.
Chapter 9
I opened my eyes and lifted my head to find myself bound, gagged, and lying on my side on the hard ground. I groaned and closed my eyes. I wasn’t dead. That realization should have made me happy, but caring seemed like too much work. My body was in too much pain, my throat protesting every swallow. Everything hurt.
When I finally had the strength to open my eyes again, my vision slowly came back into focus and I saw the boots of a man standing before me. Behind him, the contents of my bag lay in a heap. He’d searched my belongings for something, but he obviously hadn’t found it. I shifted and Lady Meredith’s letter crinkled against my skin.
I groaned again, trying and failing to bring my hands to my head to stop the pounding.
A familiar ache throbbed in my hands and I knew my palms had been sliced again. The three vials of blood only a few feet away would explain that. Obviously the Hound had collected them and wanted me to know it, but why? Hounds were the king’s men and my blood was the kingdom’s most precious commodity. Stealing from the king was the work of Wasteland savages, not Hounds.
For a moment I wondered if I’d been wrong. Perhaps he was a savage who had somehow learned of my escape and was only posing as a Hound. I let my eyes travel over his clothes and his horse. One glance at the leatherwork on the saddle was enough to refute
that idea. This man could only have come from the palace.
The Hound reached down and removed my gag.
“Tell me,” I said, my voice gruff from him half-strangling me. “Was stealing my blood part of your orders, or are you doing business on the side?”
The Hound crouched down, pulling back the cloth covering half his face. I was startled to realize I knew him. Dorian. My mother had treated him for his allergy to poppy seeds. He had a bruise surrounding one of his green eyes, and a wad of crimson gauze in his nostril. I smiled, knowing I’d been the one to inflict those injuries.
“When new information comes to light, you form a new plan.” He pulled out a knife and began cleaning his nails with the tip, watching me out the corner of his eyes. “I had no idea you would be such a handful. Therefore I’m charging more than my usual fee. Those vials of blood should suffice.”
I choked back a laugh, and it hurt. No one knew that I was such a handful, except for the Admiral.
“Unfortunately, Dorian, I wasn't enough of a handful to stop you.”
“True. But you were enough to cause me problems.” He pointed to his still bleeding nose, unfazed that I knew his name.
He pulled me to a sitting position and I leaned against a boulder. “Are you going to untie me?”
“I don’t believe I’ll be doing that,” he said as he slid the knife back into its sheath.
“Could you at least loosen my wrists? I’m losing the feeling in my fingers.”
He stared at me for a moment. “No.”
I blinked at the hardness in his voice. “You aren’t being very kind.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Why would I be kind to you? You murdered the heir and then abandoned your people to starvation.”
Anger boiled inside of me at the injustice of his claims. I gathered the little saliva I had in my mouth and spit at him. He slapped me hard across my cheek, and then used a handkerchief from my sack to wipe his face.
“Tell me, Emmía,” he said in his low, gravelly voice, “where have you hidden it? I didn’t find it in your parcel.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sat back on his haunches, forcing my chin up so I could see him. “I need both it and you to get paid.”
Money. Of course, all he thought of was money. “I’ll double whatever payment the kingdom has promised.”
Dorian scoffed. “And how do you plan to pay me? With those few coins in your bag? You could barely buy a meal, let alone my allegiance.”
Less than a day before, the captain of the pirate ship had made a similar taunt. In this moment I at least had a better answer. There was only one thing more valuable than what the kingdom could offer in form of payment. “I can pay you with blood.”
Dorian glanced pointedly at the vials at my feet. “I already have plenty.” He brought the knife to my neck. “And what’s to stop me from taking more?”
I tightened as the edge of the blade pressed into my throat and I tried to force bravado into my voice. “The fact that my blood loses its power when taken by force.” It was a lie I’d practiced with the Admiral for years. He lived in fear that someone would kidnap me with riches in mind, and this lie had been prepared for that event.
I held my breath, hoping he’d believe me. He lifted up one of the vials and pulled out the cork with a pop. I held my face in the blank mask I’d practiced, and uttered a simple spell under my breath as three drops of my blood kissed the ground. Despite my general lack of magical prowess, spells involving my blood always seemed to work for me.
The soil drank in the offering, but nothing happened.
Dorian cursed and spun toward me, his eyebrows drawn back, his lips pinched together.
I smiled sweetly. “If I willingly gift you the blood you’ve stolen and make it viable again, will you let me go?”
His green eyes darkened and greed swirled through them. For a moment, I thought I had him. Then he shook his head and his eyes cleared.
“I have a job to do.” He pressed his knife against my throat again. I could still smell the blood on it from where he’d cut my hands, metallic and acrid. “I will bring you and your medallion back to the kingdom.”
I laced my bounds hands together, focusing on the pain in my palms to clear my still muddy thoughts. “Does James so wish to see me die that he sent you?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s crown business. I don’t ask questions. I follow orders and get paid.”
“You obviously feel you aren’t getting paid enough,” I said, shooting a look at the three vials at my feet.
“No one ever thinks they’re earning enough.” He returned his knife to its sheath. “But to collect my reward, I need you and your medallion. Tell me where you’ve hidden it.”
I had no idea why they would want the now scarlet medallion since the spell on it had been broken. Maybe they needed it as evidence in my trial or maybe because it was an antique worn by all the previous Emmías. No matter the reason, I couldn’t help the Hound. “I hope they’ll pay you for a job half finished. I don’t have the medallion.”
He ground his teeth. I didn’t bother to hide my smile.
“Don’t trifle with me.” He stood and loomed over me, his fingers curling into a tight fist. “Where is it? I know you have hidden it somewhere.”
I squared my shoulders and looked up at him. “I don’t know where it is. Why would they want that ruined stone?”
He shook his head and his eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter why they want the medallion, or you. I have my orders. Now, where is it?”
My smile grew wider. “I don’t know.”
“I hope you still find this amusing when they kill Pearl in your place.”
My heart nearly stopped. “What?”
“The crown is holding her hostage until you return. They know she helped you escape. They caught her dressed in your clothes. If I don’t return you and the medallion, they will kill her. And if that doesn’t draw you out, I’m sure you have lots of other family members they can send to the hangman’s noose next.”
Even though I was sitting, I felt suddenly faint. “I don’t have the medallion.”
“Then your sister’s going to die.”
“They . . . they wouldn’t do that.” A chill settled inside my soul and I started to shake.
Dorian laughed at me. “Try them.”
I studied the horizon, not wanting him to see my expression. I’d killed the heir to the throne—of course they’d want to see me pay. And no doubt by now, James had told the truth. Word like that spread fast. Did the whole kingdom now know of my betrayal?
I shook my head. That didn’t matter. I hadn’t fled the kingdom to spare my life, but to save Orea. I didn’t mind death. I needed the absolution to pay for my sins. Maybe the king would see reason where James wouldn’t and they would let me produce an heir before killing me. But even if he didn’t, I couldn’t let Pearl die in my stead.
I lifted my chin. “Take me back—bleed my dry, I don’t care. Whatever it takes to save my sister.”
“I need that medallion, too.”
I struggled in my restraints, the ropes burning my wrists. “It’s on the pirate ship. I left it with the pirate.”
His eyes widened and he swore. “Well that’s just fine and dandy. Now I’m going to have to track down the ship. Who was the captain?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“The name of his ship?”
I shook my head.
“Are you good for anything besides bleeding?” He picked up a fist sized rock and flung it against the pile of boulders. Pebbles rolled over each other before falling into the dirt.
At the moment, the answer to his question felt like a resounding no.
“Don’t you remember anything?” he asked, turning back to face me.
I sent my mind back to that ship and tried to remember any details that might be important. “The ensign. It was a . . . broken chain. Like a broken manacle.
”
He took the hat off his head and beat it against his thigh. “Well, that’s something. It will at least give me a place to start.”
“And you will take the medallion back to the palace? You’re committed to this? You will make sure Pearl is safe, won’t you? ”
“I always do my duty.” Dorian shoved his hat back on his head. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to let an innocent die in your place.”
“At least we agree on that.” I frowned, realizing I was working with a Hound. “You found me quickly. With your tracking ability, you should be able to find the ship soon enough.”
“It could be difficult. But most pirate ships have special wards on them to keep Hounds off. They will detect me immediately.” Dorian rubbed his hands across his scruffy chin. “If I can find a witch out here, I might be able to find a way around the wards.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. The pirates might not even have the medallion still—or worse, they could be out at sea for months. So many things could go wrong. Anything that happened to my sister would be my fault. In my mind I imagined Pearl tied up, her beautiful golden hair tangled and dirty from imprisonment, her head held high as they marched her into the public theater where the hangman’s noose awaited. She wouldn’t cry, but she would be terrified. Guilt struck me with force of a battering ram, robbing me of breath.
“Maybe I can get it back,” I said quietly. “The wards won’t detect me.”
“Now you're talking reason.” Dorian rubbed his hands together. “I have to take you with me, anyway. I’m delivering you personally to the king.”
I shuddered.
James must have told his father the truth. The king had always seemed to hate me. I’m sure his mouth practically watered at having an excuse to order my death. He’d probably want the joy of killing me himself, of making an example of me. I could almost hear his words about how no one is above our laws and morals. Words that sounded eerily like James’s had.
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