His soul had ached for Emma. Every pleasure-filled second stank of his helpless betrayal.
“Harper?” Emma framed his face with her hands. “You okay?”
“I should have explained.” He stared at her, humbled by the understanding in her gaze.
“We both could have handled things better.” She rolled her shoulders in gentle dismissal.
“I blocked you out.” His admission tasted sour. “I knew I shouldn’t. I couldn’t stop.”
“You needed time.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
His pulse kicked up for reasons having nothing to do with the ghosts of his memory floating through the room behind her. Dangerous hope swamped his senses. “We’ll have that talk I owe you.” At her cautious look, he said, “I promise.” He glanced past her. “Let’s do this.”
She kissed his forehead, then turned. “Aaron said Nesvia wasn’t granting audiences.” She walked to the closet, threw open the doors. “Now I wonder if she came to Rihos at all.”
“Where else would she have gone?” He noted the bed was made, shivering when he realized the ruby sheets remained. Turning his back on the empty room, he let out a slow breath.
Emma sighed and kicked a pair of slippers from the foot of the bed. “The servants keep this room and Rideal’s turned down in case of unexpected visits. So this tells us nothing.”
“Except that if she were ill, she’d be here, on bed rest.” Aldrich’s old quarters weren’t much larger than where Harper had left him. He kept his room so full of medicines and books he had no space for patients. “I’ve been to the healer’s room already. She wasn’t there.”
Aldrich…the hourglass. “We have to leave.” He caught her arm and pulled. “Now.”
“But wha—” Emma stumbled into him.
“My freedom was conditional.” He flipped the latch, dragging her through the tunnel. “The crafter I mentioned? He’s in service to the royal house. He’s looking for a way out.” They ran as fast as two bodies could with arms outstretched and eyes straining for pinpoints of light.
“He’s a slave they didn’t release?” Emma’s voice turned soft. “Poor thing.”
“Something like that.” He’d skipped asking, because the reason didn’t matter. Harper would have agreed to anything short of bartering his soul to reach Emma, and would have signed that away if Aldrich had thought to ask. As powerful as Aldrich was, he would be a sought-after commodity. Healers and crafters were invaluable. He would be revered outside the castle walls.
So why had he offered to help? What kept him a willing captive until now? Why escape?
His fingers dipped into a sharp nook. “Here we are.” He pushed inside with Emma. Aldrich held the empty hourglass balanced across his palm and Harper asked, “Did we make it?”
His wrinkled face creased. “Not even close.” He turned his attention toward Emma.
Harper shepherded her behind him, equal parts afraid she would recognize him or that the guards would bust down the door and flood the small room. “What have you done?” he asked.
The crafter cackled, shaking the hourglass, which emptied in seconds. “I gave you an incentive to hurry.” Tossing it aside, he pulled a courier-style bag over his right shoulder that almost tipped him onto the floor. He grabbed a second and slung it across the opposite side, seeming pleased with his newfound balance. “Now we go. Yes? She can carry the wounded.”
Emma twisted from behind him before he could reply and made a beeline for Dillon, wrinkling her nose at the condition of his leg. “This isn’t good.” She sat him up as if he were a rag doll, then bent down and braced against his center, hefting him over her shoulder. Her beautiful face turned red. “I can’t hold this forever.”
Pride swelled his heart and strained his words. “We’ll take the tunnels. If we go around the outer wall, we can exit through the garden and head for the stables. We’ll need horses.”
With more care than Harper thought she would have shown a conscious Dillon, Emma maneuvered them into the dark. Harper turned to Aldrich and snatched the cowl over his head. “If you want your head to remain on good terms with your neck, I recommend hiding your face.”
The crafter huffed, but tugged the folds of fabric in place.
“Wait. You can’t leave here, not yet.” Aldrich dug in his pockets. “This is part of our deal. Stand still.” He closed his hand around Harper’s wrist. “This will only hurt for a moment.”
Cold metal sliced up Harper’s forearm, pouring blood over the crafter’s fingers, spilling onto the floor. “What the hell did you do that for?” Harper cupped his arm and applied pressure.
Aldrich rubbed his slick hands across the doorway, flicking blood at the threshold while uttering deep chants at odd with his frail appearance. “Now.” He glanced up. “Invite me out.”
Harper had a very bad feeling about what he was about to do. He backed into the tunnel, straining his eyes and ears to catch Emma’s trail, but saw and heard nothing. Aldrich must have thought he’d bolt, because seconds later, bars speared from the floor in a loose half circle. Kicking them stung Harper’s toes. They felt real, and he had no time to test the crafter’s it’s real if you believe it theory. Not while Emma and Dillon were ahead and running blind. “Come out.”
The crafter hissed. “You can do better than that.”
“Aldrich of the Rand coven,” he snarled. “I invite you out.”
When his toe crossed the invisible line, Aldrich chortled with glee. “And so I am freed.” Throwing out his hand, he disintegrated the bars. “What are you waiting for?” He hobbled ahead.
Relieved, Harper placed his palm at the small of the crafter’s back and shoved him after Emma faster than caution dictated. Chills prickled his nape as they passed another familiar passageway. This one led down into the old slave quarters, where paid servants roomed now.
For a second, he smelled gardenias as cruel laughter sliced through his ears. His ankles felt weighted with cuffs, his legs too heavy to run. Shaking his head, he left his past behind him, literally, nudging Aldrich until fresh air filled Harper’s lungs as he sucked in the sweet smell of freedom.
Chapter Fourteen
Shoulders twitching from the strain, I laid Dillon down on a bed of straw and straightened the taut muscles I’d wrenched along my spine. As I stepped back, his head lolled to the right, wilting like the cut stem of a day-old flower. I squatted. Please don’t let me have broken him.
“Dillon?” I patted his cheek, and his bicolored eyes lifted a fraction.
“Stop,” he said as they drifted shut, “that.”
Exhaling, I was weak with relief my sprint from the castle hadn’t damaged him.
By the time I caught my breath, Harper skidded to a stop by my side. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” My hands shook from strain, not concern. “I was just checking.”
He gave me a, I didn’t know you cared look. I glared back with a clear, I don’t.
Red smudges covering his forearm snagged my attention. “What happened?” I caught his wrist and grimaced as blood seeped through the slice. “When did this happen?”
“I’ll tell you. Later.” He surveyed the stable. “For now, we need horses.”
“Have you seen who’s coming with us?” I indicated the elderly male who must be the crafter Harper had mentioned, then pointed a finger at Dillon. “I was thinking a carriage or sled.”
“I’ve already looked. Everything in the rear of the stable bears the royal emblem.”
“Perfect.” If we stole a carriage bearing Nesvia’s mark, we might as well mount a siren on the roof. One glance inside at our ragtag band of refugees would scream of stolen transport. He helped me stand, and I wandered toward the feedlot, checking the yard. “How about that?”
Parked against the far wall, a worn sled outfitted with narrow sand rails looked promising. Servants used the smaller sleds for moving supplies around the lower portion of the grounds, where
the outer wall sank low enough sand poured into the courtyard after storms.
“It doesn’t have much coverage, but it will have to do.” He headed for the tack room. “Pick two horses. We’ll make better time if we can swap them out at the halfway point.”
“Good idea.” I never would have thought of it. Thank God Harper knew horses.
Jogging down the barn aisle, I skittered to a stop when a throaty whinny sounded. Baselios. My covetous fingers curled with the urge to release him from his stall, but I remained strong, choosing a muscled bay mare two stalls down from his. My hands slipped, damp and useless through her mane, but I managed to usher the huge animal toward the sled where Harper and the crafter waited with a harness strung between them. With the first horse delivered, I turned my attention toward picking a second. I prayed it would be as easygoing as she had been.
When I turned, I hit a black mass of warm horseflesh. “How did you—you clever boy.”
Baselios’s stall door hung open, the latch flipped backwards, picked by his nimble teeth.
“No, put that strap here. Wait. Now there’s too much slack.” Harper barked orders at the crafter, but he couldn’t work the complicated buckles. He slipped at each tug of metal clasps.
“I’ll take over from here.” Taking his elbow, I led the crafter aside and fell in beside Harper. I had no clue what I was doing, or what strap went where until he told me, but finally our stolen mare was secured to our getaway sled. Insane laughter bubbled over my lips. Only in Askara would a utility cart on rails and a stocky mare be considered an escape route. “Done. Did you see blankets in there?” I jerked my chin toward a dark room with an open door.
“A few.” He guided a bridle over the horse’s head. “But we don’t have time to shop.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I sensed his frown on my back as I ran, stopping to scoop several blankets and two buckets filled with withering vegetables meant for horse feed. I ran back to the sled and made a rough wool bed in the cart, then grunted under Dillon’s weight as I lifted him. Without calories to burn, I wouldn’t manage this feat again.
“Get in.” Tossing the crafter’s bags ahead of him, I spilled books he rushed to gather. “Sorry.” I couldn’t slow down to help him. Instead, I shoved the feed buckets at his feet, then dashed and grabbed two warped tins stable hands used for topping off watering troughs.
No time for anything else. Panting, wits scattered, I spun around until I located Harper.
“I’ll drive.” I hauled myself onto the narrow driver’s seat. My hands trembled when I lifted the reins. Nerves tricked my throat into convulsive swallows. It’s okay. You can do this.
It was the better alternative. As pretty as Baselios was, he was still a very large horse, and he wore nothing meant to keep his rider from flying over his head like a sack of lumpy potatoes.
“You’re a beauty, you are.” I heard awe in Harper’s voice when he got a good look at Baselios. “Steady, boy, I’m not going to hurt you.” The stallion snorted and stamped his hooves. His trumpeting call popped my ears. “I don’t have time to dance with you. Sorry, Emma. Your pet stays here.” He vanished for a moment, then reappeared on the bare back of a gray stallion.
Sidling up close, he popped my mare’s flank with his open palm.
Startled, she jerked the sled into motion. Metal screamed over bare stone, worse than anything I’d ever heard. We would be caught. I saw no way around it. A fevered heartbeat later, the sound muffled. Rhythmic murmurs rose behind me, and I realized the crafter was chanting.
My heart clogged my throat when two guards stumbled from the west entrance to the castle. Their crossbows hung from their shoulders. One tapped an arrow’s shaft against his leg.
I closed my eyes and braced for the call to arms, for archers to line the walls and the gate to close before we reached it. Forcing my eyes open, I found Harper and designed a trajectory so I could launch myself onto him, knock him from his horse and cover his body with mine.
Whoosh. Rails whispered over a cushion of air. We glided past the guards and neither male gave me a second glance. Harper’s mount galloped past, nostrils flared and equally silent.
I don’t think I took a breath until the archway’s shadow darkened my face. Once the rails hit open desert, I inhaled for all I was worth and choked on grit and chill air my lungs protested.
“Thanks for that,” I called to the crafter. His chant broke for a fraction of a second before his voice resumed its monotonous song. It was music to my ears. We were safe. We’d escaped.
I settled on the bench seat, prepared for a long ride. My horse followed Harper’s, and I hoped they knew the way. Travel on the main roads was out. The daytrip we made to get here, however long ago it had been, would double as we picked our way across parched back roads.
With any luck, our crafter friend could cloak us for a while.
We had to reach the Feriana colony. Otherwise, Harper was fair game. I wasn’t convinced his diplomatic immunity would safeguard him for long if Roland wanted to add a fresh assault charge to his list of past crimes. Worse yet, Roland, and therefore his raiders, knew the colony was our only chance for sanctuary.
We had nowhere else to go. Without Nesvia, we had no one to turn to for help.
Nesvia. Where was she? I hadn’t seen Rideal in Rihos. At least, I didn’t think I had. The past couple of days blurred for me, but Aaron said he had spoken with Rideal, and he would know.
It made sense if Nesvia were ill, that Rideal would remain with her. Since she wasn’t at the castle, he must have taken her somewhere to recover, but where? Each castle employed a healer. The logical thing would have been to continue to the castle but refuse private audiences.
Her location did nothing to explain why Garrett told Roland she’d gotten sick from salt.
I couldn’t force the pieces into place. Why give Nesvia a supplement she didn’t need? She’d told me herself she planned on waiting to birth her heir until the political climate stabilized, and since Askaran females had heat cycles that ran like clockwork, there was no such thing as accidental pregnancy in their society. Besides the fact her season was a solid year away.
Questions pelted me, but I fended them off so I could focus on my bearings.
I could worry for her safety later since all I had were suspicions she was in any danger. Harper, however, was imperiled. His safety came first. Reaching Feriana’s border and crossing onto his land was imperative. If we made it, then I would concern myself with locating Nesvia.
And I would have to, soon. Otherwise, Harper would never be safe enough for my taste.
I required a full pardon for his past crimes so that this could never happen again, though the likelihood of it being granted was slim. To wipe his record clean was to condone his actions. Such forgiveness opened the door for others who planned political coups, and Nesvia couldn’t afford exposing her soft underbelly. Not while her seat upon the throne remained tenuous at best.
Hours passed, marked by gnawing hunger that made me shake. Or maybe it was the frigid desert air that made me shiver. Straining to see ahead, I sought the familiar line of Harper’s spine. I saw nothing. There was a lot of the same to be found. It stretched far to my right and my left, overhead in the form of blackened skies, even the ground beneath me shifted, making me wonder if anything lay below the sand but a similar abyss.
The time I spent gathering horse blankets was far from wasted. We would stop soon. We had to. My head swam from hunger. I’d used more energy than my body had to expend, and now I paid for it. Though I couldn’t imagine a way to cook the vegetables I’d stolen, I wasn’t above eating them raw. I’d eaten worse, much worse, and begged for seconds. I could again. I hoped.
Light pinpricked the darkness surrounding me. I raised my hand to ward off its eerie aim, but it glared right in my left eye. When the reflection wavered down my torso, I squinted, blind, searching for its origin. A short whistle pierced the night and my ears perked, seeking.
I started at the sound of the crafter’s voice. I’d forgotten he sat behind me. “I think so.”
Hoping the mare felt cooperative, I pulled the reins, guiding her toward the signal. Burnt embers glittered on their way to the desert floor. Harper’s shirt was torn, the lower corner frayed against his hip. He caught me staring, and metallic clicks filled my ears as sparks leapt from the flint lighter in his hand. He also held a curved mirror, the better to focus his light.
“Is that Askara-legal?” I teased. We both knew it wasn’t.
He pocketed his contraband. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
The way he said it, swearing me into conspiracy… I bet he’d pried through my things and found my photo. If he had, I hoped he hadn’t notice the glass thinned over his face.
Ignoring his comment, I asked, “Is this it?”
He shrugged. “It’s the same here as it is everywhere for the next dozen miles. We might as well set up camp before it gets any colder.” He dismounted with ease and held my horse while I stepped drunkenly from the sled. My descent lacked grace, but he looked too tired to poke fun.
“Are you coming?” he asked the crafter.
Grousing all the while, Aldrich rose and scuttled from the sled. I crossed to Harper’s side.
For some reason, the crafter reminded me of a spider, all long arms and fingers, poisonous, deadly. I blamed the potency of his magic for making my skin crawl and stomach lurch. Then my knees wobbled. I sidestepped, and my foot gave beneath me. Dropping to my hands and knees, I heaved air. My stomach tried its inverting trick, but I was empty even of spit.
Harper stroked my back, rubbing my shoulders until I regained control. Surrendering to the vertigo spiral twisting my eyes in their sockets, I rolled onto my side and let him hold me.
“Roland had at her. Yes?” From some swirly place to my right came the crafter’s voice.
“No.” If I melted the ice in Harper’s voice, we could have drunk our fill.
Evermine: Daughters of Askara, Book 2 Page 12
