Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4)

by K. C. May

  He dropped to his knees and checked her over. One of her feet was turned outward more than it should’ve been, and her head lay at an odd angle. Luckily, she was unconscious. It looked painful as hell. He sensed her injuries—bones were cracked or broken, joints were misaligned, organs were punctured and bleeding—so many wounds that he feared he wouldn’t be able to withstand the pain of healing her. So that she wouldn’t heal improperly, he twisted her leg and pulled it out straight to pop the kneecap back into place, and then he carefully straightened her neck. He cracked his knuckles and laid one palm on her abdomen and the other on her thigh above her knee. Immediately, his hands began to warm, and a fluttering sensation flowed through him. The heat in his hands crept up to his wrists and forearms, rising to an intense burn. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to imagine Cirang’s body as a block of ice, cooling his burning skin. After what seemed hours, the pain subsided and he relaxed in the comfortable whiteness where the majority of the healing happened. Compared to the burning in his hands—hell, compared to almost anything—this sensation was heavenly, like floating on the surface of a lake under a warm summer sun while angels caressed his body and soul.

  At last, the whiteness faded, and he opened his eyes. It was always reflex to check his palms for blisters, but there was never any sign that his hands had actually been on fire. Cirang lay still, her eyes still closed, but her breathing was steady and the muscles in her bruised face had relaxed in the comfort of sleep.

  He turned his attention to Daia, wondering if there was anything he could do for her. A wave of black specks swarmed him, blocking out the sun.

  Gradually, he became aware of something tickling his neck. He reached for it and swiped away a bug, realizing at the same time that he was lying down on his side, staring into forest litter. He pushed himself upright, sitting on one hip and braced with his left arm. Daia was still unconscious, but Cirang was gone. He looked around, thinking she’d taken the opportunity to escape. He saw and heard her at the same time, trudging towards him with a pair of dripping waterskins.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  His throat was gritty and raw, his tongue felt like a crumbling sand sculpture on the beach waiting for a wave to wash way the sharp edges. He reached towards her for one of the skins, unable to speak. She jogged over and pressed one into his hand, and he drank nearly all of it in a single swallow. “Better now. Does anything hurt?”

  She shook her head. “You’ve done so much for me, I can never hope to repay you.”

  He crawled over to Daia, who lay as he’d left her, and moved her arms to her sides. No heat filled his hands when he touched her. “Guardians, what can I do to help her?”

  They appeared on her opposite side, hovering a finger’s width above the ground. “You cannot heal her, Emtor. Her essence was drained and must be replenished. This takes time.”

  “How much time?”

  “We estimate between eight and ten weeks to completely refill.”

  “Weeks? No,” Gavin said. “I need her now.” A thought occurred to him: he could feed her some of his own essence. He needed her help to summon the Baron and to swap his essence with Hennah’s. How much of a drain would he be on her?

  “Let’s get back to Ambryce,” he told Cirang as he bent to retrieve his knapsack.

  She looked all around, scanning through the trees. “Which way?”

  He used his hidden eye to float up above the trees and look around. Thousands of people’s hazes gathered to the north. “North. It’s not far.” He picked Daia up once more and carried her draped over one shoulder like a sack of flour towards Ambryce, wondering if he could ride Golam through the vortex next time.

  After about a half hour of walking, they came upon the back wall of the lordover’s property. To walk all the way around to the city’s east entrance would take another hour, so Gavin opened a portal to the midrealm instead. With Cirang’s wrist firm in his grasp, he stepped through, continued north a dozen paces, and returned to the blue realm. Thankfully, he ended up on no one’s lap this time but in the lordover’s flower bed instead. They stepped carefully out of the flowers and went from there to the guesthouse.

  He lay Daia gently on the bed and watched her breathe. Her face was relaxed, mouth open and eyes closed, and her dark reddish-brown hair flowed over the pillow like liquid earth. There was a time when Gavin would’ve given anything to wake up to this image beside him, but he was happier with the way things turned out.

  Cirang stood on the other side of the bed, looking down at her. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “I hope so. The Baron’s people drained her to the verge o’death. Once she recovers, she should be right as light.”

  “The essence refills from the body,” the Guardians said, “much like yours does when you use magic power. This process will take a number of years from her life.”

  Gavin snapped his gaze up at that. “What? How many years?”

  “We estimate she’ll age forty to forty-two years over the next several weeks.”

  No. He couldn’t bear to watch her become an old woman because of his actions. “Listen,” he said quietly, “if I can extract essence to put into a gem, then I can extract essence to put into her, right?”

  The Guardians hesitated before replying. “You may not draw our essence, Emtor. We forbid—”

  “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about me.”

  “Emtor, no. You mustn’t. If you use your own essence to replenish hers, you’ll shorten your own life.”

  “Why do you care? I got a son on the way. He’ll be old enough to rule by the time I need to worry about dying a few years early.”

  “Because, Emtor, we owe you a debt of gratitude. It’ll take your lifetime to repay, and a shortened life will mean fewer opportunities for repayment.”

  Gavin rolled his eyes. It wasn’t about them. They didn’t understand sacrifice. They didn’t understand giving for the sake of others. They didn’t understand... love. He looked into Daia’s peaceful face and wondered how a person could be so beautiful, so dedicated, trustworthy, clever, and competent. It was his deepest secret, one nobody would ever know.

  I know.

  He furled his brow. Of course he himself knew. Why would he think such a thing?

  You wouldn’t.

  He remembered a time not long ago, during the fight with Ravenkind’s mother, when he thought someone was thinking in his head. No. That was absurd. He dismissed the notion and looked back up at the Guardians.

  “How do I do it?”

  “It is like when you pulled our essence from the water into the Nal Disi, except that you push outward from your center. It would be easiest if your centers are aligned. You’ll sense a flow. The challenge is in knowing when to stop.”

  “Can you tell me when to stop?”

  The Guardians’ two images regarded each other for a moment, as if they were discussing the matter between them. “We can, Emtor. We’ll tell you when you have replenished half of her drained essence. You’ll both age about twenty years over the coming weeks as your essence refills naturally from your bodies.”

  That was better than the alternative. “Cirang, I’m going to help Daia recover, but I’ll probably look like I’m asleep. Can I trust you not to run off?”

  “Of course, my liege. I’ll wait by the bedside.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “You don’t have to stay here. Get something to eat, take a rest—whatever you want to do. Just make sure you’re not halfway to Nilmaria when we wake up.”

  “No,” she said bowing her head. “I’ve accepted my punishment. I’ve accepted that I’ll never see my son or my wife again. You can trust me, my king.”

  Gavin put his hands under Daia’s shoulder and hip and pushed her onto her left side then went around the bed and lay down beside her, facing her, careful to keep his hands to himself. He felt awkward doing this, but this was his best chance of restoring her. If she awoke before he did, she might dr
aw the wrong conclusion, and so he lay Aldras Gar on the bed between them to serve as a line of separation.

  With his eyes closed, he took in a deep breath and let it out, pushing with his gut. He felt a trickle of movement before it stopped, like his healing magic without the heat. He tried again, pushing harder and breathing out longer, focusing on the sensation of fluttering within him.

  “Exactly so, Emtor,” the Guardians said.

  He managed after a few more breaths to start the flow of his energy outward and into Daia. He saw the blue of her haze becoming deeper little by little, though the orange tendril was still invisible. The sensation was uncomfortable, as if he were buried under a mound of dirt and couldn’t breathe. His instinct was to stop, and he had to will his body to continue pushing. After a while, he started to feel dizzy. The room spun, a familiar feeling from the months after Talisha and Caevyan were murdered and he spent his waking hours with his head bent over a tankard of ale. He fought the urge to turn onto his back to put his left foot on the floor, the trick he’d learned to still the spin of drunkenness.

  Every second seemed like a minute as his discomfort grew, every minute like an hour. He knew he’d only been doing this a few minutes, but he kept wanting to ask the Guardians about his progress. How much longer? He took deep breaths, one after another, to convince himself he wasn’t suffocating.

  “Emtor, you should stop now. Your companion has recovered half of the essence that was taken from her.”

  Gavin relaxed, feeling a flood of relief. He felt lighter, as if he could float off the bed with a nudge. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find the room was dark except for a candle burning atop the dressing table across from the bed. He lifted his head and found Cirang sitting in a chair near the door, head tilted back and mouth open. She snored softly with every deep inhale.

  He eased himself out of bed, not wanting to awaken Daia, and took his sword with him. “How late is it?” he whispered.

  “Five hours remain until sunrise, Emtor. Sleep will help you recover. Keep the gems in your weapon close to you. They’ll help.”

  He nodded and stumbled into the other guest room, the one in which he’d caught his wife with another man. His mind was too slow and heavy to care. He fell onto the bed and into a dreamless sleep.

  The room was bright when he awoke. In the other room, Daia and Cirang were talking. He pushed himself up, feeling even more tired than he had the day after his coronation. It wasn’t mere weariness, he realized. His muscles were tired, his bones ached, he felt heavy, unlike he had when he’d climbed into bed a few hours earlier.

  Daia and Cirang, in the sitting room, stood when he walked out. “How’d you sleep?” Daia asked.

  He nodded, running a hand over his bristly face. He badly needed a shave. Ducking his head, he sniffed under his arm. And a bath. “Let’s get on the road today. I want to get home and try this procedure on my wife. Cirang, would you find someone to bring bath water?”

  She bowed crisply and said, “Right away,” before running outside.

  “You look tired,” he said to Daia. She sank back down into the chair. “It’ll take some time to recover from what the Baron’s mages did to you.”

  “Gavin,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

  He sat in the chair Cirang had vacated, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, you didn’t. You’ll feel better after you rest.”

  “No.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I’m supposed to protect you, but I put you in danger. I can’t be your champion anymore.”

  His lips felt cold, his throat tight. His hands trembled, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t say that.” He couldn’t lose her. She was all he had left.

  “If I come with you,” she said weakly, “enemies will attack me. They want my gift. I can’t protect you.”

  He stood and began to pace. There had to be some way to protect her, to keep her orange tendril hidden or tucked away, making it only available to him. “We can work around this. I’ll find a way to keep your gift hidden. Daia, I need you with me.”

  “My conduit is yours to use as you will, but you need a champion who has only one job. I have two. There are other skilled battlers to fight for you, but I’m the only vusar you have. You need my conduit more than you need my blade.”

  He couldn’t accept what she was saying. Hers wasn’t the only answer. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Once his bath was ready, he scrubbed the dried Clout blood out of his hair and relaxed in the hot water with his head resting against the rim while an older woman with a steady hand shaved him. The hot steel against his skin felt good, and when she was done, she wrapped his face in a hot towel while she clipped and filed his fingernails and toenails. He’d never had such treatment before becoming king, and it had taken some getting used to at first, but he was thankful for it now.

  He couldn’t get Daia’s words out of his head. She was right, and yet... he couldn’t concede. She mustn’t abandon him. He needed her. There was no battler he trusted more. There had to be some way to hide her conduit, maybe with a spell stored in a gem. He had plenty of excellent quality gems in the palace vault; all he needed to do was find a mage who knew the spell to do it. Until then, he’d agree to let Daia stay behind when he needed to go to the yellow realm or any other where danger was present.

  An hour later, dressed and fed, he felt refreshed and ready for the summoning. He was ready to get his battler Hennah back.

  Chapter 36

  The last few nights, Feanna had explored the passages, carefully mapping them in her mind, going farther each night. She discovered that the servants didn’t use them nearly as often as she’d thought, possibly because they were narrow, musty, and rat-infested. The first time she saw a rat, black eyes gleaming in the light of her candle, she’d been startled but not afraid. The old Feanna would have screeched herself dizzy. The new Feanna, the better, stronger one, kicked it hard enough with her slippered foot that it didn’t tangle with her further.

  She waited until her supper dishes had been removed and Gavin’s manservant brought her a glass of wine as had become his habit since she’d returned from Ambryce, though she’d taken to drinking it rather than hurling it at him. The waste didn’t bother her, but the wine was quite good, and sleeping off a wine drunk was the only thing to do while shuttered away in her room all day. Night was another matter.

  She braced a chair under the door handle in case the night guard tried to come in while she was exploring. Those stupid trollops worked for Gavin and couldn’t be trusted. That done, she put on one of her old dresses and an apron she’d swiped from the laundry one night, and hastily put her hair up into a loose bun and covered the top of her head with a lace kerchief. She admired herself in the mirror, knowing she was far too beautiful to be mistaken for a lowly servant if examined up close, but she would keep her head down and her shoulders slouched and avoid anyone who would recognize her.

  With a candle in hand, she pulled out the loose nails in the servant’s door, slipped in, and pulled the door shut behind her. The Cyprindians had been assigned a guest chamber that required a round-about route that involved three corridor crossings. During her night forays, Feanna had discovered not only the best path to use, but had also discovered that the guests tended to stay up late and rise well past dawn. They wouldn’t likely be in their nighttime clothes at this time of the evening.

  She peeked out the first narrow, hidden door that opened into the corridor. Hearing and seeing no one, she scurried across to the opposite door and continued her journey. When she reached the next corridor opening, she heard voices. Though they were muffled through the door, it sounded like Edan and Liera. She opened the door a crack and didn’t see them, but their voices originated to the left.

  “He should be back in four or five days.”

  Liera snorted a laugh. “If he doesn’t get distracted by something on the way. Did the message say he has an answer? For
Feanna’s condition?”

  Feanna’s ears pricked.

  “It does,” Edan said. She heard the sappy smile in his voice. “He didn’t send details, but even the tone of this message was brighter than his last. We’ll have our old Feanna back soon.”

  “I hope so,” Liera said. “I’ve missed her terribly.”

  Feanna rolled her eyes. Liera was a sentimental sap who spent more time crying over her poor, lost husband than she did living for today. Boo hoo. Rogan’s dead. Get over it.

  “Edan, what did she say to GJ?”

  “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

  “Whatever she said broke his heart, and he won’t tell me.”

  “He knows she only said it because she’s... wicked now. He knows to stay away from her.”

  Wicked? Wicked? That bastard. Feanna had half a mind to storm out of her hiding place and confront Edan for speaking about her so disrespectfully. She stood there in the cramped tunnel, gripping the candle in one fist hard enough to squeeze finger-shaped grooves into the wax.

  “So whatever she said was untrue?”

  “My lady, I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of the matter. If it’ll ease your mind, I’ll talk with GJ more about it.”

  “I’m his mother. I want him to talk to me.”

  Feanna made a mocking face and mouthed the words I want him to talk to me with a wag of her head. She wished they would move on and let her get to her own business.

  “Come with me, Lady Liera,” Edan said. “I’ve got something I’d like you to see.”

  Finally. Feanna listened to their footsteps and voices fade down the hallway. When she peeked around the door and found the hallway clear, she hurried across to the next passage door and continued on her way.

  At last, she reached the guest chamber where the Cyprindians slept. Two male voices within were involved in conversation, but Feanna couldn’t understand what they were saying. She rapped lightly on the servant’s door. The conversation stopped, and one pair of footsteps approached.