Shoving his other hand in my hair, he pushed my head back, wanting my eyes. “I hadn’t thought to find you so disagreeable, so contrary. You are going to force me to break you. I really didn’t want that.” Jem sighed and released me—my broken wrist from his hand, my body from his spell.
I cried out then; I’d just traded one agony for another.
Able to feel now what he’d done to my wrist, I started shivering badly. Blood was dripping from beneath the brace on my arm, running down over my hand faster than the rain could wash it away.
Clinging to my rage, I fought to stay standing. “I won’t let you keep the crown.”
“You will never get near the Crown of Stones.”
“I don’t need to get near it,” I blustered. “Not anymore.”
“You are developing faster than I expected. I admit that. But by the time you realize what’s happening, it will be too late.”
Trembling so hard now that I could barely speak, I stammered out an unimpressive, “G-go f-f-fuck yourself.”
“I see my mistake. You’ve spent the last ten years building up a tolerance to temptation. What I need is a concentrated attack to break through your armor.” Jem reached out and put a finger on my forehead. “Let’s see what a couple years’ worth of dreams will do to soften your resolve.”
“No...” I tried to move, but his slightest touch held me in place.
He started whispering again. The forest began to change. The trees blurred. Ghostly images of armed soldiers flickered in and out of view.
I threw a desperate glance at Jarryd and Malaq sleeping in the shelter, hoping the sight of them would somehow keep me here. But their bodies were already fading.
Air whipped around me bitter and cold. Snow pelted my face.
I shook the images away. “Don’t do this.”
Jem stopped chanting and looked at me. “Are you ready to give me the stone? Will you help me create an empire like the world has never seen?”
She stood at the edge of the frozen pond.
Wearing nothing but a warm, woolen cloak, she beckoned me.
I struggled to focus on him. “I will never let you have that much power.”
Behind the mask, his eyes tightened. “Then I bid you sweet dreams.”
THIRTY TWO
Voices pulled at me.
“Ian, wake up.”
I wanted to open my eyes. But her body was curling up, pressing against mine.
“God damn it, Ian.” Nervousness strained Malaq’s voice. “I know you can hear me. Wake up!” Anger too. He threw a punch at my face and, distantly, I felt it.
He grabbed me to throw another.
“Malaq, stop,” Jarryd intervened. “It’s no good. And…he’s hurt enough.” Jarryd touched my right arm and pain had me nearly coming up off the ground—more than enough to wake me. But it didn’t. “What are we going to do?” he asked.
“We keep moving.”
“He needs a healer,” Jarryd argued.
“I know. I’ll figure something out.”
“We can’t travel with him like this.”
Malaq was quiet a moment. His boot kicked my leg. “Why the fuck won’t he wake up?”
I’m trying…
“Where are you going?” Her hand caressed my face. “I’m right here.”
Screaming, I tried to throw them off, to tell them to stop, that I could feel everything. But the words wouldn’t come. Nothing responded like I wanted, my voice, my body.
All I could see was blackness.
The sun burst out from behind the clouds, so bright I had to shade my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Her slender, dark fingers entwined mine. “I thought you wanted to go for a walk.”
“I do,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“This way.” She tugged at me. As we strolled, blossoms kicked up from the meadow. They took to the breeze, floating on the air, turning it pink. I waved them away, but she let them fall as they pleased; a burst of color settling on the pleats of her drab, muslin skirt, a subtle trimming clinging to the gently swaying strands of her long, black hair.
Glancing at me, she smoothed a curl behind her ear. “Tell me again.”
“Again?” Laughing, I shook my head. “No way.”
“Come on” she begged, wrapping her arms about my waist. “It’s funny.”
“It’s not funny,” I insisted. “It’s humiliating.”
“Right,” she grinned devilishly. “Which makes it funny.”
I tensed at a sound. “Did you hear that?”
“You’re just stalling,” she said.
“No, there was an echo, like someone yelling.”
“You’re going to kill him!” Jarryd shouted.
“I’m not going to kill him,” another man replied tartly. “But you need to secure him better. I can’t have him thrashing about right now.”
His voice…
Langorian, I thought. I struggled harder.
Weight pressed down on me.
Quietly, Jarryd said, “It’ll be over soon. Just hang on.”
She pulled at my arm. “Please? It’s a great story. Just one more time?” Nuzzling against me, she smiled coyly and batted her eyes.
“You’re shameless, you know that?” She batted more and I relented with a sigh. “I didn’t know he was a woman.”
“You really couldn’t tell?”
“With the hair on her chin?” I shuddered. “No, I couldn’t tell.”
“And when her money was gone, and she started betting with pieces of her clothing?”
“Her armor was solid steel.”
“So you thought you’d sell it,” she nodded.
“Dice was never my game, but it was the first time I’d been given leave and I’d heard some of the troops talking about this seamy little inn near the border. I spent my whole three days in that goddamn, filthy place. I’d gone through my coin and then some. The barkeep was eyeing me to pay up. A few of the men were egging me on. Course they’d been there dozens of times. They knew what I was headed for.”
“Back off, Rellan,” the Langorian barked. “I may not think he’s worth the shit stain on my ass, but you brought me here to fix him. So I am.”
“If you don’t, you’re dead.” Jarryd warned.
The Langorian grunted. “And when Krillos discovers you stole the only physician in his camp, so are you. Then we’ll break your broken witch a little more and lay him at Draken’s feet.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Jarryd snarled. Steel sung as it left its sheath.
“Kane,” Malaq said sharply. “Put Troy’s sword away.”
“This is a waste of time, Malaq. He’s not going to help us.”
“He will,” Malaq said. “He has to.”
“Why, because Prince Malaq Roarke abducted him out of bed, dragged him through the woods, and commanded him to? He’s going to slit Ian’s throat the minute we turn our backs.”
“Then I won’t turn my back.” Malaq’s tone tempered. “Why don’t you get started on the litter? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on our guest.”
Walking again, she dragged me with her. “So when did you figure it out?”
“By the time we’d both lost our shirts I had a pretty good idea that those weren’t muscles on her chest. Then she started insisting I take her upstairs. Said I could earn my coin back.”
“Did you?” she laughed.
I made a face. “She was all over me, chasing me around the room, goods flapping, while the whole damn tavern laughed. I barely made it out alive.”
“Stop,” she giggled.
“Seriously. I had visions of suffocating under those things for days.”
“I’m glad you survived.” Her laughter waned. Desire shone in her eyes.
“Me too.” Bending, I kissed her. My fingers on her face, I ran them through her curls, over her arms and across her back.
With a gasp, she flinched. Warm, wetness spread beneath my hands.
She went limp agains
t me as Draken yanked the blade out of her back.
He smiled. “Shall we play?”
“Ian…” Jarryd said nervously. “What the…? Ian—Stop!”
He tackled me and we grappled for the knife. It skimmed my chest as we rolled.
“Fight harder, Shinree,” the Langorian sneered. “Put on a good show and maybe Draken will let her die quickly.”
I swung my head into his. He recoiled enough for me to get both hands on his arm. Twisting it, I forced the knife closer to his body. I took hold of it.
I felt the blade penetrate flesh.
“Son of a bitch!” Jarryd bellowed.
Shoved, I fell. My face hit the ground. Hooves stomped near my head.
They moved away, replaced by boots.
“What happened?” Malaq said.
“Fuck,” Jarryd muttered shakily. “He fucking stabbed me.”
“What? Where the hell did he get the knife?”
“It was in my belt. I didn’t think… Fuck!”
“Let me see it.” Malaq whistled. “I guess taking him on your horse wasn’t such a good idea. We should have stuck with the litter.”
“That last section of trail was too narrow. It wouldn’t have fit.”
“The blade’s in pretty good,” Malaq said plainly. “Ready?”
I heard Jarryd take a deep, uneven breath. He bit back a long, clamped-mouthed groan as the knife came out. “Goddamn it,” he panted. “What the hell is wrong with him, Malaq?”
“I don’t know. Once we get to Rella we’ll find a healer.”
“Where? And what good will it do?” Pain roughened Jarryd’s voice. “This isn’t simple delirium. It’s been too many days. There’s no infection. No fever. This has to be a spell. Some kind of attack.”
“Draken’s magic user,” Malaq agreed. “I told Ian he was going to come after him hard. But I didn’t expect this.”
Jarryd sounded weary. “What do we do?”
Break it, I thought. You have to break the spell.
I tried to tell him. Sienn. Find Sienn. But the words were stuck in my head.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Malaq said grimly.
Gods, why can’t I wake up?
“What are you doing out of bed?” Her bare feet padded across the floor. She came up behind me and snuggled into my back. “It’s cold without you.”
“I can’t sleep.”
Reaching up she kissed right between my shoulder blades. Her warm breath drifted over my bare skin. “I didn’t say anything about sleep.”
Hands coming around, she grabbed my wrists. Her grip was strangely tight.
“You think this is really necessary?” Jarryd said.
Malaq sounded surprised. “Five seconds ago you were ready to throttle him.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“He stabbed you in the leg, Kane. Next time it might be somewhere a little more vital. I’m tying his hands and that’s it.”
“Let’s go back to bed.” Still holding my wrists, she pulled me across the room.
“You don’t understand. I need to wake up.”
“You are awake, silly.”
I looked at her. The morning light hit her face. Her dark skin seemed almost transparent. “No. I’m not.”
THIRTY THREE
The world was flying by in shades of brown. Flailing hands grabbed at me as I slid, caught in a hail of stone and dirt, and a tangle of arms and legs that weren’t all mine.
I got a brief, inverted glimpse of the vertical drop I was plummeting down, then—wham! Something hard and flat stole my breath, and my momentum.
Coughing and groaning, I picked my face up. I squinted though the dust, trying to make out who was beside me. “Jarryd?”
“What the hell was that?” His boots kicked pebbles in my face as he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet. “Are you trying to break both our necks?” he shouted, “or just mine? You goddamn, stupid….”
Jarryd went on. I didn’t interrupt. I’d fallen halfway down the side of a mountain. I was winded and choking, my throat was dry, my body sore. I hurt too bad to squabble.
Eventually, Jarryd paused in his tirade to wipe a residue of blood and dirt from his lips. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, throwing an irritated glance up at the rise. Our empty horses were at the edge of it. Alongside them, peering down, was Malaq; no doubt glad to be monitoring our ensuring battle from a safe distance. “At least you’re awake,” Jarryd said, raking a hand over his tousled braid, ruffling the dust. “Maybe we can actually reach Kabri now…if you don’t kill me before we get there.”
“Gods, but you’ve grown surly.”
His patience stripped, Jarryd lunged at me. “And just how the fuck else do you expect me to be, Ian? With you pale as death and raving like a mad man.” Backing off, he looked me over. Something he saw made the tempest in his eyes die down and distress settled into the dirty lines on his face. “Do you remember anything?”
“Some.” I stared at my bound hands. My right wrist bore a splint and a bandage that extended near up to my elbow. The stones Sienn gave me were wrapped around it, but my braces with the knives were gone, as well as both my swords. “Malaq was right to tie me,” I said then, my eyes moving to the dressing on Jarryd’s right leg. Having slipped out of position in our fall, the stitching had come loose from a recent stab wound and dirt clung to the torn, wet edges. “I didn’t know it was you,” I said.
“It’s fine.” Jarryd gave his usual half-shrug. Taking the dagger from his boot, he bent down and cut me free. As soon as the rope snapped my splinted wrist began to ache.
Rubbing at it gingerly, I scanned the surrounding area. “How far have we come?” Tilting my head back, I looked at the sky. It was clear and bright, but I remembered rain.
I remembered…
I drew in a sharp breath. Surreal images and sounds assaulted me. Random illusions surfaced, piling in, one on top of the other.
Her cries, the beatings, Draken’s proud face; I recalled it all, swiftly and vividly.
How she felt under me, alive and warm—next to me, bloody and screaming.
Frantically, I whispered, “Not real, not real, not real,” struggling to convince myself that I hadn’t been at the mercy of Draken’s men. I hadn’t been in the girl’s arms.
Dreams. They’re just dreams.
But the conjured nightmares only pushed deeper, blending and overlapping. Repeating. Penetrating. Until pain and nausea doubled me over and whatever was in my stomach, came violently up and out onto the ground. Thankfully, it wasn’t much.
Breathless, shivering despite the warm sun, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. I looked down at my trembling hands and expected them to be red with blood. They were brown with dirt. Idiot, I scolded myself. It’s a spell. It’s not real.
She doesn’t love me.
Because I let her die. I always let her die.
“Ian!” Jarryd called. “Are you hearing me?”
Confused, I looked at him through a curtain of sweat and dust-coated hair. He looked back, just as puzzled, and we watched each other like that for a moment, with me shaking, and him shaking his head like he had no idea what to do with me.
Malaq interrupted. “Are you two going to stay down there all day?” he shouted.
“A rope might speed things along,” Jarryd yelled back. He sat down next to me. “You’ve been unconscious for twelve days.”
“Twelve?” I swallowed. It felt longer. “There was a Langorian. A physician?”
Jarryd nodded. “We watched him the whole time. I think he did all he could.” Jarryd slid his knife away. “Malaq was going to let him go, but the bastard came at me.” He reached down and pulled me up. As Jarryd turned away to survey the ridge above us, I ventured across the oblong, rocky shelf that broke our fall and looked over the side. It was an alarmingly long way down.
Inching back, I glanced up. And then back down. I studied the path of our descent and quickly realized that we should have been dead. Someh
ow, miraculously, we landed in the one and only place on the entire mountainside that would stop our fall. If we’d gone over the cliff at a different angle or a few steps further along the trail, we would have missed the shelf entirely and kept going, all the way to the rocky ravine at the bottom.
I turned around. I felt a deep need to apologize. I’d nearly killed us. But Jarryd wasn’t on the slab anymore. He was on the slope, attempting to climb back up with his bare hands. “You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked him.
“I swallowed half the mountain, Ian. I need a drink and I’m not waiting for Malaq to braid a new rope…or whatever the hell he’s doing up there.” Catching hold of a gnarled root sticking out of the slanted ground, Jarryd yanked on it to make sure it was secure. Sinking the toe of his boot into the dirt, he used the root to pull himself up.
It was a taxing, but efficient climb. Jarryd moved seamlessly from one root or vine to the next, and while I didn’t like it, he was making good progress.
When he was well over halfway to the top, he called down to me. “You aren’t going to tell me what happened, are you? Malaq said you wouldn’t. He also said it shouldn’t bother me if you didn’t.” Jarryd looked back at me over his shoulder. “It bothers me,” he said, and the vine in his grip snapped in half. He teetered backwards. Boots sliding on the loose pebbles, Jarryd quickly threw himself forward and hugged the cliff face. “It’s okay.” He blew out a relieved breath. “I got it.”
“You should come down. Wait for the rope. It doesn’t look stable.”
“No, I can do this. There isn’t a cliff in Kabri I haven’t climbed at least once.” Jarryd shifted position. He reached for another vine. As soon as he touched it, the ground beneath him gave way. He struggled to regain his footing, to clutch onto something like before, but there was suddenly no traction. The roots and vines kept breaking. The terrain kept disintegrating at his touch. Everything Jarryd had used for leverage on the way up was refusing to bear his weight on the way down.
“Hold on!” Rushing forward, I started scampering up the slope. Just as fast, the loose soil carried me back down. I tried again, but it was useless. The entire side of the rise was crumbling and it was taking Jarryd with it.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price Page 27
