Her voice snapped, and she swallowed. “She was only twenty-three, Richard. Twenty-three. She had barely started her life, and they crushed her and ripped out her sister’s heart. Every time I close my eyes, I see Tulip wailing over her sister’s body. I can’t undo it. I can’t just let it go.”
“You have to try,” he said. “Vengeance will eat you alive.”
“It’s not about vengeance.” She shook her head. “It’s about stopping them. You’re trying to warn me about the road, but I’m already walking it. Have you heard of the Healer’s oath?”
“‘I swear to hold the human body sacred,’” he quoted. “‘I will apply all my effort, all my magic, and all my knowledge of procedure and remedy to preserve life, to treat malady, to ease suffering. I swear to knowingly do no harm through the use of my magic or craft. I will prescribe no remedy when none is needed. I will not seek to improve on Nature’s design for the sake of vanity, knowledge, or human passion.’”
“How do you know that?”
“One of my relatives was a certified Physician,” Richard said.
“There is more,” she said. “‘Should I break this vow through my ignorance, I will surrender myself to the mercy of my peers. I will accept their judgment and my dishonor, and should they convict me, I will cease to practice medicine. Should I break this vow by deliberate action, I will know that I have betrayed myself. I will have drowned my teachers in guilt and cast doubt and suspicion upon my students. Let my name be a bitter taste on the lips of those who knew me, let my countenance be that of dishonor, let me fade into nothingness and be forgotten, save as an example of failure and weakness, for I would become an abomination in the eyes of the world.’”
He waited.
“I’m a certified healer from the Ganer College. Today I killed human beings through the use of my magic. I did it willingly.” The words tasted foul on her tongue. “My life is over. Do you understand? I sacrificed everything I was so I could do this because it’s my responsibility as a peer of the realm and a human being to destroy this human cancer before it hurts anyone else.”
She pointed to the dead bodies. They lay there, silent and accusing, evidence of her fall from grace.
Charlotte turned to Richard. “I own the consequences of my deeds. I have nothing to lose. I need your knowledge and expertise, but I’ll keep going, with you or without, and I won’t stop until the slave trade is broken. You can benefit from this alliance, as can I. Think what an asset I can be. Don’t let my sacrifice be wasted.”
* * *
RICHARD leaned back. She was looking at him, waiting for an answer.
He had done his best to persuade her to leave, but everything about her, from the coldness in her eyes to her wary posture, convinced him she would not. He had no idea who she was. He only knew that they had the same purpose.
She was beautiful and radiant. He remembered the concern in her eyes. The same concern drove her now, pushing her toward acts of violence. On the surface, he’d be a fool to turn her down. She was driven by tragedy, just like him, and she would be incorruptible, just like him. He needed a blade to kill, but she could kill dozens at once empty-handed. She was Death, and she had just asked to be his ally.
Walking next to him would break her. He’d fought so hard to spare Sophie from this grisly soul-eating burden. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes to this woman.
“How often can you do this?” He pointed at the corpses, delaying his need to answer.
She frowned. “The process is complicated. When I healed you, I used the reserves of my own body to speed your regeneration. When I injure, the method is similar. It takes very little magic to introduce a pathogen to the body, but to make it kill with unnatural quickness requires a lot of power and control. To kill this many, I infected them all, then siphoned off the natural life force of their bodies until I was overflowing with it. There is a high degree of risk: had I poured too much of myself into the process, I would’ve died, but I am very angry, and I’ve never killed with my magic before, so I took the chance. Given ample rest and the right circumstances, I can do this again tomorrow.”
“Would you risk it without rest?” Richard asked.
“If the incentive was high enough,” she said.
So she valued her goal higher than her life. He would have to take that into account. She was likely to overextend herself on her own.
“What about doing this on a smaller, individual scale?”
The woman shrugged. “Infecting a single target is much easier.”
“Are you still capable of healing?”
She reached over and drew her hand across his cheek, letting the tiny golden sparks penetrate his skin. The ache in his face dissolved.
“Does the bruise still hurt?” she asked.
“No.” It was in his best interests to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help himself. “What you do . . . it’s a gift. Reconsider.”
Bitterness dripped from her voice. “Too late.”
“Are you able to control your magic? Can you rein it in?” Richard had to account for all possible contingencies.
“Yes,” she said. “What I do requires a very deliberate intent and concentration. I won’t be infecting you in my sleep because I had a nightmare.”
“Do you have any family? Anyone who could be used to compel you to do something against your will?” Anyone he could use to talk her out of this madness.
“No.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
“Yes. Elvei Leremine, my ex-husband. He’s terrified of me and will take every opportunity to obtain revenge. Also, by using my art and magic to murder, I’ve broken the healer’s oath. If I’m discovered by the realm, Adrianglia will execute me. If you don’t want this to happen, the use of my magic must be more covert.”
He was running out of questions.
“There is one more thing you should be aware of,” she said. “I can’t heal myself. If I’m injured, I’ll have to recover by normal means unless we can find another healer.”
She had committed herself to it. She would embark on this path with or without him, but her chances of survival were much higher if he took her with him. She had great power, but she was vulnerable. This time she got lucky. If he abandoned her now, eventually she would walk into the wrong camp. It would take just one man to shoot her dead or knock her unconscious. She had saved him twice, once from the wound and the second time from the cage. No matter how much he didn’t want to witness her transformation into someone like him, he owed it to her to safeguard her.
Richard held out his hand. “Last chance to turn back.”
“No.” She put her hand into his.
“These are my terms. You will accept my authority. If I say to wait in a certain place, you will wait. If I say to kill someone, you will kill them. You understand that your life is secondary to our cause. If your compassion jeopardizes our mission, I may not be in a position to be merciful. If you choose to hinder me, I’ll cut you down.”
He waited, hoping he’d scared her off.
Her face showed no hesitation. “Agreed.”
They shook.
“My name is Richard Mar.”
“Charlotte de Ney,” she said with a sigh.
A noble title. She had mentioned she had one, but even if she didn’t, he would have known simply by the way she held herself. Blood itself, noble or no, didn’t confer any special benefits. He was living proof of that—an Edger mongrel, yet he could and had passed for a blueblood many times. But he had years of education, and he recognized in Charlotte the grace and poise that training imparts.
Propriety dictated that he should let go of her hand. He did, although he didn’t want to.
“We start with the bodies,” Richard said. “Voshak should carry a copy of the cipher. One more thing.”
“Yes?” She raised her eyebrows.
“The dog.”
“What about him?”
“You can’t possibly mean to take him wi
th us.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
“He’s a wolfripper. Born and bred to hunt wolves, and since he was owned by the slavers, he was trained to hunt men. You’re looking at 170 pounds of cunning and vicious predator.”
“I’m so glad you think he’s smart.” Charlotte smiled at the dog. “The dog stays, Richard.”
He sighed.
Charlotte pushed herself up from the pile of bags. He read exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders. Her magic had come at a cost. He decided not to argue.
“As you wish.” Richard handed her his knife. “We have some corpses to strip. It’s easier to cut pockets than rummage through them. We may have to ride hard once we find what we’re looking for. Can you do it?”
Charlotte raised her head, her gaze regal and proud. “Of course I can.”
FOUR
JEANS definitely had their advantages, Charlotte decided. For one, they provided a nice protection for one’s thighs when in a saddle. Unfortunately, they did nothing for the ache in her core muscles. It had been two and a half years since she had last ridden a horse, and although her posture and balance were still good, after eight hours, her inner hip muscles and her butt had turned into painful mush. The reality of expending so much magic so quickly had crashed into her a while ago. Her head felt fuzzy. Her eyes wanted to close.
“Almost there,” Richard murmured.
“I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”
Considering that he was near death less than twenty-four hours ago, of the two of them she was in much better shape.
They rode side by side on the Salino-Kelena Adrianglian highway. Around them tall oaks dripped long beards of moss. The day had long since burned down to night, and the moon shone from the sky, drenching the road in silver light. Darkness hid between the tree trunks. Strange noises came from within the woods: a deep guttural grunting, followed by the distant snarls of a predator, the high-pitched squeaking of some rodent, and the eerie hooting of the great twilight owls trying to flush out their prey. Somewhere between the shrubs, the dog glided, silent despite his bulk.
They had searched Voshak’s bags and found the cipher and another map, hidden in the false bottom of his canteen. Richard translated it while she chose the best horses and searched for useful weapons. The map indicated a pickup point just north of Kelena, a large harbor city. The map gave a specific date and time, eleven o’clock, evening, the day after next. The moment they had finished gathering supplies and Richard finished stuffing some of the more outlandish pieces of leather into their saddlebags, they had ridden out.
Richard slowed his horse.
“What’s wrong?”
“My wound is aching,” he said.
Her magic told her that his wound was no worse than it had been hours ago. He was giving her an opportunity to rest, and she was too tired and too grateful to fight him on it. Still, she had to. “I appreciate it, but please don’t make allowances for my sake. I’ll manage.”
“We’re only a few miles away,” he said. “Have you ever been to Kelena?”
“No.”
“It is a noisy, garish hive of a city. We’ll be walking into the Cauldron, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Adrianglia. They call it the Cauldron because that’s where the worst humanity has to offer is thrown together and allowed to boil until the scum floats to the top.”
Charlotte laughed softly. She hadn’t thought she would ever laugh again after what she had done, but her body had passed the point of pain, and she felt weightless and disconnected. “You’ve missed your calling.”
“I’m a complete failure as a poet,” he said. “When I was fourteen, I wrote a long ballad about the bleakness of my life and the heaviness of the burden that was being me. My brother stole it and read it out loud at a family gathering. That was the first and the last time I managed to make the entire family laugh.”
The laugher kept coming. She heard the hysterical tone in her own voice but couldn’t stop it.
Richard halted his horse and dismounted.
The back of her eyes grew hot. She had to get ahold of herself.
Richard took her reins and led their horses off the road. She slid out of her saddle, her body whining in protest. Her limbs were shaking. A big poplar loomed in front of her. Charlotte circled it and sat on the ground, wrapping her arms around her legs and gathering herself into a ball the way she used to do when she was a homesick little girl.
It was all over. If you were more grounded, you’d sprout roots, Charlotte. She wasn’t grounded anymore. All of her trials, all of her self-imposed exile, all of it had been for nothing. She murdered people. She held their lives in her hands and snuffed them out. It brought her joy. And Éléonore was dead, and there wasn’t a damn thing Charlotte could do about it. Éléonore was gone, and she must’ve suffered before she died. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Charlotte bit her lower lip, trying to hold back the flood.
Oh Dawn Mother. How did it all go so wrong? Please, she prayed silently, please, please make this all into a nightmare. Please let me wake. I just want to wake up. Please . . . She would have given anything to turn back the last twenty-four hours. Anything to keep Éléonore and Daisy from dying. Anything to shield Tulip. Poor Tulip. She was all alone now. The slavers wrecked her life. One moment she had a sister and a future, and the next she had nothing, only grief.
The warmth behind her eyes turned into tears. They rolled, wetting her cheeks. Her chest hurt. She sobbed. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold it any longer. The tears tore out of her.
A dark shadow emerged from the bushes. The dog lowered himself on the ground by her feet and licked her ankle. She slumped over her bent knees and cried like a child.
Please. Please let me wake up.
She cried and cried, praying in her head even though she knew nobody heard her. It was godsdamned unfair. Why? Why did they have to die? She’d killed the bastards who killed them, but it didn’t make things right. It was just a circle of pain and death, and she was trapped in it, angry, grieving, and helpless.
The sobs turned into dry heaves. There was no balm, no poultice, no pills she could create to make things better. Dead would remain dead. Nothing could take back their suffering or hers.
Finally, even her dry heaves died. Exhaustion smothered her.
She felt alone. So utterly, completely alone. She raised her head, straightening, and realized that fabric was touching her shoulders. Richard had draped his cloak over her. She hadn’t even noticed.
“Thank you.” She pulled the cloak tighter around herself. It was a kind gesture, completely at odds with his confession of being a killer and the air of danger that still emanated from him.
He was sitting next to her, leaning against the rough bark, his profile etched against the moonlit sky. Had she met him under different circumstances, she might have felt fear at his proximity. Now she was too numb and too beat-up emotionally to muster any anxiety.
“I suppose you’re regretting bringing me along,” she said.
“I’ve regretted it from the moment I decided to do it.”
Her pride was stung. “I won’t be a burden.”
He turned to her, dark eyes filled with concern. “I never viewed you as a burden.”
“Then why?”
He looked up to the moon. “In this life, some of us are killers, born with a predatory instinct. I’m one, but you’re not.”
He must’ve forgotten she had just murdered a dozen men. “Why? Is it because I’m a woman?”
“No, it’s nothing so obvious as gender. My aunt was the best killer I’ve met. For whatever reason, some of us are born to kill, and others, men and women both, are born to nurture. Your instincts drive you to help others. My instincts drive me to end lives.”
She sniffed. “You don’t know me.”
Richard smiled. Despite the dirt, he really was a strikingly handsome man. Arrogant, predatory, but handsome.
“Those of us who are killers lear
n to recognize others of our kind. We know rivals because they pose danger.”
“And I don’t?” Charlotte asked quietly.
He smiled again, and this time his face was almost mournful. “Even the most peaceful and kind person will become dangerous if backed into a corner. I don’t question your power, but you don’t have the innate aggression or the predatory drive of a natural-born killer. I’ve been one all of my life, and what I’ve done and seen during these past months haunts me. I know what lies ahead. I know it will be very difficult for you. You think now that you’re dealing with grief and purging it from yourself, but it’s only the first taste of what’s to come. Are you sure you don’t want to return? I would consider it an honor to escort you to the Edge.”
“No.”
“Do you think the Edgers wouldn’t take you back?”
She sighed. “They would, but I can’t go back to East Laporte. When the slavers surrounded the house, Éléonore called me. I drove to our neighbors to ask for help. They gathered about twenty people together, all carrying guns, then they stood around.”
“Nobody wanted to fight,” Richard said. “They probably delayed until the slavers were gone. Typical.”
She turned to him. “Yes. Éléonore lived among them all of her life. She helped many of them, and they just abandoned her and left her to die. And when I asked them for help to go after those bastards, not one of them would meet my eyes. I can’t go back there. I’ve made my decision. I don’t know what your motivations are, but mine are just as valid. Please respect my need for justice.”
“My apologies,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”
Charlotte wiped her face with her sleeve and rose. Richard got up.
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