Blood Witch

by Thea Atkinson

  It was enough to know how the power had managed to take her blood witch's life. How it grew past its limit to drain her where she stood.

  And she knew it was because of that memory she'd relived out on the field that day, as she'd psyched the water from Yuri's last enemies, as she'd let her mind wander, as she'd left herself as she always did because even though she was a warrior, it bothered her to take the lives.

  It was that bothersome memory of her mother's death that did it. That thing her nohma wanted her to remember about her birth. That memory of seeing her father taking a young mother's head even as the child she bore squalled its first breath. That memory of seeing her own father murdering the woman who gave her life.

  Chapter 13

  The shadows in the hut had deepened by the time Alaysha collected herself. She stuffed the pouch into an old hollowed gourd that rested beside the fire pit, and then she covered that with a blanket of moss she pulled from trees that surrounded the cottage. The gourd still had the remnants of a thong of leather pulled through the pierced holes on either side. It made a good enough satchel, she supposed, but at least she wouldn't lose any of the seeds she'd collected and put back into the pouch.

  She thought it strange that any had survived at all left in the damp earth, but she assumed they were so desiccated by the draining that there was nothing left to help them rot.

  She took a last slow look around the small place she'd called home and turned toward the maw of doorway.

  Yenic stood there, filling the space, blocking off what little moonlight tried to steal him.

  "Last time I saw you here, you were a newborn babe," he whispered in a voice so painful to hear she thought she'd not make it into his arms.

  He held her silently for long moments. She felt his heart thudding against hers, the heat of his embrace making her realize how cold she was. She said nothing as she linked her hands behind his neck and pulled him close.

  It was all a lie, the things her father had told her. So much for his truths. For all she knew, he planted the mistrust of Yenic in her purposely while she was vulnerable and ready to hear nothing but how a man could betray her.

  Yenic offered no resistance. The solid breadth of him against her pressed even closer. He tasted of old ale and onions but she didn't care. She could only think how she wanted to devour him, how close she wanted him against her, and knowing it wasn't close enough.

  She kissed him with a hunger she didn't understand and when his teeth captured her lip, she gasped in relief of the pain she needed to let go.

  He spoke only after both their hearts leapt the same rhythm; pulling away, burying his face in her hair.

  "Sweet deities, you are so young," he murmured. "You've always been young."

  "Too young for you," she said, guessing where his mind had gone.

  He tightened his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, pulling her against him so she felt herself curve against him. "You were a baby. I was a boy. Young. I'd just got my first tattau but I thought I was a man."

  "The bond," she guessed and he nodded, pressing his mouth into her neck.

  "Your tears," he said and ran his cheek over hers; only then did she realize her face was wet. "Like these ones."

  She could only think of Saxa's words so she mumbled them aloud, surprising herself. "Tears have magic."

  "I'm bound to you by them." He took deliberate steps back into the hovel, carrying her with him, then eased her onto the earth. "I'm bound and though I didn't want it then, I want it now. So badly."

  She knew how he felt. Part of her wondered if this was all; if she loved him because of a bond forged between them so many years ago, or if she loved him because he was Yenic. Cocky. Handsome. Infuriating.

  His hands moved over her waist, finding the skin beneath her tunic and linens. She felt herself letting go, letting him feel her response. What did a bond matter when she wanted it just as badly.

  She could hear her own breath, feel his on her skin. Everywhere his lips touched. Against her temple, her jaw, her ears.

  She swore she saw the dead ashes in the fire glow with renewed life and lend enough light that she could make of the fine details of his jaw as he moved over her. He looked at her once and his eyes glowed like melting amber; then his mouth claimed hers again as though she could somehow quench his fever.

  She thought if she never lived a moment after this one, she would at least finally have found peace.

  When they rose together to face the full night, she gripped his hand with hers.

  "You can't keep things from me," she told him. She couldn't explain it, but she needed to know even more now that she could trust him right down to the secrets he kept.

  He wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her to face him. "I've kept nothing from you that you didn't already know.

  "I told you when we met that I knew your nohma. I came a few times to your home as you grew. One day I came but no one was here."

  "Perhaps we were on campaign."

  He shrugged. "Perhaps. Never again did I see either of you. The cottage went to ruin and we knew we had lost you."

  She gave that thought and realized it must have been the Corrin years. "I was… Training," she said and moved so that his arms left her waist.

  He gave her queer study and reached for her hand to lead her away from the cottage and into the woods. She followed readily. She wasn't certain she was ready to talk about the carrion or the types of training he led her through. To talk of the man was to remind herself of his violent death at the hands of Yenic's mother, and although she felt renewed trust in Yenic, she'd thought it best to leave him ignorant of Aislin's part in it.

  And his ignorance could not condemn him of foreknowledge when Alaysha saw to it that Yuri died a painful death.

  Chapter 14

  Gael was facing Saxa's cottage when they returned, peering in at his sister, who stood next to the fire wringing her hands in despair. The room smelled to Alaysha of new smoke and peat, masking the sweet scent of usual herbs that always pervaded the cottage.

  Alaysha knew Saxon hadn't been found.

  "Does the Emir know?" She asked Gael and his stormy look was answer enough.

  Saxa was the one to speak, even if it was tremulous and soft, an unusual tone for the matter-of-fact woman she was. "Yuri came for his stew."

  "Yuri asked where the boy was?"

  "And asked why we hadn't told him."

  Alaysha made for the fire, more to stretch her hands and think than to warm herself. The cottage needed no warmth; the air was as comfortable as that of outside, but a small blaze for a stew's sake was necessary. She lifted the pot from the hearth and hung it over a peg to warm, then thought of how Saxa worked at keeping her husband healthy through the food she cooked and wondered if it was way to Yuri's death.

  Then she hated herself for thinking it.

  She dislodged the thought as quickly as it came. It wouldn't serve to repay this kind woman with wickedness and Alaysha couldn't do that to her. Besides, she wanted to see Yuri as he realized his death was at the hands of his own witch.

  She sighed heavily, thoughtfully, and turned to Saxa. "Where is he now?"

  She shrugged. "He left."

  Gael edged forward. "He's gone to gather the scouts."

  "How do you know that?"

  He planted his feet widely and folded his arms across his massive chest. "What would you do?"

  Just that, she realized. The scouts had a knack for finding a trail and tracing it. The only person she'd not known them to find that they'd looked for was Aedus.

  She sent a harried glance around the cottage. "Where is Aedus?"

  Saxa spread her arms. "Still searching Sarum, I suppose, as you bid her."

  "She should have returned by now."

  "Sarum has many homes." Saxa put her hand to her forehead, and then seeming to realize that doing so made her appear worried and week, busied herself collecting trenchers of bread and filling them with stew from the pot
s. She settled three goblets of ale on the table and pointed at them. "Eat," she said. "You three of all must be strong."

  She didn't need to say that if Saxon was found and needing rescue, then Yuri would order his weapons to do so.

  Alaysha stole a glance at Yenic. She was starving, and she knew he was too. She'd heard his stomach rumbling as they lay next to each other on the packed earth of the cottage. She pulled a chair and yanked at the top of the trencher so she could sop up the broth inside.

  "Tastes different," she said.

  "I added fennel seeds." Saxa hovered over them, pouring fresh ale that smelled faintly of honey.

  Alaysha stopped chewing at mention of seeds. Seeds. She had left her gourd and the seeds from the hovel beneath the stool and now she would have to go back to get them.

  Lost in the moment with Yenic, she'd also lost the notion to bring them back with her. Yenic seemed to notice her hesitation.

  "Something wrong?"

  She caught Gael's grey-eyed and suspicious stare from across the table and watched the way his expression shifted to one of careful scrutiny.

  "Not at all," she told Yenic but made a mental note to return when she could retrieve them. Ever since she'd seen Aislin collecting her own seeds from the man she'd killed, Alaysha had the desire to make sure she knew where each of hers were.

  Gael chewed his lamb slowly and sent a stream of ale pouring into his mouth. She noticed as he lifted his head back that there was a broad circle of scar beneath his chin that she'd not noticed before.

  Alaysha touched her throat right where Gael's scar was on his. "What's this?"

  He dropped the tankard to the table with a thunk. "Scar," he said.

  "I can see that."

  "Then why did you ask?" He grew surly again, which meant to Alaysha that she'd touched on something tender.

  Saxa refilled Gael's tankard. "It's his training brand."

  "Brand?" Yenic sounded horrified and Gael's bland look went to him.

  "This from a boy with tattaus running down his side, ruining his skin."

  Alaysha could feel the heat rising to her face. So he thought the tattaus ugly. What would that say about his feelings of the way hers ruined her face?

  Yenic stood, obviously affronted at the words and she could have hugged him for defending her.

  "I'm not a boy," he said, ruining the moment.

  Gael sucked at his teeth. "How many seasons have you?"

  "Nearly twenty four."

  "How many battles?"

  "Plenty."

  "I have a number I can count. Four for every season of my living."

  Alaysha swung her gaze toward Gael. Four for every season? Yet he was as unscarred and beautiful as a man who worked with his mind. Saxa must have been right about his natural ability, but to get through so many battles with only a brand? Remarkable.

  Yenic appeared to think it less than so. "Your battles, though so many, old man, must have been fought in your sleep to leave your skin so pretty."

  Gael's eyes moved to Alaysha's so fast she doubted he looked at her at all, but all the while she was thinking/remembering the moment he spent plowing through the assailants on the platform as though they were nothing but new, soft earth to his blade. He been marked then with blood and flesh, but he remained fairly untouched.

  "Yenic," she murmured in warning, but it was already too late. Gael had stood, almost lazily, and squared off against him.

  Neither of them looked anxious. In truth, they appeared to be looking forward to the inevitable.

  The table soared to the side, Alaysha wasn't sure who had set it to flight, but it landed with a thud that seemed to coincide perfectly with Yenic's head butting into Gael's stomach. The fact that the younger man was able to get close enough to Gael to do so was testimony enough of Yenic's skill that Alaysha understood what an Arm was capable of. Gael plecked him out of his belly as though the youth was a bit of lint offending a perfect suit. He hurled the boy toward the table, then jumped for him so quickly she was amazed that such a lrge man could carry such speed. Yenic was gone when he landed, and then he was on Gael's back, only to be shrugged off. Punches sailed through the air, some landing with hollow thuds, but no other sounds came from the men. No yelps of pain, only the gruntings of effort.

  She was torn between which of the men she should aid. Gael's face was unmarked, so tall did he tower over Yenic, but no blow could touch it. Even still, blood leaked from his knuckles. Yenic, on the other hand, had taken a great deal of massive blows to the face and his cheeks were swelling red beneath his eyes. She was rooted to her spot by the sheer beauty of their movement.

  Saxa was not. She took the cooling pot of lamb stew and hurled it just as the two came together again. Hot, but not scalding, the broth sprayed over both men, hitting Yenic in the chest and Gael in the waist.

  Both of them pulled at their clothing in instant alarm: Gael struggling to unlace his breeches and pull the linen away and Yenic working the tunic over his head.

  Saxa passed them each a washcloth that she dumped into the cold water bucket.

  "Why are men so foolish?" She muttered to no one. She touched Yenic's bare skin gently, nodding in satisfaction that she'd not done damage. When she went to Gael, he scowled as he stripped himself bare. He turned, raising his arms up over his head, slowly revolving, showing each inch of his flesh so clearly, Alaysha would have been embarrassed at such nudity. Except most of his skin was crisscrossed with scars. He stopped, facing Yenic with his hands on his hips. Unashamed. Still combative.

  "I am a katheel," he said, and his glance moved to capture Alaysha's. He held it as though he wasn't speaking to Yenic, but to her and no one else. "I am a katheel. A killer. I have been since I was old enough to take a foolish rattle to my favorite pup."

  Saxa touched his arm. "Warrior, my brother, not killer."

  Gael looked down at her as though he was surprised she was there and he shrugged. Then he reached for his tunic and breeches, his boots and leathers, and pulled them on. "Same thing," he muttered.

  He pulled one last piece of bread from the remains of his trencher from where it lay, knocked to the floor. He chewed thoughtfully, then headed out into the darkness.

  It took several moments before Alaysha dared speak.

  "A katheel? Killer or warrior?" It seemed important.

  Saxa made a sad smile. "They mean the same thing in our old language." She said no more but set out to clean the mess, Yenic helping her sedately.

  Alaysha inched away from the chaos, feeling guilty about leaving Saxa to her grief and worry, but knowing if the scouts had gone, so too, might Yuri and what better chance to seek her vengeance than in the whisper darkness of the wild outside the city. She scuttled through the courtyard and moved along the curtain toward the stables. She'd grab Barruch and find Yuri on the trail where she'd slip into his camp in the night under guise of seeking the heir and when they'd found him, she'd face him and if she could, she would kill him.

  She was headed to Barruch's stall when she found Gael, saddling his mount.

  "Where are you going?" she asked him.

  "I can't wait for the scouts to find my nephew dead."

  "No one wants that."

  He regarded her with something like tenderness. "You have your own battle to fight. Leave me to mine."

  She couldn't keep his eye, and instead chose to focus on his shoulders. "What do you know of my battles?"

  "Am I blind?"

  She thought he must know about the carrion and how Aislin had killed him, how she planned to assassinate her own father. She avoided his eye until he spoke again.

  "Something isn't right about that witch, " he said. "And you are too afraid of your own power to see it."

  "I know," she said. "Both things are true, but you can't leave; your sister needs you."

  She reached to take his reins from him and found when she did, he grabbed her hand and put it over his heart. She peered up at him, confused.

  "Are yo
u really so young you don't understand?"

  His heart fluttered beneath her palm. She could feel it racing. "I must have been."

  His eyelids eased closed and he let his head roll back subtly on his neck, seeming to enjoy the contact. For several heartbeats he stood that way, pressing against her palm. Then he bent his head to hers and took possession of her mouth, giving her such thorough exploration she thought Yenic's kisses had been but mere play.

  When next he opened his eyes, the tenderness was gone from his face. "A warrior needs a warrior. You could come with me, but only as my life's bond. Leave the boy. He'll bring you suffering."

  She stared at him, feeling her jaw open almost comically. She was trying to formulate a response when a rustling of straw sounded behind them, where Barruch's stall had begun to smell strongly of too much manure.

  Aedus stood there, her hair newly mucked into long dregs against her cheeks. Her blue eyes blazed bright in the torchlight.

  "Thank your deities, Alaysha," she said. "I have news." She sent a furtive glance over her shoulder, then a bald scrutiny over Gael's form. "Can we trust him?" She stepped from the stall.

  Alaysha rushed to the girl. "News of Saxon? Where Aedus. Where?"

  Aedus took in the mountain of man. "Can we trust him?"

  "What? Of course. What news of the heir?"

  "Not of the heir."

  Gael huffed his thoughts on his so-called questionable trustworthiness and launched himself into the saddle. "Have no worry about trusting me, little one." He pulled on the reins and nosed his mount from the stable, disappearing into the dark. Alaysha watched him go, thinking she should try to stop him but recalled the way he'd stolen that kiss and her face burned, keeping her from running after him. She found herself alone with Aedus. She turned to her, hoping the girl wouldn't notice how badly her whole body trembled.

  "What's the news?"

  "News of Edulph, not Saxon. I've been trying to get you alone…" The girl trailed off, watching the door with almost fanatical attention.