She turned back to face Shanks. “What happened? Were you attacked?”
“It was a trap.” Shanks heaved a sigh. “I should have known better. I dropped my guard.” He shook his head in disgust. “Jaaniyah is in the Ortawn. They knew we would come after her. They were waiting for us.” He loosened the girth around his horse to remove the saddle, but Sebande stepped in and pulled the heavy load down for him. Shanks nodded his thanks and stepped back to give him room. He ran his hands through his blond hair pulling it back from his face, revealing black shadows of pain under his eyes.
“There’s something else, too.”
Nica tensed. “What?”
“Mosaba’s men aren’t the only ones looking for me. There’s a man from Corsock who’s also on my trail.” Shanks almost looked guilty. “Our paths intersected tonight.”
“Versonga Blacksmeer.” Nica breathed the dreaded name. She should have known better, too. Mosaba wouldn’t simply let her escape. He must have hired Blacksmeer to find her and in doing so, the bounty hunter had found his way to Shanks. So that’s why Sebande was glaring at her.
Shanks lifted his head in surprise. “You know of him?”
Nica gave a hesitant nod. Sebande was watching her, too. “I think he works for Mosaba. I’ve seen him at the castle in Sartis before. I saw him in the distance at HighGarden and recognized him.” She clutched her hands together. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have warned you that my father—I mean, Mosaba—must have sent him after me.” Did he blame her too?
Shanks’ pained look softened and for a moment a bittersweet smile rested on his lips. “Nica, you have no need to be sorry.” He reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Versonga Blacksmeer is here because my father had sent him after me, as well. He has searched for me for years.” He ran a thumb gently over her lower lip. “And now, it would seem, Versonga Blacksmeer is after both of us.”
et me see it,” Nica said again. She was standing next to Shanks, who was hunched over tending to the fire.
“No,” he muttered.
Sebande came to stand beside her. He’d just returned from scouting the area and had confirmed no one had followed them. He held a horse brush in one hand.
“Shaun.” His voice was low, but Nica heard an unusual undercurrent of emotion. “Your side needs to be stitched. Let her do it.”
Nica looked at him askance, surprised at his support of her efforts. Even Shanks turned his head.
“What?” he asked.
“Unless you want to bleed to death before Blacksmeer or Mosaba runs you through, then get the wound stitched. Nica has the supplies.” This time Sebande didn’t hesitate as he said her name. “And take it like a man, would you? I can’t stand cry-babies.” He turned away and went back to brushing the horses.
“Traitor,” Shanks muttered as he pushed himself upright, unable to stifle the groan of pain as he moved. He gave Nica a suspicious look. “What supplies?”
“Just some herbs.”
Shanks raised his eyebrows.
“And a needle and thread,” she added quickly. “I’ll be as gentle and as fast as I can.” She didn’t tell him she’d never sewn skin before. Her heart thudded with nervousness as she hurried to pull the items she would need from her bedroll. She was thankful she’d ended up shoving the herbs into the pack rather than discarding them. The material around the herbs was damp and wouldn’t be pleasant to sleep with, but it would dry eventually. The last item she retrieved was the dagger from her boot, which she positioned on a rock so the tip of the blade met the flames of the fire.
Sebande returned with a thin flask. “Drink this.” He held it out to Shanks.
“Oh no, not that again,” Shanks replied.
“Just one or two gulps. To take the edge off.” Sebande thrust the flask into his hand then turned to Nica. “Where are you going to do this?”
Nica looked around and pointed to a flat rock not far from the fire. “If Shaun can lie on his side next to the rock, I can sit there and be at the right angle, I think.”
Sebande nodded and grabbed Shanks’ bedroll which he spread out next to the rock. Nica hurried over with her supplies and laid out the needle, the gut string, the herbs and a fresh bandage and wrap. She found a piece of wood to balance the needle on, and slowly eased it into the flames. Once the silver of the needle had turned black, she pulled it back toward her work area to cool, along with the knife.
Shanks stood rooted in one spot, his head swiveling back and forth between the two of them as though he couldn’t make up his mind which one to yell at first.
“Drink now.” Sebande motioned for Shanks to tip the flask up. “Or it won’t do you any good.” With a growl of defeat, Shanks raised the flask and took a deep drink.
Nica’s hands trembled as she sat on the stone and tried to thread the catgut through the cooled needle. She let out a long slow breath to calm her nerves. This would be no different than stitching a piece of fabric.
With a scowl, Shanks laid down on his side at her feet. His head rested on the bedroll and he clutched a bunched sweater in his hands. It was too cold to take his coat entirely off so he had draped it to one side and unbuttoned his shirt to expose his wound. Nica cringed at the inflamed skin extending far beyond the reach of the blood-stained bandage, surrounded by bruises that were turning an ugly shade of purple and green. She could count every one of his ribs.
With gentle hands, she untied and lifted the bandage to expose the wound. A trickle of blood ran down Shanks’ side. She grabbed a shirt she had laid out for this purpose and positioned it around Shanks’ middle to catch the blood. “Sebande, I’m going to need you to hold this in place.”
“Here.” Sebande handed a smooth piece of wood to Shanks.
Shanks raised his head to look up at the other young man. “What’s that for?”
“To bite on.”
Shanks grunted in reply and clutched the wood in his hand as he laid his head back down. Sebande moved his big frame around to the other side and squatted down to hold the fabric as Nica had asked.
“I’ll try not to cry,” Shanks said, “and I’ll try not to move.” With a more serious expression he took her cold, shaking fingers in his warm hand. “You’ll do fine, Nic. Don’t worry about me.”
Nica squeezed his fingers and nodded, afraid to speak for fear she’d cry. She looked at the deep incision and exhaled.
“Give me the flask,” she said, holding out her hand.
Shanks and Sebande exchanged a surprised look.
“No, I’m not going to drink it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, positioning the flask above Shanks’ side. “This is going to sting a little.” Nica poured a small portion of alcohol directly over the cut. Shanks sucked his breath in with a violent hiss, and closed his eyes without speaking. Sebande leaned closer, his wide shoulders next to Nica’s as he pressed down with the shirt to absorb the fluid and blood that ran off. Nica pressed the poultice to deaden the pain against his skin, keeping a piece of cloth between her hands and the herbs so her own fingers wouldn’t feel the effects.
She held her hands there, letting the power of the herbs soak into Shanks’ skin. After ten minutes, she removed the poultice and put her hands on Shanks’ side, gently prying the skin of the wound apart. Like frayed ends of fabric she needed to see where the healthy tissue started so she could draw her needle there and make a lasting stitch. She eyed the edges of the wound carefully. There was only one small section where dead skin needed to be removed.
Nica picked up the knife and readjusted her grip. A dark hand reached across and covered hers.
“What are you doing?” Sebande’s voice was low, but held a note of warning.
Nica paused and looked at him. His black eyes watched her and she had no doubt he would hurt her if he thought she intended to do Shaun harm.
“Sebande,” Shanks interrupted them. “Esa trinsa me.” He twisted his head to see her face. “I trust you, Nic,” he
whispered, then closed his eyes again.
“I just have to trim off the dead skin,” Nica said to Sebande. “So the skin can grow back together where I bind it.”
Something flickered in Sebande’s eyes and he removed his hand.
With a nod, Nica turned back to Shanks. She bit the corner of her lip in concentration as she pulled the skin taut and positioned her knife at one end. Holding her breath, she pulled the blade through the dead skin and was shocked at how effortlessly it sliced the tissue away. Shaun’s eyes remained closed and aside from the tensed muscles in his jaw, his face remained expressionless. Nica slowly exhaled and set the incised skin to the side. She dabbed the blood away to assess the wound again.
Nica clenched her teeth. She held the two pieces of skin tight together with one hand and pushed the needle through Shanks’ skin with the other. Shanks’ let out a deep breath, but he didn’t flinch. She didn’t allow herself to look at his face for fear she wouldn’t be able to finish.
Though the gut string resisted at first, Nica gave a little tug and after that was able to pull the thin membrane through his skin with ease. She threaded the needle back and forth, making a neat, tight seam as Sebande’s dark eyes watched her every move. After the first few times of pushing it through his skin, Nica found it really wasn’t so different from sewing a dress. She let out a sigh of relief as she finished the last stitch. With a smooth move, she picked up the dagger and sliced the excess string free without pulling on the incision, then knotted the loose ends.
“Done with the stitching.” She dared a glance at Shanks. A thin film of perspiration lined his brow, but other than that, his face remained impassive. If she didn’t know better, he could have been asleep. “Jonn?”
He didn’t move.
A wave of panic went through her. “Jonn?” She grabbed his arm and gave him a shake.
“Ow – careful.” He cracked one eye open at her.
“Jonn Shanks,” Nica whispered, “you are rotten to the core.”
“Sorry, must have dropped off while you were stabbing me over and over.” His lips twisted in a half-grin. “I think Sebande was right about the evil streak.”
Sebande coughed and turned away.
“Yes, well, not so evil you won’t live,” Nica replied. She took the blood-stained shirt from Sebande and poured more alcohol on one end to gently clean the area around the wound. When she was done she was pleased to see only a bit of blood oozed through the stitches and she knew that would soon clot and stop.
Nica arranged the second set of herbs on top of the wound. As she reached around, trying to feed the wrap under Shanks’ body, he cupped her face with his hand and pressed his lips to hers.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” His words were simple, with no hint of sarcasm. Warmth spread in Nica’s chest as she nodded, focusing on tying the wrap in place, afraid if she looked at him he would see the love she felt for him.
“Just try and move slowly until those ends knit together. I don’t want you to rip out all my hard work.” She stood and stretched her back, heaving a sigh of relief.
Sebande appeared from the shadows and held out a small pot.
“To wash,” he said.
Grateful, Nica plunged her hands into the water and cleaned the blood from her fingers. She rinsed the needle and the string too, then walked over to store them in her saddlebag. Sebande followed her.
“Nica.” He stood unusually close to her, his voice low enough that Shanks couldn’t hear him.
Startled, Nica turned to look up at him.
He stared at her mutely, as if searching for words that were difficult to find. “Shaun doesn’t give his trust easily,” he finally said. “Or his love.” He gave her one slow nod. “You deserve both.”
“VERSONGA TRAVELS ALONE. He’s a tracker,” Shanks said, as they sat around the morning fire. Nica had removed the herbs and put on a dry bandage, pleased to see the wound had not bled during the night.
“Does he know what you look like?” Nica asked.
“He does now.” Shanks took a bite of bread as he stared into the flames. “He knew me as a child, last as a boy of twelve. He was probably guessing what I looked like now. Somehow, he figured out I was in Jarisa—that I was in the employ of Jacoby. Once the word was out that Jaaniyah had been kidnapped, as it must be by now, I suspect he knew I would come looking for her.”
Nica gritted her teeth in annoyance. Was Shanks’ relationship with Jaaniyah so well known that a stranger would become aware of his dedication to her so quickly? “How did he find you last night?”
“By rotten luck and bad kismet combined. He was smart enough to know Mosaba would take Jaaniyah to the Ortawn. It was by chance we approached the Ortawn at the same time on the same path.
Nica paused with a bite halfway to her mouth. “Did he attack you?”
“No. He snuck up from behind and pulled me from my horse. That’s how my side started bleeding again.” He shook his head in disgust. “It was my own stupid fault. I was thinking of other things.”
Nica couldn’t stop the thought that crept into her head. Had he been thinking of Jaaniyah?
“Blacksmeer doesn’t want me dead. I have to be alive when he returns me to my father or he won’t get paid. When Sebande approached he ran. But he’ll be back. He knows we’re here now.”
Shanks poked the fire with a stick, causing a cascade of sparks to fly up. “On top of that, Mosaba has more guards at the Ortawn than ever before. It probably explains why none are at the slivers. A few came to see what the commotion in the woods was about. That’s why we were in such a hurry last night. I didn’t want Blacksmeer or Mosaba’s men to follow us back to you or start asking in town and find there are three of us traveling together. We needed to be gone right then.”
Nica sipped the warm drink Sebande had made for them. Not only was Mosaba after them, but this Corsockian bounty hunter was chasing Shanks, and possibly her, too.
“How will you hide from Blacksmeer now that he knows what you look like?”
“He can’t,” Sebande said flatly.
“So what will you….” Nica’s words died in her throat at their expressions. “Oh. I see. You have to kill him?” A chill ran across her arms at their stony silence. “You know for a fact Jaaniyah is in the Ortawn?”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Shanks replied. “And unless the increased guard presence was a decoy, that’s what it looks like too.”
“What of Becknah?” Nica asked. Even though her sister had not been the kindest to her, the idea of Jaaniyah in Mosaba’s clutches within the Ortawn made her stomach roil.
“What I was told,” Shanks replied, “was that two prisoners were brought in, one right after the other.”
“How did they get across the Great Divide do you think?” Nica asked. “There’s only the two slivers and the southern sliver is barely wide enough for a horse to cross.”
“I’m not sure,” Shanks said. “Maybe there’s a sliver we don’t know about. Mosaba has some secret project that he’s been working on.”
“The wagon with the chambermaid.” Sebande took another sip of coffee and looked at both of them from over the rim of his cup.
Nica looked over at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Ah, of course. You’re right,” Shanks nodded. “Saying she had the pox insured that no one would look too close.” He explained to Nica. “There was no dead body in that wagon they said carried the chambermaid with the pox, but rather two live bodies: Jaaniyah and Becknah. They must have handed them off to someone on the other side of the northern sliver and then brought back the empty cart.”
“But you think Jaaniyah’s still alive?” Nica almost whispered the words because she feared the answer.
Shanks’ mouth pressed into a grim line. “For now. Possibly until Mosaba finds the Stone.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “He kept you alive all this time. But Mosaba is unstable and unpredictable. We need to get Jaaniyah and Becknah back before Mo
saba realizes they won’t be able to direct him to the Getheas Stone.”
Nica clutched her fingers together. “But how will we get in to help her? How will we get around all the guards?”
Shanks looked at Sebande then shifted his eyes to Nica. “We know another way into the Ortawn.”
he last thing Jaaniyah remembered was a sharp rap along the side of her head. She opened her eyes to darkness, fighting the nausea that rose in her throat. She moved and pain lanced behind her eyes. Slowly, without moving her head, she took in her surroundings. She was alone in a cell carved from stone—as if carved from the very bowels of the earth. She frowned in confusion. Where could she be? When the answer hit her, it was like a physical blow: she was in the Ortawn.
The rope that had bound her hands and feet was gone, yet Jaaniyah couldn’t bring herself to move. She had no idea how many days had passed since she’d been dragged from her rooms in HighGarden. She rolled onto her side and stared through the dim light to the barred entry. In the distance she could hear voices and noise but couldn’t muster the effort to try to discern what they were saying. She was a prisoner.
She tried to sort through what she knew for sure. Her father was severely injured and possibly dead. Becknah was gone. Her finance minister had betrayed her and now Mosaba, the devil of Sartis, was going to kill her. Questions echoed so loudly in her head that she pressed her hands against her eyes trying to drown out the noise. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered.
“I want to see her and I want to see her now!”
Jaaniyah jerked at the loud roar of rage. Instinct made her sit up and crawl to the back of the cell to hide, the better to protect herself. She pressed her back against the stone wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Fear ran down her spine on icy fingers and clutched at her throat, her heart, her stomach.
Approaching footsteps echoed outside her cell. A dark figure stopped and peered between the bars, keys jangling in his hands. The man fumbled to fit the right key into the lock. With a click the lock sprang open and the man pushed the metal door into the small cubicle.
The Midnight Spy Page 19
