“I know what leaf mold is.” She smiled and sat up, unconcerned with her nudity. “But that will take six months at least. And fresh water. The sack would have to be kept in contact with the earth so the worms can do their part breaking down…”
She trailed off, a wrinkle forming between her brows. Tyr quickly looked away, unwilling to see the pity, or worse, the satisfaction that might be in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking. He wouldn’t be in an orchard in six months. Or even six days. Last night had been no more than a fantasy. Pretend. By this time tomorrow, Ingrid would be at home. Without him.
He walked away from the bed to replace the bowl on the table, stood there staring down at the leaves. His heart pounded louder, harder, with every beat. A pile of apples sat next to the bowl, the bounty he’d harvested this morning, and he snatched one up and bit into it, hoping it would chase away the sick feeling creeping through his stomach. For the first time, the flavor was lost on him, the flesh of the fruit little more than ash in his mouth. He didn’t need to look out the window again, didn’t want the reminder of the land he’d spied when he woke. They would be dropping anchor any time now.
Ingrid touched his shoulder, fingers as light as a butterfly’s kiss. He put the apple down and turned, gathered her into his arms. She came willingly, let him hold her against his bare chest, and he clung to her without meeting her eyes. She’d pulled on a clean gown, one of the offerings he’d had brought to her with her dinner last night. It covered more of her than he would have liked, but it was a similar shade of green as her original dress, and something about seeing her in that color reminded him of their first meeting. The moments that had been so full of possibility. Before choices had been made.
He nuzzled her forehead, and when she didn’t turn away from him, he leaned down to kiss her. His heart ached as she tilted her head up to meet him, lips a velvet softness against his. He deepened the kiss, slid his tongue in to taste her, claim her all over again. Desperation bubbled up in his chest, pushing out words he’d never meant to say. He broke the kiss, spoke against the curve of her jaw.
“Tell me you love me.”
Tension seized her body, turning her to a statue in his arms. She started to pull away and his stomach twisted, dread curling like a writhing serpent in his belly. He held her tighter, refused to let her put any daylight between them, knew that if he let her go now it would be over. The words had surprised him as much as her, he had no idea what he would say next, what he could say. He tightened his grip again, suddenly terrified to let go. Her hands pressed against his chest, and she opened her mouth to speak.
A knock at the door cut through the tension like a hot blade, cauterizing whatever she might have said. Tyr pressed his lips together and sucked in a deep breath. “What?” he barked.
“Captain?” Small’s voice came through the door, hesitant and wary. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
Tyr’s stomach bottomed out and Ingrid tensed in his arms. Smalls, wise man that he was, left as soon as he’d said what needed said, footsteps fading into the distance as he crossed the main deck. Tyr stood frozen, unable to move, or even think.
Ingrid twisted in his grip, tried to pry herself from his arms. “We should go. Now.”
A blinding moment of truth, the horror that it was time, it was all happening now. “No.” The word was hoarse, scraped from his soul and flung into the world with the desperation of a man who is out of time. “No, I can’t do this. You don’t—”
Ingrid’s eyes widened and her lips parted. Before he could finish, a pulse of energy sizzled against his palms, his arms, everywhere his body was touching hers. It didn’t hurt, but is surprised him, made him loosen his grip enough for her to slip out.
“We have to go,” she croaked. “Now, it’s time.”
He was shaking his head, already reaching for her again. “Ingrid, wait.”
But she didn’t wait. She flew out of the room like a seal flinging itself out of water inches ahead of a shark’s gaping jaws. He cursed and started after her, only to realize he wore nothing more than a pair of pants. Frustration pulled his nerves taut and he let loose every foul word he knew as he searched the room for a clean shirt, tearing through the one trunk in the room that wasn’t filled to the brim with dirt. By the time he’d fully dressed and made his way out to the deck, Ingrid was already standing near the banister. Smalls stood beside her, offering silent comfort, and the witch hovered there, obviously unable to make herself go all the way to the edge of the ship.
They’d anchored half a mile away from the mountain that housed the ogre king’s castle. The rocky cove was too dangerous for a large ship, and they would have to row the rest of the way in one of the lifeboats. Tyr stared at the dinghy, realizing for the first time what that would be like for Ingrid, to be in such a small craft with so little between her and the sea that scared her so badly. Had there really been a time he would have thought nothing of that? Expected her to take such terror in stride?
“Um, captain?”
“What?” The word came out harsher than he’d intended, but it was hard to think with his pulse so loud in his ears. He tore his gaze from the dinghy and the thought of Ingrid in that miserable craft and glared at his first mate.
Smalls, shifted from foot to foot. “Er, the bird?”
Tyr blinked, looked down dumbly at his empty hand, at Ingrid’s two empty hands. He’d forgotten the firebird.
The eyes of his crew were heavy on him, disbelief rippling through the gathered men as they all realized the firebird was nowhere to be seen. Tyr’s face grew hot and he turned away with a growl and stomped back to his quarters.
“You forgot me!”
The firebird’s voice held the indignation of a cat that’s just been told to fetch and Tyr rolled his eyes as he lifted the cage. “It’s been a rough morning.”
“You forgot me. I’m a firebird.” There was the sound of taloned feet shifting on a wooden perch and the unmistakable ruffle of feathers. “I have never been forgotten. You spot one of my feathers in a blob of sea foam on a giant ocean, but I’ve got a whole body full of those same feathers and you can’t even be bothered to remember me long enough to sell me to some oaf of an ogre king. I have never been so insulted. This won’t stand. I tell you, it just won’t stand.”
“The firebird is a questing beast.”
Tyr stared at the cage, then set it down and pulled back the sheet with trembling hands. The firebird’s feathers were so ruffled it appeared twice its size, and even with its avian features it looked peeved.
“You’re a questing beast. You’re supposed to lead me to some sort of destiny. Do you know what my destiny is?”
The bird shifted its feet on the perch, shuffling around until it had its back to Tyr, then stuck its beak up in the air. Silence. Tyr gritted his teeth and turned the cage until the bird faced him again.
“Tell me what you know. You knew what Bluebeard’s destiny was. What’s mine?”
The bird raised its beak even higher, and again shuffled around on the perch until its back was facing Tyr. It didn’t say a word.
He let out a string of curses that should have burned the feathers off the miserable creature’s body and jerked the small sheet back over the cage. For one shining moment, he considering pitching the whole thing overboard and letting the sea carry the cause of all this misery to the horizon.
He stormed back to the dinghy, only somewhat mollified when the men backed away at his approach, avoiding eye contact.
“Can I hold that for you, captain?”
Smalls held out a hand, gesturing to the cage that held the firebird. Tyr shoved it into his hands, scanning the faces of his crew, daring anyone to speak. Not one man took his eyes from the deck. Tyr gritted his teeth and leapt over the banister to land hard on the bottom of the dinghy. The small wooden craft swung madly under the force, hitting the side of the ship with a sharp crack.
A strained gasp snapped his attention back to the ship. All the color had drained from Ingrid’s fac
e. She’d managed to shuffle forward and now stood gripping the banister, her knuckles mottled white. She stared into the sea and Tyr was suddenly aware of a prickling sensation down the lengths of his arms. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up a split second before the wood under Ingrid’s hands groaned.
A board broke loose, one end springing into the air. Tiny threads curled out of its sides and Tyr and Smalls both gaped as green leaves peeled away from young twigs. She was so terrified, she was losing control. If she didn’t stop now, she’d have the whole ship remembering what it was to be a tree and the entire thing would sink like a stone.
“Ingrid—”
She didn’t let him finish. With a face as pale as the inside of a sea shell, she pried one hand off the banister-that-would-be-a-tree and gripped the edge of the dinghy. Slowly, she climbed inside, the lump in her throat bobbing as she struggled to swallow. Smalls leaned over with the firebird cage and Ingrid snatched it from him, clutching at the iron as if it would keep her afloat should the boat capsize.
Smalls and Tyr shared a look as the first mate lowered their dinghy into the water, and in that moment, Tyr knew he wasn’t the only one who regretted dragging the witch away from her home. His first mate hesitated, a question in his eyes. Tyr pressed his lips together, hesitated, but shook his head. It was too late. If they tried to back out now, the crew would mutiny.
They both looked away then, Smalls to keep his eye on the rope and Tyr to retrieve the single oar and set it in the notch at the back of the dinghy. He tried to keep his focus on the long piece of wood as he sculled to the cove, though his senses strained to pick up any sign of distress from his passenger.
“That cave is the entrance to the ogre king’s castle.” He spoke just as much to distract them both as to educate her about what they were about to face. “There will be two guards waiting to escort us in. Once we are inside, we will have to contend only with those two guards and the king himself. The rest of the servants are dwarves, and they will pose no threat.”
“Why?”
Her voice was thin, but steady and Tyr took that as a good sign. He risked a look at her, relieved to see some color had returned to her cheeks, though she still clung to the cage.
“Why what?” he asked, a little louder than he’d meant to.
“Why won’t the dwarves pose a threat? I’ve always heard they can be quite fierce in battle.”
“The dwarves serve the ogre only in the vaguest sense. They cook for him and clean every once in a long while. In exchange, the ogre allows them to mine the mountain and keep half of the jewels they find. He also grants them an exclusive royal contract that states all gold and gem related work for or on behalf of the royals are done by them and no one else.”
The boat tilted to one side and Ingrid cried out, tears welling in her eyes as she let go of the cage to grip both sides of the boat. The blanket fell and brilliant orange-gold light radiated from the revealed firebird.
“I’m still not talking to him,” it told Ingrid sulkily. “Not until I get a proper apology.”
Tyr ignored the bird and stood up, bracing his feet shoulder width apart and continuing to steer while keeping the boat as even as he could. It was harder to scull with one hand while standing, but not as hard as it would be if he had his arms full of a hysterical earth witch.
Distract her, damn your eyes.
“Ogres are not what you would call a communal species,” he continued. “The king is determined through violence, and any ogre who wishes to take the throne does so whenever the urge strikes him by killing the current king. Consequently, you will find most ogre kings are loathe to allow other ogres into their palace for fear they’ll be slaughtered in their sleep. The palaces are staffed with other creatures, like the dwarves, with no interest in the throne, and only those ogres with no inclination for power are allowed to serve as guards—and even then, very few guards are kept inside the palace.”
“Why do you need my help?”
Her voice was a little louder now, but there was an edge to it that suggested she was battling down panic. Tyr pressed his lips together, rowed a little faster. “We will go in and give the miserable king his firebird. If he tries to renegotiate, a little show of power on your part will convince him it’s better to let us go than risk having his entire palace brought down around his horns.” He paused. “You can do that, yes?”
Ingrid barked out a laugh, a sharp, humorless sound just this edge of hysterical. “You ask me that now? Now when it’s too late to retreat?”
Tyr cleared his throat, swallowing the observation that he’d intended to have this discussion yesterday—before Bluebeard had stolen that time from them. And then they’d found an altogether more pleasant way to pass the evening…
“Yes, I can do that. Though unless we have a clear way out, I wouldn’t recommend it. Rock is not as pliable as earth and plants. If I call down rock, it will fall as it will whether we are under it or not.”
“It won’t matter. The king won’t risk being buried alive. He knows brute strength is no match for magic.”
Ingrid didn’t say anything more, but whether that was because she had no further argument or insult for his plan or because she was using all her concentration not to think about capsizing, he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, they reached the cove in silence. Tyr squatted in the center of the boat, studying the cave as he pretended to busy himself replacing the cover over the firebird’s cage.
The rock that provided a natural staircase up from one corner of the cove led to a shelf of wet stone as black as a great white’s eye socket. As their dinghy approached, the two guards parted from the shadows, looking like stone statues with their slate grey skin and craggy features. One of them stepped forward to help Tyr and Ingrid step up the slippery rock while the other stayed back, the large ax hanging from his belt a not so subtle warning for Tyr to be on his best behavior.
The guard nearest Ingrid tried to take the cage that held the firebird, but Tyr put his body between him and the fiery prize.
“If you would like to deliver the bird to your king yourself and let us be on our way, then by all means, you may take the cage now. However, if you intend for us to meet with your delightful monarch, then I’m afraid I’ll have to insist you refrain from claiming the prize just yet.”
The ogre narrowed its eyes, but didn’t speak. Instead it backed away, gesturing for Ingrid and Tyr to proceed ahead of him. Tyr took the cage from Ingrid, settled the cloth more firmly around it so no light escaped. Properly handled, even light could be a weapon.
It wasn’t until the guards had led them into the cave and they were surrounded on all sides by grimy grey rock that Tyr’s steps slowed. There would be a set of stairs ahead, and at the top, the great hall of the ogre king. There were no rooms or halls that would give new arrivals time to compose themselves, visitors had to climb through the dank cave and proceed directly into the throne room. Psychologically, it gave the king an advantage, allowing him to view his visitors as though they were insects creeping from the slime-slick cave to cower before the throne.
A sudden stab of doubt slid between his ribs like a well-placed assassin’s blade. The last time he’d been here, he’d swaggered with confidence, dreaming of the wealth he’d be leaving with. The rock beneath them was studded with gems, not precious stones natural to this rock, but gems that had been cut, polished, and then set back in this stone as a sign of wealth to all who arrived. He’d stared at those stones and let dreams of the ogre king’s price for the feather fill his head. Was he being too confident again? Was Ingrid truly a defense against further trickery from the ogre king? Or was he bringing the tyrant another golden feather?
It was too late for smarter decisions. One of the guards dragged out a key the size of Tyr’s forearm to unlock the massive slab of wood and metal that served as a door. As it opened, Tyr ducked his head, took the cloth that covered the firebird’s cage in his teeth, and ripped it off.
Light exploded like a f
ireball beside him, timed perfectly with their first steps into the throne room. The guards winced and turned their heads, the searing brightness of the firebird blinding them after the darkness of the cave. Ingrid, benefiting from not having her back to him when he’d ducked his head to remove the curtain, had averted her eyes and was spared the pain of the sudden revelation.
She slid her hand into the crook of his left arm in a show of solidarity, her spine ramrod straight as they marched across the room without the flustered guards at their backs. The ogre king’s throne room was a massive cave, complete with glittering stalagmites and deadly sharp stalactites. Water trickled down the walls, somehow giving the impression of dripping blood despite its clarity. The throne rose on a natural stone ledge, the seat itself carved into the cave wall.
The ogre king wore nothing but an armored loincloth and spiked plates of metal formed to his shoulders and forearms. Two massive horns curled out the top of his head, echoed by pointed ears. Eyes like milky pearls watched Tyr and Ingrid approach, and his lipless mouth pulled back to reveal a row of teeth like broken yellow glass.
Thanks to the afore-mentioned tendency of ogres to fight bloody battles for power at any opportunity, the ogre king was alone on the dais except for one human-sized figure that stood to his right. A dark cloak worn thin in several large patches hid his face and most of his body. What little Tyr could see of his chest was covered with thick bandages. He held a staff in his left hand, a gnarled stick of wood carved to such an extent that it seemed it would collapse into a pile of splinters at any moment. A gem sat in a nest of thorns at the top, glowing with shifting strands of purple energy.
Ingrid gagged beside him, though her face betrayed nothing. If he hadn’t been so close, Tyr might not have heard her at all. The hand on his arm tightened, fingers digging in. He met her eyes and she held his gaze. Trying to tell him something.
“Captain Singlehand.” The king’s pitted grey face pulled into an exaggerated twist of welcome. “You’ve brought the bird. I guess we won’t have to change your name to Tyr No-hand after all.”
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 12
