“Bodyguards?” Drynn wasn’t sure if he wanted to know anymore.
“The dwarf and that other guy with the sword that freaked out in the alley. He was probably another elf, and they were your protection, right?”
Drynn burst with laughter, putting more weight on his foot than he intended.
Ow.
Kol frowned. “Wot is it?”
“The elf, the one with the sword—that was Tayvin.” Drynn’s brother loved him, would pick him over any metal hat the humans coveted. But the human kingdom was vast, and they had moved around so much. Tayvin wanted him; they just had to find each other again.
Drynn’s whole world had unraveled in the last few weeks, but he had to believe that.
Kol’s face scrunched up, silent for a moment. “If that ain’t it, then why’d you come?”
Drynn tensed, eyeing the humans ahead of them. Talking to Picc was just asking for trouble, but Kol was harder to read. “Why do you want to know?”
Kol rolled his eyes. “You’re an elf. Do you really expect me to believe you’re just ’ere to see the sights? No one’s ever seen your kind before ’cept for shadows. I’m as curious as the next guy as to why you decided to show up now.”
“We were looking for something. For someone we thought could help us.” It was hard to admit even that much. Kol might have helped him out of the box, but it was childish to think a human would want to do any more than that.
“Who?”
Drynn shook his head. His foot hurt, and he was done talking. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We aren’t going to find it, and I’m not likely to see Tayvin ever again.”
* * *
Kol kept waiting for the elf to slow down. Or faint. Either its back or its foot would be likely culprits, and Cain hadn’t been feeding it all that well. But it didn’t. It just followed him like a shadow, helping him with whatever he did. Even smiling.
It was unnerving. By all rights, the kid should hate him. It should be trying to run. Or attacking Kol and then trying to run. He almost wished the elf would faint or attack so he could shove it back in the cart and forget about it for a few hours.
Back where the elf would claw at any trap Cain devised for it, even if it killed itself in the process. Was that really what he wanted, just because the kid freaked him out?
After the elf stopped talking, the quiet tension stretched on. The group passed several wheatfields and stopped at midday near a shallow creek and a watermill. Once Kol convinced the elf that the watermill was not going to attack any of them, the elf sank down, rubbing its foot.
Kol stayed upright, still on edge.
Cain glared from across the camp, watching them whenever Kol cared to look. The guy should be thanking him. The elf was walking to its death without a fuss. In one equally fatalistic fit of charity, Kol had saddled himself with all Cain’s troubles, trying to predict what the kid would do next, putting himself fully on the block if the elf wised up and ran like it was supposed to.
His death or the elf’s. The Lord may not like it if Cain killed Kol or sold him to the Tower for his magic in the elf’s place, but that didn’t mean Cain wouldn’t do it. And if the elf died, it wouldn’t be the first time someone else had died to keep Kol’s secret.
Getting the elf outside for one final day of freedom had to count for something, right? Kol sat down and tried to find solace in picturing the flames, but as he did, the aura around the elf grew brighter—like fire but several colors all at once. Very distracting.
Bell came up, spooning out lunch and water from pots held by one of her admirers. She put an arm on her hip. “Why are you makin’ ’im walk with his foot like that?”
Kol scowled. “I ain’t makin’ ’im do nothin’.”
Bell peered closer. The elf tensed, ready to spring away if necessary.
“You probably shouldn’t get close to ’im,” said the man juggling the pot handles.
Bell clicked her tongue. “If Kol can, I can. It’s not like he’s sick or something.” She inched closer to the elf, and the elf inched behind Kol in response. “They keep sayin’ he’s a spirit,” Bell said, “but he just looks like a little kid. What should I call ’im?”
“Drynn,” Kol answered.
“That’s cute.” Bell still faced Kol as if he had invented the name. Then she smiled wide, calling the elf over as if it were a nervous puppy. “Come here, Drynn. I promise I won’t hurt’cha.”
The elf hadn’t responded when Kol had tried that route earlier. Better to pretend it was some normal kid, even though it wasn’t. “Yeah, Bell’s all right,” Kol said. “She’s nicer than me.”
The elf didn’t move, staring at the ground when Bell closed the gap between them.
“Can I see your foot?” Bell asked. The elf stuck it out, gritting its teeth. Bell clicked her tongue again as she undid the rags, thick with dirt and dried blood. “Do you know what happened?”
“Cain chained ’im, and last night he beat ’im pretty bad, so I guess he really wanted out.”
She faced her current man. “Asp, can you get me some ale? And any scraps cleaner than these?” Bell watched him from over her shoulder until he returned. She took the cloth strips and ale he offered, scrubbing the elf’s leg with it.
The elf cried out, thrashing on the ground, but she had a hold of it now.
She pulled back, frowning. “Strange. Blood’s caked all over ’ere, but it isn’t as bad as I thought.” She rewrapped the foot. “Let me see his back.”
She reached for its shirt, and the elf lurched away.
“Don’t grab ’im.” Something close to panic raised in Kol’s chest. If she kept scaring the kid, it would run, and Kol wasn’t ready to die yet. “Drynn, just let her see. She’s tryin’ to help.”
The elf lifted its shirt, staring at the grass. Bell stepped forward with her rag, but she hardly used it. “These look days old,” she said. “Are you sure it was just last night?”
“Yeah.” Kol got up to look himself. The oozing welts had faded to thick lines dotted with solid scabs. The elf dropped its shirt and circled behind Kol. Only one small cut marred its brow.
“He’s so skinny, though. Haven’t you been feedin’ ’im?” Bell frowned like Kol had been personally behind starving the elf.
“I gave ’im breakfast. Never asked for nothin’ else.”
“Of course he didn’t. He doesn’t talk.” Bell returned to the man and her pots, scooping out double portions of watered-down stew and day-old bread. She set the bowl on a rock, waiting for the elf to come for the food she offered. It didn’t even look up.
“Just make sure he eats this,” she said. “Probably wouldn’t hurt ’im if he drank the rest of this, too.” She put down the ale bottle and led her man away.
Kol passed Bell’s offering to the elf behind him. Now he could focus on his own stew without guilt, sopping it up with the bread. When he polished it off, he glanced back at the elf.
It picked at the bread and hadn’t touched the bottle. “Will you hit me if I don’t eat all this?”
Why would anyone do that? “’Course not. But ain’t you hungry?”
“Maybe, but this is a lot of food. We never eat this much.” The elf pushed the bowl away.
“Wot ’bout drinkin’? Don’t elves do that?”
The elf eyed the bottle as warily as someone watching a passing cobra. “We drink some things, but I don’t know what that is. It hurt my foot.”
“It’s ale. It hurts, but it chases away spirits that can make cuts like that swell up and never heal. But it don’t hurt when you drink it. Just sorta numbs the pain.” And it would make the elf less jumpy. Drugging it could be the only way to get it off its foot and back in the cart where it belonged.
The elf tried a sip. It made a face and spit the ale out, watering the mud and yellowed grass.
Kol laughed. “Yeah, it takes a while to get used to the flavor. You don’t have to drink it, though. You can ’ave my water instead.” He traded his cup for the bottle, though he wasn�
��t interested in the ale, either. The wind would take over if he let something like that influence his narrow control.
The kid gulped the water down, finally acting like a starving man. “Thank you.”
The elf really needed to stop thanking him for nothing. “I guess I’m your warden now. I gotta feed you, or Bell will beat me worse than Cain.”
The elf’s eyes went wider than the soup bowls.
“It’s a joke. Just not a very good one. Not everyone ’ere wants to hurt’cha, you know. Some are just as scared of you as you are of ’em.”
The elf frowned. “Why would they be scared of me?”
“Your magic.”
“Elves don’t use magic.”
“Really?” Kol raised an eyebrow. Did it expect anyone to believe that? He could feel its magic—see it. And even if he couldn’t, it was so damn obvious. “Wot ’bout your face? It was torn bloody last night, along with everything else.”
“It got better. Wouldn’t yours?”
“Maybe, but not that fast.”
The elf watched the watermill, silent for a moment. “I thought you were all magic, too. When that man made the birds appear on the street. But our friend, Cindle, said that it was just a trick, and you just pretended.”
“Around ’ere? Yes. But not everywhere.”
The elf peered at him. “Do you pretend to have magic, too?”
Kol grinned. The kid was hilarious, whether or not it intended to be. “Sort of. We do all kinds of things to get other people to give us their gold.”
“Why?”
“Because we actually ’ave to eat.” Kol shook his head. No use in being coy about it. “We’re thieves, Drynn. You don’t want to get close to any of us.”
The elf’s gaze shifted back to the grass, quiet again. The silence was liable to drive Kol mad. “Here.” Kol climbed to his feet. “You wanta see my pretend magic?”
The elf didn’t respond, but Kol didn’t care. The flames in his head burned brighter with all the energy buzzing around the elf, more of a nuisance than a help. He grew tired of the restless worry, isolated from the group with his elven leper, and his fingers itched for stimulation. He turned from the elf so it wouldn’t jump when he pulled out his dagger, and picked out a good-sized tree knot to aim at. He closed his eyes and felt for the energy.
It rushed into him like a fiery stampede.
The dagger flew wild before he could aim.
The elf jerked back, watching the dagger pierce the ground. “Was that supposed to happen?” Anyone else would have used sarcasm.
“I’m gonna try again.” Kol certainly couldn’t leave it like this. He had worked hard to control his talent, as strange as it was, and he would not give it up so easily.
He tried it without bracing up. Obviously, he didn’t need the boost.
The dagger sailed to its target.
Kol experimented to reassure himself that everything was back to normal. His normal, anyway. He threw the thirty-foot distance without trouble. It was boring, actually. He tried other things: throwing without looking, spinning the dagger one way, then the other. Every time the dagger met its target. Drawn to it, like a magnetic force.
His heart raced and he ran to retrieve his daggers. He had to find a limit somewhere.
Kol threw the dagger in the opposite direction. It flipped completely around and still hit the target. He dropped the dagger, and it floated to the target on its own. He closed his eyes and spun around. He tossed it above his head. He ran back until he could hardly even see the knot hole.
Every single dagger hit the knot hole in a perfect circle.
Cain was right. He was a freak, belonged in the Tower in a cell right next to the elf.
Kol peered over his shoulder. He had forgotten his audience, lost in his mad exercise. The elf sat in the same place it had crouched after the first wild dagger. Its aura had died down, and its head was slumped, obviously asleep. The kid had no appreciation for showmanship, but it was probably better this way. His secret was still safe.
Picc came up a few moments later. “Hey, we’re startin’ up again.”
Kol nodded, smiling. Picc’s bruised brow looked worse than the kid’s did now.
Kol turned toward the kid. “Hey, Drynn . . .” It didn’t respond, even when he shook it. Still breathing, though. Kol shrugged. “It fell asleep. Not used to walkin’ or somethin’.” Blaming Picc seemed too much of a hassle.
“Put it in the cart,” Picc said. “I’ll help you.”
Kol took the elf’s shoulders and let Picc take its feet.
Once they had it back in, Kol turned back to Picc. “Thanks.”
“No problem. That thing don’t weigh much, does it?”
The elf hardly weighed anything at all. Kol could have carried it himself.
“How’d you tame it like that?” Picc asked. “I mean, really?”
Kol glared, his patience with Picc steadily evaporating. “It don’t take much to win the kid over. Maybe you could try and keep your fists off ’im next time.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Picc stalked away, and Kol couldn’t say he regretted it.
The elf slept through the rest of the day.
Kol walked by the cart, waiting for it to wake in a panic and start throwing things. He wasn’t sure if he could negotiate its release, but he could give the stone back, and that might help.
The next day the elf still slept.
“What did you do, spike the ale?” Bell walked next to Kol and the elf’s current guard—an older man this time. Kol didn’t see the dorran anywhere.
Kol scowled. Why was everything that happened to the elf somehow his fault? “’Course I didn’t. It barely even touched it, anyway. But maybe that’s how it heals so quick.”
“I s’ppose, but if it doesn’t wake up soon, Cain will get mad. He’ll think you killed it.”
Kol forced a laugh. “That’s rich, after all he did. Anyone can see it’s breathin’.” At least it was the last time he checked, but he would check again just to get them all off his back.
The cart rumbled to a stop, and a crowd formed around it.
“Wot are we stoppin’ for?” It wasn’t midday yet, and Kol wanted to get to Wildred—closest thing to a home he had. It would be their last stop before pressing on to the capital, but maybe he could convince The Lord to let him stay for a while. Then Kol wouldn’t have to see the elf being traded, and be done with this whole business.
Bell pulled herself onto the side of the cart and peered over the crowd. “He came.”
She shifted, making room for Kol. He followed her gaze to a nondescript man with a narrow build and shrewd features, shadowed by his men from Wildred. Light scars covered his arms, and the bridge of his nose bent slightly where it had been broken years before. The Lord faced Cain, arms folded and with a slight frown portraying mild annoyance, but often meant swift punishment to its target.
Kol’s heart beat fast before he pictured the flames. Strange to watch two of his tormentors face each other off. Who should Kol be rooting for? Cain was a simple man—easier to manipulate, but more likely to kill him in a fit of rage. The Lord was . . . something else. Calculating. Cold. Inescapable. But this wouldn’t be the first time he swooped in, just as Kol had his back against the wall, saving him from himself.
Bell shook her head. “I didn’t think The Lord would actually come out to meet us. Maybe our messages were enough to light a fire under him.”
Shouts filled the air, but all the men had crowded together and Kol was having a hard time seeing what was going on. He turned back to Bell. “You brought ’im?”
“Not me. The dwarf and a few others left earlier to get ’im. No one’s ever liked how Cain runs things, and tradin’ with the robes just goes against everything we’re supposed to be doin’.”
“I don’t think Cain thinks we ’ave any rules,” Kol said.
“I know. And I think that alone will get ’im cut off.”
Cut off. Disbanded. All of Kol
’s problems would be gone in an instant. Maybe he should have thought of contacting The Lord himself, but direct help from The Lord had its own costs. Was it a rescue or another blow?
The Lord pressed forward from the crowd, leaving Cain with some of the men he brought with him. “Get down. He’s comin’ this way,” Kol said to Bell.
The Lord reached them, creases on his forehead lightening when he saw Kol. “There you are. Still calling too much attention to yourself, I see.”
Every muscle tightened, but Kol forced himself to shrug. “I get by.”
“So far.” The Lord nodded, acknowledging other members of the band.
Kol remembered to breathe as the man’s focus shifted, but Kitti stood a few steps behind him. She glared at Kol as if Cain’s punishment were all his fault. And since The Lord had cut Cain off instead of killing the guy outright, Cain would lead anyone still loyal to him to the same conclusion.
They already thought he was The Lord’s favorite, but Kol wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t the only boy to train under The Lord in Wildred—back when The Lord was called Vapor, before he joined enough street gangs and pickpockets together to be considered The Lord of the Underground. And The Lord singled Kol out for beatings as much as he singled him out for anything else, but the rumor persisted. It was why Kitti and others hated him in the first place, using him as a whipping boy for whatever beef they had with the man, putting a wedge between him and his supposed peers and leaders. So now he would have to watch his back for Cain and anyone who still supported him, no matter who had called in The Lord originally.
Not a rescue. Never a rescue. Just another blow, slightly delayed.
“Who’s gonna lead the troop now?” Bell asked.
“No one,” The Lord said. “I’ve been considering disbanding this group anyway. Seems the bards don’t like what we’re doing to their reputations as travelers. They’re willing to pay for it to go away. We’ll just have you hang low in Wildred until I figure out how to reassign everyone.” He turned to the elf’s guard. “Let’s see it, then.”
The guard went in the cart and carried the elf out. He set it at The Lord’s feet, still asleep. Its hands were tied behind its back, and its unwrapped leg bore a slight red line from the chain.
The Queen's Opal: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One) Page 18
