BLOODCHILD
Anna Stephens
Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Anna Smith 2019
Map copyright © Sophie E. Tallis 2017
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Anna Stephens asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 978008215996
Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008216016
Version: 2019-07-22
Dedication
For Mark.
For everything.
Forever.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Rillirin
Mace
Crys
Corvus
Tara
The Blessed One
Dom
Crys
Rillirin
Tara
Mace
The Blessed One
Crys
Corvus
Tara
Rillirin
Dom
Crys
The Blessed One
Mace
Crys
Rillirin
Tara
Corvus
Mace
The Blessed One
Rillirin
Dom
Corvus
Rillirin
The Blessed One
Tara
Mace
Crys
Dom
The Blessed One
Tara
Crys
Tara
Mace
Corvus
Rillirin
Tara
Rillirin
The Blessed One
Corvus
Tara
Crys
Rillirin
Dom
Crys
Mace
Dom
Crys
Corvus
Dom
Crys
Mace
Corvus
Rillirin
Mace
Epilogue: Rillirin
Acknowledgments
By Anna Stephens
About the Publisher
Map
RILLIRIN
Sixth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Fort Four, South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border
When the fort’s warning bell began to toll, Rillirin knew they were all dead. Rilporin had fallen and the Mireces – and Corvus – were coming. Her luck had run out and she was going to end up back in her brother’s hands. It was over, all the running, all the fighting and freedom, the moments of joy. Her hands went to her belly and she stiffened her spine and found her courage. No. It might be over, but it wasn’t over without a fight.
She snatched her spear from its place by the door and sprinted from the infirmary where Gilda was having the wound in her shoulder checked, out into the drill yard. Soldiers were spilling from the barracks and donning armour.
‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.
‘Scouts are back. Enemy force – big one – heading our way, but from the east not the north.’
‘Listrans? Reinforcements?’ someone muttered. ‘Please, Dancer, please let it be reinforcements.’
‘Tresh, maybe,’ someone else said and was shushed. Officers were shouting the Rank into line, so she slipped free and ran into the corner watchtower and up to the allure before anyone could stop her. On the eastern wall stood Colonel Thatcher, commander of Fort Four, staring through his distance-viewer at the approaching dust cloud. Four was the fort closest to whatever was coming for them; Four was where the battle would begin.
Thatcher took his time and Rillirin was about to scream when he lowered the distance-viewer. ‘Rilporians. Palace Rank in the lead, what looks like Personal Guards at the rear. Civilians in the centre.’ He turned to a captain. ‘Sadler, flag it over.’
The captain complied, whirling red and yellow flags through a complex series of gestures that was repeated on the wall of Fort Three and on to Two and then headquarters. The bell began ringing the all-clear even as the news travelled and Rillirin leant forward and put her forehead against the stone of the parapet, breathing deep to channel the adrenaline flooding her. Rilporians. Did that mean they’d won? The thought stood her up again so fast she stumbled. Below, the drill yard erupted into excited speculation quickly curbed by the junior officers in charge.
Fort One sent a heavy mounted patrol out to greet the advancing troops, General Hadir himself leading them. Within minutes word came back to open the gates and prepare the infirmaries and kitchens for a mass influx.
Rillirin could make out the army now, or what was left of it, marching in weary time. A mass of civilians in the middle just as Thatcher had said, and more Rankers behind to protect them. And to one side, tramping through the dry grass of the Western Plain, a loose, flowing group in boiled leather and chainmail. The Wolves. Her breath caught in her throat. They were here. Dalli and Lim and Isbet and Ash and all the rest. They were here.
She watched until the formation split, groups peeling off to each fort with the Rankers shepherding the civilians in, watchful to the last. As soon as she knew the Wolves were coming to Fort Four she ran back down into the drill yard. Her heart was yammering in her chest, her head swimming with fear and excitement.
Dom.
Would he be here too, among his people or maybe in the Rank’s custody for his … actions? It would be hard to see him in chains, of course, but once everyone understood what had happened, that the things he’d done hadn’t been his fault, not really, it would be different. It might take even Gilda a while to forgive him, but she would, all the Wolves would. They had to.
Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as the gates opened and people began streaming in. Civilians, hundreds of them rushing with glad relief into the nearly empty fort that had once contained the South Rank’s Fifth Thousand, soldiers who’d marched to Rilporin to aid the king and now, maybe, if they were lucky, marched back. A babble of voices rose from soldiers and refugees alike as Rank physicians and any soldier with healing experience hastened towards the newcomers, and a sergeant with a voice that could crack stone directed them to form up in lines before half a dozen hastily assembled tables and chairs to give names and be allocated quarters.
Rillirin hopped from foot to foot, desperately trying to see over and through the press to the Wolves who’d been trailing the group. And then …
‘Dalli! Dalli!’
The short woman turned when Rillirin screamed her
name. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘Rillirin? Fuck the gods, girl, get over here!’
Rillirin sprinted around the edge of the throng, shoving between people with muttered apologies, and flung herself bodily into Dalli’s arms where she burst into tears. ‘You’re alive, you’re alive,’ she sobbed.
‘You’re alive,’ Dalli countered and there was a wobble in her voice Rillirin had never heard before. She pulled back and took in Dalli’s face: sunburnt, freckled, green eyes rimmed with red and sitting in shadows so deep they look bruised. ‘How the bloody fuck are you still alive? You fell off the ship.’
‘Long boring story,’ Rillirin said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, other hand still clutching Dalli in case the Wolf suddenly vanished. ‘I made it to shore, found Gilda in the Dancer’s Fingers and—’
‘Gilda?’
‘Gods, yes, Dalli, Gilda’s alive! She’s here, wounded … but, but recovering; she’s fine. In the infirmary. I can take you there, you and Lim and Ash and Dom.’ Her voice got quieter on the last name, with a rise at the end that made it almost a question, something of a plea.
Dalli’s face went colder than Rillirin had ever seen it, colder even than the mask she donned for battle. That face would not entertain forgiveness or weakness. That face knew nothing of light. ‘We don’t know where Dom is. Nor Ash. They disappeared when Rilporin fell. Lim is dead.’
Now Rillirin did let go. She stumbled back, hands to her mouth and nausea coiling up her throat. ‘Rilporin fell? You mean we lost?’ Her words were too loud and carried to the nearest South Rankers. They’d have found out soon enough, but still; they needed the official version, not some overheard panicked gossip.
Dalli’s expression closed even further. ‘Yes, we lost, and yes, Lim died. So did thousands of others. Doesn’t mean it’s over though. Come, take me to Gilda. She should hear the fate of her sons – blood, adopted and fostered – from me.’ She licked cracked lips. ‘The Wolves voted me their chief.’
Rillirin blinked away tears and managed a shaky smile. ‘I’m pleased for you, Dalli, truly. You deserve it. I … The infirmary’s that way. I’m sure you can find it.’
‘No,’ Dalli said, flint in her voice. ‘You need to hear it all.’
I don’t want to hear it all. I don’t want to hear any of it! But when Dalli began walking in the direction Rillirin had indicated, she followed, and then slid ahead of her and led her to the priestess.
She was unable to take any pleasure in their reunion, knowing some of what was coming next. Was Lim’s death somehow Dom’s fault, too, as Gilda’s wound was, as Rilporin’s betrayal was? She rubbed her belly, beginning to round outwards now and obvious when she was undressed. When Dalli broke the embrace, Rillirin plucked at her shirt to make sure it wasn’t tight over her stomach. She already knew she didn’t want to tell the other woman about the babe, and who its father was. Not now, not ever, maybe, and if that meant hiding it for however long the Wolves were in the forts, so be it.
Gilda sat stiffly in her chair, back unbending despite her age and the toll the wound had taken on her. Her eyes were dry and her hands folded tightly in her lap; she didn’t invite contact, didn’t want emotion. ‘How many?’
Dalli gave a single nod, as if to say, If this is how you want it, this is how I’ll tell it. ‘Too many. Including Lim.’ Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat; she didn’t look away even though agony crossed the old priestess’s face, there and gone like summer rain. ‘In battle against the Mireces, defending his people, defending the city. It … was Corvus himself, Gilda. But it was quick, and I’m not just saying that.’
Gilda flicked a finger for her to continue, not looking at Rillirin even though her gasp at mention of her brother must have been audible to them both. Dalli’s eyes filled with tears but her voice was steady now. ‘Strike to the neck and then … decapitation. He had the charm he’d made in memory of Sarilla. Kept it with him the whole time. She’ll have welcomed him into the Light.’
‘His father too,’ Gilda murmured and Rillirin flinched. Gilda had lost so many and still she kept going, bearing the weight of pain without complaint. She nodded once, with the air of someone excising a wound. ‘Who else?’
‘Dom was—’
‘Dom is a Darksoul who betrayed his people and his gods. He tried to kill me; he failed. Who else?’
‘He’s your son!’ Rillirin burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘You might all hate him, you might think that what he did was of his own free will, but I don’t. I know he was forced. I know it. And I want to know where he is even if you don’t.’
Dalli rose from her seat, gaze fixed on Rillirin’s hands curled protectively across her belly. Rillirin blushed and let them drop to her sides. ‘He put a child in you?’ She whirled to the priestess. ‘You have to do something, Gilda! Crys is the Fox God – yes, I know how that sounds but it’s true – and Dom betrayed him to Corvus. He tortured him on the Mireces’ orders. Cut him open, beat him, ripped out his fingernails for all to see. Rankers saw it happen; they saw him do it! Whatever abomination he’s put in her can’t be allowed to live. He’s brought all of us to the brink of destruction and I don’t care if he did kill the Dark Lady afterwards, I won’t allow some Blood-infected babe to come into this world and push us over the edge! End the pregnancy or I will.’
None of what she said made sense, none of it. Dom torturing Crys? Torture? Killing the Dark Lady? The new Wolf chief was still shouting but her face, pale with fright and fury, vanished into a sea of buzzing black dots, her words drowned beneath waves of roaring.
Rillirin retched and stumbled, lurched against the table and fell back from Dalli’s seeking hands, unable to take a full breath through the tightness in her throat.
She pointed a shaking finger at Gilda. ‘You said … you said it was innocent; the babe is innocent. I don’t … You stay away from me. Both of you stay away!’ Her head was too light, her limbs heavy and not under her control. She took two steps backwards on legs wobbling worse than a newborn fawn’s, and fainted.
MACE
Sixth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
South Rank headquarters, Western Plain, Krike border
‘General Hadir, your hospitality is gratefully received,’ Mace said, wincing at the formality of the words when what he wanted to do was hug the wiry old soldier until his ribs creaked. Still might, once his people were settled.
‘Commander Koridam, whatever you need,’ Hadir said. ‘I don’t mind admitting that when you appeared I thought you were the enemy and we were all dead. Can’t tell you my relief when we spotted your uniforms. You’ll have my quarters, of course. How many staff are with you?’
Mace hacked a cough from a dry throat before answering. ‘Me, Chief Dalli of the Wolves and a handful of valiant captains who’ll bed down in the barracks as normal.’
Hadir blinked. ‘That’s it?’
Mace coughed again and the general belatedly handed him a cup from his desk. His office was small and neat, much like its owner, and Mace felt like a ragged beggar in its midst.
‘That’s it. My father is dead, as is Colonel Yarrow. Colonel Edris has gone east to Listre with a small company to tell Tresh he is now our king and to raise an army to take back his throne and country. While he’s only distantly related and I don’t believe he’s ever even visited Rilpor, he’s legitimate at least and the best we’ve got. The rest of my officers and army are captured or presumed dead.’ The water did nothing to prevent his voice hoarsening with the last words.
‘Gods,’ Hadir murmured. ‘My condolences, sir. Do you know the number you bring with you?’
Screams rang in Mace’s ears. So many losses. ‘Almost two thousand Rankers and Wolves who need rest and healing, though the badly wounded were left behind or died on the journey. Nearly four thousand civilians. I know rationing will be a problem, but I wasn’t leaving them to the Mireces.’
Hadir just nodded, a crease between his eyebrows as he no dou
bt calculated what they had in stores against the number of mouths they’d be feeding.
‘We got on to the Tears and made it look as if we were sailing for Listre, then sent the boats on and doubled back, through the great forest. Colonel Dorcas and Major Vaunt had another, slightly smaller, group and were going to storm the King Gate and join us. They never showed up.’
There was a long silence and Mace got the sense Hadir was giving him time to collect himself. He made the most of it, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair, feeling some of the tension run out of his shoulders for the first time since they’d fled. No, since the whole godsdamn mess of a war had started.
‘We’ll hold a full council at dusk, General,’ he said eventually, focusing on Hadir again. ‘All your staff and those among my people who have taken on such responsibility in the last weeks. In the meantime, here’s the quick and dirty version. Let the whole Rank know – we’re a long way past keeping secrets from the men who’ll be doing the fighting.’
Hadir nodded, refilled their cups with water, and began to take notes.
Mace hadn’t slept; he hadn’t even closed his eyes, waiting for the uproar that would signal the remains of the South Rank learning what had happened in Rilporin. What he had allowed to happen.
It hadn’t come. Oh, there’d been noise and disappointment and the bravado of men saying what would have happened if they’d been there, but those men had been stared at by Mace’s surviving soldiers, just stared at, all the horror and carnage they’d been involved in bleeding from their eyes, and the bravado had dried up. Mace had been prepared to break up brawls; this was much more chilling. And far more effective.
Still, the sense of failure was acute, even days after the abandonment of Rilporin. Now he sat in stiff silence while the council room filled up, absurdly grateful that Dalli had taken the seat next to him and given his knee a surreptitious squeeze beneath the table. It took him a moment to recognise Gilda and what-was-her-name, Rillirin, Corvus’s sister, and a moment more to wonder why they were sitting as far from Dalli as they could get. One look at the tightness around his lover’s mouth and he decided not to ask.
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