Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Sixty-Four

I’m allowed a few moments alone to quickly dress, and then one of the men sits with me at all times. They go through our bags, rifling through the small amount of possessions we took with us from the tower. The magical globe in its case is tossed aside, the case emptied and one of the men throws his filthy satchel inside it. My knife is snatched and claimed by Braid-Beard, tucked into his pocket. I don’t say anything, because if I tell them that they’re magical instruments, I’ll be looked at with suspicion. They tear through everything we have left, looking for food or things to barter, and when the bag doesn’t provide much, they hunt through the house and then the rest of the village again.

There’s no sign of Nemeth at all, and my heart grows heavier by the hour.

I learn a bit about the men—the two brothers are Jarvo and Corlath. Braid-Beard is their unofficial leader, and his name is Saemon. Even though they’re wearing filthy guard uniforms, they’re not from the army. They claim to have found the uniforms “nearby” and borrowed them, as their clothes were rotting. Outside, they have two skinny ponies that eat weeds and moss and whatever they can find. It seems we’ll be riding back to Castle Lios.

Lucky me.

Saemon watches me closely as I give myself my potion. Out of the three, he unnerves me the most. He’s constantly calculating, gazing at me as if trying to assess how he can profit from my presence. I wish I’d dyed my hair before abandoning the tower. The dark locks give me away every time, because they’re proof of my Vestalin heritage…and the Fellian blood, it seems.

I contemplate giving myself a half-dose of potion to make the two vials last longer, but in the end, I go with the full dose. I’ll need my strength if we’re going to be traveling via horseback, and if we’re truly heading for Castle Lios, then I can get more of my potion there. So I give myself the full amount and fold my arm as I’ve been taught, so the potion will flood through my veins faster. My head swims with the onset of it, and I feel dizzy without anything in my stomach.

“Is it true that you’re cursed?”

I glance over at Saemon. “If you mean do I have the Vestalin blood sickness, yes. But it’s not catching.”

“Heard you’re barren.”

My ears prickle at that, and I glance at him from under my lashes. I don’t answer, wondering where this is going.

“Heard that you won’t get pregnant no matter how many men you take between your thighs,” he continues slowly. “That true?”

Ah, so that’s where this is going. I’m a woman alone, so I must need some fool with a dick and balls to take care of me, and naturally that means I’m ripe for the raping. “My, you sure seem to have a lot of information for someone who claims to have never been to the palace. Are you sure you’re not a deserter?” I smile sweetly at him. “I’ve heard there are ever so many of them roaming the countryside.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re lucky you’re a princess. Lots of men have been looking for a woman to comfort them for a while.”

“Comfort” them? What about the woman’s comfort? It takes everything I have not to make a face. “I suppose I am,” I continue blithely. “It should be very upsetting to my sister the queen should anything happen to me.” I can play the game of veiled threats, too.

He picks at his nails with my magical knife, and I have to resist the urge to snatch it out of his hands. “How did you say you ended up out here alone?” Saemon asks again.

“I didn’t. How did you say you ended up out here?”

“I didn’t.”

Exactly. We stare at each other in a silent battle of wills, unwilling to bend.

“Get some sleep, princess,” Saemon finally says in a low, deadly voice. “You’ll need your strength for riding tomorrow.”

I wrap a blanket around my wrinkled dress like a queen and lift my chin. “I’m taking the bed. Wake me up when we leave in the morning. And if you find food, I expect it to be shared four ways, since you’ve eaten the last of mine.”

“Of course,” Saemon says. “But there’s no food anywhere. That’s why we’re going to the capital.” He pauses and slyly adds, “That’s why you’re valuable to us.”

I’m sure I am. If there truly is a food shortage, no one’s going to give their food to a few miscreants. They need me far more than I need them…and then I think about the last vial of my potion and how dangerous a position that puts me in. All right, if they’ve got horses and they know the way to the capital, I need them, too.

But what of Nemeth? Where has my Fellian mate gone? Why has he abandoned me?

Or has something happened to him?

I barely sleep that night. I’m too alert, watching the men as they take turns with the watch. I keep expecting one of them to attack me, or for them to murder me in my sleep because I’m the piece of dragon shite that left the tower and they’ve finally put it all together. I want to run away, to go find Nemeth, but they never give me a moment alone. There’s no opportunity to slip away. Dawn approaches, and when everyone rouses, they check through my bags one last time looking for missed food. When they find nothing, they decide to keep my dresses and belongings. “Just in case,” Jarvo says. “Might need to trade it at the next village.”

“It belongs to me,” I point out, irritated. “Why are you stealing from a princess?”

“Because we need it far more than you do,” Saemon replies. “And when you’re home, if you still want your sad, wrinkled dresses back, I’ll give them to you.” He smiles tightly. “Until then, they go into the pool of trade items if we run into someone that has food.”

“Great,” I say flatly. I’m as hungry as the next person. Hungrier, since they ate what I had and didn’t share it. I want to tell them to piss off and be on their way, but with one dose of potion left and no Nemeth, I don’t have a choice. I have to go with them. The unease I’ve been trying to tamp down flares, and I dig my nails into my palms. There’s no sign of Nemeth. He’d come after me if he could. Has he been hurt? Wounded? Did these jerks stake him outside of town like the Fellian at the other village?

For a moment, my chest fills with so much pain that I can’t breathe. I have to find him. I have to.

It starts to rain again, and my thoughts fill with panic. Nemeth can’t slide into shadows if there’s rain, can he? He can’t “slide” if there’s anything that could interrupt. What if he’s bleeding out somewhere? What if these men killed him and I’m going along with them blindly? We head outside, the rain drenching my hair in a heartbeat, and I look around for gray wings and sleek horns, but he’s nowhere.

“On to the horse, princess,” Saemon says.

“Actually, you know what? I’ve changed my mind,” I say, clutching the bag of needles and my last remaining potion. “I think I’m going to take my chances out here. Stay in this cottage for a while and see if anyone comes by.”

“You’re coming with us,” the bearded man growls, pointing at the soaked horse at his side. “Get your sorry arse over here.”

“I don’t know how to ride,” I protest.

“Then it’s a good thing for you that I do.” Saemon gives me an unpleasant smile. “All you have to do is hold on.”

I cast a worried look around the village again. Everything’s drenched in mud, but other than the rain, it’s all so very still. Deserted. A knot forms in my throat and I want to hitch up my skirts and just run for the hills, hoping that I’ll locate Nemeth somewhere.

But if he’s dead, where does that leave me?

Where does that leave our baby? I grab the front of my dress, wanting to touch my stomach to comfort myself, but knowing I don’t dare. Saemon watches me too closely already. My lower lip trembles. I don’t want to leave.

I don’t know that I want to even live if Nemeth has been killed. I can’t do this alone.

“Get on the horse, princess,” Saemon says again. “Whoever you’re waiting for isn’t coming back.”

That’s exactly what I’m worried about. I’m glad it’s raining, because it hides the tears that fall down my face. Stupid, dragon shite tears. I can’t cry right now. I shouldn’t cry. Nemeth would want me to be strong and go on. I clench my jaw, gazing up at Saemon’s hated face. He extends a hand to me to help me mount, and I see the gleam of my pretty, jeweled knife in his belt.

My knife.

It could tell me where Nemeth has gone and if he’s still alive.

My new goal in life is to get it back, no matter what it takes. So I smile sweetly and take his hand, letting him help (or rather, shove) me up onto the horse’s back. I sit up there awkwardly, the leather saddle and the blanket underneath it making a wet squishing sound when I’m seated. A moment later, Saemon is behind me, and he locks an arm around my waist.

I stiffen, because his touch is far too casual.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he says, and leans in close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “If you need someone to warm your bed at night, I’ll volunteer.”

Disgusting. I say nothing. Instead, I look down at the bite on my hand, the bite mark from when Nemeth promised to love and care for me always.

If he loves me, why isn’t he here?

The entire day passes without a sign of Nemeth, and my soul feels as if it’s shriveling in my body.

Nemeth would come for me if he could. That he hasn’t tells me that something is wrong. I picture him with a wounded wing, unable to fly. I picture him melting into shadows, only to disappear forever because of some spell backfiring. I picture him slain by the very men that hold me captive right now, and my insides are ice. It doesn’t matter that Saemon gropes me and whispers lewd things in my ear, things that he’d like to do to sully a princess. It doesn’t matter that the rain doesn’t let up for an instant, and the entire world feels like one endless wet landscape of mud. It doesn’t matter that my stomach growls and the lack of food—combined with the swaying of the horse—makes me dizzy all day long.

Nothing matters anymore. Nemeth—my Nemeth—is gone. I picture his face as he reads one of his boring war poetry books, and my heart feels like lead. I think of him, the heated look in his eyes as he pushes his knot into my body. The you can take it he always whispers to me when I squirm against him because it’s too much, the best kind of too much. I picture him a thousand ways, and they all make me hurt so badly that I can’t bear the pain.

And yet I have to, because I’m carrying his baby and our child deserves better than his mother giving up.

We pass through another deserted village, and I’m forced to stay on the horse with Saemon while Jarvo and Corlath search the town for supplies. They find nothing, but I’m not surprised. If this world is nothing but a swampy, muddy mess because of the goddess’s wrath, how can anything grow?

“We’ll find something at the capital,” is all Saemon says, and pats me on the shoulder as if I’m his answer to everything.

That night we bed down in a stable, and at the far end of the stable is the carcass of a dead, rotted horse. It smells so bad my eyes water, but it’s dry in here so they won’t leave. I vomit twice, then hunt my bag for an ancient sliver of soap that I packed and keep it under my nose, the thick perfume of roses drowning out the stench of decay. The men don’t seem to be bothered by it, and I get sick a third time when Jarvo pokes at the dead animal, trying to see if it’s edible.

The next day is even worse. The coastline starts to look familiar, and the villages get closer together. They’re all empty, and my heart hurts for the people of Lios. Did the war end them or was it the lack of food? What’s the capital going to look like with so many refugees flooding it? Erynne must be beside herself with stress. I picture my sister, but thinking of her makes me think of her orders to kill Nemeth, and it fills me with bitter anger instead. I think of Riza and Nurse instead, of their smiling, sweet faces, and I miss them both dearly. They raised me more than my mother did, and I long for my family.

Maybe Riza and Nurse will help me raise Nemeth’s child.

I’m yet numb as I sleep that night, and when I wake up before dawn, I find Saemon staring down at me with a wild-eyed intensity that makes me want to tug my dress higher over my breasts. “Been a long time since I’ve had a woman,” he comments.

“Been even longer since I’ve seen a gentleman,” I retort. “I’m still waiting.” I haul my damp cloak around my shoulders, wishing he’d go away. “Piss off with you.”

But he only laughs, and the uneasiness in my stomach grows. A bitchy princess attitude will only carry me so far, and if Saemon isn’t intimidated, I know it’s just a matter of time before he tries something.

I hope we get to Castle Lios before he gets brave enough.

Chapter

Sixty-Five

Ididn’t think it was possible for the rain to get heavier, but somehow it has. It’s an absolute downpour, and the roads are nothing but muddy slicks. Everywhere I turn, water pools on the ground. The horses amble along, Jarvo and Corlath on one and me and Saemon on the other. It’s a long, miserable day, made even more miserable as we pass through several more villages, all of them empty. Each one makes my skin prickle with alarm. Where is everyone? Surely there are people left somewhere?

Surely the four of us cannot be the only ones left beyond the walls of Castle Lios? I can’t imagine my sister leaving there, so I imagine it is absolutely packed with refugees. If that’s the case, they won’t mind a few more.

I scan the gloomy, wet skies, looking for signs of Nemeth, but I don’t see him anywhere. The road takes us along the shore, and the beaches seem less muddy, but there are broken boards and debris along the tide line, enough for several ships. More shipwrecks, I wonder, thinking of Meryliese. Surely no one would try to take a ship in this messy weather.

Corlath and Jarvo stay behind to raid an empty village or two. Our horse is plodding along slower than theirs, so we keep on riding, and Saemon “reassures” me that they’ll catch up. His reassurances have become more handsy by the hour, and when he strokes my arm a little too familiarly, I elbow him to let him know his touch isn’t welcome.

He just laughs and squeezes me harder, the prick.

That night, we stay in an abandoned manor house, the walls covered with murals of the family that once lived here. It’s as deserted as everything else, and I slump in a wing-backed chair near the fireplace as Saemon wanders through the rooms and looks for treasures. I’m too tired and shaky to even attempt to get away. The fire in the hearth is warm, at least, and even if there’s nothing to eat, the chair is comfortable enough.

Corlath and Jarvo return a few hours later with bad news. “Nothing to eat again,” Jarvo says. “At this rate we’re gonna starve before we ever make it to the capital.”

Saemon doesn’t look overly concerned. I watch as he pulls my little jeweled knife from his belt and holds it out to Jarvo. “Go kill my horse. He’s on his last legs anyhow. He can be dinner.”

I’m sickened at how much the two men light up—and I think of that poor horse, who’s walked so faithfully in the mud and driving rain, carrying us. It probably deserves better than being dinner to these three cretins. My mind flashes back to last night and the half-rotted carcass in the stable and how they’d tried to eat it…and the smell…

I make it three steps before I puke.

“Are you going to keep doing that all the way to the capital?” Saemon asks, visibly annoyed.

“I told you I was sick,” I manage between nauseated gasps. I lie on the floor, on cool wooden floorboards. As I wait for the nausea to abate, Saemon moves closer. Instead of helping me, he nudges the corner of an expensive-looking rug away from me. All heart, that one. “Can I have some water?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

That piece of dragon shite. Gritting my teeth, I glare up at him.

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, studying me. “You said you were fine with your medicine.”

“That was before your goons drank half of it. I only have one dose left.”

“Mmm. What happens when you run out?”

I gesture at myself, as if to say this.

“Are you going to die on us?” he asks.

“Trying not to. Water?”

With a sigh, he tosses his water-skin down to me. It lands on my stomach with an unpleasant thunk and makes me sick anew. That prick. I manage a few dry heaves before I take a few sips of water. The liquid helps, and I roll onto my back, waiting for things to settle.

As I do, I realize I can hear voices outside. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know from the timbre of the voices that it’s the men…and they’re arguing. I move closer to the window in the manor house. Unlike the cottages with the shutters, this is an arrow slit high in the brickwork, and it’s carrying their voices directly to me.

“I don’t like this,” Jarvo is saying. “She’s a lady. We can’t leave her.”

“She’s dying,” Saemon’s voice is flat, emotionless. “You really want to show up at Lios with a dead princess on your hands? They’ll hang your guts from the castle gates.”

“Maybe if we get some food into her,” Corlath says. “We’re going to have horse meat⁠—”

“And she’ll puke it up right on you. It won’t stay down. She’s got one dose of her medicine left and she’s dead after that. You think they’ll welcome us with food? You think they’ll welcome us with anything but a pike up the arse?”

Corlath and Jarvo murmur something too low for me to hear.

I need a weapon if they’re going to try and kill me. I glance around the room. I don’t see anything useful—Saemon would have taken anything that looked valuable or like a weapon. There’s some knitting left in a basket by the fire, but maybe that will have to do. Getting to my feet, I wobble back to the chair by the hearth, feeling weak and useless. The needles are wooden and thick, but I’ll drive one through Saemon’s ballsack if I have to. I slide it into my sleeve.

The moment I do, the door opens and I hear footsteps. I close my eyes, feigning placidity near the fire. The men approach my chair, and then the footsteps stop. I open an eye.

Corlath and Saemon stand nearby, regarding me. Corlath looks uncomfortable, but there’s a hard intensity to Saemon’s eyes that worries me.

“Where’s Jarvo?” I ask. Seeing as he was the only one that didn’t want to kill me, that makes him my new best friend.

Corlath gives Saemon an uneasy look.

“He left,” Saemon replies.

Uh oh. Does “left” mean that they killed him? “Is he all right?”

Saemon shrugs. He moves closer to my chair, and I instinctively press back against the cushions.

“She still looks pretty alive to me,” Corlath whispers, eyeing Saemon. “We could have a bit of fun with her now. While she’s still warm.”

“Mmm.” Saemon reaches out and touches a lock of my dark hair, picking it up from my shoulder and rubbing it thoughtfully.

What in the Gray God’s realm? They’re not even bothering to hide their intentions. I jerk away from Saemon’s touch, even though it makes me dizzy. The shadows stretch and dance behind them, which means I’m probably about to faint again. “Don’t touch me.”

“I think she’s weak enough that she’ll put up just enough of a fight to make things interesting,” Saemon says to Corlath. “I get to go first, though. You can hold her down for me.”

An outraged sound escapes me, and when Corlath grabs me by the shoulders and jerks me up from the chair, I push at him, trying to free the knitting needle from my sleeve. He grins down at me, all cruelty⁠—

–and then his head turns.

And turns.

And turns completely around, the bones crunching, as shadows swallow him.

I scream, the chair tipping backward and taking me with it as Saemon bolts for the door. There’s no defending his friend, no fighting back. He runs like a coward, and I watch dizzily as he sprints across the manor house, the floorboards loud with his hurried steps.

As I watch from my vantage point on my back, the shadows swirl again and I catch a flash of gray wing and sweeping horns. Green eyes flash as muscular arms lock around Saemon’s shoulders and he flings him to the floor with a crash.

“You dare,” Nemeth growls, the sound inhuman. “You dare to touch my mate?”

Saemon crawls backward, scurrying like a rat to get away. “No—never⁠—”

“I heard every filthy word come out of your mouth,” my Fellian snarls. He stalks forward toward his prey, his wings flared and menacing. “I heard your plans. You were going to harm her. While she was still warm, you said. And then you were going to cut her throat and leave her here. You thought her weak and useless to you.” He smiles, showing deadly white fangs. “She’s not weak, because she has me.”

And before I can take a breath, Nemeth plants a huge hand on Saemon’s head and crushes it like a grape.

Blood spatters over him, over the floor.

I gasp.

He turns to me, his eyes feral. “Did they touch you?”

“You’re alive,” I breathe. Hot tears flood my eyes. By the gods, I’m crying all the time now. “Oh Nemeth, you’re alive.” I kick my legs in the air, trying to get up from the chair.

He strides to the fallen chair, where I’m still on my back and feebly trying to right myself, and plucks me out of its confines. He pulls me into the air, holding me by my shoulders tightly, but it doesn’t hurt. His wild gaze searches my face, over my body. “Did they touch you?” he demands again, and his wings shiver so violently it’s clear he’s about to lose control.

“Nemeth. I’m all right.” I search his face. “Are…are you?”

My Fellian groans. He crushes me against his chest, holding me tight. One hand cradles the back of my head and he shudders, clasping me to him. I’ve never been so enveloped by him, not even when he cocoons his wings around us. “Candra. My Candra.”

“I’m a little mad at you,” I tease weakly. “Here you are, killing those pieces of dragon shite before I had the chance. Unfair.”

He just clasps me tighter, his fingers digging into my hair, as if he can somehow twine his claws into my locks and hold me forever. “I’m here,” he says in a tight voice. “I’m here, and no one’s going to hurt you.”

His words break something inside me. I press my face against him, not caring that he’s covered in Saemon’s blood and I probably reek of vomit. “I thought you died. Oh Nemeth. I thought I’d lost you forever.” I choke on a sob. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I never abandoned you. Never. Not once.” He slides a hand under my chin and tilts my head up. “You look unwell. Is it the child? Have you eaten?”

As if his reminder saps all the strength out of me, my head spins. I try to push the dizziness aside so I can gaze on his gorgeous face for all eternity, because I never want to look away. “I have one dose left,” I tell him. “Saving it. And no, I haven’t eaten. Nothing to eat.”

Nemeth shakes his head, cradling me against him again, and I find my face shoved into the crook of his neck. “I’m going to get these bodies out of here, and then I’m going to give you your potion, love. And then we’re going to eat.”

“You’re not listening,” I say, voice muffled against his neck. “There’s nothing to eat⁠—”

“There’s always something to eat.”

I gasp. “You want to eat the dead humans?”

Nemeth snorts, giving me a funny look. “Of course not. We’re going to eat the horse they just killed.”

Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense than my theory. Even so, my stomach roils uncomfortably at the thought. “I’m not sure I can.”

“I’ll make it into a stew,” he tells me, voice stern. “And you’ll eat.”

I…guess I’m eating horse. Because the look on Nemeth’s face tells me whatever argument I have, I won’t win.