“That’s not what I asked,” Jyn said softly.
“I’m fine.” But I snuck a steadying breath as I looped my arm through Camion’s and rested my head against his shoulder.
Andimir was picking through the clothing of the bandits, a deep frown creasing his cheeks. He reached one of the two Jyn had killed first and pulled a folded sheet of parchment from their pocket. His eyes scanned the contents, his nostrils flaring before he passed the note to Jyn. My friend’s arms began to shake with rage.
“Jyn?” I asked.
“There’s a bounty for you. All of us, in fact.” He passed me the paper. There were loose sketches of each of us, even Andimir, with a bounty of ten thousand gold to whomever managed to capture all of us.
I was marked to be taken alive, no exception.
Jyn was marked to be taken dead.
No exception.
“What kind of sick joke—” Camion started. Meryn prodded him to be quiet so she could finish cleaning his small cut.
“I don’t know,” Jyn said. “But whoever set this bounty wants Natylia alive. I’m not fond of the implications.”
“Lucian wouldn’t do this, right?” Andimir asked. He looked horrified at the thought.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “How did they know Andimir was with us? This has to be a new bounty.”
“Not necessarily. Anyone who saw him in Lytalian could have figured out he was an ally. This could go as far back as our stay in Dalbran.” Jyn glanced down at the paper. “The meet up location is an inn in Vitic.”
“So, Valdis is hiding in Vitic?” Meryn asked.
“Could be.”
“I want to know what he’s playing at,” Jyn said. He scanned the bodies around us, shaking his head. “They’re bandits. Little to no training. No uniformity, no identifying banners.”
I considered. Bandits would have the most to gain from a nondescript bounty offering, and usually not much to lose if they failed. If Valdis wanted to keep us on our toes, sending anyone with a blade after us was certainly one way. I understood why he would want Jyn dead, too, even if the thought made me ill. An Elf, even without his full abilities, could be a formidable enemy.
“No matter what the case may be, we should move on,” Andimir said, shifting uncomfortably. “We need to put distance between—” He gestured at the bodies.
My head tipped out of reflex. I moved to pack my bag and tried to ignore the thoughts that were looping through my mind. We had been attacked, and not long after we left Kalum.
What if we were betrayed?
What if it was Audri?
Chapter 19
Even with the small delay, we were in the swamp exactly when Meryn said we would be. By late morning, the ground was too slick to keep riding. We dismounted and sent the horses on their way, assured by Audri that they knew their way around the land. I wasn’t entirely sure we should have released them, uncertain they wouldn’t lead stray bandits back. But Jyn seemed unconvinced that Audri was behind the attack. If he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, I trusted him.
Fetian circled above us, sending out spurted caws every few minutes. He was as uneasy as the rest of us, but the sound only put us further on edge until Andimir called the raven to perch on his shoulder. Jyn stared at the bird a bit too hard. I wondered if he truly thought Andimir would betray us like that. Or maybe he was tired.
To his credit, he hadn’t been sleeping well at all. His attention seemed ever fixed on the horizon line, on a threat that none of us saw but he swore he could feel. In his bones, in the earth.
The storm on the coastline likely did nothing to help. Our human ears couldn’t quite pick up the sounds, but the sky was a heavy gray that warned of the downpour to come. Jyn reported the clash of thunder, the slosh of waves, rain that pelted the angry ocean to be swept away by gusts of wind that reached us where we stood. Eurybia, Marinus, or both—we didn’t know. Our steps hurried onward, even when our boots sank deep beneath marshland and water rode to our knees.
“We have to start searching for . . .” Meryn said after a while. “Well. Something.”
“That’s specific,” Jyn sighed. “Could the Scepter be underwater?”
A sheepish grin spread across Meryn’s face. “Well. Maybe.”
“Should I touch things?” I asked. Meryn nodded eagerly, but Camion and Jyn narrowed their eyes in my direction.
Andimir looked confused. “Touch things?”
“She has a bad habit of trying to kill herself,” Jyn said.
“No, I just have an ability that could prove useful to us. Again.”
Camion frowned, shifting the weight of his pack. “Didn’t you say you could feel the Scepter in the graveyard? When you tried to sense the magic? Can’t you try that before you touch anything?”
“I . . . hesitantly second that.” Jyn winced as the words left his lips. Andimir’s brows drew together in confusion.
Straightening my posture, I let my arms fall to my sides. Then I closed my eyes. Inhaled deeply. The musty scent of decaying plants and the rich, earthen scent of mud filled my nose. Mostly, the marsh had no magic at all. As though the area had a damper throughout, or the ground absorbed anything mystical—natural or arcane.
I reached farther, stretched my magic as far as I dared. An ache grew in my chest. Outside my consciousness, I heard voices. Soft, gentle voices tainted with urgency. I brushed them off. Pushed again.
There.
Deep, beneath the surface of the earth, magic called to me. Tiny pulses of color. The power was old, ancient, like that of the Scepters, but this felt different. A strange, parallel magic. I let the sound call to me, let my magic flow toward the chill that scattered goosebumps across my skin. A gray wall rose in my vision, one covered in runes.
I blinked. The sight fell away and my magic dropped into the earth like glittering rainfall. My chest ached with the release, a feeling similar to the release after wearing a corset all day. Nausea rose up, my stomach curling, but I knew where we had to go.
“There.” I pointed, slightly northeast of where we stood.
“Are you all right, Princess?”
“Of course,” I said, moving to take a step forward. Instead, I swayed unsteadily.
Andimir took a timid step closer. “What exactly was that? You were—” He gestured toward his face, torso, arms. “You . . . sparkled?”
“No, she doesn’t sparkle.” Meryn snickered. “Her magic does, though.”
“I knew I didn’t want to know how you were able to throw Jyn across my ship.” The pirate frowned. “You have magic?”
“Completely uncontrolled, inherited-from-her-mother arcane magic,” Jyn said, eyes still trained on the lingering sparks of blue and purple clinging to my fingertips. “Which drains her life force as she uses it.”
Andimir’s eyes widened.
Meryn huffed. “Jyn. She’s not a child.” She leveled a stare on me. “You’re fine, yes?”
“I am,” I said, straightening my posture. Fatigue tugged at my limbs, but I ignored it. “And now I know where we need to go, so the minor drain paid off.”
I gestured us on. Jyn didn’t move until the magic faded from my fingers, then he sighed, turning on his heel. Andimir and Meryn followed, the former casting confused glances over his shoulder.
Camion, however, caught my sleeve. “How far did you push?”
“As far as I needed to.” He frowned and I added, “We had to know where the Scepter was. We can’t aimlessly wade through this marsh.”
“I’m—”
“Worried, I know.” I slid my hand into his and then tugged him along as I trudged forward. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your concern. Or you. But if I can help . . .”
“I know,” he murmured, tightening his grip.
***
Along the northern edge of Emeryn Marsh grew the skeleton of a forest, a dense cluster of trees that managed to thrive despite the over-damp ground. Vines draped the spaces between them. Moss
climbed the ragged bark and hung from the branches above. All the growth seemed too big—the trees climbed too high, the vines as round as my thigh. I wondered if the dormant magic fed them.
One tree rose larger than the others, greater than any tree I had ever seen, its roots spread wide into the water on all sides. My eyes lingered on the great trunk and the sprawling branches, but nothing seemed out of place. When Meryn paused, I took a longer look.
She stepped closer. For a moment, I didn’t understand what had caught her eye. Then I saw it. The water between the gnarled roots was crystal clear and sparkled in contrast to the murky marshland on all sides. Tiny waterfalls trickled down the banks and fell off the roots into the main basin. I cast a wary glance at my companions.
“Don’t even think about touching that water.” Meryn grimaced, digging through the pack she had stuffed with various plants along the way. She tugged free a crystal vial and then shook it above the crystalline pool. A soft hiss rose where the powder touched, vanishing instantly. “This water is pure. Utterly pure, drinkable water in the middle of marshland, cupped between the roots of this completely ordinary tree.”
“But wouldn’t pure water be a good thing?” I asked, thinking of the waterskin at my hip and how desperately I would love to drain the contents.
“Of course. Whoever hid the Scepter tainted the water with magic, though.” She pointed toward the base of the trunk. A tiny door pressed into the earth below, draped by a curtain of moss. “Drink one sip of this water and you’ll never want to leave. Your thirst would be sated in a way that no drink ever has, nor ever will again. You’ll want more. Need more. And when you’ve drunk your fill, you still won’t be able to stop. That need would keep you here more effectively than any shackle.”
Andimir sighed, rolling his head back to stare at the sky. “As a man who’s lived at sea for a great many years, I can say with all honesty I’ve never been afraid of the water. Until you lot showed up and shot my career to the Nether.”
“It’s a deterrent.” Meryn sighed. “And an effective one, at that. Anyone with any magical talent at all would test this water and realize it was tainted. But, for those foolhardy enough to try . . .” She gestured to a skeleton, draped over one of the roots, long bony fingers trailing in the water. Earth and moss were climbing the sides of the remains, creeping over the bones. “It’s a slow, unhappy death.”
“Great. Evil water,” Jyn grumbled. “Next we’ll need to be wary of flowers.”
Meryn grinned. “Have I told you about the carnivorous variety that—”
“No.” Jyn raised a hand. “Don’t, please. And if you say there’s anything in the air—”
“Well there are these spores—”
“No. I don’t care that I asked for that. No.” Jyn covered his ears, striding closer to the tree. He uncovered them when he needed his hands to steady himself, shooting Meryn a warning glance over his shoulder.
Andimir cast the nature witch a horrified glance. “You know too much.”
“No such thing,” she said, clambering over a heap of roots. “Information is a gift. Not taking advantage is a waste. Besides, my knowledge has saved their lives a few times.”
I couldn’t argue with that. None of us could.
We followed Jyn’s trail, but the going was slow. A path stretched between the roots; smooth stones pressed into the earth, but they were slick with water and unstable in the saturated ground.
Jyn began to carefully pull away moss as soon as he reached the door, trying to leave as much intact as possible to drape behind us again. We didn’t want to make our trail too easy to follow.
Black, porous stone made up the surface of the door. Like the iron door from the catacombs, this one was elaborately carved. But instead of ocean life there were trees, deer, and butterflies. Earthen life—forest life.
“Cybele,” Meryn murmured. She gestured at the carvings. “Cybele, the Earth Titan. A good indicator that this door is the one we’re looking for. Hopefully we’re not too late.”
Camion pointed at the moss Jyn held, then at the leaves littering the ground in front of the door. Many were decaying, composting where they fell. “No one has been through here recently.”
“Unless the door opens inward,” Andimir countered.
Jyn rolled his eyes. “Unless that, yes. But then the moss should have been damaged, and there should have been other footprints.” He pointed behind the pirate at the long trail of boot treads that followed him through the mud. Andimir winked.
I reached hesitant fingers toward the door, brushing them over the rough surface. Jyn and Camion both winced, but nothing happened. No magical sparkle, no blast of power. No draining magic that sucked the life energy from me. Utterly nothing.
Meryn stepped up beside me, blowing on the side of her fist. Powder fluttered out and clung to the door’s porous surface. For a moment the door remained dark. Then purple and blue light shimmered across the surface.
She sighed. “Arcane.”
“But there was no response to my touch?”
“No.” She frowned. “Because this door is specifically attuned to blood magic.”
“So, it’ll only respond to—”
“Blood, yes. Similar to the door at the palace. Myrdin may have tuned everything inside to blood as well.”
I pulled a dagger loose. Jyn’s nostrils flared. “Princess—”
“I know.” I slid the blade up the side of my arm before he could protest further.
Andimir’s face scrunched in horror. “What is wrong with all of you? Why is this”—he gestured at the blood running down my arm—“casual conversation?”
“We’ve seen worse,” I said. The hints of teasing left his face, jaw clenching.
“And I still don’t like it,” Jyn growled. Camion nodded his agreement.
“You know I have to,” I said. “But I am sorry.”
“You could use someone else’s blood, just once,” Camion argued.
“But hers is more powerful and will require less,” Meryn said quietly.
I ignored their bickering, drew my fingers over the small wound, then brushed them across the door. Nothing happened. I waited with bated breath, watching as the slow trail of crimson grew longer.
Then the blood glittered and vanished. Still, the door didn’t open. Meryn frowned, tracing the designs with her fingers, pausing over a symbol tucked into a busy corner at the bottom of the door.
“Here.” Two of the smaller trees twined together under her fingertips, a star perched between them—the symbol of Eythera, the royal Elven marking that seemed to follow the Scepters. “Try tracing this design, or at least smear it.”
I did as she asked, coating the small etching. Arcane sparkles flared across the surface. A second passed. Two seconds. Then a click echoed on the inside. The door swung open—inward. Andimir crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth tilted in a wide smirk.
Jyn sighed. “Just go.”
Chapter 20
We were inside less than a minute before the door slammed shut behind us, plunging us into pitch black. A loud stream of profanities slipped from Jyn’s lips before Meryn summoned a ball of flame on her palm. Our eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, my jaw fell slack.
Life grew uninterrupted inside the hollowed-out trunk, even in the darkness. Meryn doused her flame. Before we could protest, light began to spread up the walls and bright yellow stars glittered all around us. I could only see a foot or two in front of me. But a smoothed stone path lay at my feet, disappearing into the plant life that covered the ground. Big, vibrant-colored flowers burst into bloom in the soft patches of light, peeking out from the grass that rose to my waist.
Meryn dropped beside the path, tugging her boots off and draining them into the strangely dry soil. Water sloshed in the heels of my own, so I followed suit, still weighed down by my sopping breeches but grateful for the slight relief. I reluctantly laced them back on and climbed to my feet, followin
g the others to the end of the path. The stones fell off at the base of a set of stairs—one that climbed up before veering to the side, winding farther upward along the side of the trunk, and vanishing into the darker regions above. I shivered at the thought.
“Here, let me.” Camion broke my thoughts, before the fear could get a grip. He gestured to my arm, to the cut feeding a trail of blood to my elbow. I stood unmoving as he cleaned the mess and bandaged it with a strip of cloth.
“Thank you,” I said softly. He brushed a thumb across my cheek with a small half smile.
“They’re mushrooms.” Meryn’s voice drew my eye. She had moved closer to the wall, her face lit with wonder and joy. “Tiny, glowing mushrooms. I’ve never seen anything like them.” Her fingers hovered inches above one, eyes wide, but she hesitated. I raised an eyebrow.
“I assume you’re going to collect a few?” Andimir teased, reading my mind.
“No.” Meryn frowned reluctantly. “I don’t dare risk compromising the Scepter.”
“One small mushroom could compromise the Scepter?”
“You’d be surprised,” I grumbled. Thoughts of rope bridges, a trick floor like quicksand, and the tiny silver key at Meryn’s throat all flickered through my mind. “One misstep and—” I snapped my fingers.
Andimir considered my words, then nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“Probably best,” Jyn said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword at his waist. “You never know.” He tugged the blade free, poking tentatively at a flower nearby. When Meryn cleared her throat, he shrugged. “Just checking.”
“You know I’d warn you if the plants were going to eat you, right?” Meryn scoffed.
“Yes, and I’m sure I could save myself by shouting my name at them, right?” The corner of his lips twitched.
Meryn poked her nose in the air. “We came out of that fight alive.”
“Thanks to Jyn,” Camion added, the corner of his mouth tipping up at the glare Meryn threw his way.
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