“This has nothing to do with hate, sweetheart. It’s business.”
“Was it business when you killed our friends? When you killed your husband?” Rosalia spat.
Lacherra’s eyes narrowed and a single word left her lips, cold and cutting. “Yes.”
The sound of a battle reached her from the hallway where Xavier no doubt held his own against the soldiers who had waited in ambush.
A roar preceded screams, metal clashed against metal, and the smell of smoldering flesh reached her nose. The narrow halls didn’t allow him to assume his full awe-inspiring form, but he could expand to fill a corridor.
“Why did I even ask?” Rosalia muttered. “There is nothing that you can tell me to justify your betrayal.”
“On the contrary, I have plenty of answers. You simply choose not to value them.”
“Then why, Lacherra? Why do this to us?”
“The reasons don’t matter. I did what was needed, same as when I took you in.”
It shouldn’t have hurt so much, but Lacherra’s words struck Rosa hard as a slap to the face. “For what? To fool Hadrian?”
“The old elf was already a fool. No, I kept you because I knew who you were. The dirty little truth of your birth that I had hoped would, one day, serve some use. But you’ve proven too headstrong to be a malleable puppet.”
“A puppet for what? What use could I possibly have been to you?”
“Oh, my dear child, haven’t you figured it out yet? Your mother fucked the former king. Gregarus is your brother.”
The floor may as well have fallen out from beneath her feet. It couldn’t be possible, and yet Lacherra’s words rang with truth. A million questions ran through her mind in a chaotic swirl. Had her mother loved the king? Why hadn’t she been told? What did that make her?
“I don’t believe you. My mother worked for the king, and she stole his cursed mirror.”
“How do you suppose she was able to worm her way into his company? She fucked him until she was close enough to manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted. She never said outright that he fathered you, but I always had my suspicions. So, when she asked me to watch over you should anything befall her, I saw an opportunity. And when we buried her, well…” Lacherra pulled the gold medallion from her bodice, the flawless yellow disc throwing gilded light around the room. It shone like the sun itself with a mystical luster Rosalia had never seen in an ordinary coin.
She yearned to be near it. She wanted to touch it. Her soul burned to have one second of contact with the thing that she’d only seen for the briefest of moments shortly after Lacherra assassinated the priest. Time seemed to stand still as she honed in on the fine details, the blazing sun of one side and moon on the other. The coin had no denomination of resemblance to any currency she’d ever seen.
“I took this before they buried your mother. It was quite amusing watching you dig, only to discover nothing more than a molding corpse.”
“Why didn’t you take the stones then if you were there?” Rosalia demanded.
“I have eyes everywhere, and I enjoyed the show,” Lacherra replied.
Which meant that she hadn’t been there herself, only watched through another’s eyes.
“You were never my mother’s friend, were you.” It was less of a question than a quiet statement born of disappointed resignation.
“Once, perhaps, but she thought herself better than us all. So I used her, just as I used you. Had you been pliant, more level-headed, you could have been standing here beside me,” Lacherra continued. “You still could.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Adriano rasped. Lacherra rewarded his defiance with a sharp press of her knife, a second thin line of blood welling against his skin. The thin wisps of his life essence flowed into it in scarlet ribbons, and breath hitched in his chest as his eyes bulged from a pain Rosalia could only imagine. The muscles of his body tightened and the veins in his neck stood taut. Hadrian once told her one nick was enough to inflict excruciating agony upon the recipient, thus designed so that Lacherra could disable her foes without senseless death.
That he remained conscious enough to fight spoke of his endurance.
“Don’t hurt him!”
“Then give me what I want. Give me the stones, and I’ll release your playmate.”
The fighting in the corridor ended abruptly with a final bloodcurdling scream and the sound of a man choking on his own blood. Xavier appeared at the cell door, muscled and overwhelming in a draconic body larger than his sand monitor form, and meters smaller than the magnificent drake that rescued her from the execution wagon. Despite the disparity between his natural size and his current form, he tore the cell door from the hinges with a squeaking, squealing noise of bending metal as if he were shredding thin aluminum instead of reinforced iron.
“Not one step closer,” Lacherra hissed at him, working the tip of the enchanted steel over Adriano’s jugular. One stab. One flick of her wrist or twitch of the fingers, and he’d be gone.
No matter what choice she made, Rosa knew she wouldn’t win. She’d lose a friend, or she’d surrender the opportunity to prevent a great evil. Choosing the life of one man over the wellbeing of many was never easy, even if that someone was someone close to her heart.
Had grown up beside her.
Had once been her lover, and did still love her.
They may not have been meant for one another romantically, but they had a bond of friendship forged through childhood that couldn’t be denied.
I can’t watch her kill him, too.
Wondering how many more friends she would lose, Rosalia narrowed her eyes and observed the delicate line of skin splitting beneath the knife’s razor edge. Hadn’t the fates taken enough from her?
So much death. Hadrian murdered by the wife he’d treasured, Mira burned alive for the sin of being her best friend. Her shoulders shook.
What good was it all if she surrendered?
What did it all matter if she allowed one more person she loved to perish?
Rosalia weighed the options again and again, and no matter what, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she watched Adriano bleed out, and that to make the decision to sacrifice him made her no better than the woman holding a blade to his throat.
Her stomach twisted and churned as she pulled the three Legacies from her bag and clenched them tightly in her hand. Instinct told her Lacherra couldn’t be trusted, but a frail voice whispered, Save him. Let them have the stones.
Torn between which side to listen to, Rosalia searched Adriano’s face and stared at the woman before her, in absolute expectation of being double-crossed. Nothing about Lacherra’s hostile smile implied she’d simply release him.
Let them have the stones.
The Heart of Moritan warmed in her hand, hotter than its natural state. It wanted to be given. Why, she didn’t know, but the mystery couldn’t be resolved until she did as it beckoned.
“Take them. But let Adriano go.”
“Rosa,” Xavier said. “They’ll have them all.”
“I have to.”
Rosalia could always reclaim the stones. They could always steal them again and catch up to Lacherra. That was a problem for later—in the morning, perhaps. Now, the most critical matter of all was getting a good man away from a viper.
The stones could be regained. She could never find another Adriano.
“Smart girl.” Lacherra nudged a wooden case forward with her foot. “Stones first. Place them here.”
Hating her own weakness and the utter feeling of helplessness, Rosalia set the stones inside on the silk lining. When Lacherra nudged Adriano’s thigh with her boot, he picked up the case with a bloodied hand and passed it to his captor. Two of his fingers appeared broken, angled improperly and refusing to bend.
“Now let him go as promised.”
A slow smile spread across Lacherra’s face. Something crunched beneath the woman’s heeled boot and a portal blazed to life behind her. For one hea
rt stopping moment, Rosalia was convinced her former mentor intended to step through and bring Adriano with her, leaving her and Xavier to the guards beyond the door.
But no, she had something far worse planned.
“Why, my dear, I only said I’d release Adriano. And release him I shall.”
With one easy thrust, Lacherra slid her blade into Adriano’s back. His face twisted into an agonized mask, and he crumpled bonelessly.
“No!” Rosa’s ears rang as she bolted forward, catching her friend before he fell completely. Not for the first time, she felt as if her heart was breaking. Lacherra departed without a backwards glance. The woman had been her surrogate mother, her dear friend, her teacher and mentor. Lacherra had watched both Rosalia and Adriano grow up, and yet the coldness in her eyes was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
The portal vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the acrid scent of sulfur lingering in the air. Thanks to the trap she’d so naively walked into, she and Xavier were in a military jail with no certainty of escape. Beyond the prison doors, she heard more guards trying to break in, only then noticing the shifting gleam of a magical shield barricading the entry.
There was a flurry of motion around them as Xavier lept into action but she couldn’t focus on anything other than Adriano as she eased him down, careful of the blade protruding from his side. There was no way to tell how bad the injury was; Lacherra was an assassin and the weapon was dangerously close to his lung.
Rosalia was no master of anatomy, able to know with certainty where the blade had landed. Pulling it out could be a dangerous maneuver if the lethal weapon was all that prevented Adriano from bleeding out on the floor.
“Don’t cry,” he croaked, trying for a smile that looked positively miserable. Rosa hadn’t even realized she was crying until he said something. “I always hated when I made you cry. You know that, don’t you?”
“You’re going to be okay.” The words tasted like a bitter lie on her tongue.
Behind her, metal screeched against metal again where Xavier worked at the bars of the window. She glanced over one shoulder to observe his progress. He pulled and he tugged, then finally he growled and flung himself at the brick wall, causing the building to shudder before he burst through the wall entirely. Dust and debris rained around them as he scrambled outside onto the arid desert’s hard-packed soil. His hind claws left grooves in stone.
“Rosalia, we have to go. Drag him closer so I can pick him up.”
In his transformation, a wall and part of the ceiling had given way, revealing the starlit skies above. Rosalia snapped out of her misery and kissed Adriano’s forehead, whispering softly, “Forgive me for the pain.” Then she dragged him near enough to Xavier to be picked up before scrambling up on the dragon’s scaled back.
By the time the guards burst through the door, they were already vanishing into the night sky.
15
The Path to Gehenna
Between the two of them, Xavier and Rosalia were able to pull Adriano back from the brink of death, but the continued success of their efforts wasn’t guaranteed. The wounded captain needed a real healer—someone skilled in the art of mending flesh—and he required many other curatives that they simply weren’t able to acquire at the edge of civilization while they were all wanted for numerous crimes.
In his condition, they didn’t dare try to sneak him into the hoard through the sewers, and had Xavier’s keen sense of smell to thank for guiding them to an abandoned cactus farm.
Over a dozen in the area had gone under, and the one he discovered had only been recently vacated. The smell of its previous owners still lingered in the draperies and in the wood.
Xavier rubbed a hand down his face, tired to the bone, drained of all energy both physical and magical. After his most recent accident, shifting so soon had taxed him for all he had.
Rosalia appeared no better. She slumped in a chair beside Adriano’s bedside, head tipped back against the worn cushion. He hated the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks, her golden skin now ashen and sallow.
The abandoned farm lacked goods. Xavier solved the problem of providing food by hunting up a buzzard and roasting the tough, gamey meat. It was better than nothing, and also all that they had.
As much as he hated to do it, he took her aside out of Adriano’s earshot and lowered his voice. “He needs real medical attention. What I did was novice work. It’ll keep him alive. For now.”
“I know, I know.”
Xavier placed both hands on her tired shoulders. “The best we can do is try to fly back to the Moritta camp. With wings, it will take a fraction of the time.”
“You’ve already pushed yourself. Besides, a dragon in flight is highly visible. They’ll see us and you’re in no condition for aerial acrobatics to avoid the army’s siege weapons.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “But what else are we to do? He’ll die without care.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Adriano groaned. “I can hear you both just fine.”
Rosalia shot him a sheepish look, worry in her gaze. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You can include me, you know. I’m not dead yet.”
“You won’t die.”
His wan smile said he disbelieved her, and Xavier couldn’t blame him. He’d seen the wound left behind by the cursed blade and had been surprised when Adriano survived the hour, let alone stubbornly endured through the night. Not much time remained until morning.
“Give it to me straight,” Adriano said when Rosalia settled beside him. “How long do I have?”
When Rosalia’s gaze darted to him, Xavier sighed. “Not long at this rate. I can pour magic into you, but I can’t knit your wounds or restore the blood you’ve lost.”
“And you can’t even pour magic into me, can you? I heard what Rosalia said. You’re weak.”
“Weakened. There’s a difference. This is fleeting exhaustion that I can push through if it means you’ll be among us a while longer. We merely need to find someone who can take over and heal you.”
Rosalia straightened and turned to him, her eyes wide. “You won’t need to fly to the Moritta when they’re en route to come to our aid. Remember what Ahrak said? Watch for his bird and we’ll know they’re on the way. We can’t fly him across the desert now to meet them without putting his and our lives on the line. There’s no guarantee we’ll even see them from above. There’s a reason they disappeared from the rest of the kingdom. They know how to travel these deserts unseen. Adriano needs aid now and you lack the power to do it. It’s best if we both conserve our magic.”
Xavier opened his mouth, only for Adriano to cut him off with a tired wave of his hand. “She’s right. Listen to her. I won’t have you flying me over a great distance if it’ll endanger everything you’ve fought for. Not when the gemstones are already in Lacherra’s hands.”
“Fine. You’re right. Still, it’s impossible to get him to a healer, and even less likely you’ll get one out of the city during a lockdown. We’ll never get him through the sewers. What shall I do?”
“I never said we had to get him through the sewers, and I never suggested bringing a healer to him.”
“Then what are you suggesting?” Xavier asked.
“That you let me do what I do best. Steal.”
Every minute that they argued was a minute that Adriano went without medicine critical to his recovery—or at the very least, survival until a true healer could tend to his wound.In the end, Rosalia prevailed when she convinced Xavier she could acquire whatever they needed from a nearby town and that venturing in the city itself wasn’t necessary. The sun had barely crawled into the sky.
It worked. She convinced the old woman on duty that she needed a curative for a lingering cough, and once the woman was in the next room, pilfered a few ingredients. As it was a small town and likely relied on what little profit it made to stay afloat and continue to serve the community, she le
ft the few coins she had in her possession on the counter.
Fortunate shined upon her during that foray, and she even visited the small market and purchased several fruits and dried meat.
She even considered stealing a horse on her way out but decided not to push her luck. There was only so much she could wring out of her own abilities, and she needed to save some of that magical serendipity for the battle yet to come.
The whole time that she hiked the three hours back to the settlement, sun rising overhead higher and higher, she feared she’d returned to find a burned-out homestead or that the ice wraith would find her again.
Luck was with her, and no such thing occurred.
“Will any of these work?” Rosalia asked, shoving a sack into Xavier’s arms. He sniffed the contents of each vial, selected a few, then went to work mixing unrecognizable reagents that became a bitter brew for Adriano to swallow.
Almost immediately, some of the color returned to his face.
He wasn’t entirely healed, but they had at least bought him enough time until someone with skill and training arrived. He only had to hold out until the Moritta made good on their promise.
“There’s whispers at the village gates about the army marching. A few soldiers living there were called into duty.”
Listening to those worried mothers had twisted her guts into knots. Each person they fought, every person standing between them and what was right, had no idea just how wrong their king had become. For all they knew, Rosalia and Xavier, and all those helping her, were the villains.
They believed they were the heroes. She hated it.
“Now that Adriano can hold on a while longer, what is our next step?”
“Isn’t that clear?” Adriano asked drowsily, stirring from a light drowse. “Figure out where they’ll open the blasted thing. They have their tool, their jewels, and a caster to make it happen. They know you’ll be coming for them. You merely need to know where to go.”
Xavier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They’ll need space to open the gateway to let an infernal army through.”
Diamond in the Rough: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 3) Page 11