Bloodleaf

by Crystal Smith

  His smile slowly faded.

  “I saw her, Zan. Your mother. I saw her at the tower. Her spirit. That day you went up the tower after me . . . I was there only because she wanted me to follow her. She wanted to show me how she died.”

  He looked away sharply. I continued, as gently as possible, “I relived her last moments. She was with a healer from the village, Sahlma. She was talking about her son, who was ill. She knew he did not have long to live, and she couldn’t bear losing him. And so . . . and so . . . she took matters into her own hands. She did jump from the tower, but not because she wanted to die. She jumped so that her blood would spill onto the bloodleaf below. So that Sahlma could collect the bloodleaf flower petals and use them to save her son. You.”

  He fell back a step, his hand balled into a fist over his heart. He was trying to keep his breathing steady and regular; I could almost keep time by his breaths. One, in. Two, out. Three, in. Four, out . . . I placed a hand on his arm, and when his eyes flicked up to mine, they had lost all traces of their cynical glint.

  “She wasn’t abandoning you,” I said from my heart. “She loved you. She died for the mere hope that she could create the petals that could be used to save your life. She had to decide between herself and you. She chose you.”

  He put both hands in his hair and turned his back to me. I could feel a shift in him as he rearranged the narrative of his life. His mother had saved him. It didn’t change the loss—​nothing ever would—​but the light in which he viewed her death had been altered irrevocably.

  “Zan?” I asked, wanting to reach out to him but too nervous to try. “Are you all right?”

  He took a long, deep breath. “No,” he said, “and . . . yes.” A crooked pillar was jutting from the fog, and he fell back against it as if suddenly exhausted, but his eyes were alive with emotion, somewhere in the realm between relief and regret.

  I approached him timidly. “You believe me? You don’t think me mad?”

  “With all the astonishing things I’ve seen since meeting you, you could tell me that you were the Empyrea herself and I would believe it.”

  I didn’t move; I barely dared to breathe. Remembering his fearsome depiction of me on the wall, I said, “I’m just a girl, Zan, figuring things out as I go along. I’m just as lost and confused and lonely as everyone else.”

  “Lost? No.” He took my hands in his. “Confused . . . I’d never guess it. Lonely?” He leaned his forehead against mine and said softly, “Not if I can help it.”

  We were so close. I could feel the break of his breath across my cheek, soft and slow. I looked up at him, heart racing as he bent his face to meet mine.

  And then the ground lurched beneath us.

  He pulled me tight to him as the column he’d been leaning on shook loose and fell, breaking into jagged chunks. Beneath our feet, the earth heaved while the stones high above groaned and rained dust and stinging gravel down upon our heads. I clung to Zan’s hands, and we ran through the maelstrom to the hollow’s stooped entrance. Rocks began to fall, closing in the narrow way behind us.

  On the other side, pine needles transformed into projectiles and sliced through the air like arrows on an undulating battlefield. Ahead of us, the trunk of a giant spruce snapped and moaned as it splintered at its base and fell across our path. We couldn’t go forward. We couldn’t go backwards. I could taste panic on my tongue, sharp and sour, like blood and bile.

  Zan pulled me down against the side of the fallen tree and curled his body over mine, shielding me from debris as the ground gave one last great shudder and then, at last, lay still.

  He got to his feet first, then quietly helped me to mine. The fog was gone, seemingly swallowed up into the shaking earth. Only dust remained; when it finally settled, it revealed an almost unrecognizable landscape. Tumbled rocks, broken trees, and several plumes of smoke rising from the heart of the city beyond, silhouetted by the first weak rays of a grim sun rising.

  “No,” Zan murmured in shock. “We stopped him. It was over. This can’t be.”

  But we both knew the truth: this was the sign of the death of the crone. The seal at Forest Gate had fallen.

  * * *

  It took us most of the night to pick our way through the disarray in the forest. We used the culvert passage to make it into the castle, but we could hear distant shouts coming from the city even through those subterranean walls. When we emerged on the other side, the first light of morning was breaking.

  Zan had me wait in the storage room, in the mess of broken bottles and overturned casks, while he went to question the guard nearest the entrance of the dungeon cells.

  “I’ll not ask again,” he was saying, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “I left you here last night. I paid you well. Now tell me the truth: between then and now, have you let anybody in there with him? Has anybody gone out?”

  “I told you, no,” the guard muttered. “Ain’t nobody gone in or out all night. Not even when it felt like the whole castle was shakin’ apart.” He paused. “Well, except for his physician is all. Court-granted physician. He asked for an evaluation; I couldn’t deny ’im. You know the rules. King’s decree. He’s got more ’n enough in his coffers to pay the fee.”

  “Zan,” I said, emerging from the storage room.

  “Emilie,” he said firmly, “you’re supposed to stay—​”

  “It’s Sahlma,” I said sadly, lifting a shaking finger to point at the woman waiting for us at the top of the stairs to the cells. Blood stained her white smock, soaking into the white ties of her bonnet, but Zan could not see her.

  I followed Sahlma’s spirit into the depths of the dungeons, with Zan close behind. The cells in Renalt were made to hold witches: iron bars, low ceilings, thumbnail-size windows that let in sickly strings of light. But however dark and sad the dungeons were in Renalt, these were worse. There were no windows, no light, and no sound except for the slow drip drip drip from somewhere deep in the belly of the cavern. And the smell . . . the stenches of decay and vomit and urine mingled to form an unholy brume that curled into my nostrils and clung to my skin.

  Sahlma stopped at the last door. I knew what was waiting behind it; I could see the marks of it well enough on her spirit. I nodded to her, whispering, “We’ll see justice done. Go now. Kestrel waits for you.” A tender, hopeful smile crossed her lips, and then she was gone.

  Zan undid the latch. The door swung open to reveal Dedrick Corvalis, sitting languidly against the wall, hands covered in blood past his wrists, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been calling for hours. My physician attacked me. I was forced to defend myself . . . I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mess.”

  Sahlma’s body was lying in a crumpled pile in the corner.

  Nihil nunc salvet te.

  A faint tremor—​an aftershock—​sent tiny ripples across the pool of blood. When it stopped, Dedrick grinned. “Strange weather we’re having,” he said conversationally. Then, “I require some water. And a fresh set of clothes. Can’t go to my trial looking like this.” He lifted his hands and gave a little laugh.

  “Trial?” Zan said. “Your trial will happen when I make it happen.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, my dear boy,” Corvalis said, sneering. “The king will be overseeing my prosecution. As luck would have it, he’s come home from his hunting trip early. I’ve been assured that the trial will take place without delay.”

  My face blanched—​I’d been operating on the belief that Conrad’s distance from the city, out with the hunting party, would have kept him out of the quake’s range. I hoped, if he had experienced it, that he was all right.

  Dedrick was still talking. “We’re great friends, the king and I. I’m sure he’ll see that I get justice for this wholly wrongful imprisonment. I bet his guards will be down to get me any minute.” He cocked his head, listening as the sound of boots on the stairs echoed down the chamber. “Ah. Here they com
e now.”

  Zan and I dove into another cell before the approaching guards saw us.

  “What do we do now?” I whispered.

  “I’m going to see what can be done here to stop this. I need you to go and get Nathaniel and meet me back at the castle stairs. Tell him to be ready to testify.”

  I nodded, moving to the other wall to watch for an opening to escape through, knife poised to cast the invisibility spell if there wasn’t one. “Be careful,” I said, stealing one last reassuring glance at him before plunging down the hall.

  Behind me, the guards were gathering outside of Corvalis’s cell. I could hear him laughing at their arrival. “Gentlemen!” he said with welcoming gusto. “It’s about time.”

   28

  It wasn’t until Nathaniel opened the door that I realized how, even now, I expected Kate to be standing there, smiling brightly and welcoming me in to taste-test whatever she had cooking on the fire. Nathaniel offered no such cheer; his shoulders were bent, while weary lines flanked either side of his mouth. He stepped aside to show me the interior of the cottage: books shaken from their shelves, broken crockery on the floor, furniture sitting at odd angles. Another aftershock rumbled through the floor, rattling the windows.

  Nathaniel said, “Another seal broken. Another gate down. How, if Dedrick Corvalis is imprisoned?”

  “It was Sahlma,” I said. “Corvalis called for a physician to evaluate him in his cell.” I swallowed, remembering her corpse cast off in the cell corner while Dedrick preened. “The king is forcing an early trial, Nathaniel. Today. Zan wants you to be ready to testify—​”

  Nathaniel always had an intimidating presence about him—​stern, quiet, looming. But today red heat was simmering underneath his skin and I wondered if I hadn’t mistaken a volcano for a mountain. “No,” he said quietly.

  There was a mewling cry from the other room, and Nathaniel rushed to scoop up his daughter. I followed him hesitantly. A pack stood at the foot of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said. “My wife is dead. The city is falling apart around us. I have a child I can barely feed, or dress, or put to sleep . . . My sister has two babies of her own. She’ll know what to do.”

  “What about Zan?”

  “What about Zan?” Nathaniel barked. He took a deep breath. “Zan tried to help us; it’s true. But it doesn’t change the fact that if it wasn’t for him, my wife would still be here.”

  I balked. “Kate isn’t here because of the man who’s about to go to trial!”

  “Stay away from Zan, Emilie. Trust me on this. He can’t be with you. And if he was remotely worthy of you, he would have told you that himself.” He wrapped Ella in one of Kate’s handmade blankets and laid her on the bed while he closed the pack and slung it over his back.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You will soon enough.” Nathaniel hoisted Ella, who seemed like a tiny doll in his brawny brown arms.

  “If you want someone to blame, blame me!” I cried. “I’m the one who couldn’t stop the seals from being undone. I’m the one who didn’t stop Kate from going to see Dedrick, and I’m the one who couldn’t save her afterward.”

  He was already headed out the door. Without looking back, he said, “I have a boat to catch.”

  * * *

  The avenues were cluttered with broken timbers and crumbled stone, while distraught and confused people were picking through the debris in the morning light, trying to assess the damage. In the distance, the women of the Forest Gate statue were broken and blackened, large chunks of marble blocking the exit.

  And all the while the king’s guards were erecting the Petitioner’s Day platform on the castle stairs. Though it wasn’t Petitioner’s Day, Dedrick Corvalis, it seemed, was too important to languish in the dungeon for another month. Just as he’d said, the king intended to try him immediately. If news of his arrest hadn’t spread so quickly, I wondered if he would have faced a trial at all.

  I found Zan in the crowd that was gathering to watch. “Where’s Nathaniel?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “He wouldn’t come. He’s taking Ella to his sister’s house.” I cleared my throat. “He blames you for what happened to Kate, but he’s wrong.”

  Grimly, he said, “He’s not wrong.”

  “He also told me to stay away from you. Is he right about that, too?”

  Zan jerked his head away to avoid my eyes. “You should.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  He said coolly, “Not if I can help it.” With a jolt, I remembered our near kiss before the earth started shaking. Could that have been only a few hours ago? I was formulating a reply when he said, “Look, the doors are opening.”

  We pushed into the throng, trying to get as close to the front as possible. I caught an elbow in my ribs and felt hard boot heels come down on my toes; showers of spittle rained down on me from the mouths of angry men, who were shouting profanity at Dedrick. He was now gagged but smiling at his audience from the top platform step. Behind him, guards were hastily arranging a chair to accommodate the king’s hefty rump.

  “I’ve read the charges against this man, as outlined in his arresting documents,” the king said. “Who will speak against him? Who?”

  We were almost to the front; I could see the whites of Dedrick’s eyes.

  “I will!” came a small but determined voice.

  “Then speak,” the king directed.

  It was Beth, the girl from the flower stall. She ascended the stairs with the skittishness of a mouse, casting quick glances between the glowering king and the grinning accused—​but was doing her best to keep her back straight and her voice steady. “My name is Beth Taylor, sir. Molly Cartwright, the girl what got killed at your ball, was my friend. She was sweet, and a little bit naïve. She had lots of men at her candy cart, but there was only one she took a real likin’ to.” She fiddled with her skirt. “She was in love—​she talked about it all the time. Someone important had an understanding with her. That he loved her and wanted to marry her. She never said his name, but I knew. I wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t dare. Corvalis is the lord what owns the stall I rent to sell m’flowers. I was afraid that if I spoke against him, I’d lose my only way of makin’ money that wasn’t stealin’ or whorin.’ Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” she said as she curtsied shyly at the king, “for the coarse language.”

  “Do you have any evidence of this assertion?” the king asked equably.

  “Nothing beyond me own guesses.”

  “Guesses are not enough to convict a man. You are dismissed.” He waved his hand at the girl as the crowd booed.

  Zan emitted a low noise that might have been a growl. His body, close to mine, was taut with tension.

  The king said, “Is there anyone else who can provide testimony of Baron Corvalis’s supposed crimes?”

  “Anyone who ever lived in his horrible tenements!” shouted a voice.

  “Anyone he ever cheated out of fair wages!” shouted another.

  “I will.” The voice was clear and calm, and it cut across the cacophony like the tone of a bell. Nathaniel, head high, climbed the steps to the stage. I grasped Zan’s arm.

  “What is that?” the king asked, sneering at the baby in Nathaniel’s arms. “Get rid of that.”

  Beth was descending the stairs, and Nathaniel handed Ella to her before taking his place to testify.

  “State your name,” the king said.

  “You know me, Majesty.”

  “I said, state your name.”

  He turned to the crowd and spoke louder. “My name is Nathaniel Gardner. I was born into humble circumstances, but my wife was not. Her name, before marrying me, was Katherine Morais, daughter of Baron Morais, and she was originally betrothed to Dedrick Corvalis. She died as the result of his treachery two days ago, but that is not why I’m here to testify.” He looked down at his hands, as if in shame. “I worked for Dedrick Corvalis for years before I
met Katherine. I moved up the ranks in his hired guard, until I became one of his most trusted employees. Such a title was no honor, though, sir, because I had to do terrible things to achieve such a position. Corvalis was always very good at convincing people he was the perfect lord: polite, dedicated, with excellent sense in trade. But it was all for show. In truth, he was cruel and conniving. If he wanted a piece of land, he’d have me jump the man who owned it, break his legs so he couldn’t work it anymore, and then he’d buy up the property when the owner could no longer afford to keep it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like murder, Mr. Gardner,” the king said. “That sounds like you committed assault—​a punishable offense—​and are now using it as a way to frame your dead wife’s former fiancé.”

  “There’s more. Dedrick Corvalis wanted to expand his trading operations to Renalt. He wanted to have already established the trade routes before Renalt and Achleva became official allies. He went there several times, meeting with those he saw as having the most power in Renalt: magistrates of the Tribunal. I was never allowed into those meetings, nor did I ever see the men of the Tribunal he spoke to, but it was not long before the Corvalis coffers were overflowing with Renaltan gold—​far more than could have been gained through any trade deals alone.”

  The king was radiating animosity now, and Nathaniel seemed to be sweating from the heat of it. He swallowed. “His father, Francis Corvalis, found out about his son’s activities. He did not approve and ordered him to stop. Days later Francis Corvalis died under mysterious circumstances.”

  “You’re saying Dedrick Corvalis killed his father?”

  “I’m saying,” Nathaniel said, “that my employer asked me to gather several sprigs of bloodleaf from the forest—​he was very specific about it; he did not want it purchased from an apothecary who might keep a record of it—​and less than a day later, his father was dead. I never told my wife.” Nathaniel wrung his hands. “I didn’t want her to know about what I’d done in Corvalis’s service. I was a coward, and now I’ve lost her because of it.”