Bloodleaf

by Crystal Smith

  “How is my mother?” I asked, pulling away.

  “She’s well.” I turned to the new voice coming from the other corner of the tent. Simon was sitting back against a pallet, next to Nathaniel. He was rocking a sleeping Ella and smiling, but he looked haggard and sallow, as if he’d aged years in the weeks since I saw him last. “My family’s property isn’t large, but it’s well secured. She’s more than safe there until we return. Until then, she sends her love to you both.”

  “What happened to you?” I asked, aghast.

  “Aurelia!” Onal chided. “Where are your manners?”

  “Bleeding oneself daily does take its toll,” he said, and I nodded. Back in Renalt, I’d been so eager to learn blood magic, so dismissive of the pain and exhaustion, mental and physical, that would accompany it. I understood better now: the strongest magic requires the greatest sacrifice.

  Simon carefully shifted Ella back to Nathaniel. “It was a good thing Lord and Lieutenant Greythorne acted when they did; I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted. And the Tribunal were like wolves outside a farm gate, licking their chops and waiting for their first chance to get in.”

  “You are not out of the woods yet,” Onal said, turning her attention back to Conrad’s hair. “That’s why I had to come along on this little jaunt: to make sure he didn’t die on the way here.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Though he’d be doing better if he just took my concoctions without constantly complaining like a dumb baby.”

  Sorry, I mouthed to Simon. Onal’s concoctions were notoriously potent in efficacy and rank in flavor.

  “I’m glad you’re both here,” I said. “There’s a lot I need to tell you all and very little time in which to do it.” I looked over my shoulder at Kellan, who was waiting quietly for me by the door flap. “I’ll need all the support I can get.”

  * * *

  In a private tent, Onal provided me with a bucket of frigid water and orders to scrub myself clean (“Down to the bone, if that’s what is necessary to get that smell off of you”), then left me alone while she took my tattered clothing away.

  I doused myself with water and soap, chattering with cold, resisting the temptation to be hasty by telling myself I couldn’t rescue Zan smelling like I’d climbed out of a swamp. “If you burned my dress,” I said when Onal returned several minutes later, “I’ll have nothing else to wear.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, brandishing an entire uniform made up of pieces borrowed from women of the guard. I got into the breeches well enough myself but required her help with the tunic. Lifting it over my head, she had a good look at the plentiful bruises and scars I’d acquired over the last weeks. Sighing, she said, “If your mother knew what you’ve been through, her heart would surely break in two.”

  I wanted to say that I was fine, that I’d made it through unscathed, but I couldn’t. I was changed in vast, irreversible ways.

  When she was finished helping me resettle my cloak back over my shoulders, she handed me a weathered hand mirror to hold while she brushed and plaited my hair down the side.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a good look in the mirror. I wanted to think that, after all of this, I’d be able to look at my reflection and see some new strength written there, or some beauty brought to the surface through adversity, but I looked the same as I always had. Ashy blond hair, pale cheeks, and eyes like silver saucers—​too big and too strange for the rest of my face.

  “Onal,” I said thoughtfully as she wove my hair with her long, nimble brown fingers. “Nathaniel’s daughter, Ella . . . did you take a look at her?”

  “I did. Perfectly healthy babe, if a little small.”

  “She was a little early, you know, so tiny and precious. But she had these beautiful brown eyes.”

  “That’s nice,” Onal said absently.

  I continued, “After Ella was born, both mother and babe were in a bad way, and the woman acting as midwife gave me a potion she’d distilled from bloodleaf flower.”

  Onal’s hands grew still. She was listening intently now. “Even so, Kate—​my friend—​wouldn’t take the potion herself, and insisted that I give it to the child instead. I respected her wish.” I felt my throat constrict. “Ella woke from the very brink of death, Onal. But afterward her eyes were different, more silver. Like they are now.” Without looking up, I asked, “What color were my eyes before you gave bloodleaf flower to me?”

  There was a long pause.

  “I don’t know,” Onal said quietly. “You never opened them before you received it.”

   33

  The king and queen had tried for several years to conceive, and when they did, they were elated. But—​as was by then tradition—​they chose not to reveal their joy to the public until after the birth. Arrangements were made. If the baby was a boy, the birth would be celebrated throughout the land for weeks. If it was a girl, she would be spirited away in the night, given to a family somewhere far away, and the kingdom would never even know she existed. They were more than prepared for either outcome.”

  Onal sighed and sat down beside me. “But then the babe arrived, so silent and still. They had been ready to send her off, knowing that she’d live a full and happy life, but this was a parting they had not considered. Such sorrow I’ve never seen, before or since. So I went to my stillroom. I’d kept my three preserved bloodleaf petals secret and safe for nearly thirty-five years by then. I knew it was pointless to waste one, that in the face of death they are useless . . . but if you had seen their faces . . .” She shook her head. “So I took that little babe in my arms, and I parted her tiny, blue little lips and pressed that petal onto her tongue . . . and then she opened her eyes. You opened your eyes. And they looked just like they do now.

  “After that, your mother and father could not be parted from you. They saw the miracle of your life as a sign that you were meant for a greater purpose. They reached out to the king and queen of Achleva, who sent Simon to us as a liaison. The arrangements began for your wedding, though you were only a few weeks old. But what happened with you made me too confident. I wasted another petal on your father, after the fire—​as you well know, it did not work.”

  “Why did it work on me, then?”

  “I don’t know. But you’ve always had a healing touch, not to mention how quickly you heal yourself. I’ve often wondered if those anomalies were just you, or residual effects of being given the bloodleaf flower before you took a living breath.”

  “All this time, why did no one ever tell me? I’ve gone my whole life thinking—​”

  “We told you what we thought you needed to know. Don’t glower. And don’t slump—​you’ll look like a potato. Now listen to me, Aurelia. All of your adversities have shaped you into who you needed to be to get through all of this. Be thankful that you’re strong enough.”

  “Am I?”

  “Well, you’re not dead yet. So for now, let’s assume you are.”

  * * *

  It was dark again when I emerged from the tent in Renaltan uniform. All the guards were gathered on the grass, waiting for me to speak.

  I positioned myself at the head of the gathering, and Kellan took his place behind me, just the same as always. I gave him a quick glance, still marveling that he was alive. That he was here. Catching my eyes, he gave me a slight, reassuring nod.

  I wasn’t quite sure of my phrasing, but I began anyway. “Men and women of the guard. On behalf of my brother and myself, I thank you for your loyalty to our mother, Queen Genevieve, and to our monarchy.”

  Some of their faces I recognized from past hurts; the group was populated with soldiers who had ignored me, or whispered about me as I passed. One or two of them I’d even seen in the crowd at executions, chanting and screaming. But I could not criticize them for prejudices I, too, once held against myself. The past was irrelevant; they were here now, on Achleva’s doorstep, ready to fight. For my mother, yes, but also for me.

  I cleared my throat.
“For centuries we’ve seen Achleva as our enemy. Hundreds and thousands of Renaltan lives were lost as we tried and failed to penetrate Achlev’s Wall, all on the word of one man: the Tribunal’s founder, Cael. Senseless, useless deaths,” I said, “pursuant of a single man’s agenda of revenge. The same man who created the organization that, for five hundred years, has kept Renaltans obedient and afraid. Obedient to his statutes, afraid of one another.” I remembered what Zan said, that the greatest threat this city has ever faced came from within, not from without. “But the truth is this: Achleva is not our enemy. It never has been. Our true oppressor is, and has always been, the man we call the Founder . . . his teachings, his Tribunal, and now his self-appointed successor: Toris de Lena.”

  My voice grew stronger. “Toris is even now enacting a plan years in the making . . . an effort to destroy the sovereignties of two nations and bring them both under the Tribunal’s complete control. In mere weeks he has displaced our queen, kidnapped our future king, and begun a sequence of destruction within Achleva that has culminated in regicide: King Domhnall is dead at Toris’s hands.”

  I heard several gasps.

  I continued, “As upsetting as it is, Domhnall’s death was not Toris’s end game; rather, it was just another necessary step toward a larger goal. Toris is trying to bring down Achlev’s Wall. And when it falls, the lines of power Achlev used to construct it—​the ley lines—​will snap back to their original paths, bringing five centuries of suppressed calamity in their wake.” I lifted my chin. “Already there are signs of the coming danger: the water is bad, the plants are dead, the ground has been shaking, and Toris has barred the citizens from leaving. Without intervention, the wall won’t even have to fall before everyone inside it starves to death.”

  I took a deep breath. “The wall’s protective magic is held in place by the three gates, each requiring three sacrifices to break its three seals. High Gate and Forest Gate have already fallen; King’s Gate is the last remaining, and King Domhnall’s death has already broken the first seal. Two more of the royal line must be sacrificed to finish the job. Zan—​Prince Valentin, I mean—​is the sole heir remaining. He now stands as the last obstacle between Toris and his totalitarian objectives.”

  Fredrick spoke up. “But if there are three seals to be broken by Achlev’s bloodline, and there is only one descendant left, how can the wall possibly fail?”

  “Marriage,” Simon spoke up. “The Achlevan marriage ritual is a blood-binding ceremony. It makes the two participants essentially of one blood. The only way for the prince to ensure that the wall will stand forever is for him to die without marrying or siring an heir.”

  Cold fear stole over me. Oh merciful stars above. Lisette was still in the city. Lisette, who had been Toris’s choice for Zan’s bride from the very beginning.

  “Our mission is threefold,” I managed to say steadily. “Evacuate the innocent citizens of Achlev, retrieve Prince Valentin and secure his safety, and apprehend Toris de Lena and bring him back to Renalt to face justice.” My voice dropped. “If we fail, there will be many thousands of innocent Achlevans who die as a result. And that’s just the immediate cost; imagine a future where the Tribunal rules and reigns with absolute power and impunity.” A weighty hush fell; it was a grim prospect, even to those who had never before questioned the Tribunal. “We simply cannot fail.”

  Simon rose to his feet, still looking frail. “I thank you, Princess, for trying to help us . . . but the fact remains: those of Renaltan blood cannot enter the city uninvited, and such a thing requires the willing blood of a living direct descendant of Achlev. My sister was the queen, but I have no blood ties to the throne, so I cannot do it. How can you save the city if none of you can cross the wall?”

  I motioned to Onal, who had been waiting on the sideline, a stack of folded paper in her hands.

  “I have these,” I said. “Invitations issued by Prince Valentin and sealed by his willing blood. There are only nine. As I have already been through, we’ll have ten total in our party. It isn’t much, but it will have to be enough.”

  Onal walked slowly in front of the group, so they could all see what I was talking about.

  “I will lead these nine into the city, while the rest of you will be divided into two groups, one to be stationed at High Gate, led by Fredrick, and one at Forest Gate, led by Nathaniel. Fredrick and his company will create a diversion that draws the guards from their posts, allowing me and my nine to cross undetected.”

  “What kind of diversion?” Fredrick asked.

  “I happen to know where you can find a sizable store of bottled liquor on the outside of the wall near High Gate. Add a little fire . . .”

  Fredrick nodded. “We can make some noise.”

  “Try to keep your firebombs aimed at the wall, not past it. Don’t want to burn Achlev down before we save it. My group will work from the inside to get the gates open and go after Toris and the prince. As soon as the portcullises are raised, the companies at Forest and High Gates will assist in evacuations from the outside. And when that is done, I want you and all of the evacuees to get clear of the city immediately. After that, make your way back to the Silvis holding to rendezvous with the queen. Is that understood? Now,” I said, squaring my shoulders, “this is the time to choose: Who among you is brave enough to follow me across the wall? For Renalt, for Achleva, and for the unnamed number of those who’ve gone before?”

  And to my everlasting surprise and gratitude, they all, one by one, rose to their feet.

  * * *

  It was quickly settled: Kellan and eight of his best fellows would go with me into the city, while Onal and Simon would take Ella and Conrad and journey immediately to the Silvis holding to reunite with the waiting queen. The rest of the soldiers were divided evenly between High Gate and Forest Gate. King’s Gate was on the water, so the plan was, after we freed Zan and Lisette and arrested Toris, we would acquire a boat at the docks and exit that way, taking along any straggling refugees we came across in the interim.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Simon told me as we made the final preparations.

  “You’re not well,” I said sympathetically. “And I am familiar enough with the layout of the city now. We will be fine without you, and I will be able to rest knowing that you are watching over Conrad.”

  He patted my hand and surveyed its scars—​far more plentiful than they had been before. “It shames me to learn that Dedrick Corvalis was to blame for much of this.”

  “What shame could you deserve?” I asked, startled. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I tried teaching him for a while, when he was a young boy, but even then I glimpsed an uncomfortable way about him that put me ill at ease, and I ended our studies. Maybe if I’d given him the education he needed, I could have shaped him. Prevented all this . . .” Simon stopped with a shake of his head, his hand going to the chain around his neck. It was a habit—​hadn’t he done the same thing back in Renalt? But this time I noticed what it was he was clutching.

  A vial of blood.

  “Simon,” I said, “what is that?”

  “It’s a tradition in the old Order of Blood Magic. When a blood mage moves from novice to master, he saves a little bit of his blood in a vial like this, so that even after he’s gone, some of his essence—​his magic—​is preserved. The vial is made of luneocite glass.” He pulled the chain out from under his shirt so I could take a closer look. “It’s almost like leaving one final spell.”

  My thoughts were whirring like the gears in a clock. “And the luneocite . . . is what keeps it that way?”

  “Oh yes. Luneocite is Empyrea-given. And the Empyrea is the creator and conservator of life. This blood belongs to Domhnall’s brother, Victor de Achlev, a gifted blood mage and the best man I ever knew. My partner. He died with many of our friends and colleagues at the Assembly”—​here Simon’s expression became soft and sad—​“but he gave it to me to carry long before his death, so that I’d have a pie
ce of him with me always.”

  “Simon,” I said urgently. “I think I must ask of you a great, great favor.”

   34

  We waited within the tree line, a hundred feet from the camps along the wall, now mostly abandoned; anyone with sense had long gone.

  I’d drawn a map to Darwyn’s cache of alcohol for Fredrick and his men. From the cover of the woods, we watched the guards patrolling the top of the wall and waited for signs that Fredrick was putting the bounty to good use.

  Kellan was on one knee to steady his spyglass. “No sign yet.”

  I paced the ranks.

  “Be calm,” Kellan said under his breath. “They take their cues from you. If you’re confident, so will they be.”

  “I’m worried,” I said. “It’s taking too long. And who knows what could happen to—​”

  “To Zan?” Kellan finished.

  I looked at my hands. “Yes. Kellan, listen. I haven’t gotten a chance yet to thank you for coming back for me. And to tell you that I am so sorry about Falada. She served me well until the end.”

  “Then she did what I could not do.”

  “Kellan, don’t—​”

  He collapsed the spyglass. “I was given one charge: to keep you safe. And at the very first test, I failed you. I’m no longer worthy to be your protector.”

  I studied his face. It was still handsome, despite a few new scars and deepened shadows beneath his eyes. “I don’t need a protector, Kellan. I can take care of myself,” I said, and knew at once that it was both true and likely difficult for Kellan to come to terms with. “I need a friend and ally. In return I can offer unending aggravation. If you’re interested in that sort of thing.” I gave a wry shrug. “It’s a much better deal, really. You should take it.”