by Faith Hunter
“What do you do here?” The Elvim pushed on her hip with his boot as he repeated his question.
Gray sucked in a breath as pain speared her arm. She sat up, wishing she’d thought to bring a flintlock. Not that it would have done much good. Elvim didn’t die easily and he’d caught her unawares.
That’s when she saw the Elvim wasn’t alone. Another, a boy by the looks of him, lay across the clearing. Boils bubbled thick over his skin from head to toe, most of them seeping black fluid. His chest jerked as he fought for breath. His mouth hung open, exposing white teeth. On each side of his upper jaw, he had a pair of dangerous fangs. The forward one grew straight and razor sharp. The one behind curved like a wolf’s tooth.
Gray’s attention returned to the man standing over her. He started to kick at her again.
“Stop that!” she snapped, slapping at his booted toes. She should have been afraid. Maybe she would have been, had the elders not been about to tear her life to shreds. Now she was merely angry.
He blinked. “What do you do here, rocha?” His lip curled into a sneer on the last word.
Rocha was the word Elvim used for settlers. Gray didn’t know what it meant, but it wasn’t anything good.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you ill?” Stupid question, though perhaps they’d rubbed up against a poisonous plant. Some were known to cause such sores.
He scowled and sneered at the same time. “Do you answer my question. What do you do here beyond your walls?”
“I am not beholden to you,” she retorted, struggling to her feet. “Your people don’t claim the great forest. What I’m doing here is none of your business.”
A smile curled his thin lips. Like her chickens, his eyes were a hard, marble blue, but he had slitted pupils. Fast as a snake, he gripped her neck, his talons pushing dents into her skin. A hair more pressure and he’d poison her. If his poison worked on neffs, which it didn’t. It didn’t matter. He had strength in his hands, enough to snap her neck if he chose.
“No one claims the great wild. It is not for your kind,” he said, bending close to her and drawing a long breath through his nose. He licked her skin just above her collar.
Gray jerked away from the intimate touch, fury and embarrassment burning her cheeks. The Elvim allowed her to back away, touching the tip of his tongue to his top lip. She scrubbed the wet of his lick from her skin with her knuckles, eyeing him warily. She didn’t want to be scared, but she was. More than with Proctor. With the Wardman, she knew what he wanted and his weak spots. She’d thought of ways to stop him. The Elvim was unknown, but his tongue on her neck demanded the things Proctor wanted and the way he’d effortlessly tossed her, she doubted if she could stop him. Fear quickened her breathing and quivered in her knees.
Something caught his attention. He flung his head up and twisted, listening. Gray heard nothing but the chirp of birds and the scuttle of critters through the trees. The Elvim’s expression sharpened. Moving almost more quickly than she could see, he crossed the clearing and scooped the boy in his arms. He turned as if at a loss for which direction he should run. For he was running. Gray read that in the taut line of his body and the set of his shoulders. She saw her fear mirrored in him.
“Who is hunting you?”
He stiffened and flicked a glance at her and away, dismissing her.
Gray licked her lips. A reckless idea took her. She needed help—with her arm broken, and she was sure it was, she could not escape her house with her things. The Elvim could splint her bone and help with the fetching and carrying. He could hide in her house for a few hours or the night.
“If you help me, I’ll help you. You can shelter in my house.”
His jaw slackened and his eyes widened. Gray didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she started back up the hill to the ward wall. She didn’t hear him follow. She chewed her lower lip. What could she do now? One handed, she could do precious little to escape or defend herself from the binding.
Nonsense, she told herself. She’d carry what she could to the wall and push it over, then haul it to the tree. If the elders showed up before she was done, well didn’t she have two good pistols already loaded? She wasn’t going to bend for Silla or the men and she wasn’t going to be chained.
She wrestled the ladder up against the wall with her good arm, pain in the other making her eyes burn with tears. She refused to let them fall. Sniffing, she lifted her chin and climbed up, trying not to jostle herself more than necessary.
“We cannot cross.”
The Elvim’s voice startled her. She jerked around, her heart thundering in her chest.
“The magic is strong. I cannot pierce it alone.”
“Don’t worry,” Gray said. “You don’t have to.”
She leaned her hips against the wall, steadying herself with her good arm. She lifted her leg over and straddled the wall. Sweat rolled down her neck and she shuddered with a strange cold. Fear maybe, or pain. Didn’t matter. She had work to do.
Her presence on the wall made a breach in the spell boundary. She wasn’t sure how wide. Enough for her companions, she hoped. The Elvim scowled when she waved him up. He hesitated. The boy moaned and his breath rattled in his mouth. Abruptly the Elvim jumped up on the wall beside Gray.
“I’ll need the ladder. Set the boy against me and I’ll steady him for you.”
He snarled as if the thought of her touch was contemptible, then squatted, resting the boy over his knees. With a liquid movement, he picked up the ladder and tossed it over. It cartwheeled all the way to the porch. Gray sighed. Jumping down was going to jolt her arm something fierce.
“Best get down before I do,” she told him, resolving not to get angry. She needed his help. The Elvim obeyed and she swung her leg over and slid down to the ground. As expected, fiery pain roared up inside her. She leaned against the wall and cradled her arm to her stomach, breathing deep until it passed. Then she straightened and led the way into her house.
The chickens gathered around. Several pecked at the Elvim’s booted calves and feet. He ignored them.
“You can put him in the bed up front, if you want,” she said, stepping aside so the Elvim could enter.
He looked into her room and then laid the boy on the table. Gray pumped water into a bucket and scooped it up in a cup. She offered it to the Elvim. He took it and lifted the boy, helping him drink. More than half dribbled down his front. His tongue was swollen, and his mouth was full of the boils.
“What happened to you two?”
Fury swept the older Elvim. He grabbed the front of her coat in his fist and slammed her against the wall. “You know. You did this. You rocha.” He spat the last word.
Pain turned the edges of Gray’s vision black. She kicked at his stomach, then braced her feet on his shoulders and shoved. He didn’t move. He was a boulder of muscle, stronger than any human man she’d ever seen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, panting. Breathing hurt. “Looks like you both got the wrong way of a devil plant or ate something you shouldn’t have. Maybe a sickness.”
“A magic sickness,” he said, eyes slitted with rage. “It attacks my people. Those it touches die. We are hunted to keep us from giving it around.”
“By all that’s holy,” Gray whispered. She believed him that her kind had brought such an illness. The Wardmen had long chafed against the settlement limits. They wanted more lands—Elvim lands. But the Elvim outmatched the settlers in strength and numbers. The only way to fight them would be something like this.
“You have sorcerers. Surely they can cure you.”
“They study, but we die before they find answers.” Pain twisted his face and he abruptly let go, returning to the boy’s side.
Gray crumpled to the floor, chest and throat on fire. The Elvim bent and spoke in the boy’s ear, stroking his forehead with gentle fingers. He loved him. Was the boy his son?
She could help them. The moment he’d said it was a magical illness, she
’d known what to do. Why should she? The Elvim had broken her arm and probably a few ribs. If he learned that swallowing her blood would cure the illness, he’d drag her back to his people. They’d chain her up and harvest her blood. If she survived, they’d use her in their war against the settlers. If not, they would know to steal the neffs. Her life would never be her own again.
Or she could let the Elvim die and become Proctor’s whore.
Leaving was no longer possible. Maybe with a broken arm, but never with damaged ribs. She’d not survive the wild lands. She wasn’t even sure she could get over the stone wall. She wasn’t without an escape. She had herbs that would end her life. Death or servitude and torture. No matter what she chose, her life was over.
She wasn’t willing to let Proctor have her. Was she ready yet to die? What did life have to offer her but pain and humiliation?
The Elvim would take her into the wild lands. She longed to see more, to go beyond where she’d explored. Her heart longed to see its vast strangeness. Was that reason enough to live?
She didn’t know.
Gray scooted around onto her knees, leaning on her right hand. By the god of rainbows, she hurt. Taking a shallow breath, she rocked herself to get enough momentum to stand. She bit her lips against the pain. Then hands slipped under her arms from behind and the Elvim set her on her feet.
“Thank you,” she said.
He studied her, his brow furrowed. “I did not mean to cause you hurt.”
“Lucky for me you weren’t trying, then,” Gray said, taking another cup and dipping it full, wincing as she leaned her hip against the counter. “You did a fine job.” She nodded her head toward the boy. “He’s your boy?”
The Elvim’s face hardened. “He is.”
“How old?”
“Thirteen seasons.”
“What about his Ma?”
He shrugged, then stepped toward Gray, raising his hands. Blue magic wreathed his fingers like smoke. “I can mend you.”
It said a lot of his power that he could call that kind of magic so close to her. Proctor couldn’t. Or maybe it was because she was wounded, and that weakened her immunity. She had no idea. Not that he could actually heal her up. She was neff.
Gray opened the drawer beside her and drew out a skinning knife. The Elvim halted, raising his brows.
“I mean not to hurt you.”
She tipped her head, curious. “You already have. Besides, you hate me—my people.”
It startled her when he looked down. His cheeks flushed with blue, then his sharp gaze met hers. “It was carelessly done, and you have shown kindness.”
Selfish kindness. She remembered the girl she’d been before coming to the settlement. She’d been joyful. She’d taken pleasure in aiding others. As neff, she’d resented it. Resented the settlement’s disgust of her, the way they demanded her sacrifices like they had a right to them.
She looked at the boy. She could do a true kindness. Be better than what the homesteaders thought her to be. Be better than she’d been for a long time. She could take pride in saving the Elvim. She could give herself freely to them.
Give herself, unowned, unchained. Her choice.
That was surely worth the price of her life.
She pushed away from the sink and limped over to the table. The boy shuddered and trembled. The Elvim man followed her, his eyes fixed on the knife. She had no doubt he could snatch it from her before she could do any harm to the boy. Not that she planned to harm him.
Gray held the knife out to the Elvim. He took it, his brow furrowing again.
“Cut me,” she said, holding out her right thumb. “Deep enough for blood to flow.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes narrowed as if he doubted her sanity.
“I can’t do it cleanly with only one hand. Do you want to see your boy well?”
His body jerked. “Well?” he echoed.
Gray took advantage of his confusion to reach over and slide her thumb along the blade. Her skin parted, a larger cut than she’d wanted. She hardly noticed the pain. She held her thumb above the boy’s mouth and dribbled her blood in his mouth.
The Elvim dropped the knife with a clatter and snatched her wrist. She fought him, but even whole and healthy, she was no match for his strength. He jerked her away from the table.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, grasping her shoulders and shaking her hard. “Answer me!”
Gray’s head snapped back and forth. She sagged in his grip as the pain overwhelmed her. Before she could fall, he slid his arm around her waist and despite herself, she leaned against him.
“He won’t die,” she said. “Neither will you. Not if you take my blood.”
He went still. “I don’t understand.”
“I am neff. Magic can’t touch me. If you take my blood, it should stop the disease.”
For a long moment, he was silent. All Gray could hear was the oddly patterned thud of his heartbeat, and the squawk of the chickens on the porch. Then slowly the Elvim lifted her hand and touched her thumb to his lips. His mouth closed over her flesh and his tongue stroked her skin. Gray trembled. No man—no one at all—had every touched her so intimately. It was terrifying and yet strangely wondrous. If the settlers could see her now, they’d stone her. Even Silla. He licked her again and sucked gently. Gray gasped, willing herself to hold still, though everything inside her told her to run, to hide.
Abruptly he pulled away, his chest rising and falling as if from great exertion.
“How long?” he rasped.
“I don’t know.”
His son shrieked and convulsed. The Elvim twisted away. He barked something that could have been the boy’s name. He gathered the boy in his arms, murmuring and stroking his head. The boy keened like a wounded animal, shuddering and shaking, his heels beating the table.
The Elvim stiffened, his arms loosening as his back arched backward. His face contorted. He dropped to one knee, his son thudding back down to the table. Gray scooted around to the other side, holding the boy steady as best she could. Already she could see the boils shrinking. His breathing had deepened and the rattling had eased.
Across the table, the Elvim gouged his fingers deep into the wood, holding himself upright. Waves of pain rippled over his expression one after another, but he made no sound.
Gray started when a hand closed hotly around hers. She looked down and met the boy’s wide-eyed gaze, then went further to their entwined hands. Blue and sun-browned skin. The boy’s head turned and he caught sight of his father.
“Konal,” he said, letting go of Gray to clasp his father. “Konal,” he said more urgently, then said more, liquid sounds that made no sense to her.
She watched them a moment. The Elvim wasn’t as sick as his son. He collected himself, a brilliant smile breaking across his face as he grabbed the boy in a tight hug. Gray smiled, too, her chest swelling. Tears pricked her eyes. No matter if the elders and Wardmen would call what she’d done betrayal or treason or even deviltry. She’d done a good thing. Her womb could not give life, but she’d managed all the same.
The cacophony of squawking chickens warned her. They didn’t like the elders, but they especially didn’t like Proctor. Out the window, she caught sight of him. He had turned off the road onto the path leading to her house. He was alone. Gray’s jaw hardened. She went to the front door. She put one of the pistols under her hanging left arm and picked up the other, then opened the door, shutting it firmly behind her as she stepped out onto the porch.
Gray waited on the top step, watching Proctor’s approach. Like the Elvim, he was tall and broad. His hat shadowed his eyes, but his mouth and square jaw were set and forbidding. In one hand he carried a chain.
The chickens swarmed him, pecking and flying at him, He whacked one out of the air and swore when another gripped his upper arm and flapped, shredding his sleeve. Two more knocked his hat askew. He swung the chain. It whistled, thudding against the black bodies. Feathers exploded
in the air and chicken bodies rolled over the ground.
Proctor lifted his left hand and sketched arcane symbols in the air. They glowed a pale yellow. Gray’s lip curled and she hurried down the stairs. He saw her and his hand worked faster. She broke into an awkward run, her broken ribs sending porcupine quills through her chest. She was ten feet away when the symbols faded to nothing. She grinned at the fury and fear that swept his expression. After all, what was he without his magic? Just a man. A mean, cruel, ambitious man who enjoyed hurting her.
The Wardman’s hat had fallen, vanishing beneath the chickens. They’d tear it to bits and shit all over it. Gray’s smile widened. He loved that hat.
“Call your animals off,” he demanded.
“What do you want?”
“Silla didn’t warn you?” he asked, brows rising. He shook his head. “Elbi was sure she’d run off to tell you. One last time.” He smiled unpleasantly. “She’s about to get lessoning on obeying her husband in all things.”
Gray bit her tongue until it bled. She couldn’t help Silla. Her sister would have to find her own way. She lifted her pistol, leveling at Proctor’s chest. “I’m not going with you.”
He laughed. “Shoot me and you’ll be stoned to death. Is that it? Would you rather die?”
Before she could answer, he leaped forward and knocked her arm up. The pistol discharged and fell. He grabbed the other one and flung it away. His broad hand slammed against her breastbone. She stumbled backward. Her heel caught on a rock and she tumbled, landing hard. Pain seared her arm and ribs. She yelped once, then gritted her teeth to keep from showing any more weakness.
Proctor bent to pick up the chain he’d dropped and came to stand over her. At the ends of the links dangled two leg shackles. He bent, catching one of her feet. She kicked to no avail.