“How did you get out at Khulacht without the dwarves spotting you?” Libby asked.
“Who said I got out at Khulacht?”
“You can negotiate the Yarkhelecht rapids?”
“In otter form? With ease, my dear.”
Dax sighed. “I suppose this means my run-in with the bluecaps will be common knowledge by the end of the week?”
Fen sniggered. “Tempting though it is to shout it from the rooftops, if the dwarves get wind of it, they’ll realize I’ve been on their precious waterway. I’ll keep your secret, my friend. Now we need to continue, so let’s go collect some corpses.”
He led the way into the pasture, the ground shifter following with his bow ready.
Rhetahn sighed at the clear imprint of his fingers on the water shifter’s neck. “I swear all I’ve done is apologize to people on this journey,” he muttered.
Libby patted his arm with her free hand. “That’s not such a bad thing. Remember, humility is a sign of spiritual growth.”
He couldn’t stifle his snort. “Is that a human adage?”
“Why no.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “According to the council, it’s a proverb of The Three. The mighty Lord Rhetahn’s most favored saying.”
He made a face. “Humility is...I’ve never said such a thing in my life.”
She smirked. “Color me surprised.”
As she succumbed to giggles, he found himself grinning. “Impudent wench.”
“Arrogant despot,” she countered, through her snickers.
He burst out laughing loud enough to make their two companions glance over from the meadow. Cursing under his breath, he tugged her farther into the trees, closer to the harpy carcass. She resisted to a degree, biting her bottom lip.
“I suppose you don’t encounter many harpies in Paskyll,” he said gently.
She shook her head. “Never. The attacks along the southwest border stopped over two decades ago. The council say our prayers keep us safe from them.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. When was the last time Paskyll had even been listed on a ministerial meeting agenda? Being truly honest, he and his brothers had washed their hands of their loyal human followers other than accepting sacrifices. They weren’t pansophic gods. He didn’t ‘hear’ prayers the way the humans believed and couldn’t thwart a harpy raid without being told about it. The attacks stopping must be pure luck.
He recalled their argument on the barge, when she’d challenged him on the alleged protection that he offered her people. Humans and most other races believed their faith in The Three ensured peace after death. It protected their eternal sleep from the dark magic beneath the realm, magic that would consume their souls if given the chance. Dragon shifters, conversely, believed in the freedom of eternal flight, far above any magic hunting them. He’d never contemplated death in much detail. Being immortal, it didn’t top his concerns, but he knew his supplicants put great stock in the idea of a peaceful eternal sleep. The fact he didn’t know if The Three provided it, had never bothered him prior to that moment. Suddenly, it mattered.
Guilt made him fidget. She didn’t seem to notice as she studied the dead harpy.
“They seem full of self-loathing,” she said. “Are the stories true? Are harpies the result of a demon mating with a fairy eons ago?”
“That’s the gossip. I’m not sure how it would have worked, though. Fairies are tiny.”
“What is their queen like?”
“Pulchrya? She’s a typical harpy. Spiteful, cunning, and thin-skinned. To inspire loyalty, she takes each harpy child aside and whispers they are her chosen beautiful one, the vision amongst their hideous sisters and the heart and soul of the swarm, as they call themselves. She forbids them to ever disclose what she told them or seek their own reflections, lest they grow conceited and selfish at their allure.”
Libby blinked. “That makes no sense. They must look at each other and grasp the fact that they’re the same? And view their reflections when they fly above water?”
“Hence why they’re so bloody angry all the time. There’s nothing wrong with their appearance really, but Pulchrya’s lies have made them bitter and conflicted.”
“What about male harpies?”
“No idea. Never met one. I half-suspect they’re kept in cages.”
She shook her head. “Some of your subjects are bizarre.”
“Harpies are not my subjects, little cat. They consider themselves demons and bow to none other.”
“You said demons despise them.”
“They despise all races.” He glanced at the dead woman. “Harpies can label themselves flying demons and fight for them if they want, but they’ll never be more than groveling serfs to them.”
“Do you believe her sisters would take me to the council?”
“If on demon orders, yes.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not tempted, were you?”
She huffed. “To be delivered a demon horde and a high sorcerer who set me up to be sacrificed?”
He chuckled. “Just checking.”
The other two shifters returned quickly, each with a harpy corpse draped across their shoulders like a leather shawl. Unwilling to lose face, he hoisted the third harpy into his arms, gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest. Breathing shallowly to avoid the dry, sour smell, intermingled with the scent of blood, he followed the shifters, hoping he wouldn’t have to carry it too far.
Fen stopped at a conifer with branches so wideset he had to duck to get below them. He tossed his harpy underneath the lowest branches. Dax and Rhetahn emulated him, kicking leaf litter over the bodies.
“Although this will hide the bodies for now,” Rhetahn said, “if a demon patrol advances this far, they’ll recognize we passed this way. Should we bury them properly?”
Fen shook his head. “We’re best to head to my hideaway, Lord. It’s deep in the woods and safer than here. By the time they’re found, we’ll be away downriver. If you’ll follow me?”
Fen led the way into the trees. After a moment’s pause, Rhetahn and his two companions followed the water shifter into the twisting shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Libby
After the forbidding tunnels of the dwarves, the woodland was rather pleasant. The coniferous surroundings were different from Paskyll’s oak and beech woods, yet still reminded her of home. Pines and spruces towered above her head, junipers and rowans dotted around them like children loitering near their parents. Darkness lingered in the shadows between the gnarled trunks, with patches of sunlight shimmering from the canopy to the forest floor.
She trudged a short distance behind Fen, pine needles crunching under her feet as she hoisted her rucksack on her shoulders. Birds chirped above them, many high enough to be invisible, others hopping around in plain sight on the lower branches. She inhaled the earthy, fresh scent of the trees. This was an improvement on the confined dwarf tunnels and safer than being on the mountainside, in full view of other harpies.
She shuddered at the memory of the vicious, bat-like women. Although, if the one they questioned was truthful, Libby herself had been in no danger. They were under instruction to fly her to the council, and the sorcerers’ demon escorts.
Apprehension hit her again. She could understand the demons ordering the retrieval of the powerful amulets she carried, but why were there orders for her safe return? Why did her blood make her important? Her questions overlapped inside her head like a never-ending symphony.
At least she no longer needed to worry about dying when she and her companions reached Thassa. She glanced at Rhetahn, trudging a few paces behind her, with Dax bringing up the rear. The god would hold to his word. He would restore his power with the Rondure and allow her to go home.
How overjoyed her parents would be when she arrived. Had they heard the false rumors of Rhetahn going mad during the ritual? Did they know their daughter was alive? What did they make of the demons passing through Paskyll? What if Dax’s sources were wrong r
egarding them not harming humans and she returned home to find her entire village slaughtered?
A bubbling noise penetrated her anxious mind and she glanced around.
“It’s to your left,” the god said. “A small river around fifty yards away.”
She strained to look for what he described. “You can see it?”
“I can pinpoint the sound. It must be a tributary of the Yarkhelecht, or the Steek as we should call it now.”
“I prefer Yarkhelecht. It’s prettier.”
“You’re not wrong, but remember, we mustn’t reveal we traveled on it.”
“Oh, you’re right. The Steek it is.” She squinted at his shirt as he moved up beside her. “Is your wound bleeding again?”
He glanced at the damp, dark red patch on his dirt-encrusted shirt. “Looks that way.”
She tutted. “Probably because you used magic on the harpy.”
“I didn’t have a choice, Libby.”
“You did about luring the third one in, so Dax could take his shot. You could’ve let Fen do it. You didn’t have to carry a body, either. You exerted yourself when you didn’t need to.”
He smiled. “Are you finished scolding me?”
“I’m not scolding you. You’re the one who keeps going on and on about regaining your strength.”
He gave her an injured look. “I don’t go on and on.”
She smirked. “You do a bit. I’m merely reminding you to take better care of yourself.”
“Hmm.” His noncommittal murmur changed to a warm, suggestive purr. “Why don’t we take care of each other when we get some privacy?”
Despite her racing pulse, she kept her voice nonchalant, glancing at Fen to gauge if he could hear them. “Privacy? We’ll be trapped on another boat soon, with two companions rather than one.”
“That’s true. Well, if needs be, I’ll knock them both out.”
It took her a moment to spot the mischievous glint in his eyes. She hid her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I never used to be. You’ve brought it out in me.”
She huffed a noncommittal laugh, sighing at her susceptibility to his teasing charm. The waterway coming into view distracted them both. It meandered its way toward them through the trees. Narrower than the underground Yarkhelecht, the current was a lot more obvious due to the leaf litter and pine needles it carried in its swirling depths. Tree roots and small animal tunnels riddled the peaty banks. Most riverside trees were covered in spongy green lichen. The air smelled of rich earth and alpine nature; moss and conifers mixed with mud.
A flash of color caught her attention as a kingfisher shot away on azure wings. A sudden plop made her turn in time to spot a water vole paddling through the vegetation and scampering into the opposite bank.
“May I present the River Pikk.” Fen gestured to the waterway. “You’re correct, Lord, it is a tributary of the Steek.” He shot them a cheeky glance and she cringed, recognizing his crafty way of revealing he’d overheard their conversation. “We’ll follow it for around a mile to my home. It meets the Steek another half mile beyond.”
Conversation stopped as the four companions maintained a brisk pace to their destination. The rising sun sent dappled light through the branches to the ground, which alternated between crisp needles and boggy patches. Libby trotted behind Fen, inhaling the powerful river aromas and matching his footsteps to avoid the muddier sections. Finally, the water shifter’s hideaway appeared in the distance.
From his earlier words, she’d expected a dilapidated shack suitable for boat storage. Instead, an elegant, two-story lodge stood back from the riverbank, nestled amongst the trees. Made of sturdy timber and raised off the ground by thick wooden poles, the house looked as cozy and welcoming as any in her own land.
The front visage faced the river, with a wood-framed deck running the length of the lower level. Pale dawn rays glimmered through the tree canopy and bounced off the windows in a rainbow of color. A blackbird sat atop the slanted roof, belting a cheerful refrain. On the near side sat a picturesque, moss-covered well with a tin bucket on the side. A white flagstone path curved from the well to the deck, then onward to a boathouse on the riverbank.
“What do you think of my humble hideout?” Fen asked her.
“It’s lovely. Do you live here all the time?”
“I wish I could. It’s too far from town to be convenient for work purposes. Perfect bolt hole though. I bring the family here quite a bit.”
“You’re married?”
“Gods, no. Don’t make such terrifying statements. I meant my younger siblings and my parents. They live in town and like to get away on occasion. The children run wild here. The Pikk is a private tributary, so we’re never disturbed.”
“Who owns it?”
He flicked her a glance. “I do, my dear.”
She stared. “The whole thing?”
“Down to the last clump of sponge moss. Now let’s find the beauteous lieutenant. I hoped she’d come running to greet me.”
He strolled along the flagstones, with Libby, Rhetahn, and Dax following him, then climbed the steps to the leaf-littered deck. As Libby glanced around at the benches under the windows and the plant pots dotted between them, Fen bent down by the nearest door. A piece of paper fluttered in his hand as he straightened, presumably it had been wedged in the gap. As the birdsong continued, she peeped over the water shifter’s shoulder to read the scrawled writing.
‘Scouting the river. Back at dawn.’
“She’s gone out on her own.” Rhetahn’s tone was disapproving yet resigned, like he wasn’t surprised.
Fen made a disapproving noise. “I told her to stay put.”
“She’ll be back any minute, if her note is correct,” Dax said.
“These independent womenfolk, eh?” Fen shoved the note into his pocket. “I’ll make breakfast and prepare for the onward journey in the meantime. No doubt you’d like to freshen up and change clothes?”
“Yes please,” Libby enthused.
Then she remembered she didn’t have any spare clothing. Oh well. A wash would be better than nothing.
Fen led them inside and escorted her upstairs to a small, neat bedroom frequented by one of his teenage sisters. Situated at the back of the house, overlooking the trees beyond, it contained a double bed, a flower-patterned armchair, a pine wardrobe, and matching dresser. The rattan rug under her feet seemed unnecessary with the wooden floorboards smooth as marble and polished to perfection.
After leading the men to other rooms, Fen returned with some sweet-smelling soap and tin bowls of water. Then he made her day by telling her to help herself to clothes from the wardrobe.
“My sister is around your size,” he said, examining her with bold appreciation. “Her clothes should fit you better than that uniform. Probably make you look even lovelier, too.”
Declining his gallant offer to assist her, she waited until he departed, then removed her filthy clothes and cleansed herself from head to toe as if luxuriating in hot springs. She even managed to scrub the soap through her hair, rinsing out what felt like most of Jothesia’s rock dust in the process. After tying it back in a loose braid, she donned her new attire and studied her reflection in the mirror.
The pale blue tunic fell to just above her knee, cinched at the waist by a narrow leather belt. Yellow thread trimmed the hems and off-the-shoulder neckline, and the cream bandeau underneath supported her breasts much better than the previous one. Even the tan leggings, socks and boots she found were a perfect fit.
With that in mind, she shoved another clothing set into her rucksack, hoping for an opportunity to return them to their rightful owner at some point. After some musing, she reattached the dagger sheath over her leggings, as it wouldn’t fit underneath them. The harpy attack left her wary. Despite her supposed magic bloodline and the two powerful amulets swinging from her neck, she felt more secure with a weapon.
A cursory rap on the door made her jump. It opened before she
could respond, revealing Rhetahn leaning against the frame. Her stomach swooped at the sight of him in his new clothes; dark brown breeches underneath a short-sleeved tunic that emphasized his bronzed skin and powerful biceps. His tousled hair was damp, and he’d shaved off his three-day beard, leaving behind a shadow of stubble. Her fingers tingled with the urge to trace his strong jaw. Power clung to him like a physical presence, but his words softened his imposing countenance.
“Fen sent me to inform you breakfast is ready.” He had an air of baffled resignation. “Apparently I’m a messenger boy now.”
She raised her brows. “Messengers are supposed to knock and wait.”
“Damn. I have much to learn of my new vocation.”
She expected him to leave. Instead, he shut the door behind him and wandered farther into the room, examining the modest surroundings. His gaze lingered on the bed for several moments. Then he turned to study her. “Those clothes are very pretty on you.”
She smoothed the tunic. “Thank you.”
His voice lowered. “I know somewhere they’d look even better, though.”
“I doubt they’d fit you,” she stammered, her heart pounding.
He smiled, his gaze radiating heat as it traveled across her body. “On the floor.”
Chapter Thirty
Her breath caught when Rhetahn hooked a finger under her left sleeve, pulling it farther down her arm. She bit her lip when he did the same to the other sleeve. The tunic dress was tight enough across her breasts, it wouldn’t fall without some help. Assistance was next on his agenda, if his wandering stare was any indication.
Brushing his hand against the damp tendrils escaping her braid, he frowned. “You washed your hair.”
She furrowed her brow. “Yes?”
He stepped closer, his commanding presence making her quake. Putting his face next to hers, he inhaled. “Ah. You still smell like you.”
Sacrifice Page 18