His aghast expression leached into impassivity. “I don’t need anything from you, Lissabet.”
“That’s not what you said when you wept in my arms over your dead brother. The pathetic, frightened princeling dragged from his palace without servants to coddle him. A god, indeed. What a joke. We should have trusted the demons from the start.”
“I told you she was a disloyal coward,” Jahda said to Rhetahn.
The god was wavering. Despite his hurt and embarrassment, he didn’t want to believe her cruel words. Desperation flickered along her veins as she took a deep breath. This would risk everyone’s lives, but she didn’t have a choice. She had to convince him.
Praying she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she whipped out her free arm. A bolt of silver and black magic burst into the canopy. Birds scattered, trilling warnings as the crackles ripped through the trees. Twigs, leaves, and pine needles pattered to the ground from the blast.
“Help me,” she screamed again. “Lord Rhetahn is here! Harpies, he’s here!”
Jahda grabbed her again. “Shut the fuck up!”
Twisting out of the soldier’s grip, Libby gathered her strength and hurled another magic spear, this time at Rhetahn.
His shock bordered on comical as he threw himself to the side, rolling into a crouch in one smooth movement. Dax and Fen dodged too. The ebony-tinged magic smashed into the trees behind them, shredding the bark into pieces, echoes booming through the pines.
“What are you doing, you damn fool?” Fen’s face was white with fury.
Jahda gripped her again and slapped a hand across her mouth. Evidently, her investment in the deception didn’t extend to her lord being attacked.
“Lord, we need to go,” Fen said urgently. “We need to leave right now. She’s alerted every enemy in the area to our position. I’ll be lucky if my lodge isn’t ransacked to the ground.”
The god stood up, brushing dirt from his clothes without taking his icy gaze from Libby. “Dark magic? You kept that hidden until this point. I’d say the demons are welcome to you.”
She stopped, her confusion showing on her face by sheer determination. Dark magic?
Her heart stopped when she recalled the black threads coating her last three magic bolts. Had she channeled demon magic? How?
“We’ll depart at once.” Rhetahn turned from her, and his dismissiveness ripped her heart in two. “Fen, get the boat ready. Jahda, Dax, restrain the girl and remove the amulets. Now she’s using dark magic, they’ll be happy to escape from her.”
Fen whirled away, bounding through the trees like a deer fleeing from wolves. Dax followed on his heels, returning with a thick coil of rope.
She winced as he bound her hands. The ground shifter hadn’t spoken since she’d been pulled from the river and she wasn’t certain whether he believed her performance. When he revealed a gag, she cringed, memories of the ritual hitting her full force.
She tried to bite him when he went to fit the leather strap and he jerked back with a scowl. Jahda yanked her braid, forcing her into submission. With careful hands, the ground shifter secured the leather at the back of her head, then reached for the chains around her neck.
She whispered a silent accord, in case the amulets prevented their removal like they’d done in the sentry cave. He lifted them above her head warily. Emptiness washed through her, like her body mourned the loss of a friend. Her limbs became as heavy as boulders. She stood trembling and sodden, mud and leaves plastered over her, swallowing against the fetid smell of algae and wet vegetation. Her ribs were bruised, blood trickling across her limbs.
“Dax, hold on to my amulet,” Rhetahn said to the shifter. “I daren’t reattach it until the high sorcerer has confirmed the truth of the girl’s bloodline. I can’t risk the same fate as Mhaljett. Not now she has revealed her ability to utilize dark magic.”
He spat his next words at Libby. “You understand you held a decent chance of surviving anyway? Especially if Thassa confirmed there was something wrong with you. Now you’ve sealed your fate. I’ll kill you either way when we reach him. You’ll either be used as the sacrifice or executed as a traitor.” His bitterness made her flinch. “Congratulations, though. You fooled me. You can go to your death with that minor victory.” He turned to Jahda. “Take Storren’s amulet to the North Sleets.”
The lieutenant hesitated. “Should I remain with you? If enemies find you after the girl’s reckless act—”
“We’ll be fine. If they were close enough to hear her shout, they would have attacked by now. And if anyone spotted her magic, the boat should carry us away prior to their arrival.”
“Very good, Lord. I will give the amulet to your kin in the Sleets and return with soldiers at our rendezvous point near Amity. I wish you luck on the remainder of your journey.”
“Likewise, Lieutenant.”
She offered him the rope securing Libby’s hands. He scowled, jerking his head toward Dax instead. The god’s derisive expression made her cringe, the devastated hurt in his eyes bringing a lump to her throat as the ground shifter accepted the rope from Jahda.
She bit her bottom lip to stop it wobbling, as the lieutenant caught her eye. Gray mist formed around her powerful body, almost obscuring her tiny, imperceptible nod, which held a glimmer of something...was it respect? Approval? Attempting a subtle response was pointless, as the soldier had already disappeared amongst the mist. Dax tugged gently and Libby stumbled into motion. Moments later, wind billowed around them as Jahda took flight through the charred gap the magic had made in the canopy.
She uttered a silent prayer to The Three to keep the brave lieutenant safe, shaking her head at the irony after the blasphemies she uttered in the last few minutes. Her sole comfort was knowing she’d saved another human from death at the god’s hands. Whatever was wrong with her blood, she doubted it would affect him, as it had no negative affect on his amulet, which she’d worn since the ritual. She would be sacrificed as fate decreed, by the man trudging behind her, silent and dejected like the fire in his soul was extinguished.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rhetahn
Rhetahn stared at the swirling waters as the vessel cut through the water. Their departure from the lodge was swift, with Fen’s elegant boat navigating the tributary and its low-hanging trees with ease.
The water shifter spent the first section of the journey enthusiastically describing why his vessel, the Cordelia, was so fleet. Rhetahn’s head throbbed at the nautical terms, the high aspect ratios, gaff rigs, fin keels and others. Citing his stab wound, he claimed weariness and went to sit near the prow.
The two young men respected his unspoken request for privacy, only disturbing him to point out the body of an eachy trapped between tree roots on the bank. Hunted for sport and fur, eachys were now a rare enough sight in the Shifterlands to warrant his interest. From the charred burns on its body, it looked like it had been burned by magic. Perhaps demons had tried to catch it.
They joined the Steek around a mile from the smoking outskirts of Pikeport. The Cordelia tacked from side to side, aided by the increasing wind and the fast current. The shifter sailed from the stern, handling the boom and the myriad of ropes with effortless skill.
A cabin was situated below deck in the center, accessed from a hatch in the stern, next to the main seating area. The bow was smaller, with narrow benches bordering the triangular prow. The vessel’s gleaming white sails flapped as they traversed the waterway.
The sun beamed through wispy clouds and the air smelled crisp and fresh. Enormous bulrushes waved on both sides of the river. Reed warblers flitted across the foliage and bitterns stalked amongst the stems. Marsh harriers glided above the riverbanks, and sheep and longhorn cows grazed in green pastures interspersed with boggy fields.
Beyond the grasslands, came the mountains. Immense peaks towered around them, harsh and forbidding against the sky, as mighty and invincible as any god in existence. He hadn’t appreciated the landscape in centuries, yet as t
he journey continued, he found himself as empty and despondent as a dog in a rainstorm.
He knew he should be thinking about what was to come. Fen confirmed they would be mooring overnight in a secret location around four miles outside Amity Canyon. Therefore, they would be heading toward the demons the following day. Although this meant they wouldn’t have to contend with harpies, it made it harder to approach with stealth. His companions were waiting for him to decide on a plan, but his attention kept drifting to their hapless captive, retained below deck.
When Libby had started her defiant rant he’d been amused, labeling it as a misguided attempt to ensure her role as the sacrifice rather than a servant’s. When she’d turned cruel and hurtful, then attacked with her suddenly dark magic, the truth hit him with a force of an executioner’s axe.
The human was as conniving as he’d first suspected. Perhaps his experienced seduction techniques had softened her rancor, but either she’d been acting from the start, or the idea of becoming the sacrifice again extinguished any lukewarm feelings she held for him. How had she utilized dark magic? A malevolent power channeled by demons? Had she been doing it all along, and he’d been too blinded by her allure to notice?
His mortification at his foolishness was soul-crushing. Not since his people cowered under demon whips had his pride taken such a beating. Her fear at being killed he could understand. Her resulting callousness and apparent betrayal, he could not. How had he allowed himself to fall for her devious charms? Was he so lost without his brothers he couldn’t tell when he was being manipulated?
“Lord,” Fen called from the stern, “we’re nearing a riverside settlement. You should go below, out of sight.”
Hiding his reluctance, he headed for the hatch.
“We’ll call when it’s safe, Lord.”
Dax sounded subdued. He supposed the ground shifter was embarrassed about his misguided trust in the girl. To that, he could relate. They’d both been fools.
The cabin contained four berths, a small double at the back and two singles on each outer wall, nestled below small, circular portholes. The odor of dried river water made him pull a face. Unlike the fresh, rock filtered Yarkhelecht, the Pikk’s mulched vegetation left an unpleasant aroma on damp material, such as what their prisoner wore. Libby was gagged, curled on the timber floor with her back against the wall, her wrists and ankles bound with rope. The leather sheath around her calf was empty. She jumped when he entered, then stuck her pert nose in the air and turned away.
“You stink.” He made sure his voice was flat and cold.
She stiffened. Mud and algae caked her clothes. Twigs, leaves, and pine needles stuck out of her tangled braid at every angle. Her face was even paler than usual under the dirt, and tremors racked her body. He steeled himself against unwarranted concern, distracting himself from her presence by peeking through a porthole.
A typical Shifterland settlement sat next to the waterway, along the rugged, boulder-strewn hillside. The cobbled streets were a mix of stone and timber buildings. Smoldering remains of dockyards dotted the riverbank; harpies had attacked this town with a vengeance. Thick, gray smoke billowed into the sky and flames blazed from the windows. The charred remains of vessels lay wrecked on the water; Fen tacked with care to avoid them.
Residents lined the streets, passing water-filled receptacles from the Steek toward the burning buildings. Others tended to the wounded, laid in makeshift stretchers on the ruined docks. Children huddled in groups, staring around wide-eyed, as if awakening from a nightmare. Most inhabitants were water shifters although he spotted other races too: ground shifters, satyrs, and even a couple of trolls. The latter were knee-deep in the river in their tattered rags, filling pails with resolute determination.
Many paused their relief efforts to watch the Cordelia go by. None responded to Fen’s shouts about not letting the harpies’ preposterous tales of insane gods affect his trading. Some scrutinized his unblemished boat with narrowed eyes. Fen wasn’t making many friends by sailing past with blithe indifference.
Witnessing his followers’ despair, Rhetahn’s guilt and worry intensified. Although the harpies may not have been aiming to kill, for once, destroying homes and livelihoods was virtually as bad.
After passing through several more settlements, Fen confirmed Rhetahn could return to the deck. He forced himself not to throw another glance Libby’s way as he negotiated the hatch to sit with his companions at the stern. The effusive water shifter seemed an improbable companion for the reserved Dax, yet their camaraderie was obvious as they chatted. It reminded him of his easy relationship with his brothers, making his heart ache even more. He couldn’t add much to their dialog, feeling as raw and battered as a soldier after his first battle.
Fen’s sailing skill aided their journey; he flew the Cordelia along the Steek, utilizing the changing wind currents to jibe and tack from side to side. They ate the dwarves’ rations as they sailed, with Rhetahn begrudgingly permitting the ground shifter to offer Libby a small meal.
When the young man resurfaced, he looked frustrated. “She wouldn’t eat anything or talk to me.” He proffered the plate. “Perhaps if you tried, Lord?”
“Not a chance.” Rhetahn crossed his arms. “If she won’t eat, she can go hungry. It’s all one to me.”
“I don’t think—”
“Dusk is starting to fall,” he said brusquely. “Some town residents may notify the harpies of your presence on the river, Fen. We need to find shelter.”
“It’s like we are of one mind, Lord.” The water shifter pulled a boom rope with a theatrical flourish.
The Cordelia changed course toward a large collection of willows, their branches and leafy vines drooping over the water like a thick green curtain. Fen lowered the mainsail and jib sheet, allowing the boat’s momentum to maintain its smooth glide toward the bank. Rhetahn and Dax glanced at each other uneasily, but there was no need for concern. With incredible skill, the water shifter maneuvered the boat into the willows’ midst using the tiller, pushing the vines out of the way and throwing a rope around a branch above them.
In the dim light of the drooping boughs, the waterway had carved a large chunk from the bank between two trees. Utilizing the branches and ropes for leverage and barking directions at the other men, Fen edged the boat into the gap, the hanging vegetation hiding it from sight.
Between the willows on the bank, an enormous reed thicket towered higher than a full-grown man. The viscous bog in which they grew would be impossible to negotiate without considerable noise and effort. Rows of blue spruce trees rose from the mud as well; their boughs laden with serrated leaves and razor-like needles, sharp enough to dissuade the hardiest explorer. Overall, a perfect hiding place.
“We’ll be safe here tonight,” the water shifter said, after he’d secured the boat to the branches. “Harpies won’t land on willows or blue spruce if they can help it. The branches are too unsteady. We’re hidden from above if we keep the lamps extinguished and nobody can reach us on foot without making noise. We’ll depart at dawn. Amity is around a three-hour sail with a good wind.”
Rhetahn took a seat in the narrow bow again. “Understood.”
For the next few minutes Fen fussed around the deck, uncoiling and re-coiling ropes, sweeping away dirt and willow leaves, checking the sails were secured and doing other nautical chores Rhetahn knew nothing about. The air cooled as the sun sank lower in the sky and the green dimness beneath the willow boughs increased.
Dax eased himself down opposite. From his hesitant manner, he wanted to talk.
Rhetahn frowned, staring at the vines and hoping the young man would take the hint and go away.
“May I speak, Lord?”
Rhetahn allowed himself an audible sigh. “If you must.”
The ground shifter’s voice lowered. “I think Libby has deceived us.”
“You finally figured that out?”
“No, I mean”—the young man dropped his voice further—“I believe sh
e fooled us in the woods. She didn’t try to run away. She lied.”
“By the same token, my most trusted lieutenant lied also?” He swung his attention back to the willows. “You forget your place, ground shifter.”
Dax flinched. “I believe it’s an act. She’s desperate not to let another human replace her as the sacrifice. She used every weapon in her arsenal to re-establish your animosity. Integrity and compassion motivated her actions, not treachery.”
A frisson of doubt entered Rhetahn’s mind. He brushed it aside, recalling her callous verbal attack and reckless endangerment of her companions. His pride had taken enough whipping.
“How do you explain the dark magic she summoned?” He raised his brows at the ground shifter. “An illusion?”
This time, Dax didn’t flinch. “I told you, I comprehend nothing of magic. I’m sure she would clarify what happened if you asked her. I cannot believe she channeled it maliciously, or even on purpose. She’s too goodhearted and kind.”
Unbidden jealousy hit him at the young man’s loyal words. He conjured up a sneer to hide it. “She has you beguiled, hasn’t she? Are you in such desperate need of relief you would screw a craven apostate like her? Come to Trivium after we defeat the demons. My courtesans can give you what you seek, and they’re less likely to gut you in your sleep afterward.”
The ground shifter’s stare cooled to emerald ice. “If I tried to take Libby to bed, she would rebuff me in a second. I am not the man she wants.”
“You are mistaken.” Rhetahn’s heart twisted as he spoke. She is a deceitful, spineless traitor.”
“I disagree.”
Rhetahn ground his teeth. Before he could give Dax the castigation he deserved, a matter-of-fact voice stopped him.
“There is a way to be certain.”
They swiveled their attention to Fen, leaning against the mast.
Dax frowned at his friend. “What do you mean?”
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