White Blood

by Holder, Angela

  The image of a rough soldier pressing a perfumed cloth to his face like a delicate lady struck Maryn as ridiculous, but she swallowed her laugh. She’d hate for Tior to think she was mocking him. “That’s a clever solution.”

  Tior shrugged. “Yes, well, it works.” He looked at her earnestly. “I hope you manage to pull off whatever you’re planning. If you need anything else, just ask. I’m willing to help.” He ducked his head and studied the toe of his boot. “I’ve been thinking…You were right to call me a coward. I’ve been acting like one. I should have tried to smuggle you out of the Church guesthouse after all; it would have been easier there than here. We’re right in the middle of the camp, with the army all around. But if you want, I can try. ”

  Maryn’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Tior. I don’t think you’re a coward any more.” She fingered the bottle. “I mean, you brought me this, just like you promised. Because of it, I’ve got a chance, now.”

  Heart pounding, she pulled the tent flap open a crack and peered out. Soldiers and servants bustled everywhere. As far as she could see campfires dotted the fields, their soft orange glow illuminating rows of low tents. Reluctantly, she let the flap fall. “You’re right; it’s too much of a risk to try escaping right now. With any luck I can make my idea work, and I’ll be safe, at least for a little while. But could you please keep checking back with me as often as you can?” Her voice shook. “You’re the only one here I can trust.”

  “I will. And I’ll keep my eyes open for anything I can do.” Tior bobbed his head at her. “I’d better go, before the other guard gets back from the latrine.” He backed out of the tent.

  Maryn stared after him, clutching the little bottle in her hand, struggling to cope with the rush of suddenly reawakened hope and all its accompanying fear. She half;-;wished she could stay resigned to despair; it would be easier than this constant rise and plunge of emotions. There was so little possibility her plan could actually work. But she pushed the thought away. A small chance had to be better than no chance at all.

  She opened the perfume bottle and rinsed it with water from her washbasin until she could no longer taste any trace of the bitter flavor of the perfume. She tried to express a little milk into it, but had no luck. Both her breasts were thoroughly drained by Barilan’s long nursing session, and she could get only a few meager drops. At last she gave up in frustration. She could try again in the morning; her milk was always most plentiful when she first rose from bed. She’d be sure to wake early enough, before the servants brought breakfast or Carlich called her to renew his spell. Barilan usually roused to nurse at least an hour before the sun rose; she’d do it then.

  But Barilan chose that night to sleep through until dawn. Maryn was so worn out by the journey that she slept deeply also. She woke to the shouts of officers rousing their troops and the bustle of servants distributing breakfast.

  She had to risk working Siwell’s spell under her covers, using Barilan’s eager nursing as an excuse not to rise while servants hustled about her tent, packing all the furnishings into neat bundles and bearing them out to the waiting wagons and pack mules. She finished barely in time. The guard who came to escort her to Carlich’s tent was forced to wait, tapping his foot, while she pulled her skirt and bodice over her shift.

  Carlich’s tent was much larger and more elaborate than hers. The prince sat at a small table, picking at a bowl of porridge. He dropped his spoon and came to stand before her, gesturing for the guard to leave them alone.

  Maryn’s eyes darted past Carlich to where a lazy curl of steam rose from his bowl. She forced her gaze away. If only she’d been able get milk into the bottle! She could feel the hard lump between her breasts where she’d tucked it down the front of her shift. She couldn’t imagine that Carlich would leave her alone in his tent long enough for her to squirt in a little directly from the source. Although maybe, if Barilan was nursing, she could pop him off for just long enough. She shifted the baby in her arms, wondering how he would react to an offer of another nursing so soon after the last.

  But she could do nothing while Carlich’s eyes were on her. He drew his knife and beckoned for her arm. She balled her hand into a fist as she held it out to conceal the scabs that studded the corners of her fingernails. She hoped it looked as if she were merely prone to biting her nails. Who wouldn’t be, after all she’d been through? But she didn’t want to give Carlich any chance to become suspicious.

  She should be used to the stroke of his knife by now, but if anything, each time hurt worse than the one before. Maybe it was the anticipation of pain that made her clench all her muscles, try as she might to relax them. Carlich completed his spell with precise efficiency.

  He pointed to the tent flap. “Go on. The guard will escort you back to your tent. Get ready; we’ll be riding within the hour.”

  Maryn risked a question. “Will we reach Loempno today, your Highness?”

  He frowned, but answered. “No, that’s not my intent. We’ll camp tonight a short distance from the city and come to the gates at midmorning tomorrow.”

  Maryn fought to keep her shoulders from slumping in relief. She would have one more day and night to try and establish the milk;-;ties that would keep Carlich from killing her.

  Several times that day she tried to snatch a few minutes alone to express milk into the little bottle, but it was impossible. The only times she wasn’t closely guarded were when she was allowed a moment of privacy to take care of her bodily needs. She had to use that time to renew Siwell’s strengthening spell, lest her will weaken and allow her to fall under Carlich’s control.

  Barilan was especially clingy and needy, wanting to spend many hours nursing. Her breasts labored to keep up with his demand, let alone produce extra. She thought he must be having one of those periodic growth spurts babies were prone to, when all they wanted to do for several days was nurse and sleep, and came out the other side an inch longer and a few pounds heavier than they’d been before.

  She didn’t get an opportunity to express milk all that day, and that evening she had as little success as the night before. But this time her determination and fear won out over her exhaustion. Even though Barilan again slept through the night, Maryn roused a full hour before sunrise and crawled from the cot.

  Her breasts were full and heavy, and her milk flowed easily in response to her coaxing. Many full streams squirted out. Though much milk missed the narrow opening of the bottle, soaking the lap of her shift and spraying the rug around her folding stool, she managed to fill the bottle well before the rest of the camp began to stir.

  She stoppered it, triumphant. Now the only thing that remained was to get access to something Carlich would eat or drink. If he followed the same pattern as the day before and summoned her to his tent, with any luck his breakfast porridge would again be there. She’d have to distract him long enough to pour a bit in. She pondered various schemes, trying to decide which Carlich would find least suspicious.

  The damp folds of her shift clung to her legs. Siwell had said milk didn’t attract specters the way blood did, but the memory of those horrors made Maryn loath to take any chances. She murmured the words of the cleansing spell. Showers of blue sparks exploded from her shift and the ground around her. Vibrations buzzed up her spine and into her teeth.

  Maryn looked at the sparks and wondered. Maybe she could have used the power stored in the milk to fuel Siwell’s spell instead of having to chew yet another painful sore on her finger. She’d never heard of milk being used that way. But if it released that much power when cleansed, it stood to reason she should be able to harness it instead of only burning it up.

  It was too late to try this time. She went ahead with the familiar process of drawing a few drops of blood and worked Siwell’s spell.

  Maryn hoped Tior would be the one to escort her to Carlich’s tent, but the guard was another stranger. Her heart fell when she saw him. The best plan she’d come up with involved Tior creating some sort of commotion t
hat would draw Carlich from the tent. Now she’d have to use a different ploy, one she feared would be less likely to succeed.

  As soon as she stepped inside the tent, her eyes went to the table. A bowl of porridge rested there, just as she’d hoped. It looked as if Carlich hadn’t touched it yet. Far across the tent, he peered into a small polished bronze mirror, adjusting the way his richly embroidered surcoat fell over his chain mail tunic.

  A servant stood beside him, holding a long scarlet cape trimmed with gold. At Carlich’s curt gesture, he helped fasten it to the prince’s shoulders. Finished, the servant stepped back and inclined his head. “Now, your Highness, you must eat. Priest Vinhor bade me remind you that you’ll need all your strength today.”

  Carlich waved him away with a snarl. “I’m not hungry. Leave it there; maybe I’ll manage to choke down a little later.” He turned, the cape swirling around him, and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. “That will have to do. Leave us.”

  “Yes, your Highness.” The servant bowed and brushed past Maryn out of the tent.

  A few quick strides carried Carlich to Maryn. He held out his hand. Maryn’s heart pounded in her ears. She made her voice strained, as if she were fighting the dregs of his spell. “A—a moment, your Highness, please?”

  “What?” He scowled at her.

  She didn’t dare meet his eyes. “Please, your Highness, would you look at Fril—I mean, Barilan, for me? He seems so different since we worked the spell to bring Frilan’s soul back. I can’t believe Princess Voerell won’t notice right away. What if she realizes we’ve done something to him? I’m afraid she’ll try to hurt him.”

  “I won’t let her do that.” But Carlich accepted Barilan when she held him out.

  “Just take him over there, and I’ll go over here where he can’t see me.” Maryn walked across the tent, stopping next to the table. “See if anything about the way he acts seems strange to you. If you can’t tell it’s really Frilan, I’m sure Voerell won’t be able to either.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” But Carlich stepped to the far side of the tent and held up Barilan at arm’s length. The baby laughed as Carlich swooped him from side to side. “Well, little one? Will your mother—your other mother—be able to tell you’re not really hers any more? I need her to believe you are, at least for a short time. I can win the day by force if I must, but it will be far better if she surrenders without a fight.”

  As soon as he turned his back, Maryn snatched the little bottle of milk from her bodice. She fumbled the stopper free. Only a few drops, or Carlich might taste the difference. She dribbled milk into the bowl; more than she intended sloshed out, puddling on the surface. Maryn corked the bottle and shoved it back into its hiding place, then grabbed the spoon and gave a few quick stirs. It seemed the milk would never incorporate into the thick porridge, and she despaired that she had used too much, but just in time she became satisfied that it was mixed in enough to be undetectable.

  She stepped away and put her hands behind her back as Carlich gave Barilan a final bounce. The baby squealed in pleasure. Carlich turned back toward Maryn. “No, I can’t see anything odd. Voerell should be fooled without any problem.”

  Maryn hurried across the tent, speaking rapidly the first words that came into her head to keep Carlich’s attention away from the bowl. “Are you sure Frilan has to be there when you confront Princess Voerell?” She reached to take the baby back, and wrapped her arms around him. “What if she resists, and there’s a battle? I’m so afraid he’s going to get hurt. Couldn’t you leave us behind in the camp where it’s safe?”

  To Maryn’s surprise, Carlich tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes as if he was actually considering her proposal. She scrambled to think of more arguments. If she could persuade him, surely she could find an opportunity to slip away with Barilan while he and all his men were engaged in the conflict. “I don’t see what good it will do you to have him there. It will just give the princess a chance to figure out what we’ve done.”

  Carlich’s expression hardened. “No. She’ll insist on seeing him. She’ll never believe I haven’t harmed him, otherwise. And they must see for themselves that he does not hold the Kingship.”

  “Couldn’t you—I don’t know, make an illusion, or something? Make it look like we’re there, when we’re not? You’re a great sorcerer, I’m sure it would be easy for you.” Maryn hoped she wasn’t overdoing the flattery.

  Carlich snorted. “I can only dream of such skill. I’ve never heard of sorcery strong enough to create such an illusion out of nothing. It would have to be real both to sight and touch, and last for hours, moving and speaking. Utterly impossible.” His eyes went unfocused. “Now, if I started with some other woman and child, so that I only had to alter their appearance…That would be fairly simple. Maybe that would have been a better plan from the beginning…” He shook his head. “It’s too late to consider anything like that now. You and Frilan will be safe, I promise. If it comes to a fight, I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

  Oh, well. She hadn’t really expected it to work. The distraction had accomplished its main purpose; Carlich hadn’t even glanced at the bowl of porridge. “If that’s what you think best, your Highness. Thank you.” She wasn’t sure if she should continue, but she had to know for sure what he intended. “And…after it’s all over, when you’re king and Princess Voerell is no longer a danger to you, you’ll let Frilan and me go? I swear, I’ll never breathe a word of anything I saw. I know you only did what you had to, just as I did. You’ll always have my full support, even long after your spell wears off. It’s not necessary anymore. Not since you gave Frilan back to me.”

  As soon as she started speaking Carlich opened his mouth, his expression falsely bright. But as her words poured out he shut it again and listened, his brows drawing together. When she fell silent, he gave her a long, searching look. “You really mean that, don’t you? Tell me the truth. The spell’s still strong enough you have to obey me. Have you truly given me your loyalty? Do you want me to become king?”

  Maryn forced herself to meet Carlich’s eyes, her expression as open and guileless as she could make it. “I do, your Highness.” She ignored the twist in her gut the lie provoked and tried to make herself believe the words as she spoke them, so Carlich would read sincerity in her face and voice. “I’ve seen enough to know you’re far stronger than Voerell. Milecha will be safe in your hands.”

  Carlich rubbed his chin, staring at her. Maryn returned his gaze for as long as she could bear, but when his silence stretched long she dropped her eyes to Barilan and fussed with untangling his fingers from the tie of her shift.

  Abruptly Carlich stepped toward her and gripped her upper arms. She smelled the metal and leather of his mail mingled with his masculine scent. “I’m going to be honest with you, Maryn. Vinhor wants me to get rid of you and Frilan after we don’t need you anymore. He’s sure you’d go to my enemies and they’d use you against me.”

  Maryn trembled, fighting the urge to wrench herself from his grasp. “I wouldn’t. I swear.”

  “I believe you. I don’t care what Vinhor says; I’ll protect you and your son. I’ll see you settled safe somewhere far away, with new identities and enough money you’ll never want. All I ask is that you stand beside me and support me in my bid for the Kingship.”

  “Of course I will, your Highness.” Maryn’s voice was so ragged she was sure Carlich would perceive her deception, but his gaze never wavered. “I’ll do whatever you ask. But I don’t see how anything I can do will make a difference.”

  “There’s one thing.” Carlich released her arms and stepped back. Maryn felt limp with relief, and her breath came more easily. “When the time comes for me to claim the Kingship, I’ll need the whole crowd shouting that they want me as their king. Vinhor says the magic will be most potent if the cry arises spontaneously from the common people, rather than me asking for it. I was going to have Tennelan or one of his soldiers get it
started, but I think it will work even better coming from you. Everyone will see that your motives are pure. Why else would Barilan’s nurse acclaim me as King, except that you believe I’m the best ruler for Milecha?”

  Maryn swallowed, her mind racing. There was no reason she shouldn’t shout for Carlich to become King. As long as Barilan safely held the Kingship, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. And her cooperation would prove to Carlich that he could trust her. If he managed to win after all, he’d remember. She was almost certain he was sincere in his promise to spare her. Maybe she really could save herself and Barilan.

  She inclined her head. “I would be honored, your Highness.”

  “Good.” Carlich grinned. “When I give you the signal, shout as loud as you can, ‘King Carlich!’”

  “King Carlich!” Maryn echoed, putting all the enthusiasm she could muster into her voice. Fed by her new hope, the cry rang out clear and strong.

  Carlich nodded approval. For a moment his eyes were far away, and his hands sketched a few motions in the air. Maryn thought he must be listening to the crowd’s acclaim in his imagination and practicing the gestures that would bring him his greatest desire.

  Would he be willing to forgo the compulsion spell if she asked? It was possible, but she didn’t want to risk him changing his mind later. If he was going to cut her, she had to make sure he did it before he tasted her milk. If the magic worked as she hoped, he wouldn’t be able to afterward. She still wanted that protection. There was always the chance Carlich’s new resolve would falter under Vinhor’s persuasion.

  She gave a little cough to draw his attention back to the present. Shifting Barilan to one arm, she thrust the other toward Carlich. “I’m ready, your Highness.” The spell would last half a day. Carlich planned to meet Voerell outside the city gates at midmorning. Before the time came to renew the magic, it would all be over, one way or another.

  Carlich drew his knife and took her wrist in his hand. He paused, the tip of the knife poised over her flesh. “I’m sorry. I still must do this. Vinhor would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.”