“How is your sense of touch?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Can you feel the heat?” Perceiving some awkwardness, Sienn sat the steaming cup on the ground beside me. “Why don’t you let it cool?” she suggested. Holding a pair of silver shears, Sienn knelt down behind me. She slid the leather tie off the bottom of my braid and separated the snarled plaits. Entwined with the strands were dried bits of mud and leaves from my recent trek through the swamp. Working carefully, she pulled the debris out a piece at a time. Her movements were slow and gentle.
My pulse was way too fast. I couldn’t take the silence.
“Malaq told me you were hiding the camp,” I said abruptly. “I was surprised we were able to walk right in.”
“The camp is visible. It’s the swamp that’s spelled. A man could walk for days believing he’s heading in a straight line, yet the whole time he’s walked in circles.”
“A confusion spell. That’s smart. Where does it lead?”
“Always away, never near. Unless you know it’s there. Only those aware of the spell can find their way. Even then, it can be difficult to locate someone who does not wish to be found.”
“You run the spell constantly?”
“I have to,” she said, still combing her fingers through my hair, working out the tangles. Her petting was giving me chills.
I tried not to think about it. “Someone must have elemental blood, the way you dried up the land.”
“There are several here of the line. But they are still learning. I did most of the work myself.”
“I don’t know a lot about elemental magic, but if you drain a swamp, it has to go somewhere. The water, the vegetation—they don’t just disappear.”
“No. They don’t.”
“If you’re channeling the water to the sea, that can’t be without consequences.”
“It’s not going to the sea. And the consequences are intentional. We’re restoring the land that will one day again be ours.”
“What land?” Then I understood. “You mean the site of the old empire? You’re trying to bring back the land I turned to dust with the Crown of Stones?”
“The Shinree won’t be in hiding forever, Ian. And we can’t live in a desert any more than we can a swamp.”
“Draken has a camp there, Sienn. The excavation of the ruins is spread out over miles. You don’t think he’ll question it when grass and trees start sprouting up in the desert?”
“Draken abandoned that project a long time ago. He’s too concerned with future conquests to care about the past. We are, however, being subtle. We’re transforming only small patches at a time, on the outskirts, so the change appears natural.”
“My father’s not a fool. He’ll notice.”
“Jem has his own interest in the land. He would likely be grateful for the help.”
She was probably right. “Do you think he believes I died in that mine collapse?”
“Let us hope. Otherwise, he will continue to try and use you in his effort to repair the Crown of Stones.”
“He tried that in prison. It didn’t work.”
“But you are particularly vulnerable now.”
“I know. Malaq explained it. I have no magic, no memory. I get it.”
Her hands on me stiffened. “I’m not sure you do. In prison, Jem asked Draken to take you off Kayn’l. He wanted you lucid for an oracle spell. Draken refused. He believed it too dangerous for you to ever be that aware again.”
“Oracles give visions of the future. How would that help him pull something out of me that happened over two years ago?”
“You don’t remember?” she asked, like it bothered her. “An oracle can also take you back. In your own life, or the life of anyone that shares your blood. You were the last to use the Crown of Stones. If Jem relived that moment through you, he would know the truth of what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Jem believes you did. That is all that matters.”
“Can an oracle spell be pinpointed that precisely?”
“Yes, with great concentration. But it becomes all but impossible on anyone whose mind is incomplete…like the Kayn’l is currently making yours. So even if Jem believes you dead and tries, his attempt will be unsuccessful. But once the drug has been fully purged, if he is still intent on performing the spell, there is nothing to stop him.” Sienn picked up the shears. She gathered my hair in her hand and split it into sections, draping it over my shoulders.
Not wanting to talk about my father anymore, I steered her back to our previous conversation. “Where did you get all of this? The shears, the cushions, the tea…the tent? You couldn’t have conjured the entire camp yourself.”
“Little of it came from magic, actually.” She made the first cut. “Prince Malaq sneaks in what he can, as does Captain Krillos and his crew. But we have other providers. Some send food stores and supplies. Some send cushions.”
“I admit. I didn’t realize the scope of Malaq’s operation here.”
“He has his hands full. It hasn’t been easy for him bowing to Draken while plotting against him. Not to mention Malaq’s been so worried about you. We all have.”
“Sienn…”
“Stay still now.”
I did as she asked. I didn’t move. I stopped talking and let her position my head as needed. I stopped stressing over the sharp edges in her hands, too. If Sienn wanted me dead, she had far more gratifying ways at her disposal than cutting shears. What I focused on instead was the one thing I shouldn’t have: the fleeting touch of her hand on my neck; the accidental brushing of her breasts against my back. Her skin lingered a little too long on mine—and it felt purposeful. Her pace did as well. She was definitely taking longer than necessary. It was like she wanted to keep me here, to get used to the idea of me again. Like, she wanted to touch me without consequence or meaning. Perhaps, she simply needed to know if it was possible to be in the same room and not want to kill me.
“There.” Standing, Sienn came around in front and sat down. “Almost done.” Resting the last of the long pieces over my face, she picked up small sections and snipped them off above my eyes. As she worked, her warm breath blew across my face. It was steady, even. Mine was opposite. She was so damn close. I didn’t know where to look. Straight ahead were her eyes and I wasn’t ready for that. Down was the neckline of her dress. I was a little too ready for that.
My attraction to Sienn was as strong as ever. But it wasn’t that simple. As she cleaned the stray strands off my face with the skirt of her dress, I noticed the stress lines on her forehead. Her shoulders were tense. There was a tremble in her hands; betraying her nervousness at being alone with me. Probably, she hated me. And I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to grab Sienn, pull her against me, and make the last two years go away. I was just too afraid of her reaction to move. I couldn’t even gather the courage to squeeze her hand. All I could think was: what if I touch her and she screams? What if she resists and I don’t care? What if I hurt her again?
Is that the kind of man I am now?
Did my father unleash something in me that could never be put back?
I stood abruptly. “I can’t.”
She looked up at me. “You can’t what?”
“This. I can’t do this, Sienn. I thought I could come here and see you and put it behind me. I thought I could make it up to you, that I could keep myself from wanting you. But I can’t. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t pretend I didn’t—”
“Ian, don’t.”
“I have to, Sienn. I raped you.”
Her eyes fell. She got up and walked away.
“I hurt you,” I said, following her. “I remember hurting you. I remember Reth telling me to go on. He said our child would change the future. He said you were confused. That you were touched in the head and I couldn’t let that stop me.”
“Please…”
“I remember how you cried. The way you would look past me, but never
at me, like you couldn’t bear it. And I remember that when I came inside of you it felt good. It was the only damn thing in two years of my life that felt good. When I think of it now, it just makes me feel sick.”
Tears spilled from her sad eyes. “We were both mistreated.”
“Is that what our children were? Mistreated? Because I’m thinking of a much stronger word.”
“Gods, Ian.” Biting her lip, she shook her head. “Kit should never have told you.”
“We made life, Sienn. I had a right to know.”
Sienn stared at me a long time. Her whole body looked tired and worn. “I’m afraid it will take a while to get past this.”
“There is no getting past this, Sienn. There’s only living with it. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to do that.” I shoved open the flap and went outside. The move was familiar. I’d walked out on Sienn before. But this was the first time she didn’t try to stop me. And the first time I really wanted her to.
Figures, I thought. Fate was generally a sarcastic, all around asshole of a god. But he was in rare form today.
FIFTEEN
“How about this one?”
I glanced over as Liel lifted a chunk of striated, black rock off the desk and held it up. “Nope,” I said. “Color’s wrong. That’s tourmaline.”
“I didn’t know it came in black.” Looking embarrassed, he held up another.
“Sapphire.”
“I thought sapphire was blue.”
“Not that one. That one’s black.”
Liel frowned. The expression was deep. Likely, it affected his whole face. But I could only see half of it, thanks to the canopy of blonde hair on his head. “I’m sorry, My Lord. I guess I don’t know a lot about Shinree magic.”
“It’s okay. There’s a cabinet in the back.” I tossed my head toward the other side of the healer’s chamber. “Why don’t you check there?”
Dutifully, Liel ambled over and started opening cabinet doors. “What if he doesn’t have one?”
“Obsidian is a core stone for any magic user. He’ll have one.”
“My Lord!” Liel exclaimed. “I think I found it.”
I put the lid back on the jar I was rummaging through and joined him. “Good job.” I took the large piece of obsidian from his hand. Vibrations leapt into me. Its aura was strong. “It’s perfect. I’ll need some cutting tools. Something precise. It has to look exactly like mine.”
“I think I saw some over here.” Liel led me to one of the counters. Books and bottles and papers littered the top. The floor looked no better. The Langorians had hit every room in their raid of the castle.
I put the rock down and we both started digging through the heap.
“Are you certain this will work, My Lord?” Liel asked. “Won’t Jem Reth suspect what you’re doing?”
“If I can keep him at a distance, there’s a chance my father won’t sense the difference between this piece of obsidian and the piece that belongs to the Crown of Stones. To have a real shot of making a trade for Neela and Jarryd though, I’ll have to deal with Draken.”
“You can’t trust King Draken.”
“That’s why I’m leaving this here.” I gripped the obsidian shard hanging from the cord around my neck and yanked. It was a rather unceremonious moment as the cord snapped, considering my father’s claim that I was connected to the shard’s aura. “If I die, anyone can take it.”
I dropped the shard in Liel’s hand, and he folded his fingers around it. “I’ll keep it safe for you, My Lord,” he smiled. “I promise.”
Grinning, I ruffled his hair. “I know you will.”
“Do it this way,” Malaq said. “Down, under… Now loop it—no, not like that.”
“This is stupid.” I threw the rope down.
He threw his hands up. “You asked me to show you.”
“No. I said, Malaq, stop tying these goddamn, impossible knots before I tie one around your neck.”
Behind me, sewing a rent in his shirt, Jarryd laughed. “He did. I heard him.”
“To which I replied,” Malaq reminded us sternly, “if you learn how to tie it, you can untie it.” He picked up the section of rope in both hands and stretched it out so the knot was in the middle. “Think of it as an enemy that needs conquering.”
“In that case…” I pulled the dagger from my boot, put the blade to the rope, and cut it. “Problem solved.”
It didn’t make sense. The way he sat, lounging on his throne, lips pursed, face void of anger, pain, sorrow, or even surprise. Did he not care what I’d done?
Maybe he hadn’t heard me.
I didn’t want to say it again.
“They’re all dead.” I paused, restraining the quiver in my voice. “The spell was larger than I meant. I didn’t know it would take both armies. I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to kill her.”
King Raynan dismissed my apology. “You’re sure the Langorian troops are disposed of? All of them?”
“I was the only one to survive.”
“And Draken? You said you took his mind.”
“I did. He won’t bother you again.”
The King’s reply was an unconvinced, “Hmmm.”
Kneeling, I drew the swords he’d give me six years ago and laid them down before the throne. “I’m ready, Your Grace. Do with me as you wish.”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Did you bring the artifact back with you?”
“Yes. But I thought you might want to see the Queen first. I wrapped her as best as I could.”
“The slaves will prepare Aylagar for burial. The funeral will be in two days. You will be required to attend. People will want to see you and the artifact.”
“My ancestors called it the Crown of Stones.”
“So they did.” King Raynan stared at me. His long face was stiff, like my words had bored him. “Rise.” He waited for me to get up. “You are relieved of your service to Rella. When the funeral is over you will leave Kabri.”
“Leave? I thought…”
“Go where you please. You will continue to live free under my protection.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not all my subjects will welcome what you did. Your continued presence here in the city could cause disorder among the people.”
“Am I not to be arrested?”
“Of course not. You are Rella’s Champion, Troy. My champion,” he added with clear ownership. “You must stay sharp. Be ready. I will have need of you again.”
“No,” I argued, “this isn’t right. I should be put on Kayn’l. Today. Right now,” I pleaded. “I should be punished for this, executed—something. I killed your people, your wife. You can’t let me go.” Boldly, I stepped forward. “Please, Your Grace. Don’t let me live with this.”
“You wanted a punishment.” The King’s blue eyes narrowed. “Take it and go.”
SIXTEEN
The tent was full of shadows. It held little more than a pallet for sleeping, an unlit brazier, and a tray of food and water. I still managed to stumble over it all.
Tangled in the blankets as I got up from the pallet, I put my foot in the food, knocked over the water, the brazier, and nearly fell into the spilled coals. Loud and indecent curses were coming out of me as the tent flap flew open. Daylight streamed in and I threw a hand over my face. “What the hell?”
“Ian?” It was Kit. “I heard a noise. Are you all right?”
I sat down where I was. It wasn’t on purpose. My legs sort of folded and the rest of me followed. “I’m great.”
“No, you’re not.” She rushed in. The flap closed behind her and stifled the light.
“Thank the gods,” I muttered, pushing at the pain in my head.
“Have you been sleeping this whole time? It’s nearly midday.” She sat down and started fussing over me. “Are you feverish? What happened?”
I waved her hands away. “Bartlett happened.”
“Bartlett? You’ve been drinking?” Expec
ting anger, I winced at the noise as she laughed. “Ian, that’s wonderful.”
“No, it’s really not.”
“It is,” she insisted earnestly (and a bit too loud). “It’s nice to see you acting yourself again.”
“Gods,” I winced. “Was I that much of a drunk?”
“You liked a good cup now and then. Or ten,” she giggled. “But you haven’t been allowed to feel properly in a long time. Until it’s working correctly, you should avoid things that put too much stress on your body.”
I lay back on the cool grass with a groan. “How about I avoid everything?”
“That’s extreme, don’t you think?”
“Nope. I’m fine right here.”
“On the ground? In the dark?”
“Yep.”
Kit got quiet. I think I was trying her patience.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “None of this is your fault.” I lifted up on my elbows. “But you need to stop reading into everything I say and do. I’m not the man you knew when you were little, Kit. You need to understand that. And I’m not the man Malaq knew two years ago. He needs to understand that, too.”
“All Malaq wants is for you to be well.”
“All Malaq wants is for me to cast magic for him.”
Again, she was quiet. “Can I give us some light? I promise I’ll keep it low.” She didn’t wait for permission. Kit got up and I heard her right the brazier. She scooped up the coals and dropped them in. There was a spark. Then light. Then I wished it was dark again to hide the mugs, bottles, food, and clothing strewn about. My little tent looked like a cyclone had spun around inside it.
“It was kind of a long night,” I said.
“I can see that.” Kit hitched up her skirt. She squatted down, found a plate, and went to work collecting the scattered bits of bread and cheese on the ground. She shook out a blanket. A crumpled shirt tumbled from the folds and I realized I wasn’t wearing one.
I motioned at it. “Can I…?” Kit tossed me the shirt. The fabric was sticky and stained, but I put it on anyway.
Kit moved to the other side of the tent and righted the overturned cask of ale. Making a face at the smell, she said behind her hand, “Did you drink this entire thing?”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 11