Blood of Heirs

by Alicia Wanstall-Burke

  ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, or what you were doing down that old vent shaft, but I know injuries and I know wounds. What I saw when I looked down that hole was a man nearer to death than any I’ve seen.’ She eyed him carefully. ‘You should be dead, yet here you are. I could claim it as my handiwork, but that’d be a lie. I helped break the fever, but something else healed you.’

  Ran froze.

  Beyond the closed door and the walls of the room, footsteps and the murmur of voices lingered then moved on. The young woman did not turn to acknowledge the sounds, instead kept her gaze firmly on her patient and his reaction. It was as though she saw right past his skin and bone to his soul and its secrets.

  ‘They won’t come in unless asked by me. They have other chores to see to and hardly have time to nurse an injured vagrant back to health.’ She took a step closer, a fire burning in her hazel eyes and lines of worry in her brow. ‘I know what you are, sir. Believe me when I say you are safe in this room, in my care, but know your secrets have shown themselves and you’re lucky it was only I who saw them.’

  She went to the door and a croak escaped Ran’s throat. She turned, her hand on the latch.

  ‘Name?’ he asked, squeezing the word out, his hand flexing with the effort.

  ‘Sasha,’ she inclined her head and left, Ran’s ears ringing with the pounding of his heart and the sound of that one word.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Southern Reaches, Orthia

  Sasha wandered in and out of Ran’s room as days passed, requiring him to move around and forcing him to work his weary legs more than he liked. He slept hard, the exercise taxing but rewarding. Every day he saw improvements in his injuries, which gave him hope. He’d feared he might never be able to gain full use of some of his limbs. His foot and ankle gradually took more weight, his badly lacerated thigh hardly smarting at all as he walked with Sasha’s help from his bed to the window and back. By the fifth day of exercising, he was able to make several circles around the room, and refused to lie in the bed unless to sleep after dark.

  If Sasha thought he progressed well, she kept it to herself. Ran did see her smile as he circled the room while she stacked clean clothes and linens in a chest by the wall. He saw the gleam of pride in her eyes and the smallest crease in her cheeks when she thought he wasn’t looking, but try as he might to break through her icy exterior, she kept herself aloof. The coolness of her manner threw him, seemingly at odds with her otherwise caring nature.

  She came to soothe him back to sleep when nightmares stalked his dreams. He dreamed often of his father, the soldiers and the men from the tavern hunting him through the trackless woods in his mind. She sat by his side, smoothed the creases from his brow, and sang songs like those his mother had when he was unwell. The duchess never let another care for her children when they fell ill; her hands were always ready to treat a cold or fever.

  All of this, knowing how his mother was when her children were poorly and watching Sasha in the moments when he needed her most, confirmed to Ranoth that the flame-haired young woman was no icy matron. She was hiding herself from him, holding back, unwilling to let him know her. He asked questions but her answers, if they came at all, were blunt and singular. She left very little room for him to investigate or enquire.

  ‘You know,’ he ventured, stretching his thigh tentatively and rubbing the muscle to warm it before walking the room again. ‘I’ve been here nearly three weeks and I still know nothing about you.’

  Sasha’s hands didn’t stop folding the clean clothes, nor did her eyes turn in his direction. ‘Best for everyone it stays that way.’

  ‘Everyone?’ He continued to massage the muscle but his exercise was forgotten. ‘Who else is here? I’ve only ever seen you and heard footsteps and muffled voices.’

  ‘Best you don’t know of them and they don’t know of you.’ She placed a shirt on the pile and reached for another. Ran moved as fast as his limp would carry him and caught her wrist.

  Sasha froze and met his eyes with a glare. He expected to see fear, but her anger shocked him and he dropped her hand as quickly as he’d taken it.

  ‘I don’t understand, Sasha.’

  ‘I told you when you woke up; I know what you are.’ She jerked her head towards the door. ‘How long before they find out?’

  Her honesty stunned him and the truth of her words stung like salt in a wound. His broken ankle, healed too quickly, and the unnaturally fast recovery of his less severe injuries, had marked him out and revealed his curse.

  Sasha dropped the shirt she was folding and put her hand on her hip with a sigh. ‘I don’t think you’re dangerous, but it’s better if you don’t know anything more about me or the others in this house than you need to. And the same goes for us. Why do you think I haven’t asked your name?’

  She was right, of course. If someone came looking for him, it would be her name as well as his on the executioner’s list after a short trial for treason and assisting a fugitive. Did she know about the bounty the duke had put on his head?

  ‘I’ll leave as soon as I’m able, I swear.’ He pressed his fist to his chest and gave her a small bow.

  ‘But not a minute before,’ she countered. ‘I’ve not spent three weeks dragging you back from death to watch you run off into the woods and get yourself killed.’

  Ran inclined his head again and began his ritual of pacing the room in silence while Sasha returned to her folding and stacking. The tension between them slipped from the atmosphere as though their conversation had cleared the worries clouding both their heads. Ran was as happy not to tell Sasha his name as he was not to know anything more about the other occupants of the house. He didn’t want to know where they were or what the nearest settlement was, though he suspected Graupen was the closest. He’d not run far enough to escape its rural borders.

  Outside the room, a door slammed and Ran started. His hand fell by instinct to the door latch on his left, and he stopped and listened. Sasha appeared at his side in seconds, her ear pressed against the timber panel and her finger held up to order him to silence.

  ‘Where is she?’ A deep voice boomed, loud enough this time to make the words clear. Sasha stiffened at the sound and, for a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

  Another voice answered the man’s demand, too soft to discern.

  ‘I don’t care what she said, she’s not hiding anymore!’ the man bellowed. Heavy steps thundered closer. Sasha shoved Ran aside and he staggered into the adjacent wall. She snapped the latch and opened the door, darting into a hallway. The footsteps stopped abruptly, the door creaking to a stop, slightly ajar.

  Ran could see neither the man nor Sasha, the wall between them blocking his view, but he knew he stood a mere foot from the person angrily making demands. Again, his weapons were well out of reach, locked in a cupboard across the room to which Sasha held the key. If things went sour, he had only his hands and a pair of unsteady legs to defend himself with.

  ‘Afternoon, Father.’

  ‘Time you let me see your guest, Sash.’ The man’s voice softened. It sounded almost pleading, as if he’d tried for an age to get past his daughter’s guard to see who she was keeping in the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. He’s too ill.’ Her flat response drew a growl from her father’s throat.

  ‘I’ve been to town. I spoke to the inn-keeper…’ He let the words hang, as if they should be enough to convince her that something was amiss.

  ‘And?’ Sasha prompted, obviously unimpressed.

  ‘There’s a bounty on the prince’s head, for using magic. He was in town and near ripped the inn apart, Sasha. They said he ran and vanished in the woods.’ The man paused and cleared his throat. ‘I won’t have a criminal under my roof.’

  ‘You’ve no evidence to say he’s the prince.’ Sasha dismissed her father’s claims out of hand and Ran grimaced. She must have some power in this house if she’d kept him hidden from her parents for three we
eks.

  ‘It’s no coincidence,’ the older man growled.

  ‘He is protected in my care, Father. You know the healer’s law—’

  ‘You might work for me down that bloody mine as a healer, but while you’re under my roof, Sasha Hale, you’re still my daughter!’ he shouted now, his fist hitting the wall where Ran leaned close to listen.

  ‘You have no right to accuse an injured man of crimes you have no evidence he committed!’ Sasha countered. ‘Besides, he is not nearly well enough to face any sort of interrogation, or to travel.’

  ‘No? Tomorrow he’s coming to town with me and we’ll see what they have to say. If he has the same face as the man who destroyed the inn, then he’ll be dealt with. Let him plead his case to the judge.’ Sasha’s father stormed away, leaving the hallway silent and Ran sweating with panic against the wall.

  They know! Shit. They know. They’ll have sent word to Usmein, or the nearest garrison and soldiers will be on their way…

  Sasha appeared in the doorway, frowning and chewing her bottom lip. Her hand went to the latch but paused, her gaze settling on Ran standing in the corner, shivering.

  ‘In bed,’ she said quietly and shut the door without further explanation.

  Suddenly very cold and very afraid, Ran obeyed, but he would not sleep. He needed to get out of here. Had Sasha’s irate father mentioned his daughter’s patient to the folk in the village? Had the coincidence dawned on him in the solitude of his mind, or had the innkeeper helped him piece the story together? If Sasha’s father knew who he was, likely everyone in town knew. If he stayed, he was as good as dead.

  *

  ‘Wake up!’ Sasha hissed in Ran’s ear.

  He jolted up and glanced around, stunned. He’d fallen asleep after all, his body ignoring his mind’s pleas to stay alert and concoct a plan of escape. Instead, he’d slumbered and let precious hours slip by.

  ‘Shit!’ He sat up, her hands still pulling insistently at his shoulders. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Late enough without being too early,’ she replied and scooped his legs out of the bed to settle his feet on the floor. ‘Put this on.’

  She shoved a thick coat at his chest and began forcing his feet into a pair of boots that were only just big enough. His own were long gone, sliced off by Sasha when she tended to his broken ankle and frozen toes.

  ‘Up, up, up, let’s go!’ She heaved him to his feet and went to the window.

  ‘It’s locked. I tried it.’ Ran muttered, fighting to get his hands into the gloves Sasha threw at him.

  She raised a brow at him and waggled a key between her fingers. ‘Locks have keys.’ True to her word, the lock gave in to the press of the key and the window eased open to the cold of the snowy night. ‘The snowfall should be heavy enough to cover our tracks—’

  ‘Our tracks?’ Ran caught her elbow as she moved to step onto the chest below the window, snow swirling through the open space and collecting on the furniture. ‘You’re not coming.’

  ‘Are you the duke’s son, the prince of Orthia? The one they call the Black Prince?’ Sasha’s eyes flashed in the light of the fire that was trying its best to warm the room. ‘I know you have magic and frankly, you don’t have the make of a boy raised behind a plough and draught horse, or down in the tunnels. You aren’t from these parts. Are you the man my father thinks you are?’

  Hot fear balled in Ran’s throat. It could be a trap. She could drag a confession from his lips before crawling out the window to hand him over to his father’s soldiers, or worse, the locals. Her arm twisted in his grasp until her hand curled around his.

  ‘You go out there alone, you’ll die; you stay here, you’ll die. I told you, I didn’t spend three weeks saving you from the hands of the Dark Rider just to send you off to die somewhere else.’ She handed him his worn saddlebag and pulled a rucksack of her own onto her shoulders. ‘You go, I go.’

  Sasha climbed through the window and dropped silently into the drift below the ledge. She turned and offered her hands to help him through, but Ran hesitated. His fear was real and paralysing. The last time he stole into a blustery, snowy night, he’d come as close to dying as he thought a live man could and still survive.

  ‘You stay, you die…’ she repeated, in case he hadn’t heard or understood the first time.

  ‘What if we get caught?’ He gave his fear a voice and it cut through the night.

  Sasha simply shook her head. ‘We don’t get caught, Prince Ranoth.’

  *

  The snow stung and the cold bored into his joints. He felt as though he hurried into the night with a hundred millstones hanging from his shoulders, the weight dragging him down into the banks of white. His ankle burned and the muscles of his legs screamed for rest. He was breathless within minutes and staggered along behind Sasha, doing his best to keep up while his body did everything it could to stop him.

  Sasha tied a rope between them and walked at his side or in front, seeking the easiest track or the most sheltered pathway along the hills and valleys. Somewhere before dawn, in the darkest part of the night, Ran thought it would be better to cut the rope with the knife in his bag and just give in to the snow’s embrace. If it wanted him that badly, it could have him.

  Sasha wouldn’t have any of that, though. She dragged him on at a pace fast enough to make progress, but not so quickly that he was exhausted entirely. She walked away from her parents’ home like she’d dreamed of nothing but the day she could finally put her back to it. Confidence and strength pulsed from her like heat from a fire, unaltered by the driving snow and biting wind, determined to get her patient away from the house, her father, and the threat of the locals.

  Had he not drawn strength from his little pool of magic in the darkest hours, Ran knew he’d have died among the trees and drifts of powdered snow, and not even Sasha’s skilled hands could have saved him. But even that power source was finite. Eventually, when he reached down for extra fuel to warm his worn muscles and frozen feet, he found nothing but a scoured, empty pit. The reality of his situation hit him like a boulder to the chest and he stumbled, fatigue collapsing his resolve and gutting the single spark of resilience he’d carried from the farmhouse.

  He hit the snow and his companion instantly hauled him back to his feet, taking his full weight on her shoulders. How she managed it he couldn’t imagine; her frame was so slight under the layers of fur and wool he thought she’d snap under the pressure if he put an ounce more weight on her. But she pressed on, staggering through drifts and pushing him up rocky inclines, never complaining.

  ‘Not much further,’ she grunted, crawling up an embankment and reaching to pull him up through the falling white. Though it came down softly, it still left his face wet and stinging as though whipped.

  As dawn light broke in the eastern sky at their backs, they stumbled into a cave in the high face of a mountain, not unlike those where he’d taken refuge after his escape. Ran’s eyes searched the dark corners and crevices, expecting to see his ghost there, but she remained hidden in the shadows of his mind. Sasha dropped him on the floor and immediately stripped off her bag and brushed the snow from both their coats. She produced two tightly rolled blankets and tossed one at Ran before wrapping the other about her shoulders and sitting heavily on the ground beside him.

  The wind couldn’t reach its claws to where they sat in the cave, curled against each other and the rough wall. It wasn’t warm, but it was better than the alternative. The sheer relief of not fighting the weather for every step was glorious, if strange. Ran felt weightless without the force of the wind and snow jarring against his every move. His body practically floated in the calm of the cave, the silence only broken by the whispered sound of gentle breath.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ he asked, unsure if Sasha was awake but too sore and weary to turn his head to check.

  ‘Innocent people don’t deserve to die.’

  ‘You don’t know I’m innocent.’

  She looked up at
him, fatigue drawing her eyes into deep shadows, her lips burnt and raw, bright as blood against pale skin. ‘No, perhaps not… You’ve got the look of someone who’s seen death. But what they’re accusing you of—the magic—it’s not a burden you chose. Magic doesn’t give you a say when it comes, it doesn’t ask your permission.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ he mused.

  Most Orthians, if asked, would spit in the dirt and call it a curse, and a filthy Woaden curse at that. Had he found the only person east of the Morgen Ranges who didn’t think so?

  When she failed to reply, he glanced down. Her eyes were closed and her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her chest rising and falling with slumbering breath, a steady rhythm that drew him into a trance. His eyelids drooped and closed, and not even a glimpse of the ghost in the corner of the cave could keep him awake a moment longer.

  ***

  Usmein, Orthia

  Every year since her marriage, Duchess Merideth found comfort in the winter season, knowing her family was whole and safe from the threat of the Woaden. It was a time when soliders returned from the front and became husbands, sons and daughters once more. Homes were full and the towns and cities of the duchy became calm once more. This year, the sense of peace did not arrive with the first fall of snow.

  This year, there was nothing but pain.

  Her home, as vast and opulent as it was, felt empty and cold—a corpse where once a living, breathing thing existed. There was no laughter in the halls, nor any colour or light. To her eyes, the world, and everything in it, was dead.

  Her son, her only living son, was gone.

  He’d been gone for weeks, or perhaps a month or more; she ceased counting when the days became too numerous for her heart to hold. She knew the longer Ranoth remained away, the less likely it was she would ever see him again. She knew as days became weeks, the weather would only get worse—colder and harder—until it finally froze the duchy solid and locked the roads and passes in ice. She also knew if her son lingered in the wilds of the world, the cold would take his life before her husband’s soldiers found his trail.