She sent her senses into Holly and tried to calm her, but the filly’s emotions were a jumble of fear and desire and powerful filial attraction.
Molly let out a deep-chested growl, and her violet eyes burned down at Caris as strings of blood and saliva dripped from her blood tooth.
Caris tried to back Holly, but the filly whinnied and barely relinquished a step.
Molly’s chains gave a terrific clatter, and Caris looked in time to see the Phyros perform a bizarre four-hoofed hop forward. Her gigantic hooves boomed on the plank floor, now a good two strides closer, and Caris nearly leapt from her armor.
As Molly bunched her hind legs for another hop—a hop that would bring her well into biting range—Caris panicked. Without thinking, she did what she would if faced with any other aggressive horse, and diverted her horse-senses to Molly. She gave the mare a quick mental slap to startle her and buy time to escape.
And it felt like she’d leapt into fire.
Roaring heat closed above her head. Blinding violet rage invaded her skull.
Caris screamed and retracted her senses, and the fire vanished, but her mind still reeled. As the dark twilight of the stables engulfed her, new noise assailed her. Horses screamed. Molly let out a startled whinny, terrifyingly close, and something yanked at Caris’s right arm.
Unfamiliar rage flared in Caris, filling her chest like resin in a furnace.
“Bloody bitch!” she roared. She wanted to smash teeth. Anyone’s teeth. She wanted to lash out, rip flesh, strike, crush. When the force yanked at her arm again, she wrenched back savagely, and Holly gave a whinny of pain. She still had the filly’s halter in her hand, and the moon-blasted fool was still trying to pull free and get back to her mother.
“Idiot!” She wrenched Holly around, ignoring her whinnies of distress, and hauled her back before Molly could make another leap.
Behind them, Molly tossed her head, slinging foam and growling in frustration.
As she bunched and jumped again, Caris dragged Holly down the corridor to her stall, where the gate was wide open. That doltish groom had probably left the gate untied after bringing fresh straw, and the moment he left, Holly had gone straight to her mother.
After shoving Holly into the stall, Caris slammed the gate and tied it. Rage boiled behind her eyes. If she caught that groom, she’d dash him against a wall, tear his ears off, throw him down.
What’s happening to me?
She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the gate. The heat in her chest made it feel like every exhalation would be a spout of fire, and it frightened her. Flinging her senses out to the other horses, she found that Molly’s bloody activities had them panicked—especially Rag, who wasn’t Phyros-trained. The smell of blood filled the place and put even the cool-blooded Idgit on edge. Rag actually whinnied in fear when Caris’s wrath-tainted mind touched hers.
Cursing, she withdrew her senses and opened her eyes in time to see Molly bunch and jump, bunch and jump again. The report of the chains and hooves on the wood floor made Caris flinch, and that was like flint on steel, igniting the unfamiliar rage all over again.
“Back off!” she spat, and whipped her sword from its sheath. A couple more of those bizarre four-legged hops and Molly would be at Holly’s stall, and though Caris knew the immortal beast would crush her and rip out her throat, she would make the monster bleed.
When Molly jumped again, she thrust the tip of her blade before her frothing chin. “I said, back off!”
Molly stamped a massive hoof, jarring the boards beneath Caris’s boot.
If she hopped again, Caris would give the beast a scar to remember her by and probably die beneath those hooves, in glory.
For what? said a corner of her mind that still struggled for reason.
Sir Willard’s voice rang in the courtyard, and other voices joined his.
Molly’s gaze bored into Caris as if the mare would burn twin holes through Caris’s skull.
“Do it, you Blood-mad bitch,” Caris said.
“Molly!” Willard lumbered into the stable, then called to others outside, “Stay out!”
The Phyros held Caris’s gaze a moment longer. Then she flicked her ears and snorted as if dismissing her, and turned her head to see Willard. The old knight limped to her side, wheezing through bared teeth. His head swung from the wreckage of Molly’s stall in the west arm to the standoff unfolding in the east. “Mother of moons,” he said, as he grabbed Molly’s halter and hauled her head down beside him.
His eyes flicked from Caris’s face to the stall behind her. “Holly…?”
“Bleeding.” The word came out like an accusation, twisted by the rage that contorted her face and heart. “Molly tried to rip her head off and I stopped her.”
Willard squinted past Caris toward Holly. “Her hood’s torn, but I see no injury on her.”
“There’s blood all over it.” Caris opened the gate and walked up next to Holly, who shied a little, remembering her recent rough treatment. Grabbing control of the halter, Caris studied the filly’s head and neck. Then she shook her head, cheeks flushing. “You’re right.”
Willard let out a long breath and sagged against Molly’s scarred head. When Caris closed the gate behind her, he said, “You hurt? She bite you?”
Her hands balled into fists. He was goading her. “I think I’d know if she did.”
His eyes narrowed and he watched her for several moments as his breathing calmed. “You touched Molly’s mind, didn’t you?” he said. “Yes, I can see it. You’ve never held my gaze more than a second, but since I’ve arrived, you’ve been glaring at me without pause.” His voice had become low and gentle. Was that pity? Was he pitying her? Before she knew it, she lashed out for a stinging blow across his smug face.
But it never landed. Molly snapped at her hand like a striking snake, and though her mouth didn’t close on Caris’s wrist, the attempt deflected the blow.
Willard’s eyes went wide. Molly growled, and Willard had to drag her head down to keep her back.
“I—I’m sorry, sir—” Shame and horror hit Caris like a fist in the stomach. “I don’t know what happened—I—”
“Already forgiven.” Willard gave a grim smile. “You touched the mind of a Phyros, that’s what happened. Not a pretty place inside her, is it? I don’t expect you’ll do that again soon.” But his brow remained bent as he glanced between Molly and her foal. “I’m not sure what was going on here, but you did well to protect Holly. Take a moment to calm down, and then meet me at Molly’s stall. I want to hear exactly what happened.”
He led Molly away, chains rattling across the planks, and Caris let out a long breath. Rage and horror still warred in her blood, and it sent a throb of nausea through her stomach.
This is not my anger.
She took deep breaths and let them out slowly, imagining that each breath was a drench of cool water on the fire in her chest. In the adjoining stall, Rag whinnied in distress, eyes rolling in fear, and an ache of regret dragged at Caris’s heart. Rag could sense the unnatural rage in her—something she’d never sensed in all the years of her bond with Caris—and it frightened the mare. More, it dismayed her like she’d lost a best friend or sister.
Caris ached to go to her and comfort her. I am still your Caris, she wanted to say, and the rage will pass, but until it did, she sensed that to stay near Rag would only make matters worse.
Biting her lip against her own distress, she pushed away from Holly’s gate and followed Willard to the other wing of the stables.
“She’s ruined it,” Willard said, as she joined him at the wreckage of Molly’s stall. Splintered boards and timbers littered the straw. “Be a good lass and rip out the planks between the next two, so I have somewhere to put her.”
Willard’s eyes sparked as if he thought he’d said something clever. Probably lass was supposed to be funny, or ironic—the kind of word joke she never understood—and her frustration with the world of humans and words sparked the
rage all over again. This time, instead of smacking him, she seized one of the planks in the partition between stalls and wrenched it from its pegs. She hurled it into the wreck of the first stall, and wrenched another, which split as she flung it after the other.
It felt good. No. Better than good. She wanted more. Plank after plank went this way until the partition was gone and she stood panting like a goaded bull.
Bridle yourself, Caris.
She found Willard watching closely, something like a new respect in his eyes. He gave her a slow nod, and a shiver rolled up her spine.
This must be how Phyros-riders feel all the time. Wrathful and righteous and…wonderful.
If that was so, then it was a marvel he’d ever stopped taking the Blood. And no wonder Sir Anatos had developed the disciplines to control it, and no wonder the immortals of the Blue Order had embraced the Rule of Anatos. She’d had only the smallest touch of Molly’s mind, and the rage had nearly mastered her; what hope for those who drank freely of the Blood?
Shamefaced, she stepped aside as Willard led Molly in.
“Let’s hope as long as Holly doesn’t get out, Molly won’t decide to break out again.”
“Would she have killed Holly if she caught her?”
Willard stuck a stick of wood in his mouth like he would a ragleaf roll, and clamped it between his teeth. “Smoked my last roll this morning,” he said, rolling the stick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Not sure how I’ll manage the pain without it.” He motioned for her to follow deeper inside the stable, away from the doors, and she followed.
“She didn’t want to kill her,” he said, voice lowered. “I believe she wanted to blood her.”
Caris’s brows knitted. “Blood her? You mean, share the Blood?”
Willard gave a grim nod. “The blood all over Molly’s mouth was her own. She’d gouged her mouth with her blood tooth. If she’d gotten a hold of Holly, she’d have plunged the tooth into an artery and infected Holly with the Mad God’s Blood.” Caris blinked in surprise, and Willard gave her a small smile. “I owe you much for stopping her. If she’d succeeded, Holly’s eyes and coat would turn violet, a full Phyros, and it would be clear to all who beheld her.”
“But Molly’s never done this before. Holly’s been at her side since I met you, so Molly’s had many chances to blood her.”
Willard nodded. “I imagine that, until now, Holly was too young. We can’t know for certain, because we don’t know much about Phyros breeding and foaling. Until now, it’s always taken place on the Sacred Isle. One thing is certain, however: I dare not lead her behind Molly any longer, or it may happen again.”
“I can lead her. I already ride at the rear, since I have to keep Rag as far away from Molly as possible.”
“Yes. Molly at the head, Holly at the tail.”
“Sir, may I ask how Molly got pregnant?”
Willard glanced back at the doors as if looking for eavesdroppers, then puffed out a short sigh and smoothed his mustachio. “It is good that you should understand this; if something should happen to me, it falls on you to report it to the Blue Order and the Queen. It happened last fall, when I visited the Blue Order in Peridot Castle. I stabled Molly with the rest of the Phyros, and one of the stallions obviously paired with her, somehow. Fairly certain it was Gregan’s stallion, Ghan, but it doesn’t matter. In three hundred years since I bonded with Molly and took her from the Sacred Isle, she never accepted a mate. We all assumed she’d never breed off the Sacred Isle. And yet it happened. I believe it is because the Chaos Moon approaches. It also may be true that the Phyros only breed in the year of the Chaos Moon.”
A shiver ran up the hairs at the back of Caris’s neck. “There have been signs that the Chaos Moon may be coming. The return of the Old Ones. The emergence of the Kwendi.”
“Yes. And our little Holly is as dark and dangerous as any of these things, for if the Old Ones learn Molly can breed on Arkendia, and if they learn she has foaled another mare, they’ll try to capture and breed them both in order to restore the ranks of the Old Ones.”
The old knight’s lip curled beneath his mustachio, and his voice took on a hard edge. “I did not devote ten lifetimes to destroying the Old Ones only to hand them the means of restoring their order. If I didn’t fear how it would affect Molly, I’d slay Holly now—as I’d have slain her the day she emerged. But Molly is likely to prove worse than any she-bear if her foal is threatened. I fear I would lose Molly as well, in that case, which I can’t risk. But if it comes to a choice between that and the Old Ones taking her, Holly must be slain. And again, if that need should arise and somehow I am unable to do it, the task will fall to you. Do you understand?”
The question took Caris by surprise. She stared, heart thumping, as she imagined the wretched slaughter of an innocent creature like Holly. Imagined herself doing it. And it almost wrenched a sob from her. The only thing that kept it back was the image of Holly in the hands of Bannus’s wretched shield bearer.
She swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said, voice hoarse. “I understand. I will.”
Willard nodded. It seemed her confidence lifted a small weight from his mind. “Good. Beheading is the way. Get an axe. Keep it sharp. And from now on, keep it in your things.”
“I hear you say women are weak and lack wit and memory, and that therefore I am unfit for rule. You beg me wed a man that he may lift the burden of the throne. But alas, that cannot be. I simply cannot bring myself to such a decision. I must lack the wit and judgment necessary.”
—Her Majesty to Prince Jormund of West Isle at a banquet for the Iberg ambassador
9
Curses & Promises
A flicker of movement drew Caris’s attention to the central stable door. Harric had stepped in, his face marked with concern. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the comparative dimness of the stable, so he hadn’t seen her yet.
Watching him, it took her a moment to realize that something was missing. When she recognized what it was, she blinked in surprise: the love ache was gone. Where was the leap of her heart when she saw him? Where was the pang of longing that had plagued her for the last month?
She raised her hand with the Kwendi wedding ring and examined it, expecting to see it blackened and broken, but it looked the same as ever.
Nevertheless, for the first time since they’d left Gallows Ferry, she saw Harric with clear eyes and heart, free of the ring’s influence. She saw him not as her love—as the ring had forced her—but as a rather small, pretty bastard friend. A man with a generous heart, and an irreverent brain, full of trickery that she abhorred. Indeed, there he was sneaking his way into the stable like a jack thief with a guilty conscience; the sight kindled a flicker of anger in her chest.
Willard followed her gaze and, when he saw Harric, mirrored Caris’s frown. Harric caught sight of them, and relief washed over his face. Smiling, he began to cross to her, but Willard waved him off. “All is well, boy. I need to talk to Caris alone. Good time to saddle your horse. We leave in the hour.”
Harric’s brow creased, but he nodded.
As he left, he cast Caris a look that sparked exactly nothing in her heart. Had her touch on Molly’s mind burned out the ring’s power?
A guard outside called for Caris, and Willard winced.
“Moons take it,” he said. “Molly’s foolishness has taken too much of our precious time. Soon as you’re packed, ride up the road and help the men set up their temporary stable. We’ll gather there within the hour and depart.”
“Yessir.”
He studied her face. “Has the rage passed? Feel more yourself yet?”
She took a deep breath, considering, and found no embers left of the fire that had ruled her only minutes before. She nodded, relieved, and anxious to return to Rag.
“The fiercest fires die soonest.”
As he moved away toward the door, Caris noted that his limp had gotten worse, probably from running to the stable in full armor. Picking up an old rake
handle for him to use as a staff, she started after him, but stopped suddenly as a stab of longing for Harric returned with such force that it took the wind from her. Staggering, she laid a hand to her breastplate and let out a small gasp of pain.
Willard turned. “You all right?” His eyes searched hers, and she dropped her gaze from the uncomfortable contact.
“Yes. I’m fine.” She turned from him as hot tears sprang from her eyes, and she forced herself to walk like a confident version of herself into the east arm of the stable.
He did not follow, and when she heard him depart, she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob and dropped to her knees in the straw by Rag’s stall. A familiar roaring of horse-touched confusion began between her ears, and she moaned, reaching out to the mare to calm herself and fend off the attack. She could still feel Rag’s agitation from the morning’s events, but the mare didn’t recoil from the touch of Caris’s questing mind.
Laying her forehead on the straw, Caris wrapped herself in the mare’s senses.
Rustling straw.
Good oats at her nose.
Calm friends nearby.
A wicker and flick of ear. Swishing tails.
Rhythmic chewing, wet mush on her tongue.
Caris rocked back and forth over her knees until the roaring subsided, and when she finally emerged from the refuge of Rag’s mind, she did not know how long she’d been on her knees. Worry pricked her to clamber to her knees and look about to be sure Willard hadn’t seen.
The place was empty of all but her and the horses, but Molly’s enormous, scarred head jutted from her stall to watch her like some ground-level gargoyle. A low growl bubbled up from the Phyros, as if in judgment that said, You are weak. Your mare is weak. You crawl to her and whimper.
Caris looked away. She didn’t need another judge. She was her own harshest judge.
Keeping half her mind in Rag’s steadying presence, she groped through the confusion in her heart, which felt like the stalls Molly had wrecked. The Phyros’s fire had swelled it with strength and freedom she’d never known, but the moment it left her, all her weaknesses and the ring’s ache had returned with double vengeance. The ring’s spells now crushed her heart like binding chains, so tight that she struggled to breathe, and Rag’s influence was barely enough to keep her standing.
The Jack of Ruin Page 7