Warrior's Curse

by Alexa Egan

  Gray, I’m here to rescue you, she pathed, reaching with her mind for some hint of where he might be hidden.

  A voice burst against her brain like the slam of a door. Rescue me? Are you barking mad or simply stupid as a bag of anvils? Get the hell out of here now.

  So much for gratitude. She followed his pathing, picking her way over the greasy, slippery stones, splashing through puddles of what she really hoped was water, before coming to rest in front of a narrow wooden door with a barred grate just above eye level, though if she stood on tiptoe . . . “Are you in there? Are you all right?”

  “I’m in here. ‘All right’ is a relative term. I’m not dead.”

  Grasping the ends of her shirt in one hand, she fished out a key with the other. Fitted it into the lock and turned. “Dromon plans to solve that as soon as possible.” And a second. “He’s accused you of murdering the duke.” A third. “Mr. Pym, the duke’s valet, a footman, and the two enforcers are prepared to back up his story. The Gather’s been called.” A fourth, or was that the second again? “They should be here in a week to pass sentence and witness your execution.”

  “I expect an I-told-you-so is in order,” he answered, his sense of humor apparently undamaged.

  “Plenty of time for that later. Now we need to get you out of here.”

  “We? This isn’t a game, Meeryn, and the title of N’thuil won’t save you if they find you here.”

  By now, she couldn’t tell which keys she’d tried and which she hadn’t. Her feet were going numb on the frozen stones and she knew every second’s delay was a second for the Ossine to return in force. “I can’t sit by and let them punish you for something that wasn’t your fault. Not this time.”

  He said nothing for a long moment as she fumbled with three more keys, dropping them one after the other with a clatter onto the floor.

  “I looked for you that day, even knowing you were in the Orkneys,” he said quietly. “I kept hoping I’d spot you in the crowd. Then I prayed I wouldn’t.”

  “I couldn’t face it . . . or you . . . so I ran. I’m not running this time. At least, not away. That is, not away from you. Rather, this time it’s with you. If you’ll have me.” She shut her mouth to keep from babbling and concentrated on her pile of keys.

  Finally, a turn, a click, and the door swung open.

  Gray sat curled in a corner where the soiled straw had been piled to form a makeshift nest. His face had fared badly, his body worse. The earlier gashes in his shoulder and arm had reopened, blood leaking onto his chest. He blinked up at her, a hand shielding his eyes from the shuttered lamplight. “I return to my original point, you’re barking mad.”

  She knelt beside him, a hand on his arm. “Quick, before they come back. The way is clear.”

  “I appreciate the attempt, but you need to go—now.” He narrowed his gaze. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “The latest London fashion in menswear. Now, do you want to just sit here and let Sir Dromon drive a stake through you and bury you like a grub in the dirt, or do you want to escape to fight another day?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Can you walk?” She felt his legs; still attached, no protruding bones.

  “Not far.” He held up his left arm. One end of a short chain was attached to the wall. The other held a silver cuff locked around his blackened and bloody wrist. She recoiled, the sour taste of bile in her mouth. Purple streaks crept their way up his arm to his elbow and his fingers curled like talons into his palm. “Don’t suppose you brought that key with you, did you?” he asked.

  A figure loomed like a specter in the doorway, his tasseled scabbard banging against his leg, a key dangling from his fingers. “She didn’t, my lord. But I did.”

  * * *

  “You can’t stay now that your cover is blown, Kelan, so take Jamie and ride for the village of Sidnam. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  “I’m to stay with you, my lord,” Kelan answered. “Those are my orders.”

  “And who gave you those orders?”

  The enforcer shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his gaze darting everywhere but at the huddled pile of bone and rags standing shaky and wide-eyed beside Meeryn.

  “That’s what I thought, but Lucan’s not here. I am, and I’m telling you to take the boy and ride.” Gray glanced down the tunnel. A torch sputtered and died. Their own breathing echoed back to them, harsh and quick, but no voices were raised in alarm. There was no clink of drawn steel or crunch of boot heels. “How hard did you hit them?”

  Kelan grinned. “Hard enough, my lord. They’ll not wake until dawn at the earliest and even then they’ll be hard pressed to point both eyes in the same direction.”

  Gray didn’t like the setup. In fact, the whole thing stank as foully as the rancid gutters, but he’d no choice left to him. Escape now, or be cleaved head to crotch and his innards fed to the grubs next week. “Jamie can barely walk. He needs help if he’s to make it away without being recaptured.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but you don’t look much better.”

  Gray couldn’t argue that point. He knew he must look a wreck, his wrist throbbed, and every inhalation was accompanied by a woozy pinwheeling of his vision. He leaned against the wall to keep himself from slumping down beside it. “That may be, but I’ve got some unfinished business.”

  “I can help, my lord. Let the girl take the lad. I’ll stay behind with you.”

  “That girl is still Lady N’thuil to you,” Meeryn interjected.

  Gray shoved off the wall with only a slight lightening in his head. “No, she’s coming with me.”

  “I don’t know, my lord,” Kelan hedged.

  “You don’t have to know, you have to follow orders. Lucan will snarl, but he’ll not eat you for breakfast. I’ll be right behind.”

  “Lord Halvossa . . . I mean Your Grace . . . that is . . .”

  Gray winced, the pain too raw, his grandfather’s death still unreal. Still just words. “Damn it, Kelan. Don’t call me that.”

  “Yes, Major.” Chastened, he hoisted Jamie up, supporting him under one arm. “Take care of yourself. Two may be down, but an entire nest of Ossine wait above. Sir Dromon won’t let you go easily.”

  “If we don’t arrive by morning or the countryside is too dangerous, you know where to go.”

  Kelan gave another curt nod before he led Jamie farther down the black tunnel away from the guardroom, their shuffling footsteps dying away but for the occasional slosh of water on stone.

  “Where are we going?” Meeryn whispered into the sudden silence as they headed in the opposite direction.

  “I’m retrieving the Gylferion and getting the hell out of Deepings. You’re going back to your chambers and praying none learn of your foolishness.”

  She stiffened as if he’d slapped her. “If you think you’re leaving me behind, you’re a bigger fool than I took you for, Gray de Coursy.”

  Oh, to be saddled with a biddable woman. He closed his eyes, hoping to stave off the worst of the black spots crowding the edges of his vision, but it only served to focus his attention on the grinding stabbing pain in his wrist. “This isn’t a childish lark, Meeryn. It’s not a swipe of Cook’s pastries or a toad in your governess’s bed.”

  “Do you honestly think I don’t understand the circumstances? I do have a brain in my head. But you can’t do this without me. You need me.”

  “That was last night,” he growled cruelly, frustration banding his shoulders, impatience knotting his muscles. “You mistake necessity for expediency.”

  If her eyes could shoot sparks, he’d have gone up in flames. “If you’re trying to anger me, you’re succeeding.”

  “I’m attempting to save your damned life,” he answered, trying not to remember the silken flesh of her thighs, the taste of her on his tongue, the way she shuddered against his mouth when she came. What he wouldn’t give for a long submersion in an icy pool or a fresh whack to the he
ad to knock in some sense.

  “Fine,” she said, “you don’t need me, but you need Jai Idrish. It amounts to the same thing.”

  They reached the guardroom. Empty, though they came across two bodies in the passage just beyond, and another in a side chamber. Gray knelt, feeling for a pulse. “They’re still breathing.” He yanked a knife from the sheath of one of the downed Ossine.

  Meeryn grabbed his wrist. “No.”

  “I have to. Alive, these men remain a danger and a potential threat, a spear pointed at my back.”

  “And if you kill them now, how much better will you be than Sir Dromon and his thugs?” She touched the sickly purple streaks inching their way up his arm toward his heart, her fingers passing lightly over the ugly jagged gash on his shoulder, the horrible bruising across his rib cage. Her touch raised gooseflesh across his skin, and he shivered, though not with cold.

  “I’ll be alive,” he answered.

  “And as guilty of murder as they are.”

  He drew in a shaky breath. Blew it out in a huff of surrender. “So much for McIlroy’s lessons in swordplay.”

  “Conal taught me how to fight an armed assailant. Not how to kill a defenseless victim.”

  “It’s them or me, Meeryn. I fight to survive.”

  “But if survival turns you into something ugly and unfeeling, is it really survival?”

  “If I make it out of here in one piece, I’ll let you know.”

  She stared on him for a long uncomfortable moment, as if reading the hidden corners of his soul. Just before he humiliated himself by squirming under her disappointed forthright gaze, she bent to the waist of the closest guard, pulling loose his belt.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing now?”

  “I might draw the line at assassination, but I’ve never balked at simple thievery.” She held out her arms, the overlarge shirt she wore riding high on her sleek thighs.

  “Right,” Gray answered.

  After wrestling one unconscious guard free of his clothing, Gray bound and gagged them both, and if he knotted the ropes a bit tight or shoved the gags a bit farther down their throats than necessary, Meeryn didn’t quibble. But she did cast him a swift uncertain glance when he took her hand.

  “It’s black as pitch down here. I don’t want to lose you,” he explained.

  She snatched a candle from the guardroom and lifted it high to illuminate the black passage beyond. “Me . . . or Jai Idrish?”

  He chose discretion over valor and kept his mouth firmly shut. Instead he pulled her along, turning down a narrow, low-ceilinged corridor, ducking to keep from scraping his head.

  “Shouldn’t we be headed for the surface?” she asked. “This passage is taking us deeper into the cliffs.”

  “Bring that candle closer and you’ll see.” Gray scanned the dripping slimy stones, running his fingers along the seams of the roughened granite slabs.

  “What are you doing?”

  He traced the notched circular outline of a stone with a finger, dug away the surrounding grout until the shape stood out. “This is it.” He pushed and the block sank into the wall. A door grated open with noise to wake the dead. A slithery curl of dead air snuffed their candle, tossing them into darkness. “Quick. Inside.”

  He felt Meeryn move closer, her hip brushing his leg, her fingers tightening. “Mother of All, what is this place?”

  The corridor they left had been dark, the passage they entered was as if someone had tossed a blanket over their heads and dropped them into a tar bog. Cobwebs clung to their faces and arms, the air dry and still as if it had not been breathed in a thousand years. “The Imnada built them throughout Deepings in case of attack.”

  “Find this in one of your books, Professor Gray?”

  “I told you that’s where the answers are. This passage leads to a lower storeroom. From there, we can skirt the kitchens. You can slip up the servant stairs to your chambers.”

  The floor descended for another hundred yards before beginning a slow but steady ascent. Gray shuffled his way forward in the complete blindness of the tunnel, leading Meeryn by the hand.

  “And then what?” she asked, even her whisper seeming loud in the crushing silence. “Pretend nothing happened? Morieux is dead. He was the last tenuous thread holding Sir Dromon back from taking over completely. The clans are without a leader until you return and take your place.”

  “I’m dying, Meeryn. I’ll be dead within the year unless I can lift the curse and break my dependence on the draught. When that happens, the clans will be no better off than they are now.”

  If the silence had been crushing before, it now thickened, solid as the earthen walls surrounding them. He could hear his heart beat, the rattle in his breathing, the grind of his bones with every footstep. He tensed, waiting for her sympathy or, worse, her pity. He wanted neither.

  “You can only break the curse with my help . . . Jai Idrish’s help. Together we work out what we did wrong. We try again. We figure it out together just like I told you we would.”

  “We do nothing. I—”

  “Oh!” Meeryn stumbled and tripped onto her knees. “Drat! Who on earth would leave a pile of rubbish in the middle of the floor?”

  Gray knelt, a hand out. “Not rubbish—bones. Here’s the skull.” He picked it up, only to have it crumble under his fingers.

  “The question remains with only a slight adjustment—who . . . and why . . .?”

  “Perhaps the poor devil lost his way.”

  “Or perhaps Sir Dromon knows about these passages and our skeleton was unfortunate enough to run into an Ossine.”

  “No, he’s been down here for centuries.”

  They continued, quieter now, huddled together. Gray pulled her close, her cheek soft under his lips. “We’re close,” he whispered.

  He felt along the wall for the rounded panel that marked the end of the passage. Pressed it, feeling the rush of wind chill the cold sweat on his face and shoulders as they stepped into an empty storeroom, long since abandoned as Deepings population and prominence declined.

  “Go back to your rooms, Meeryn. Lock yourself in and don’t come out. No matter what you hear or see, do you understand? If anyone asks, you’ve been there all night. You know nothing.”

  Her chin jutted in challenge, body braced for a fight. “If Sir Dromon captures you, he won’t wait for a proper grandiose execution as an example for those who cross him. A quick blade to the gut will serve him just as well. He can weave any tale he wants afterward.”

  Arguments Gray had already played over in his mind as he lay in a stinking pile of straw with his body one raw nerve. He gave Meeryn the same answer he’d repeated to himself in the bitter watches of his despair until he almost believed it. “I can take care of myself.”

  Her gaze was hard and clear as diamonds. “You forget, Gray. So can I.”

  * * *

  Gray must have taken a pounding to the head if he thought she was going to slink back to her rooms like a frightened little girl. Instead Meeryn slipped back down the stairs to the laundry and the drying yard beyond. Sheets billowed like ghosts in the salty breeze while enormous wooden racks waited empty for tomorrow’s washing. She snatched up a canvas bag hanging from a peg on the wall, slinging it over her shoulder as she headed through the wooden gate and out onto the lawn. No question. No hesitation.

  An owl called from the park, sending her heart leaping into her throat. Movement at the corner of her eye had her diving for the bushes until she realized the long sinuous shape was merely a kitchen cat on the prowl.

  So there might be some very slight hesitation, but nothing a stern talking-to and a few deep breaths wouldn’t fix.

  Thus fortified, she moved swiftly and softly over the grass, hugging the hedges and buildings as she raced for the Crystal Tower. It rose shimmering above her, moonlight shining through the high windows to create eerie dancing shadows as if someone moved within the topmost sanctuary. Whispers hovered on the breeze, lifting
the hairs on her arms with their sibilant hissing words in a language she’d never heard and didn’t understand.

  Sir Dromon? A phalanx of lurking Ossine? Someone . . . or something . . . else?

  Her heart drummed in her chest as she crept up the stairs, testing her weight upon each step, waiting for the inevitable shout to halt, stop, cease, and desist. None challenged her, no one leapt from the dark with swords drawn, and the sanctuary was empty save for Jai Idrish upon its altar.

  Gray might think the great crystal slept on, unmoved by the magic of the Gylferion, but she knew better. She’d sensed the stirrings of power, felt the world drop away in those swift frightening moments. Excitement, terror . . . hope.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, she laid her hands upon Jai Idrish. Immediately, a jolt of energy sizzled up her arms, curling and slipping over her brain like the undulations of the seas. A voice spoke to her with the same clarity as a pathing, or was it three voices speaking as one? A hundred voices. A million. All of them blending and separating, one taking over from another as they repeated a string of unknown words—chanted prayer, relentless command.

  “Afeitha eineia tharthei. Afeitha eineia tharthei. Afeitha eineia N’thuil noractha tharthei.”

  Her eyes watered as the dark opened up before her in a twisting spiral of unending black, the voices rising and falling in a hypnotic cadence. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The crystal vibrated beneath her fingers. The world dropped out from under her bare feet, the sweep and streak of stars moved past her in a dizzying spiral of color and light.

  It’s in the blood!

  A new fourth voice smashed through the drone of the other three like the blast of a gun. Wait—Meeryn tore her hands free of the crystal—that was a gun! A shot rang out. Then another. The sounds of running feet and men’s voices raised in crisp command bounced off the high walls of Deepings.

  Gray’s escape had been discovered.

  Trying not to dwell on the number of sacrilegious desecrations she was committing by stealing the Imnada’s most sacred object, she gritted her teeth against the gut-snarling knot and the seeking, searching voices, and snatched the crystal from its altar, stuffed it into her sack, and raced for the stairs.