Magic of Talisman and Blood (Curse of the Ctyri Book 2)

by Raye Wagner

  Evzan gave her a curious smile and then chuckled. “You never were very good at remembering names.”

  He left, and she heard him leading his horse out a couple stalls over. She grabbed Thunder’s reins and followed. When she got out to the courtyard, and Evzan was mounting Warbringer, she realized he’d been waiting for her.

  “How many nights have you spent in the stables?” she asked, climbing on her horse.

  The balmy air in the empty courtyard smelled of steel and trampled hay. Evzan said nothing, and they passed a few servants and soldiers on their way to the gates. The men nodded or tipped their caps at Evzan, giving no indication of concern or even attention to the princess.

  Once they’d exited the castle grounds, Adaline repeated her question, frustration seeping into her voice, “How many nights have you spent in the stables?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, suddenly sounding weary. “Can we call a truce? Please? I would rather take on the entire Belochian army myself than spend another minute fighting with you.”

  His words settled between them, and Adaline shifted in her seat. She wasn’t trying to fight with him, but shame pressed heavily on her chest because she had done so, many times, in the not-so-distant past.

  “I’m sorry.” The apology came out little more than a whisper, lost in the clopping of their horses’ hooves. Adaline cleared her throat and said louder, “I’m sorry.”

  Evzan turned toward her and, in the moonlight, four scars now marred his striking features from scalp to chin. He smiled at her, and the scars shimmered and disappeared. “Thank you. I appreciate your apology. I owe you one as well. Please accept my regrets for any pain I’ve caused you. I promise it was unintentionally done.” He grimaced and added, “Usually. Sometimes, it was unavoidable or for your own good.”

  Adaline’s initial smile dropped a little every time he added onto his apology. By the end, she wore a grimace of disgust. When he finished speaking, she said, “That didn’t sound like an apology.”

  He nodded. “You’re right, it didn’t.”

  “And you’ve caused me no pain. I couldn’t care less what you think . . . or what you say.” She took a deep breath and asked, “Are you going to make things difficult?”

  “No. I promise I’m not trying to make things harder; quite the opposite, in fact. Your need to escape tea parties is far more dangerous than you think.”

  “I realize it’s dangerous, but then so was the ball the rest of my family went to.” She swallowed the emotion crawling up her throat. “I just want to make a difference for my people. And I know military strategy better than dancing. Besides, I heard what Dimira said to you. She’s having secret meetings; she tells me nothing. And I really want to be there when the army takes Rizy.”

  Evzan’s scowl grew deeper the longer she spoke, but he said nothing.

  They continued toward the border in a brisk trot, and Adaline poked at Evzan again. “Are you going to tell me how many nights you spent waiting for me in the stables?”

  He leveled her with his gaze and answered, “Ten. Plus tonight.”

  “You knew I would eventually leave?”

  “You are remarkably predictable, Highness. Just unpredictable in your timing.”

  She harrumphed. He was predictably unpredictable. “Maybe we should pick up the pace.”

  “Excellent plan,” Evzan replied, nudging his horse. “Are you feeling up for a race?”

  6

  Adaline and Evzan rode through the night. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the sun teasing at the horizon with its morning rays, and Adaline’s butt, thighs, and back screamed in pain. Her head throbbed with fatigue; each step made her want to throw up, and she wanted to curl up and sleep for a week.

  All her discomfort waned as the tents of the Cervene army appeared ahead, their pinnacles reaching into the sky. The two townships Adaline and Evzan had passed in Beloch were blackened husks, every structure in the fiefdoms burned to the ground. The idea that her people destroyed entire villages made her sick. Many, if not most, of these people were innocent. It was inconceivable that every man, woman, and child in all of Beloch aided the tsar in the capture and torture of her family. She also knew it was naive to believe that a war wouldn’t bring significant casualties. But something of the charred rubble made Adaline even more determined to steer the course of this war.

  As they approached the camp, Adaline and Evzan slowed their horses to a walk.

  “Tell me, Princess, do you have a plan for when we get to your armies? Are you going to be a stable boy and work your way up the ranks for the next two years? Or were you planning on charging in and wresting control?”

  Adaline rolled her shoulders and glared at her companion. While she’d considered both of those options, she’d also discarded them. Not only did she not have time to work her way up, she lacked the expertise to be confident in seizing control. Not only that, she had zero credibility with the generals. “I wasn’t aware that those were my only two choices.”

  “Then what is your plan?” When Adaline didn’t say anything, Evzan sighed. “Please tell me you have a plan beyond arrival.”

  “I’m going to ask the generals to give me a report, first. I have no interest in taking over, and I can’t very well offer an opinion until I know what’s happening. Although, I thought they’d be closer to Rizy by now.”

  Evzan said nothing, and Adaline pulled her horse to a halt, knowing he’d follow suit. A moment later, he turned his horse around and brought his mount next to hers so they were side-by-side.

  “If you have something to say to me, I wish you’d get it out. I . . .” she paused. Knowing what was necessary and doing it weren’t the same thing, but Adaline had no time for pride or faux-humility. “I could really use your help.”

  The sun broke the horizon, bathing the two of them in its golden warmth, and a slow smile spread across Evzan’s face. “You want my advice?” he rumbled. “Go home.”

  Adaline gave him a withering glare. “Not helpful, Evzan.”

  He chuckled. “All right. Here’s what I’d suggest. Pretend you’re my squire.” He held up his hand to stop her protest. “I know it’s an imperfect solution, but you said you just wanted to know what was happening. The worst thing you can do in war is give your enemy power over you. You’re the crown princess, Adaline. The fact that you’re here is foolish enough. But to announce it to our entire army only increases the odds that Beloch will discover you. And that could destroy everything. If Tsar Baine managed to kidnap you, Dimira would be forced to negotiate for your release. And that’s assuming the tsar doesn’t destroy you first.”

  Her hands tightened on her reins, bleaching her knuckles around the leather as she frowned. “That was all I could come up with, too. I don’t like it,” she mumbled, although with Evzan, the plan should work. “But I understand there’s a certain brilliance to it.”

  Evzan quirked an eyebrow at her. “Did you just say I was brilliant?”

  She snorted. “Nice try. You had a functional idea, which I’d already thought of. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Sure you did.” He chuckled and then added, “I’m going to like telling you what to do.”

  The morning mist masked the soldiers’ activity as Evzan led Adaline into the encampment. He rode through the outskirts as if he’d traversed this way a thousand times. The mass of men glanced up as she and Evzan rode by, which Adaline took as proof that the two of them didn’t stand out.

  “Where are we going?” Adaline asked as they threaded their way through the troops.

  Evzan held his head high and ignored her. He hadn’t stopped to ask anyone for directions, so how did he know where the generals were?

  Adaline and her guard continued their slow advance through the rows of lean-tos and tents, his lack of response increasingly grating with every step. She cleared her throat loudly, preparing to demand answers.

  He held up his hand and, turning his head slightly her way, said sharply, “
Don’t. If I want your incessant prattle for company, I’ll ask for it, d’Line. Just stay close, and do your job.”

  Adaline blinked, stunned by Evzan’s tone and words. Had he just told her to shut her trap? That wasn’t part of the plan. And there was no call for rudeness.

  Only Evzan’s sudden halt kept Adaline from responding.

  “Ho there, Knight,” Evzan boomed. “Where shall I find Averitt and Zana?”

  Adaline glanced at the man on the ground and wondered how Evzan knew he was a knight. Sure, the man was older, maybe half again older than her, but not anywhere near her father’s age. The soldier was dressed in only undergarments of a simple linen, sleeveless shirt and pants, crouched over a washbasin, with his flaxen beard dripping. He could be anyone.

  A young boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, came out from the tent behind them and handed the man a sword. “Here you are, sir. I sharpened it last night just like you said.”

  Ah, right. Only knights had pages and squires. The peasant soldiers wouldn’t have attendants. Evzan must’ve seen the boy duck into the tent. Adaline pursed her lips as she chastised herself. She’d need to pay better attention.

  Peering up at Evzan, the knight continued scrubbing a washcloth into his armpit, soaking his shirt in the process. “There are four blue tents in the center. Ask there, and a page will be able to fetch one of them.”

  Evzan inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  He clicked his tongue, and Warbringer moved forward.

  Adaline felt the boy’s gaze on her, and she glanced his way, only to see his features twisted in puzzlement. She offered a tight smile and then pushed on.

  Trailing behind Evzan, she couldn’t help but notice his carriage. He sat ramrod straight with his shoulders back; he looked every bit like a noble. How had he gotten his knighthood? Did he have a fiefdom, or had he once pledged to a landed gentry? And why did he become a guard? Adaline tried to remember back to when he’d come to Cervene’s capital, Burdad, but the memory eluded her. Her only memories were of him being there, but she couldn’t remember when he’d arrived. She shook her head, wondering when the stress would abate and her brain would start working again.

  “When we get there, take the horses and find a place to tether them. If you can’t find one, ask one of the pages or another squire. And if at all possible, stop gawking at the men.”

  Adaline glared at the back of Evzan’s head. “I am not gawking. I’m just looking around like a page would.”

  “A squire, you mean,” Evzan said with a shake of his head. “You’re too old to be a page.”

  Adaline furrowed her brow and then rolled her eyes. Right. “I knew that,” she muttered, not even caring if he could hear. “I was just distracted.”

  “Sure you did,” he responded, adding a flip of his wrist in a demeaning and dismissive gesture.

  Adaline glared at him, wishing she could throw something in retaliation. A few minutes later, they arrived at the center of camp, and she realized he’d held her gaze fixed on him for the duration of their arrival. She might appreciate the result, but she didn’t care for his methods. Cox-comb.

  Four large canvas pavilions, each one the size of her personal chambers, stood in the center of camp, separate from their shabbier neighbors. Central to the four tents, visible through the open flaps, a group of men stood talking in the midst of the trampled clearing. Several of the men were dressed in their leathers, but a few wore nothing more than their breeches. Adaline blushed and averted her eyes.

  Evzan rode up to the group and, dismounting, said, “I need to speak with Averitt or Zana.”

  Without glancing her way, he held his reins out. After a second, he grumbled under his breath but plenty loud for those nearby to hear, “Squire.” He shook the reins and continued, “My sister owes me.”

  Several of the men snickered, and Adaline scrambled off her horse, mortification staining her cheeks. Even knowing Evzan’s insults were just covering for her ineptitude as a squire, she was humiliated. She raced to get his reins and tripped, falling into the dirt on her hands and knees.

  This time, most of the men chortled and guffawed. Adaline rolled and saw a man pulling his leg back.

  “Better watch where you’re going, lad,” he said, driving his foot into her side.

  Adaline rolled to her feet and glared up into the face of the knave who’d tripped her. Though the kick wasn’t powerful, his beady eyes lit with a sadistic gleam.

  The laughter increased, and Adaline bit her lip to avoid a scathing retort. She committed the knight’s features to memory though. His shaggy, sandy-blond hair and beard, ruddy complexion, receding hairline, long thin nose, and protuberant cheekbones all coalesced into the image of a weasel.

  She stepped toward Evzan and took the leather straps, ignoring his tight jaw and murderous look.

  He said nothing to her, but as soon as she held the reins, he turned to the man who’d tripped her and, in a single fluid movement, drew his sword and leveled it at the other man’s scruffy face. “An insult to my squire is an insult to me, Sir Vodnik.” Evzan uttered the man’s name as if it were a curse word. “Either apologize, or I’ll defend my honor.”

  The laughter dried up, and Sir Vodnik shifted his eyes nervously. Obviously, Evzan’s reputation preceded him.

  “I apologize,” Vodnik said to Evzan.

  Evzan tilted his head toward Adaline, his sword still directed at the cruel knight.

  Turning his attention to Adaline, Sir Vodnik narrowed his gaze and spat, “I’m so sorry.”

  The dark gaze of another knight caught Adaline’s attention just over Sir Vodnik’s shoulder. Sharp intellect shone from the young man’s eyes as he studied her. He was one of the few who hadn’t laughed when Sir Vodnik tripped her. His hair and eyes were rich, burnt umber, and with a sculpted nose and lush mouth, the young man stood out from the others. His features held a boldness that hinted at Temavy ancestry. Unlike the pale Belochians and fair Cerveneans, this knight’s complexion held a warm bronze tone reminiscent of the people of the desert lands.

  Stepping back from the offensive knight, Evzan sheathed his sword. “Save the rest of your energy for the Belochians, Vodnik. Now, where are Averitt and Zana?”

  “I’m Averitt. Who’s asking?” An older man emerged from the nearest tent, a scowl fixed on his bearded face. He wore a traditional Cervene tunic over his linen undergarments rather than leather armor. His steely gaze scanned the gathered knights, and when it landed on Evzan, the general’s eyes widened. “Sir Evzan,” he exclaimed and then amended, “I beg your pardon, General Shulz. What brings you into Beloch? All is well with our Queen Regent and Princess?”

  Evzan turned his back on Adaline’s tormentor and saluted the other general. “Princess Adaline is requesting an update, sir.”

  “Like she’d understand anything we told her about the war,” one knight said in a low voice.

  “He should tell her to stop wearing breeches and find a husband,” Sir Vodnik replied just within Adaline’s hearing. “She needs to produce an heir.”

  Several more of the men murmured about women and politics, and Adaline noticed Sir Vodnik, the man who’d tripped her, was chief among the complainers. If the bestial knave held any military rank besides a knighthood, she’d ask Evzan to strip him of it. His name, Vodnik, had been familiar at court and not that long ago, but Adaline didn’t have her sister’s knack for remembering gossip. The princess turned her attention to the rest of the group, surprised that several of the men, a smattering of all ages, did not complain about her. Nor did General Averitt.

  “How is our Princess? Is she coming into her own?” The general’s gaze landed on Adaline, and he scowled at her. Pointing back the way they’d come, he said, “Boy, the animal pens are back that way. You can see to Sir Evzan’s horse and your own there.”

  Adaline blinked, her lips parting, as shock smacked her in the stomach.

  7

  Adaline stared at the general, her general, as reali
zation set in. He’d dismissed her. She glanced to Evzan, expecting him to tell her to stay so she could hear the report.

  Without meeting her gaze, Evzan said, “See to the horses, d’Line, and then set up our tent on the eastern front. While you’re at it, see if you can catch some fresh meat for supper tonight.”

  With his added dismissal, the thrill of impersonating a squire completely disappeared. Adaline stiffly bowed at her guard while internally cursing him. She turned to go when the young knight with the dark eyes sidled up to her.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the pens and help you set up for Sir Evzan. You look a little lost right now, and we don’t want your knight to take his displeasure out on you later. That’s no way to join an army.”

  Evzan snorted and shot back, “Thank you for your kindness, Sir Knight. What is your name so I’ll know who to ask for if my squire disappears?”

  Several of the men chuckled although it sounded nervous. Strange . . . because the young man standing next to her seemed only a few years older than herself, likely the same age as Evzan, and not the least bit intimidating. However, the young man was tall and lean and moved in a fluid way that made Adaline suspect he was a fierce fighter.

  He shook his head, “Tredak. Sir Tredak of Mortintoj.”

  Evzan raised his eyebrows. “What a morbid name for your lands, Sir Tredak. Perhaps you should’ve chosen better.”

  The men chuckled again, this time with more mirth, at the young knight.

  Sir Tredak inclined his head to Evzan, smiling broadly. “Perhaps. But my lands flourish, and my people are happy and well cared for. Not all in Cervene can boast of such success.”

  The laughter of the crowd turned to grumbling. Sir Tredak might be young, but he was not naive, nor was he well-loved in this circle. She’d heard of his lands on the border near Temavy; they were rich and fertile, and not many knights his age were equally blessed. Many of the men were likely jealous of the wealthy knight. However, he’d extended her kindness, was acquainted with her guard who, by his words, had indicated the knight was trustworthy.