by Megg Jensen
But as she continued to watch, she became certain the relic was doing as Hilthe said. It was healing Floran. How? Why? Why would a dead man’s relics heal the dying?
With a motion anyone else would simply observe as breathing, she opened her mouth, inhaling gently, and felt Floran’s soul begin to change. Instead of the honorable orc essence she’d possessed a moment ago, her soul was now in turmoil. Rage spilled forth from it as it fought to regain control over the body. Confused, Ylantri tried to ease the soul, to let it know it could still live forever as part of her and the Shadari. There would be no peace in returning to life from death. It was better to pass now.
But the soul bit back at her. Ylantri closed her lips and dropped Floran’s hand. No soul had ever recognized her intent before death. But this one did.
“Tell me about Hugh’s death,” Ylantri said to Hilthe.
“I don’t think this is a good time.” Hilthe glanced at Floran. “Perhaps we should discuss it later.”
“I need to know right now,” Ylantri pressed. “Was he studying the cult of Drothu at the time?”
“Yes,” Hilthe said, “but I don’t see why that’s important now.”
Floran’s soul hissed. Ylantri was taken aback. She didn’t know an encumbered soul could do such a thing. It was almost as if the soul had changed when Floran’s body had come into contact with the relic. What had Hugh done? What pact had he made with Drothu?
Whatever it was, Ylantri couldn’t allow it to go on. If Drothu was connected to the change, then Ylantri needed to take every soul she could before Hilthe was allowed to touch them.
She leaned in to Floran’s face, her hand on Floran’s cheek. Closing her eyes, Ylantri took a deep breath in, not caring what Hilthe thought of her sudden gasp, sucking Floran’s soul from her body, forcing it to resettle in Ylantri’s. The soul had been corrupted, but perhaps Ylantri could save it before Drothu controlled the souls of the living as he had the souls of the dead.
Ylantri fell backward, landing on her back as if someone had delivered a blow to the chest.
“Ylantri!” Hilthe shouted. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Burn Hugh’s body,” Ylantri gasped. “Burn it now!”
Floran’s soul now swam inside her, and it was striking at all of the other innocent souls. Tears poured down Ylantri’s cheeks. All the souls she’d collected—she had aimed to keep them from Drothu. But now she could feel his malevolent presence deep within her own body. Somehow, he’d found a way to possess the souls even before death. This illness was a ruse. It had brought Hugh’s body back to Agitar as a way to save, when in reality, it was a thread connecting the dead to the living.
Ylantri cried out; the pain was too much to bear. She vomited, ejecting not only her lunch, but also the corrupted soul. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she passed out.
Chapter 47
Damor pushed Ylantri’s hair out of her face. His spies had brought her to him before anyone could see her true form. He had known she’d eventually get herself into trouble, and so he’d made preparations. He had two elves following her everywhere she went—and he’d paid them handsomely for their loyalty. In return, they agreed to bring her to Damor should anything befall her.
He’d taken up residence with Queen Ambrielle’s camp just inside the barrier. He would have preferred to be back on the boat moored on the western coast of Doros, where food was aplenty and facilities were cleaner. But he needed to stay close to Ylantri in case she got into trouble.
It had happened sooner than he’d anticipated.
After placing Ylantri in his tent, the two elves had gone off to inform the queen that her chief healer had fallen ill, and Damor would attend to her. He asked them to tell the queen he would need to be in isolation with Ylantri until she was cured and able to return to her work.
It was the perfect cover. The queen wouldn’t risk her own exposure, and when Damor successfully healed Ylantri, it would also make him all the more valuable. In the meantime, Damor would get what he wanted from Ylantri: knowledge. Whatever she was, he wanted to learn about it.
Now he sat back on his heels, watching her with a curious gaze. Her blond hair seemed to pulse in the candlelight, switching between the golden rays of dawn and the blackness of a star-free night. Her skin, normally so opalescent, revealed the veins pulsing with blood.
Ylantri wasn’t like other elves, and despite all the years of study Damor had done, this abnormality was alien to him. She was special. He wanted to know why.
Ylantri moaned, her lips parting slightly, her body shuddering. As fast as it had happened, she quieted again. Her hair was now all black, no longer shifting between the two.
Damor picked up a cup of lukewarm water and dribbled a few drops onto her lips—just as Maysant had done for him when he was on the brink of death. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. Before then, he would have had no idea what it took to nurse someone back to health. He supposed he had to admit that Maysant had taught him something. His whole life he’d concentrated on power, caring little for those who were weak or dying. Now he was pleased to have the skills.
Ylantri would survive. She would be grateful to him. She would share her secrets.
And if not? It wouldn’t take much for Damor to send her right back to the gods of death. No one would be the wiser. Damor would get what he wanted, or Ylantri would pay the ultimate price.
He struggled to tear a strip of cloth from a rag. Cursing his weakness, he grabbed a knife and slashed holes in the fabric, enough to make it easier to tear. He wadded up the remnant, dipped it in the water, squeezed out the excess, and laid it on Ylantri’s forehead. He pressed gently, just as Maysant had done for him.
“Ylantri?”
Her lips parted, and she exhaled what sounded like, “Help.”
Damor leaned in closer. “I’m here. The human mage who serves your queen. Come back to me, Ylantri.”
Her eyelids snapped open, her eyes darting wildly. “You must stop them.” Her voice crackled in her throat as she thrust the words out between her lips.
“Stop who?” Damor asked.
“Drothu. He will kill us all.”
Damor grimaced. They all thought they knew about Drothu. They knew nothing about Drothu’s true nature.
“Elves don’t believe in Drothu,” he said softly. He wanted her to come around fully. She was delirious. But not from the infection. No, she didn’t have the same symptoms. Ylantri had overworked herself and passed out. The old woman, Hilthe, had said as much to the two elves who’d collected Ylantri from the dead orc’s tent.
Ylantri’s eyes focused on Damor’s. “I am no normal elf,” she said. “But you know that, don’t you, mage?” She smiled with a cruel curve of her lips. “But you don’t know what I am. That much is clear.”
For a moment, Damor considered killing her on the spot. She was rude. Impudent. He’d brought her back from whatever ailed her, and she was toying with him instead of thanking him.
Then her eyes grew dark. “You know more than you should, though. Far too much.” She parted her lips and raised her head slowly until she was only a breath away from Damor.
He held steady, curious at what game she was playing. If she thought to ply him with sexual advances, she’d quickly be surprised to find out he couldn’t comply, even if he wanted to.
Instead, Ylantri took in a deep breath, her eyes locked on his the whole time.
Damor held still, curious at her strange method of seduction. Perhaps this was an elf custom he was unfamiliar with. Sexual prowess wasn’t his strong suit.
Ylantri’s eyes grew wide with surprise. She clamped her mouth shut, then pulled back from him. “You have no soul,” she said. “All living beings have a soul.”
Damor shuddered. Why was she looking for his soul?
“What are you?” Ylantri asked, fear shining in her eyes.
“First, tell me what you are,” Damor said, irritated. Ylantri had uncovered his darkest se
cret; he needed to regain the upper hand. “Then perhaps I’ll tell you a story about my soul.”
Ylantri’s fear quickly turned to annoyance. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“You’re not leaving my tent until you do. Besides, I doubt you want anyone to see you right now. I have a feeling you’ll stay right here until you’ve regained whatever power you recently lost.” Damor held a looking glass in front of Ylantri.
She gasped, her hands running through her black hair. “Who else saw me like this?”
“No one. You didn’t change until after you’d arrived at my tent. You’re safe with me.”
“I doubt that.”
Ylantri closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them again, she grabbed the looking glass from Damor. Her appearance hadn’t changed.
“Tell me,” Damor said. “I swear I won’t share the knowledge with anyone.”
Ylantri laughed. “Of course you won’t. You’ll use it against me. I won’t be controlled. Not by anyone, especially not by a soulless human.”
“Then it appears we are at an impasse,” Damor said. “Maybe we can come to an arrangement.”
Ylantri sighed. “Fine. I will tell you about me, but only if you first tell me how you exist without a soul.”
“Very well.” Damor prepared to tell her the same lie he’d told many others over the years. She wouldn’t understand, or believe, the truth. No one would.
Chapter 48
Kazrack stormed past the elven guards stationed outside the human mage’s tent. He took a deep breath of fresh air, then pulled his scarf over his nose and mouth before entering.
Ylantri was sitting up, sipping a cup of tea, while Damor lounged on a mess of plump pillows. The blond elf looked healthy as could be, while the human appeared to be his regular emaciated self.
“I was told you were sick,” Kazrack said to the elf, not bothering to pretend like he’d come for any other reason.
“You can lower your scarf, I’m fine.” Ylantri smiled at him. “I was simply exhausted. Damor understood that.”
“I tire easily as well,” Damor said. “I recognized the signs when I heard about Ylantri’s collapse. I had her brought here to recover in peace.”
Kazrack eyed the two of them. The mage made him uncomfortable—perhaps because he was a human. He didn’t trust humans, despite attempting to make an alliance with them not long ago. He’d only done that to further his own ambitions. When the chasm opened, swallowing the human queen, he had to admit he wasn’t sad to see her go.
“Well, I am pleased to see you’re feeling better. My mother—”
“Oh, did she send you?” Damor asked.
Kazrack narrowed his eyes. “I’m not her messenger boy. I am the crown prince. I came because I want to be sure you are following my mother’s orders.” He turned to Ylantri and tried to force a pleasant smile on his face. “If you’re feeling better, perhaps you ought to get back to work.”
Ylantri frowned and shook her head. “I cannot. Dalgron allowed that woman, Hilthe, to bring a decaying body into our midst. She thinks his relics can heal the sick orcs, but that’s a falsehood. Instead, his body will only bring more disease into our lives. The sick can’t handle it.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Kazrack asked, even though he was already formulating a plan. Unfortunately, he knew little about how the magical barrier over the encampment worked. His magic wasn’t of the same caliber, though he tried to keep that hidden. No one needed to know his weaknesses. He wouldn’t allow anyone an advantage over him.
“I think we should burn the body before it causes more damage.” Ylantri held his gaze, daring him to disagree.
That wasn’t what Kazrack had in mind. He preferred banishing the woman and the body from the encampment. The orcs were already worried as it was. They were a strong, proud race, not prone to panic. But the infection had left so many dead, and so many others worried. If they admitted they had allowed even more disease into the barrier, the orcs might revolt—and question the judgment of the elves who’d supposedly come here to help them.
“How hard is it to open the barrier?” Kazrack asked.
Ylantri shook her head. “If we take it down, we won’t have the magic to put it back up. Four of my order were depleted erecting it. We cannot spare the resources. No, there is no other way. The body must burn.”
“Why can’t we bury it in the northern plot, as we’ve done with the orcs who’ve died?” Kazrack asked. “We could do so quietly. No one would know.”
“No,” Ylantri said forcefully. “His body must be burned.”
Confused by her vehemence, Kazrack looked to Damor. The mage sat in the corner, his spindly arms folded over his chest, a smirk on his face. He was enjoying this far too much.
“What about you, mage? What have you to say about this? You are my mother’s advisor. Let’s hear your opinion.” Kazrack hoped the mage would side with him. After all, he was the prince, and heir to everything his mother had. The mage was nearly his to command.
“I only give counsel to your mother, the queen.” Damor’s emphasis on the last two words grated on Kazrack’s nerves. “I have no stake in this.”
Kazrack turned his gaze back to Ylantri. The healer sat defiantly, her back ramrod straight and her shoulders drawn back.
“I cannot order this, Kazrack. It must be you,” she said. “I only have jurisdiction over the ill. You are a leader, the next king of the elves. You should take this as a chance to show the others your decisiveness.”
She was right, he realized. Kazrack thought of how the others would look upon him, after realizing he’d saved them from yet another destructive illness. Everyone knew dead bodies carried disease. Who in their right minds would think to bring one, long dead, into the camp in hopes of curing what ailed them? Only a fool. And Kazrack was no fool.
“Where is this body?” He stood taller, preparing to take command.
“Dalgron’s tent,” Ylantri said. “He’s in danger, and he doesn’t even know it.”
“Why didn’t you warn him as soon as you were feeling better?” Kazrack asked, glancing at the cup of tea in her hand.
She straightened her arm, showing him the empty cup. “I was about to when you came in. Good timing, as always. You’ve swept in just in time to save the day.” She set the cup down on a table, then stood. “Let’s go to Dalgron together.”
“Yes, let’s,” Kazrack said. He turned to Damor. “Thank you for caring for our foremost healer when she was overworked.”
“Of course. Ylantri is welcome any time in my tent.” Damor nodded once at Ylantri, who returned his gesture with a slight smile.
Kazrack felt uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t privy to a secret. No matter, these two were oddballs. They could have their strange little friendship as long as they did as they were bid.
He turned on his heel, the brocade hem of his cloak flying behind him as he left the tent. Ylantri followed along a half-step behind, as custom required. Kazrack was her superior.
Still, at the moment, he needed her counsel. “Come, walk next to me,” he said, waving her up.
Ylantri bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.”
“Tell me more about this body. Why would Dalgron allow this at all? The orcs aren’t in awe of the humans. If I’m to handle this delicate situation, I need to understand their motives.”
“Hugh was the leader of the human religion of Solnar. He had been living in Agitar, studying the orcs for many years. He was also the father of the human queen.”
“Ah.” The situation finally made sense. “She marched here for revenge. She believed the orcs murdered her father.”
“I heard you planned to marry her,” Ylantri said. Her words surprised him. “Did you love her?”
“Love her?” Kazrack laughed. “I never even met her until the day she died.”
“It’s unfortunate things didn’t work out as you planned.” Ylantri pushed her blond hair behind her ears.
“
No, but I think we will still accomplish the goals I set when I traveled to Doros in the first place. We want to help the orcs fight their battles.”
“Why?” Ylantri asked. “What do elves care for orcs who live so far away on another continent? They don’t impact our lives in any way.”
Kazrack looked down at her. Though she was a healer, Ylantri was innocent in the ways of the world. “It is up to us to protect those who need our help. Though the orcs, and even the humans, don’t realize it, they need us.” Kazrack rested a hand on Ylantri’s shoulder. “Trust me, there are things you don’t know, and you don’t want to know them. Concentrate on your job. What you’re doing matters.”
Ylantri bit her lip and averted her eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you—”
“Look, there’s Dalgron’s tent,” Kazrack said, cutting her off. Whatever she had to tell him could wait. Right now, they needed to solve the problem of the decaying human body.
Chapter 49
Dalgron sat in his tent, frustrated. Hilthe had returned without Ylantri, insisting that the elf was on the brink of death after treating one of his orcs. This was the last thing he needed. Those damn elves had promised to help, and if they couldn’t, he feared the orcs were doomed. He couldn’t fight the infection with his sword, and the orcs had no healers of renown. The elves were their only chance.
Well, them, and this dead human’s supposed body. He had seen Alyna healthy and well with his own eyes, but he wouldn’t be a true believer until he’d seen more. Still, he’d been willing to try anything.
Now, he didn’t know what to do.
“Please, let me go into the tents of other sick orcs. Let me try to help them,” Hilthe pleaded with him.
Dalgron rested his head in his hands. The old human’s shrill voice only grated on him further. He would honestly prefer for the elf healer to make the decisions. She was far more capable of knowing what was appropriate in such matters. Dalgron was a warrior, not a healer. He wasn’t prepared for this. And yet, in the absence of the king, he was the only one left to lead the orcs of Agitar.