The Queen's Opal: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One)

by Jacque Stevens

  Tayvin frowned. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Nami let out a long sigh. “Your Kalmic is much better, and I know you try to get along, but it isn’t just one thing. It’s everything. You’re a swordsman, a bowman, and an excellent craftsman. You walk on our roof without making a sound, even half asleep. You never trip or drop anything. You can get animals to do whatever you want, and our garden grows better and faster when you are around. Like magic.”

  “I do not have magic.” How many times did he have to say it before she believed him?

  Nami held up her hands. “I know!”

  Tayvin’s muscles went taut, but they weren’t making any progress arguing that point. What could he do? “You want me to drop things?” He let her cut his hair and wore any clothes she brought him; he could play at being a clumsy cripple too if she wanted.

  “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Maybe it is. The neighbors love you now, but I guess I’m just worried someone will get jealous enough to call it magic. Even if it isn’t.”

  “And then I will tell them it is not.”

  “I wish it were that simple, but I don’t even think I can believe that anymore. Just, don’t go out on your own anymore, all right? Don’t let them single you out. We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

  Tayvin nodded, though he still wasn’t sure why she was upset. He had helped the girl and, maybe someday, he could help Drynn. That was the only real bright spot of hope he had gotten since coming here.

  CHAPTER 22

  PICC TUGGED ON Drynn’s arm, leading him out into the bar. Drynn’s head swum with the latest batch of drugs that had been fed to him. His stomach churned, and Picc smiled.

  The thieves called Picc his keeper now that Kol was gone—as if Drynn wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two boys.

  Though, if the room kept spinning . . . it was hard to be certain of anything in this place.

  His eyes darted around at the swarm of humans, but he couldn’t make sense of all the images. And the voices seemed much too loud, digging into his head like a dorran pick ax.

  Especially Picc’s.

  “The Lord and Bell reckon we started out wrong, so I’m gonna show you the rest of the crew so we can all start bein’ friends.” Picc pushed Drynn into a chair, and waved around the table at the other boys. “So, that’s Dirk, Slop, and Wheeze. Ever play cards before?”

  Drynn stared at the cards in front of him. They had numbers on one side and strange symbols on the other. He picked them up for a closer look.

  “Hey, genius, you hold ’em the other way.” One of the other boys rasped a laugh that ended in a coughing fit. That must be why Picc called the boy Wheeze.

  The ridiculousness of it all struck Drynn more than anything else.

  Picc snatched the cards away and returned them with the numbers facing forward. “Don’t know much of anythin’, do you? We’ll train you right, though. Like one of our own babies.” He tipped a smaller boy out of another chair and sat down. “You tell us about the forest, and we’ll tell you about us. Help you get any gold or girl you want. Fair enough, ain’t it?”

  “You won’t find any of the holts without an elf showing you.” Horror crossed over Drynn as the words seemed to slip out on their own, but the other boys just looked confused.

  Had he used the human words or the elven ones? Drynn laughed. He could say anything he wanted, and the human boys wouldn’t know the difference. He babbled out nonsense words until tears formed in his eyes.

  The cards in front of him blurred.

  Picc turned to talk to a young woman carrying a tray. “It ain’t workin’. He’s just talkin’ crazy. Are you sure Kol weren’t spellin’ ’im?”

  “Did you feed ’im?” Bell put her tray on the table. Strong odors wafted off the greased plates.

  Drynn stopped laughing as his stomach lurched. Colors and sounds hit him that made no sense at all. He climbed on the table, trying to find his bearings in the unruly mesh of images. Coins and cards hit the floor, shouts increasing the more he moved.

  He slipped from the table to the ground.

  Bell’s voice broke through the haze in his mind. “Come on, Drynn. We’re tryin’ to help you. Just sit down with Picc before The Lord loses patience with all of us.”

  Drynn stared at her fuzzy image. Then he retched, spewing over her bare feet.

  She squawked and backed away. Arms reached for Drynn in her absence, pinning him in. He struggled against them blindly. The shrill scream of a snared rabbit echoed in his ears.

  His scream.

  Everyone seemed to let go at once. A uniformed man with a sword pushed through the crowd—a guard or a soldier like the one Tayvin had fought on the road. “Are you all right?”

  “He’s fine,” Picc said. “Just don’t know how to hold his liquor yet. Makes ’im jumpy.” He held out his hand down as if to help Drynn up.

  Staying on the floor with his own vomit seemed more appealing.

  “A boy his size shouldn’t be drinking at all,” the guard said.

  “Right,” Picc agreed. “I’ll take ’im home ’til we learn ’im up better.”

  Picc would “learn him up” by beating Drynn somewhere no one would care if he screamed. Drynn flinched, waiting for the room to stop spinning long enough to reveal an exit.

  The guard knelt at his side. “Doesn’t look like you’re kin. And if I had to guess, I’d say you were the one he was scared of.” Was this man really trying to help? A beard covered his chin, obscuring his expression, but it made Drynn think of a dorran. A good sign.

  Picc put down his hand and shrugged. “Wot do you care? The Lord pays you enough.”

  “Lord Der’ray? He pays me to take care of things like this—or at least that is how it’s supposed to work, but I’ve heard other rumors, even in the capital.” The guard glanced at the others behind him in the same uniforms for support. “They’re all thieves here. We’ve been trying to get something to stick on them for a while—something big enough Sorren would pay attention to. Or I could go around him to the other royals. If you could help.”

  Drynn couldn’t. If Sorren was their lord, he couldn’t do a thing. Just hope all the humans wouldn’t tear him to pieces in the crossfire, both sides equally dangerous.

  Bell returned, bringing another man with her. Drynn braced himself for The Lord to strike at someone. The guard turned to follow his gaze.

  Picc grabbed Bell’s tray from the table and bashed it over the guard’s head with a sharp clang. Red seeped over the man’s hair as he toppled to the ground.

  The Lord sidestepped the fallen man with a sneer, rounding on the other guards. “What am I paying you for?”

  The other guards bobbed their heads, white-faced, lumps quivering in their necks. “Sorry,” a gray-haired one answered, “he’s from Kalum City. Idealistic. We were trying to talk to him.”

  “Talk faster, to whoever replaces him. I’m expanding; I don’t need any loose ends here.” The Lord pulled the guard’s limp body toward him, brandishing a knife. “That includes the elf,” The Lord said to Picc. “If you can’t get that thing trained or keep it from the robes, then kill it. Don’t make me clean up after you again.” He swung his arm back.

  The blade gleamed.

  No. The guard was going to die for even suggesting that he would help—because Drynn had screamed and asked for it. All his fault. “Don’t.” Drynn staggered forward. “I’ll tell them I’m yours. I won’t be afraid. I’ll . . .” Stupid lie. He was terrified.

  The knife paused. “Will you?”

  Drynn held his hand out to Picc, trembling, but allowing the thief to help him up like he had wanted. Like they were friends. And, of course, Picc wouldn’t let go once he had him.

  The Lord laughed. “So that’s it. Our royal guest needs a whipping boy. Seems we have a deal, then.” He stowed the knife and passed the unconscious guard to his fellows. “I trust you can take care of that for me.”

  Drynn’s ey
es fixed on the guard’s blood left on the floor as the other guards carried the man out. Could one of the human healers take care of a wound like that? Or was the man already dead? Humans didn’t disintegrate when they died, so how was anyone supposed to tell?

  Assuming The Lord would even keep his word. Had Drynn saved the man or just changed the venue of his execution? Not seeing the death might be a mercy, but he had already seen enough horrors for a few fresh nightmares.

  Drynn could have just made things so much worse.

  Thieves were all around him, even the greased woman who used to hang around Cain. Now she was hanging around The Lord, sneering at Drynn. “The elf came down the first time when Cain hit Kol,” she said.

  “And Cain didn’t put the two together?” The Lord shook his head, chuckling. “I should’ve cut that man off years ago. So all we need now is someone to hit when the elf acts up. Can’t keep using guards, but maybe a child. Maybe a girl.”

  The greased woman smiled. “I think I might know just the one,” she said, taking his arm as if offering him some great gift.

  The Lord shrugged, dismissing her. “We all know one. They’re plenty in this town, and I’ll bet anyone will do. We’ll find one in the morning.”

  Yes. Drynn had definitely made things worse.

  * * *

  Kol fell from the wall, hitting the stone floor with only one thought. Air. He hadn’t gotten much of it in the cocoon-like prison Sorren trapped him in. He needed more air.

  Kol sucked it in, letting it burn greedily through his lungs. Then came the war. He wanted to breathe, but his ribs protested even the smallest movement. Most likely broken. And they were hardly the only thing screaming for his attention.

  All he could do was focus on which parts screamed the loudest, see if any adjustment made the screaming lessen. See if it let him form coherent thoughts again.

  “Awake yet?”

  Sorren’s image blurred over his head, a mass of blue. Kol pushed himself up on his knees and elbows as far as he could go, unnerved to be caught resting at all. It had been too much to hope he had broken his magical bindings without the wizard’s blessing. “If I said no, would you leave?”

  Wind rushed through the room from Sorren, striking Kol again in the chest.

  That probably meant no, but then robes weren’t known for their skills in civil discourse. And neither was Kol, letting out a whole string of curses for anyone who wanted to hear them.

  “It might interest you to know that while you slept, my men returned to me empty-handed,” Sorren said.

  Kol tried for a face of utmost sympathy. Totally worth getting hit.

  “I want answers, boy. Normal thieves could never get past my defenses. I scanned your sparks, and that creature you were with . . . What is he?”

  Kol held his ribs, letting out a hiss before any more words came. “He’s just some kid.” Some stupid kid that should run to its forest and never look back. A kid Kol would be glad to be rid of—nothing but trouble from the beginning, long before it landed him in a robe’s clutches.

  He should have known that was how it would end from the first.

  Or maybe he had known, but spent so long with his ribs unbroken that he had forgotten what it felt like, thought he could afford a bit of charity. There was a time The Lord would have beaten him for being such a fool.

  The Lord would be pleased to know that now Sorren was doing it for him.

  The wizard tilted his head downward, sneering. “That boy is the largest power source I have ever seen. You should know. You are . . .” His eyes raked over Kol’s face as if he wasn’t sure what Kol was anymore. Probably because of all the new bruises. “What house are you from?”

  “Never lived in any house.” Not since the wizards burned it.

  Kol got hit for that one too. Seemed he was going to get hit whether he told the truth or not. Any distant thoughts of being even halfway cooperative vanished without a trace. While the kid would probably spill its guts with nothing more than a please, Kol had no problem holding his guts firmly in place just to spite this man. It didn’t matter if he was asking about the elf, Kol himself, or the color of the sky outside.

  Besides, The Lord would beat him worse if he squealed. The Lord had beat him worse just for speaking without his street slang. When he was five. And a few times after.

  Sorren was nothing. Just some over-groomed, self-important fool still yelling for his attention. “I want to know who you work for, boy, and how your master plans to use this power source against me. What were you hoping to gain from this farce of a robbery?”

  “Don’t know. Buy a few drinks, maybe?”

  “So you mean to tell me that you actually broke in here on your own? And you are the only wizard to know of this creature?”

  Kol smiled, pulling himself straighter. “Sometimes, I even amaze myself.”

  “That doesn’t sound hard. A creature like that is worth a fortune. If you had some outside support, I might have been willing to strike a bargain, but as it is, I think we can be more direct.”

  Sorren knelt down to eye level and grabbed Kol’s shoulder. The wall was too close behind him, nowhere to scoot away.

  “If you don’t belong to any noble family, no one important will be looking for you. You will tell me where you sent that creature, help me to retrieve it, or you will die.”

  Now Kol wished he had called himself Garrad, claiming to be the king’s own bastard. Wind raced through the room, but it wasn’t coming from Sorren. Kol just wanted the hand off him any way he could. The last time it had lingered he had been bound to the wall, worse than being hit. Picturing the flames didn’t help. What he really wanted was his blades back. The thought was random and desperate, but then the knife appeared, right in his hand.

  He would take it. He sliced at the wizard.

  Sorren pushed Kol’s hand back before he struck, Kol’s strained muscles giving way like grass in the other man’s grasp. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

  Kol had a whole list of smart remarks waiting, but then a fresh burning started, Sorren’s hand growing hotter than coals. Kol settled for screaming. And cursing. And something closer to begging, but his words ran together at that point, so maybe Sorren didn’t understand.

  Or maybe the wizard just didn’t care.

  Okay, so maybe this was worse than The Lord, but The Lord always said the robes would be. Most of the times he beat Kol, it was just to engrave that message into his skull.

  Never use magic. Never stand out.

  Too late now. Now he was most certainly dead and he doubted the stupid elf would even appreciate his efforts. It had been right, after all. Kol wasn’t a good person or even a good thief, just a fool who deserved whatever he got.

  * * *

  Drynn blinked through the dim light. Hazy shadows stood in the background. A steady drip, drip, drip of a leaky barrel sounded like sharp blows into his brain. His head pounded with a new pain, and his arms trembled involuntarily, stomach ready to heave.

  What did they feed him this time? Would he ever recover completely?

  “He’s wakin’ up.” Bell’s voice again, and Picc stood next to her. They probably got together and kissed too, just like Kol kissed Bell and how the greased woman clung to Cain or The Lord. Did they ever confuse themselves, swapping partners every five minutes?

  “Hardly an hour that time. We’ll need somethin’ stronger.” Picc glared at the flask in his hand. Drynn tensed, ready to leap upward, climb the rafters again until he reached the window. They wouldn’t be able to catch him there.

  His legs shook, and he fell.

  Picc laughed. “It’s great when he’s drunk. Can’t even jump.”

  “Drynn, just stay down,” Bell said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “You want me to just put ’im back to sleep? It’s barely mornin’, and The Lord hasn’t nabbed anyone else to keep ’im in line yet.”

  Bell bit her lip, nodding.

&nbs
p; Drynn looked side to side. His vision still blurred at the edges, the noises still much too loud, but there had to be something he could reach and escape—before The Lord grabbed anyone else.

  Picc seized one arm, twisting it behind Drynn’s back.

  Drynn writhed against him as Picc uncorked the flask with his teeth. They were going to feed him more of that awful stuff. Drynn kicked Picc’s shin.

  He shoved Drynn down, his knee on his back.

  Drynn fought the urge to gasp for air. He wasn’t going to drink that. Never again.

  “Don’t be mean to ’im.” Bell’s voice, somewhere behind them.

  Picc removed his knee, and his arm sagged slightly. “I can’t be nice and get ’im to drink this at the same time.”

  Bell leaned down, inches from Drynn’s face. “I know, but, Drynn, you can’t like living like this. I don’t like it either. If you drink it yourself, no one will have to force you. And if you promise me you’ll stay, like you promised Kol, we won’t have to do any of this. No one will hurt you or anyone else you care about. I’ll stop them if they try.” She stroked his hair.

  Drynn gritted his teeth. He was not an animal or a pet, but he nodded, sliding his head across the floor. Saying no, even screaming it, hadn’t helped.

  Picc yanked him to his feet. “Drink it then. We’ll see about lettin’ you loose after you start doin’ wot you’re told.”

  Drynn reached for the vile liquid. The human’s grip loosened on his other hand. Drynn twisted free, throwing the flask. The contents seeped into the floor.

  Picc cursed. “See, Bell? I told you Kol was spellin’ ’im. It ain’t nothin’ but some forest creature, and you can’t reason with it.”

  They might use the same words, but Kol had never held him down, never made him drink anything. Kol never pulled out his daggers or threatened unknown human girls. He listened when Drynn spoke and didn’t patronize nearly as much as they did. And even The Lord said Kol would have let Drynn go without threats to the elves at home.

  Kol might lie and use magic, but Drynn still preferred him—wanted him back, just as much as Tayvin or Cindle or anyone else. Anyone who might let him out.