Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  Gilda paused, her eyes glittering with unshed tears held back by an iron will. ‘And I watched you give yourself to the Mireces and the Dark Path. I watched your soul blacken within you, and now here you are at the Fox God’s side and He’s put a little Light back inside you, a tiny candle flicker, but it’s up to you to tend that flame and you won’t. Will you? Because you’re so consumed with being the victim of your own story. And when that Light dies again, you’ll no doubt blame the people around you for not saving it instead of taking responsibility for your own soul.’

  She’d never spoken to him like this. No one had ever spoken to him like this. Dom’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish’s, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Maybe there were no words to deal with the hate of a parent, with the pain of abandonment, of betrayal …

  No. No. I’m the one who abandoned them, and the Light. I’m the betrayer. Not Gilda. This is all down to me.

  Tears welled and he lowered his head, putting his hand to his brow.

  ‘And none of that shit either,’ Gilda snapped, stepping close and slapping his hand away. Dom rocked back in shock again. ‘For the gods’ sake, pull yourself together. I cannot stand self-pity. Don’t be a coward, and don’t feel sorry for yourself. Neither of those things will change what you’ve done. Nothing you can do now will change the past. But you can attempt to put it right. The question is whether you will.’

  Dom couldn’t bear the challenge in her eyes, because the truth was he didn’t know if he could put it right. He turned his back on her, unable to stand the accusations in her face.

  ‘I’m waiting, boy,’ she growled, and now she sounded like Cam used to when Dom did something particularly stupid – which was often.

  The edges of himself were ragged, threads loosening one by one in the wind and threatening to unravel, and it was taking everything he had just to hold himself together and Gilda had come along with a big pair of shears and she was cutting, cutting …

  He knew Gilda didn’t want to hear that, either. But if he spoke the words she wanted to hear, he couldn’t be sure whether they’d be a lie or not.

  He held the image of Rillirin’s face in his mind. Only one way to find out.

  ‘I’ll make … I’ll try and help make things better,’ he said, haltingly, to the floor. ‘I promise, Gilda, I’ll try not to let you down.’

  His hand was squeezing the cup covering the end of his other arm, squeezing hard until the cuts from his last visit to Gosfath stung and throbbed and he wished to be anywhere, anywhere, else. There was a flicker of heat on his face – an instant of Waystation sulphur and red light, just a heartbeat of seduction and promise and the lure, the musk-scented, heart-stopping lure, of the Blood. There and gone, teasing him with the knowledge he could always go back. Asking, begging, inviting him back.

  ‘What was that?’ Gilda demanded. ‘Where did you just go?’

  ‘What? I don’t—’ he began and then she was tearing the cup from his arm with such force the leather thongs stretched and snapped and there they were, the clear straight cuts dug into his twisted flesh. Almost healed but an indelible reminder, like the scars on his right wrist, scars of a blood oath, scars from his teeth. Scars scars scars.

  ‘You traitor,’ she breathed and her pupils were wide and black.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Dom begged.

  Gilda didn’t slap him this time, oh no. Gilda bunched her fist and punched him so hard that he was on his arse and staring at the pretty lights as blood gushed from his nose. ‘You make me sick,’ she said, her voice flat, dead. ‘All your promises, your apologies and justifications, all just lies to make me look the other way, to fool us all.’

  The curtain was ripped away and Ash leapt into the room, axe in hand. ‘What’s going on? Gilda, are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dom yelled from the floor. ‘They ruined me, the Dark Lady and the Dancer both. They chewed me up and spat me out and it’s like my back’s broken but everyone expects me to just get up and get on with living. I can’t! I’m dying!’

  The hut fell silent, as still as the air before a storm and carrying as much malevolent weight and promise of catastrophe. Dom pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, letting the blood patter between his thighs on to the earth. ‘I’m dying,’ he repeated. ‘And I’m lost in the dark and I just need a torch. I just need someone to show me the way so I can at least say my goodbyes.’

  Gilda knelt stiffly opposite him as Crys ducked into the room to stand with Ash. Dom ignored them both. He started as Gilda winked and all the hardness in her was gone. ‘That’s all you needed to say, son. Fortunately, I’m pretty good at lighting torches for those as can’t see.’

  Dom wiped his nose, dumbfounded. She pulled him into an embrace and this time she let him cry, knowing that he needed it now he was himself again – or as much himself as he could be. She even shed a few tears of her own, and she hushed him when he began to apologise again for all he’d done, the monstrous things for which he was responsible. Instead she held him, rocked him, and crooned over his missing hand.

  The afternoon sun was slanting through the doorway and the others had left when she finally pushed him away and looked into his face. Dom’s eyes slid from hers.

  ‘Look at me,’ she commanded in a gentle voice. ‘You’ve begun to heal, but there’s a long way to go and the path behind you is dark and slippery, beckoning you back. This is the only chance you get, son. Take a single backward step, so much as glance over your shoulder at where you’ve been, and I will have you killed. You’re all that’s left to me, but I won’t let you jeopardise Gilgoras again, and I won’t lose you a second time. You’re better off dead than going back there. Do you hear me?’

  Dom swallowed hard; even now, despite his words and promises, he could feel the pull of that path. But Gilda’s lined face had no pity and no weakness in it; she might have been carved from beech.

  There was only one answer he could give her; he nodded. In that moment, he even meant it.

  CORVUS

  Ninth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  He’d told the Blessed One that his sister would be sent to her the moment she arrived, but in the end, it was Lanta who sent for him. Apparently, Rillirin had arrived in the city and no one had thought to tell him. He knew Valan had had something to do with it. His second was far too friendly with the Blessed One these days.

  He mentioned his concerns to Tett who, after a promise to find out which gate she’d come through and which Mireces were on duty when she did, kept his habitual silence. It was something Corvus had come to enjoy. Valan’s opinions were usually valid, but he had a lot of them and rarely recognised when Corvus needed some peace and quiet.

  And every time Valan couldn’t be found because he was with the Blessed One, Tett was there instead, waiting to serve, to protect his king. To earn his trust. Corvus glanced at him now, walking on his right where the second – the heir – usually was. It was something to think about. Tett was steady, competent, an excellent warrior, respected by the men and dedicated to the Dark Path. More than that, he had a head for numbers and was a born organiser, unlike Valan, who relied on flair and a quick tongue, an easy charisma that made men like him.

  He wouldn’t make the decision yet. See how Tett handled himself in the next few months until the Dark Lady was restored. Plenty of time to decide the future once that future was secure.

  There were Mireces on watch outside the temple; they leapt to attention as he barged past and flung open the door, boot heels echoing in the vast building. The main worship space was empty; they’d be in Lanta’s private quarters. There weren’t guards there, so Corvus slammed back the door and strode in.

  Lanta jumped and Valan kicked out of his chair, a dagger appearing in each hand at the intrusion, so Tett shoved past Corvus and drew his sword. ‘Weapons up,’ he snarled. />
  ‘Your Majesty? Forgive me, Sire, you startled me,’ Valan said, hurriedly sheathing his knives. ‘We have been—’

  ‘Rill?’ Corvus wasn’t listening, didn’t have eyes for the Blessed One and the faint stain of blush in her cheeks as if he’d caught her doing something illicit, didn’t care about Valan’s garbled excuses. Knowing she was here and seeing her were two different things. His sister hadn’t stood when he entered, instead sitting composed and calm in a cushioned chair, a glass resting on the mound of her stomach. She was big already, with a three-moon still to go.

  ‘Brother,’ she said. ‘I’d get up but, you know, it’s a little difficult to curtsey these days.’ He blinked at the casual disdain in her tone.

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ Lanta snapped, the anger in her words far outweighing the insult. Corvus held up his hand, stilling her, and stepped past Tett, took Valan’s chair as his own and dragged it closer. He sat, his knee touching Rillirin’s, and took the hand not holding the glass, filled with tenderness and something akin to pride. You will be the instrument of the Dark Lady’s return. Your child will be glorious.

  ‘You’re here,’ he said, almost wondering. ‘Finally you’ve come back to me.’

  Rillirin’s lip curled and she threw her wine in his face. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say I’m here of my own free will,’ she said as he spluttered and Lanta shouted at her again, more strident this time. They both ignored her. ‘Your pet soldiers kidnapped me and slaughtered all the people I was with, hundreds and hundreds of them. And it’s apparently because you believe my child is somehow special. You’re all insane.’

  Her confidence surprised and intrigued him and he was frankly delighted at how it incensed Lanta, even after only a few hours. Still, he’d need to break her before the birth. Rillirin’s mouth tightened and she pressed her hands to her belly. She’d been dressed in a gown that was too small so that the material was taut and he watched, fascinated, as the babe writhed and moved inside her. His sister’s child. The Bloodchild.

  ‘When did she get here?’ he asked Valan, using his sleeve to wipe the liquid from his face and neck and acting as if Rillirin were no more than a precocious child.

  ‘An East Rank captain and a Krikite named Pesh brought her in just before noon. Yesterday.’ Lanta’s voice was cold and precise, but with a hint of satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide.

  A full day and a half before you think to inform me? I weary of your games, Lanta.

  ‘And what have you three been up to since she arrived? Catching up on old times?’ His sarcasm brought a flush to Valan’s face and tightened the muscles around Lanta’s mouth.

  ‘They stole my clothes, forced me into this sack and then made me stay in this cesspit until the fucking stench made me puke,’ Rillirin said. ‘You think I’ve got a magic baby but it doesn’t occur to anyone that it could be harmed by being in this place. You’re so bloody—’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Lanta said, the words grated out between her teeth.

  Corvus leant back in his chair and gestured. Tett filled a glass with wine and passed it to him; it didn’t escape him that Valan had neglected this most basic duty. ‘Perhaps,’ was all he said. They were all uncomfortable at that, expecting more, expecting anger or interrogation or threats. Not calm.

  None of them know the first thing about me. Not even Rill.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, as if he’d only just remembered, ‘I have a gift for you. Tett.’ He gestured and the warrior moved to Rillirin’s side. She tensed, but he just brushed the mane of her hair back and used a small pair of pliers to tug the pin out of the collar so it fell open. He took it from her neck and now Rillirin was surprised, her brittle confidence melted like salt in blood. Her hand went to her neck as if she couldn’t believe it; on Corvus’s other side Lanta radiated frozen outrage.

  Corvus passed his cup to Tett and pulled the new collar out of the bag the man held. Slender and light, shimmering. He’d even had it decorated. ‘Silver, to reflect your station as a member of the royal family,’ he said, and shifted to the edge of his chair. Rillirin stiffened and there was a wordless plea in her face. He leant forward and clipped it shut around her throat, fitted the slender steel pin through the hasp and then held it still while Tett used the pliers to bend it over so it couldn’t be removed.

  He sat back and examined her. ‘Beautiful. Like its wearer.’ He winked, but the fire – the wonderful, infuriating fire – was gone. Part of him hoped it couldn’t be so easily extinguished, that it was merely banked and waiting fresh fuel. He poked the coals. ‘Fox-bitch, Liris used to call you.’ Lanta was stony, Valan glancing between king and Blessed One as if not sure which way to jump. ‘Wildcat.’

  Rillirin’s fingers tightened at mention of the dead king’s name, the man who’d owned and used her body, but when she replied her voice was even. ‘I prefer Wolf now. They’re my war-kin. I fought with them, and I killed alongside them. Killed Mireces.’

  ‘And now you are a princess,’ Corvus said with a grin, ‘and one of the most powerful Mireces alive.’

  ‘I am no Mireces,’ she said with quiet venom, delighting him, ‘and my child will not be either. Dom will come for me, for us both. He’ll kill you; maybe I’ll kill you.’

  ‘You will be Mireces,’ Corvus promised her and now the flames were back, licking high and hungry and glowing in her face. ‘You will come to the Path with your whole heart, because your child will already be standing upon it. And what mother abandons her child?’

  ‘I will not, and neither will—’

  ‘If you cannot control your tongue I will have it burnt out of your head,’ Lanta said, sharp and angry. ‘We need your womb and your babe, not the rest of you.’

  ‘You’re not getting my child,’ Rillirin said again, and the fire was roaring now. If the Blessed One’s words had touched her, it didn’t show. Corvus could have clapped; he knew how much grit it would take for a former slave to contradict the Blessed One. ‘Dom will come; the army will come. You’re all going to die. And if not? I’ll just have to do it myself.’

  ‘You should concern yourself only with a healthy pregnancy, Princess,’ Valan said smoothly, and with every appearance of honesty, and it was like a bucket of cold water over them all. Rillirin twitched, confusion sliding across her features.

  She didn’t answer, just held out her cup to Corvus for a refill.

  ‘You’re not going to throw this one over me, are you?’

  Rillirin found a smile and gave him a non-committal shrug, though Valan’s calm concern had clearly rattled her. Corvus filled her cup and thought again of his earlier plans, that he’d take her as consort to honour the sibling union of the gods, then make her his queen as the Mireces kings of old had done. Once the babe was born, she’d do anything to be near it, even if it was the Dark Lady reborn. Women were sentimental like that.

  ‘Do you have everything you need for the rite, Blessed One?’ Corvus asked in a belated attempt to heal the cracks in their relationship.

  The tilt of Lanta’s chin told him it was too late for that. ‘Our preparations to place the child on the Dark Path continue. We are ready; we need only for your sister to push it out.’

  Rillirin rubbed her palms over her belly and smiled sweetly. ‘Keep waiting, bitch,’ she said with friendly malice. ‘I’m weeks away yet. Plenty of time for you all to die screaming.’

  Corvus’s mouth fell open but then he burst out laughing, his amusement increasing at the blistering anger radiating from the Blessed One. Rillirin grinned at him, lifted her glass and saluted, and then swallowed. He returned her gesture, aware of the whiteness of Lanta’s knuckles. No one laughed at the Blessed One. No one.

  ‘I am glad your failures thus far sit so easy on you, Sire,’ Lanta said with brittle ice coating each word. ‘I, for one, have found little to laugh at in the months since our Bloody Mother was taken from us.’

  ‘Oh, Blessed One, you misunderstand,’ Rillirin said, still smiling. ‘My brother the king laughs only because othe
rwise he would weep. Is that not so?’

  ‘Careful, Princess,’ Corvus said, his mirth withering. ‘You may be my sister, but my loyalties are firmly with the gods. The Blessed One has my full support. In fact, I have selected a dozen of our surviving women to train with you and Gull in the priesthood, Blessed One. You take too much upon yourselves,’ he said with false solicitude. ‘I would not see you exhausted beyond reason when it can be prevented.’ And I will have a replacement Voice of the Gods ready for when this is all over.

  He turned to Rillirin before Lanta could splutter a reply. ‘And as for rescue, Rill, best you face up to the facts: there’s no one coming for you.’

  Rillirin stroked her belly again, an intimate, soothing gesture. Her gaze was even, confident. ‘If you say so.’

  RILLIRIN

  Ninth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Heir’s suite, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  If she’d been a slave, Rillirin would’ve known how to behave. If she’d been free, she could have dealt with that too, strange as it would have been in a city run by Mireces. But this … this was beyond anything she’d experienced or could understand.

  They called her ‘Princess’ and ‘milady’. She ate more and better food than she’d ever had in her life, and slept in a clean, warm bed the size of a house in a suite of rooms big enough for a hundred – the queen’s wing, adjacent to Corvus’s, at his insistence, far better than the first night of her stay, which had been in a small room in the temple where the stench of hopelessness and dead blood made her nauseous.

  She wore Corvus’s silver ceremonial slave collar, and while it didn’t have a chain attached to it, she still couldn’t remove it. Lighter and looser than the cold black iron of the previous collar, it told her two things: she was special; and she was nothing.

  She spent her days forced to participate in rituals to the Red Gods, in the awful sacrifices that dedicated new converts to the Dark Path, for despite the Dark Lady’s destruction – or maybe because of it – every day slaves came to offer up their souls to Blood in exchange for freedom. The tired, the hungry, the hopeless. Feeling that moment of envy when the collars were taken from them, when they were given a house and food and weapons – still watched, of course, and would be for months – but free. Free.