by Milla Vane
He glanced over his shoulder. Danoh had climbed the mound of ruins for a better vantage and was looking back the way they had come. Other travelers were not unexpected. This route was well-used, and they had passed through a village shortly before the rains had stopped. Anyone who had been waiting out the storm in that village would be coming upon them now.
But so might any bandits who had seen them pass.
“Does someone come?” Yvenne’s query was a puff of warm air and a brush of soft lips against his thumb.
Maddek grunted an assent.
“A threat?”
“I expect not.” Still, they had lingered here long enough. Maddek’s gaze searched the road ahead. Empty all the way to the horizon, with no visible threat from that direction, human or animal. And Yvenne stood a fair distance from the riverbank—almost a full arrow’s flight. “You would be safe here if you wish to walk while I ready our horses. Or you can return with me to the road.”
“It would be best to walk,” she said.
Maddek agreed. They would not stop again until nightfall. “Unless I call for you, do not leave this stone path. Fassad will send his hounds to look after you until I return with your gelding.”
She nodded, and with a final slide of his thumb across her mouth, reluctantly Maddek released her. At the head of the ruins, his warriors were all belting on their linens again, even before Maddek signaled across the distance for them to prepare to leave.
After another signal to Fassad, the hounds streaked across the muddied flat. Maddek had only taken ten steps before they passed him, and he looked back to see Yvenne greeting the dogs with a laughing smile, scratching their ears as they jostled each other for her attention.
A sharp whistle from Fassad stopped their playing. Immediately the hounds flanked Yvenne, instead, and her expression was wryly amused when she looked up and caught Maddek’s eyes.
She called to him, “They are ordered to protect me! So tell me, Commander—what other reason to pet them, except the pleasure of it?”
“Because Fassad will like you better for it,” he said with a grin.
Her scowl pinched her narrow face, and as he continued toward the road her response followed him. “They are called Steel and Bone!”
The dogs’ names. Maddek knew them, though he still thought Fassad foolish for naming the wolves. A warrior did not name his sword or his armor, and the wolves also served as tools—but that was likely Yvenne’s point. She had learned their names because the dogs were not only tools to her.
As she claimed his warriors were not. And in truth, Maddek believed she enjoyed their company. But that did not mean she valued the warriors at their worth. Many citizens of the southern realms did not. The alliance had set a Parsathean rider’s life equal to a few ingots of Tolehi iron or a clutch of swords made from Syssian steel. His people were not so easily replaceable.
At the head of the ruins, Banek had taken a seat on the ledge Yvenne had abandoned. He and Kelir watched Maddek come.
“By your face,” Kelir called out, “I see that you still are determined to displease her!”
Because the smile Maddek had worn when he’d left her had not completely disappeared. With a laugh, he shook his head. “Only because she has not yet succeeded in making my life a misery.”
“She will have to try harder,” a grinning Banek said.
Yes, she would. Much harder. For he enjoyed her company so well, Maddek did not believe their marriage would be a misery.
Which made no sense. A shrewd queen, she might prove to be—but as a wife? She was weak and sickly. She was manipulative and treacherous. Never could she be trusted.
How could that make for a strong marriage? It would be nothing like his mother and father’s union, solidly built on love and trust and respect. Nothing like the marriage they had desired for Maddek. Just as she was nothing like the bride he had imagined for himself.
Yet he enjoyed being with her. And still he wanted her. This frail and sly woman.
A woman whose gaze burned as hotly for him as his body did for her.
For she was not always ice. She hadn’t been when, in his anger and frustration, Maddek had demanded she ease his need. Then she had responded with challenge burning in her gaze, a heat that hadn’t waned when she’d licked his seed from her bloodied fingers, and burned hot again when she’d grabbed his beard and commanded him to never degrade her in front of his warriors.
He had been frustrated since, but not angry—yet still she met his stare with that same challenge. Sometimes hot, sometimes amused. But never balking or backing down.
That must have been why he wanted her so. He was still uncertain whether she was an enemy, so his every warrior’s instinct clamored for her defeat and submission. Yet he’d spoken truth earlier: Maddek didn’t believe anyone could control her. But she was also a virgin who had spent most of her life isolated within a tower chamber. She had not even known how to stroke his cock and would know less about relations between women and men. Undoubtedly when he took her to his bed, she would challenge him again, but she would not possess the weapons to defeat him.
Maddek suspected that Yvenne had never submitted to anyone. Yet she would submit to him. And victory would be his.
Until then, he would take his pleasure in her mouth and hands—and her smiles.
“What do you see?” he called up to Danoh.
“Two wagons drawn by oxen, flanked by a dozen Gogean soldiers.” Carefully she began to pick her way down the rubble. “They travel at a sloth’s pace.”
So slow that even Yvenne’s gelding would stay well ahead of them. These soldiers would not be a threat—but the fewer people who could report details of their route to any Syssian soldiers in pursuit, the better.
Still a raider at heart, Banek called to Danoh, “What are they guarding in the wagons?”
“Young men and women, it looked like.”
“Protecting travelers from bandits?”
She shrugged. As there were no riches to dream of stealing, the older warrior lost interest, his gaze returning to where Yvenne was limping the length of the cobblestone path. Maddek had been keeping an eye on her as well. Though she still walked slowly and favored her left side, her movements were not as stiff as in previous days.
Already becoming accustomed to the saddle. Maddek collected her mount’s bridle and started toward the patch of grass where the gelding was grazing.
At five paces away, the gelding abruptly tossed his head and pivoted on his heels, trotting swiftly away from Maddek and across the road—where he settled down and ripped out another mouthful of grass.
The warriors behind Maddek snorted with laughter. Ardyl called out, “So that nag can move swiftly when he wants to!”
So he could. But Maddek had no intention of chasing the fool horse through the mud. Fassad’s dogs were currently at Yvenne’s heels, so they could not herd the gelding closer, as they usually did reluctant mounts. Fortunately almost any horse could be corralled by its stomach.
He looked to Toric, who was already grabbing a sack of grain—then toward the ruins as there was a clatter of tumbling stone and a foul curse.
At the base of the rubble, Danoh was picking herself up from the ground, her face a storm of irritation.
The warrior was usually as surefooted as a goat. Frowning, Maddek asked, “Are you well?”
“Just muddied my ass. A pig-swived stone twisted beneath my boot, though it felt solid enough when I stepped on it.” She angled her arm to look at her elbow, where blood welled from a gash, and swore again. “By Stranik’s scaly slit. I’ll be riding around with my arm wrapped like a southerner’s.”
Maddek grinned—then stilled as crimson beads dripped from Danoh’s arm and splashed onto the ground. The hairs lifted on the back of his neck.
All fell silent.
Abruptly it was so cold
that Maddek’s breath was visible as a soft cloud, though the sun was hot upon his shoulders. In the distance, Fassad’s wolves howled a warning.
Yvenne.
Maddek’s gaze shot across the muddied flat—though he could not clearly see the mud nearer to the river now. Instead the mist had thickened, blanketing the ground in a white fog that rolled steadily toward the cobblestone path. Eddies of gray swirled lazily through the white, as if disturbed by a chill breeze.
Ice rippled down Maddek’s spine. That was not a breeze. Something moved within the fog—or was being carried by it toward Yvenne.
“Blood wraiths!” Face lined with horror, Banek lurched up from his seat on the ledge and shouted across the distance. “Run this way, girl! Run!”
The fog rolled slowly enough that she could outrace it—but when Yvenne turned to look at the encroaching mist, fear must have paralyzed her, for she moved not at all.
By Temra’s fist. A blood wraith’s touch was death. Worse than death. Heart hammering, Maddek sprinted for his mare.
“To the road, my lady!” Kelir thundered from behind him. “Run!”
Fassad’s sharp whistle joined the shouts, and either that awoke Yvenne from her terrified stupor or the wolves did. While Steel snapped sharp teeth close at her ankles, Bone snagged her robe in his jaws and hauled back, as if the dog intended to drag her to the road.
She stumbled, nearly fell, then righted herself again. Maddek caught a glimpse of her bloodbare face when she looked toward the road. Relief eased the clutching fear upon his chest.
Now she would run.
But she did not. Instead she looked back toward the fog, as if measuring its speed—then limped quickly toward a broken column that lay half embedded in the mud, not unlike the ledge where she had sat before.
“No, my lady! To the road!” Toric called to her—for the column was high enough that she would be above the mist, but when it overtook the ledge, she would be trapped there.
Unless Maddek reached her first. Shouting “Fly!” he vaulted onto the mare’s bare back. Her powerful muscles bunched as she sprang forward, racing headlong toward his bride and the befouled fog. It swept toward her and macabre dread gripped Maddek’s heart, for he could see what crawled within the thick mist—the twisted gray visages with gaping sharp-toothed maws, the long grasping claws. The scuttling withered husks were all that remained of the men and women they’d once been before their blood had been corrupted and their souls trapped by perverse magics.
With the wolves at her heels, Yvenne scrambled atop the ledge on hands and knees. Gaining her feet, her frantic gaze clashed with his across the distance before she glanced desperately at the encroaching fog—and when she faced him again, he knew that she’d made the same realization he had.
He would not reach her before the blood wraiths surrounded the ledge. Already the fog was at the far end of the broken column.
“Fassad!” Her shout carried over the pounding of the mare’s hooves. “Call them back!”
The dogs. No whistle came—Fassad would not leave her alone.
Her chest heaved, gaze darting wildly behind her. The fog had spread along half the column’s length. Both she and the dogs moved to the end nearest the road, where there was still muddied ground visible at its base. Once it was covered, there would be no escape that way.
Maddek held up his fist and Fassad’s whistle sounded, short and shrill. The wolves hesitated only a moment before bounding to the ground and racing toward the road.
Never would Maddek forget Yvenne’s face in the moment the dogs abandoned her. Her relief, her terror—and the lift of her chin as she met his eyes again. Before the mare had taken three more strides, the fog closed around the base of her column. Gray fingers reached up out of the mist, crawling up the shadowed side of the ledge, then at the sunlit edge shriveling and drawing back from the glare of Enam’s yellow eye.
If a cloud shielded that eye, there would be nothing to hold them back.
Maddek looked over his shoulder to where Kelir rode not far behind him, his big body crouched low over his mount’s neck.
“Fall back to the road!” Maddek shouted, and for an instant, the warrior seemed as if he would refuse the order. Then Kelir sat upright in his saddle and his horse slowed, veering toward the ruins in a wide curve that would take them back to safety.
His heart like lead, Maddek urged his mare faster even as realization dawned on Yvenne’s face. His bride shook her head wildly and shouted something at him, probably that he was a fool, but her voice was drowned out by the pounding of his blood and the thundering of hooves. Without hesitation his mare plunged into the ground-crawling fog, her powerful legs churning the mist. A chorus of unholy screeching seemed to rise from the earth itself, reverberating through mud and stone, the odor of rot thick in the air.
Just before reaching the column he felt the mare’s stride falter, then catch pace again. Barely slowing, Maddek swept Yvenne from the ledge with an elbow hooked around her waist, and heard the impact knock away her breath even as she wound her arms desperately around his neck.
Holding her shaking form securely against his chest, Maddek wheeled the mare around. “Fly,” he said from a roughened throat, and she did, her great heart carrying them out of the mist and her stride never slowing until they reached the road.
There he drew her to a halt with his voice. His warriors surrounded him and he looked down into Yvenne’s bloodbare face. Her trembling arms still clung tightly around his neck, as if she would never let him go.
“Were you touched?” he asked gruffly.
“No.” Her voice was a strained whisper, her pale gaze searching his features. “You did not have to come for me. Thank you.”
With a stiff nod, he handed her down into Banek’s arms and slid from the mare’s back. She stood calmly, the only sign of her exertion the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her coat and her flaring nostrils, but when he laid his palm against her shoulder he felt the quivering tension through her heavy muscles. Grimly he examined her legs. Blood seeped from shallow, parallel slashes down their lengths.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Banek said quietly.
Because a few drops of Danoh’s blood had been enough to feed the foul magics that had thickened the fog and drawn the wraiths from the ground. They could not know how much faster and stronger the wraiths would be if the mare’s blood fed it, too.
“I have more linens in my satchel.” Yvenne’s moonstone eyes were huge in her thin face. “They could wrap her legs. If you wish, I will fetch them.”
Maddek nodded but said, “Toric will fetch your satchel. For I know he will run when told.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, but silence was her only response.
For what response could she have? That she had not heard them shouting for her to run? That her legs were too sore from riding? That she had not wanted to muddy her feet?
Maddek had no desire to hear any of her excuses. Neither did his warriors, for they had barely even glanced at her since Maddek had set her down. Instead they regarded his mare, their expressions grave.
Looking away from Yvenne, he addressed Banek again. “How long?”
“Nightfall,” the older warrior said.
“Then we continue on to the next village.” He paused as Toric returned with Yvenne’s embroidered satchel and she began digging through it. Behind them, the fog seemed to have slowed but had not yet dissipated. “Ardyl and Toric, ride to warn the soldiers who travel this way, then catch up to us again.”
Immediately the warriors moved toward their horses. Maddek took the roll of linens Yvenne pulled from her satchel and cast her a hard look. “Ask Fassad to have his hounds round up your gelding.”
Swallowing hard, she nodded and limped away, leaving Maddek to tend to the mare. Chest tight, he smoothed his hand down her sleek neck, then crouched beside her bleedin
g legs.
Softly Kelir said, “Will you saddle her?”
Maddek shook his head. With her great heart, she would carry him to the next village, but he would not ask her to. They’d had their last ride—to save Maddek’s bride, who had claimed she would make his life a misery.
Already she was doing a better job of it.
CHAPTER 13
YVENNE
A grim pall hung over the riders as they left the ruins, and it grew heavier as the day wore on. No longer did Yvenne have a riding companion. Instead she was protected and boxed in. Maddek still took the lead. Then came Kelir and Banek, with Yvenne behind. A few paces farther were Fassad and Danoh, and after their return from warning the soldiers behind them, Ardyl and Toric brought up the rear.
Maddek’s mare was the only lighthearted member of their party, though her legs were wrapped in bloodstained linens and her death lay ahead. Maddek did not ride her now; instead he ran along at her side, and the mare was as playful as the wolves sometimes were, nickering and butting her head against his shoulder, prancing and flicking her tail as if bored by the pace they’d set and challenging him to a faster race.
The mare’s joy and the warriors’ silence seemed an unbearable weight. A hot leaden lump lodged in Yvenne’s throat, choking into nothing every word she might have spoken—and blocking the scream of rage building in her chest.
The scream had not started as rage. First it had been mortal terror, when she’d turned to see the blood wraiths writhing in the fog. Although fear still lingered, her skin clammy despite the heat of the sun and the warmth of her cloak, it was her helplessness that had given birth to the anger.
For the warriors had shouted at her to run. But Yvenne could not.
Three years past, her father and older brothers had seen to that.
And how she hated them. With every breath and every beat of her heart, she hated them. Hated them and hated relying upon others for her protection. Hated the very silence that choked her, for what could she say to the warriors now?