A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  Even now she longed to invite him in, to know the pleasure he promised. But pleasure was not all she longed for, and the soft pain beneath her breast reminded her that she was supposed to be disentangling her emotions.

  But there was no purpose served by lingering in the furs. She would only wish for what she could not have. Still, there were others sleeping, so her voice was a soft whisper as she sat up and asked, “What is that you are scraping?”

  “A stave for a bow.” His reply was as quiet as hers.

  Fascinated, she watched him. His mother had once made a similar stave with wood painstakingly carved from the frame of Yvenne’s bed, yet Ran Ashev had possessed no blade to do it with. Only a bone comb sharpened against the tower walls.

  Maddek finished with the knife and collected a twisted length of cord. Bending the bow, he quickly strung it. He examined the weapon, then tested it by drawing the string.

  Finally he nodded, as if satisfied. “It is too green but will serve to strengthen your arm.”

  Confusion filled her. “My arm?”

  A soft grunt was his answer and he held the weapon out to her.

  Yvenne took it, her heart pounding sickly. In her left hand, she gripped the bow. With the fingers remaining on her right hand, she plucked the string, loving the memory of wielding this weapon. But she could no longer.

  “I can barely draw the string.” She showed him how difficult it was. “And I cannot do it at all while also trying to notch an arrow.”

  Maddek watched her struggle with the bowstring before meeting her eyes with a dark, even gaze. “Use your other hand.”

  “But that is not—” What your mother taught me. Yvenne bit off those unintended words before they could be spoken.

  He must have known but she saw no anger in his expression. Only patience. “You are not the first to lose fingers—or even a full hand. And most warriors have one arm stronger than the other. But a warrior-queen should learn to use both equally well. So you will.”

  A warrior-queen. She’d believed Maddek meant it as a joke. Yet now he gave her a bow and claimed she would use it.

  Throat suddenly thick and aching, she grasped the stave in her right hand. It was awkward, for she could not firmly grip the wood with only two frail fingers and a thumb, and the bow wobbled in her grip when she tried to draw the string. Her left hand and arm were untrained and weak.

  Yet Maddek had given her this to strengthen them. So that she might one day wield a bow and arrow again.

  A queen did not cry when there was someone to see. Yet never had Yvenne struggled so hard against tears. Her chest was achingly full and her vision blurred when Maddek came nearer, adjusting her fingers around the bow.

  “By wrapping leather here, I can make a grip that will conform to your remaining fingers and give you a stable hold,” he said quietly, reinforcing her grip now by curling his fingers over hers. “Try to draw.”

  She did and could barely pull the string.

  Maddek grunted. Despite her poor showing, that response sounded to her like approval—or perhaps barely was better than he expected. “Build your strength by pulling on the string as you ride. In time, you’ll need a vambrace to protect your forearm, but you are not drawing hard enough to bother with it now. Best to tie your sleeves out of the way, though—and you must practice.”

  “I will,” she vowed, her voice a thick rasp. She felt Maddek’s gaze upon her but could not look at him.

  His big hand tightened over hers. “Do you sense the same threat you did last eve?”

  Yvenne shook her head.

  Maddek seemed unsurprised by that answer. “I will finish the grip while you break your fast and make ready to ride,” he said gruffly.

  Silently she nodded, then moved in haste away from him, her heart painfully swollen within her chest. She was supposed to be disentangling her emotions, separating lust from love. She was supposed to let all her hope wither.

  Her would-be husband did not make it easy.

  CHAPTER 20

  YVENNE

  Also not easy was drawing a bow while riding a horse. Yvenne didn’t rely on the reins for balance, yet they seemed to offer some small measure of control over her mount, so letting go of the reins sent Yvenne’s heart to racing. Then pulling on the bowstring shifted her weight in the saddle, making her instinctively grip more tightly with her legs, and she had not yet broken the habit. Every moment she expected the animal to bolt forward, sending her tumbling over the mare’s rump.

  One day she would gallop along and shoot her arrows without fear. But that was not this day. Instead she practiced every time they slowed the horses to a walk.

  Beside her, Maddek observed, “Soon your shoulders will feel as your ass did the first day in the saddle.”

  She knew they would. Just as her shoulders and arms had ached in the days following Ran Ashev’s first lessons. And those lessons had culminated in the death of her oldest brother. Now she dreamed these practices would culminate in an arrow through her father’s neck—a dream that had seemed impossible until this very morning, when Maddek had given her this bow, as if her missing fingers had changed nothing at all.

  Grinning happily, Yvenne replied, “I have not a care.”

  She knew not when Maddek’s grin had become more handsome than his scowl, yet she could hardly look away from him. But with effort, she did, focusing on the road ahead.

  Maddek brought her attention back round by asking, “What occupies your thoughts this morn?”

  Because she had been nearly as silent as yesterday, when he’d believed she punished him. “Staying in the saddle,” said she, for they had pushed harder upon the road and she was not yet confident enough to focus on anything but riding when they struck a faster pace. But it was only a partial truth. “And thinking that as much as my mother described to me of the world outside our tower room, I cannot truly understand many things until I have experienced or seen them for myself.”

  “Such as?”

  Such as longing and desire. Or the stairs. Yet all of those answers made her heart constrict, so instead she gestured to the southwest, where a herd of humpbacked reptiles with long necks were walking north in single file. “I thought a whiptail would be larger than a mammoth.”

  “They are. It is only the distance that makes them appear smaller,” Maddek said, and pointed to a nearby cluster of palms. “As we ride closer, you will see they stand taller than those trees.”

  She looked again in amazement. Since she had left her tower, Yvenne’s eager eyes had taken in everything that had only been described to her before. She had looked and looked and looked, desperate to see it all for herself. Yet until Maddek rode beside her, she hadn’t realized how much she’d been blind to or how often she’d misunderstood what lay before her, because she didn’t know how to see.

  Yesterday he’d begun teaching her to see as a hunter saw. She had not believed then that he truly meant to make a warrior-queen of her, but it had been another lesson she’d been glad to learn.

  And now it was not a joke, but truth. Remembrance sent a thrill of pleasure coursing through her. “If I had an arrow, what could I shoot today for our supper?”

  As the other warriors did. They often loosed arrows from their saddles and rode over to sweep up their kill without dismounting.

  “A pheasant,” he replied. “Or a marmot.”

  “A marmot?” She looked to him in surprise. Except for the millipede the previous eve, always the other warriors took small game. “Something so big?”

  “You are thinking of the hooded marmot from the Ephorn forest. These are the size of a dally bird.”

  “You’ve seen sign of them today?”

  He nodded. “I’ll show you if we pass it again. They’re easiest found near streams.”

  And they had passed many streams. Though still surrounded by tall grasses, the gr
ound was softer here, the soil wetter. Over the constant hum of insects came the frequent chirps and trills from birds and lizards. She focused on a nearby rustling and aimed her arrowless bow before drawing the string. The muscles in her shoulders and arms burned fiercely and her fingertips were raw from a morning of practice, yet she ignored the pain. This she would do again and again until it no longer hurt.

  Maddek never warned her when he threw the rock to flush out a target. Now the stone crashed through the grass, followed by a squawk and flap of wings. A pheasant burst out of the grasses and Yvenne loosed her string. There was not yet a satisfying pting when she released her imagined arrow, yet she grinned happily again, for she was certain her aim had been true and the bird would have been an evening stew.

  “When I have quicker eyes and a stronger arm, I’ll kill suppers for us all,” she told Maddek. “I will be the greatest hunter with bow and arrow you have ever seen.”

  His grin matched hers. “It will serve Toric and Danoh well to have new competition.”

  Because those two warriors were the best archers among the Dragon. Yvenne could never hope to be as strong as they, but their skill was not all in strength. “I shall ask them for lessons, too.”

  “You learn faster than your current tutor did,” said Ardyl dryly as she came up beside Yvenne’s mount at a trot. “You are only a day into your lessons, but you already boast as mightily as Maddek did when he reached his bearded age and claimed he would be the greatest hunter the Burning Plains had ever seen.”

  She was being teased, Yvenne realized with a rush of dizzying pleasure. Teased as the warriors often teased Maddek. Though Ardyl had not spared him in this, either.

  Yvenne hoped Ardyl might ride alongside her and continue that teasing, but she joined the two warriors ahead. Banek and Kelir had ridden in front of Maddek and Yvenne all morning. Now Ardyl didn’t seem intent on talking to either but simply riding with them. And they all seemed bunched into a smaller party, without as much distance between their horses.

  She glanced back and saw that Fassad and Toric were nearly on her mount’s hindquarters, with Danoh not far behind.

  Immediately Maddek asked, “Do you sense foul magics again?”

  “I only noticed that we ride closer together now.” And Yvenne had learned that the warriors did nothing without reason. “For what purpose? Do you expect that it still follows us?”

  Whatever it had been. That uneasy, watchful touch at the back of her neck. But if the threat was behind, Yvenne realized, then Ardyl would not have moved to the front.

  “I know not if it does,” Maddek said. “This is another danger.”

  Tension gripped the back of her neck. “Are there bandits ahead?”

  “Linen thieves.” Which sounded to Yvenne like bandits, until he added, “You might call them uzzads.”

  A flightless predatory bird. Fascinated, Yvenne searched for them and spotted the head of one sticking up over the tall grasses—and saw why the Parsatheans had named them linen thieves. The red wattle around its beak and neck appeared as if a warrior’s red linens hung from its mouth.

  “I had not thought them so big.” If the grasses ahead grew as high as they did here, it meant the animal stood even taller than Maddek upon his horse. “I only see one. Are there more?”

  “One more. A female. Except for when they nest, linen thieves hunt alone.”

  “So they are not like drepa?” The large feathered lizards that roamed the Burning Plains in packs. Yvenne’s mother had described them very similarly, though drepa used their raptor claws to tear out the innards of their prey, while uzzads bashed in skulls with their heavy beaks.

  “I would rather face a pack of drepa than a nesting linen thief,” Maddek said grimly. “A group such as ours has little to fear from a single bird. It will chase easier prey. But a pair protecting their young will defend their territory.”

  A territory that the road traveled straight through. Yvenne’s heart beat a faster pace. “What do we do?”

  “Prepare to ride hard.”

  So she would need both hands. Yvenne slung her bow across her back. “Are linen thieves quick?”

  Maddek nodded. “Faster than a horse at a sprint. When we reach the edge of their territory, the dogs will draw them away from the road. Then we’ll race through.”

  Already her palms were clammy. Yvenne dried them on her robes before grasping her reins. “Where is the edge of their territory?”

  “We will know.”

  By the stench, apparently. The light breeze stirring the grasses brought the stomach-churning scent of rotting flesh to Yvenne’s nose. More animals entered the linen thieves’ territory than the nesting birds could eat, and their bodies marked the boundary the linen thieves defended. The Parsatheans drew to a halt when the first carcass appeared on the road ahead, covered by a swarm of black flies. In a cloud, the flies lifted and settled again, revealing the grisly remains of a horse. Near to it was what appeared to be a miren, lying upon its armored back with its belly battered open.

  But it was not only animals that the linen thieves had killed. Silently Maddek gestured to another fly-swarmed carcass that might have been man or woman. “That is why we have seen no bandits.”

  “That one almost made it through,” Kelir added. “No doubt we’ll come across what is left of his friends and their horses on the road ahead. So mind the footing. Being tossed from a saddle after a mount slips in a bandit’s guts is a good tale for around a fire but will be not so merry here.”

  Mind the footing? Nervousness crept up Yvenne’s spine. She had planned to simply hold on and let her horse follow the others. Yet she would need to guide her mount?

  A loud hiss sent another shiver racing up her spine. The linen thief stepped into the road, neck extended and waving from side to side. It flapped wings that were too small for its huge body, as if trying to make itself seem larger—but it did not need to be larger. Already it looked terrifyingly big. Yvenne’s roan pranced uneasily, and she patted her shoulder, trying to soothe the mare though her own hands were shaking and the hairs lifted at the back of her neck.

  But . . . that was not because of the linen thief. That was something else.

  Something close.

  “Maddek,” she said urgently.

  He glanced at her just as Bone and Steel began growling. Neither wolf faced the linen thief but had turned east, facing the direction from which they’d come.

  Ahead, Kelir had not taken his eyes from the giant bird. “What is it?”

  Nothing on the road behind them. Yet Maddek had taught her how to watch the grasses to see the direction an animal moved and to guess at its size. Even with the breeze disturbing the stalks, she detected movement heading in their direction. Many movements heading in their direction. Some approaching very quickly.

  But the warriors were not only looking for dangers in the grass. Danoh pointed into the sky. “Redfoot eagle,” she called out.

  That announcement flew through the Dragon like an arrow. As one they spun to face the linen thief, horses snorting and pawing, as if preparing to sprint forward.

  “The nesting female?” Kelir asked, voice tense.

  “We cannot wait,” Maddek told him, reaching for the bronze shield hanging from the back of his saddle. “As soon as the male chases the wolves from the road, fly.”

  “What is coming?” Fear made Yvenne’s voice high and thready, though she was not even certain what she feared. The linen thief, yes. But not nearly as much as the unknown things behind them. “What threat is the eagle?”

  “It is Aezil.”

  Her second brother? Yvenne tried to make sense of Maddek’s answer, then bit back a surprised cry when he reached over and snagged her waist, lifting her from the saddle. In the next moment she was settled in front of him. He threw a command at Toric to lead her horse.

  A word from Fas
sad sent the wolves racing down the road. The linen thief ruffled its feathers and hissed its warning as they swiftly closed the distance.

  “Hold tight,” Maddek said, and she felt his steely tension as they watched Bone and Steel.

  As soon as the linen thief gave chase, there would be no talking. “What do you mean, it is Aezil?”

  “Redfoot eagles nest only in the Fallen Mountains.” In her brother’s territory of Rugus. “Likely your brother controls the eagle and sees through its eyes—as Stranik’s priests once did. To cast their spells from afar, they needed to see what their magics would touch. So they sent birds as familiars.”

  And those priests had sacrificed children to their god for that power. Using sight beyond what was seen, but gained through evil means.

  Rage and horror erupted like bile in her throat, nearly choking her. “You think Aezil did the same?”

  “To locate our route.” Anger hardened his voice. “Now he uses his foul magic to make revenants.”

  Also as Stranik’s priests had done, reanimating dead animals and sending the ravenous creatures to attack the alliance army. With a shudder, Yvenne pictured the multiple trails that signaled movement through the grass. “How many revenants come?”

  “Only a dozen.”

  The answer filled her with terror. “Only?”

  He added grimly, “If your brother continues to use his magics, there will soon be more.”

  Because the linen thieves’ territory would be littered with carcasses—likely far more than had fallen along the road and that they could see. And those, the warriors were making certain could not get up again. Toric, Ardyl, and Banek swiftly moved among the fallen animals, sweeping low in their saddles to stab through the rotting skulls and necks, sending up swarms of buzzing flies.