A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  No air seemed to fill his chest. Instead it roared in his ears, and he shook his head, denying what he’d heard. Refusing to believe that he’d heard it. “You will not marry me?”

  “No,” she said on broken breath. “I will not.”

  This he could not believe. Already she’d spoken a vow. “To Vela, you swore that you would take no other.”

  “And I will not.” Her eyes closed but not before he saw the gleaming there.

  “You carry my child,” he said. An unfair weapon it was, but a warrior made use of what he had. And he was desperate enough to use anything.

  “It is too early to know for certain.”

  Maddek was certain. “It has been one and a half turns since your moon night and you have not bled.”

  “I have never regularly bled.” Her eyes opened, and the new resolve he saw in them was a blade through his heart. “But even if I am with child, we need not marry. Many Syssian queens do not. And I will not deny your right to her. She will know you as her father and spend her time between our realms. She will be the best of Parsathe and Syssia—and we will still have a strong alliance.”

  “Marriage will make it stronger.”

  “But it will also be strong without it. We are both resolved to the same purposes: to strengthen the alliance and to kill my father. He has arrived here, as you hoped he would, so your vengeance is at hand. Whether I am your bride or not, I know you will help me build a new alliance. The only reason I have to marry would be for my own happiness . . . and I have no hope of that.”

  No happiness in a marriage with him? Gutted, Maddek stared at her. Those were not words from a sharpened tongue, for she sounded dull and hollow, as if her chest were as empty as his.

  “Why?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Because I did not lie to you!” she burst out. “I have never lied to you! If I did not believe your word, how insulted would you be? Do you think that because I am not Parsathean, my heart and honor are not torn apart by your disbelief? And not only did you say this to me when we were alone, you have told all of Parsathe that I am a liar! And you seem not to care that it is your own untruth that you spread, simply because you will not trust my word. Would you tell our children, too? Should I spend the years trying to explain to them why their father does not respect me enough to believe everything I have to say—or even to listen to what I have to say? What happiness would I know in such a marriage?”

  No words did Maddek value more than hers. And no heart did he have left. Everything she said was of truth, and left a bleeding wound in his chest.

  But he would not lose her like this. “I listen to you now. When I return, we will speak more of this. You will tell me all of what my mother said and did.”

  For they had not enough time now. But he would extract a promise from her not to immediately leave.

  But she shook her head. “What point is there when you are stubbornly certain of my lie? You promised to look at me from another view, but in this matter you never attempted to—you held on to your belief that it was a lie, and made a vow that prevented me from ever saying what was truth, and so never did you try to truly change your view. Everything I say will be seen through that view—which you still think is not true.”

  “I swear I will not. I rescind that vow. And I believe what you say now.” In truth, he did. She did not wear the proof of his mother’s crest, but Yvenne’s truth he believed. For she cut out her own heart to tell him. He took her face in his hands, felt the hotness of her cheeks that was the flush of unshed tears, saw her eyes close as if his touch were agony. Voice raw with emotion, he said, “You say to me that I should return and choose a bride suited to me and that my mother would have approved—so I will, Yvenne. And she will be you.”

  “And what then? Will I hope and then be hurt? So many times with you, I have hoped and been hurt and hoped and been hurt again.” Her lips trembled and she turned her face against his hand. In a pained whisper she said, “I have so little hope left, Maddek.”

  Again that dull, dull blade. “I will choose you,” he said hoarsely. “And never will I hurt you again. You need only stay, and we will talk, and you will see.”

  For such a long time she was silent. Hurting. Then she nodded once, and relief filled his chest.

  Catching her trembling bottom lip between her teeth, she finally looked up at him. Such faint hope he saw there amid the unshed tears. He wondered if this was what his mother had seen the first time, with Yvenne fevered and her back slashed open, so near to defeat.

  Yet it was not her father who had brought her to this point. Again it was Maddek.

  So much he would have to make up for. But he could not yet. “I must ride. So much I would say to you, my bride—but I vow this: I will return. I will marry you. And I will see you happy.”

  A spark more hope returned. On a shuddering breath, she nodded again.

  Hard he kissed her mouth—then made himself leave, into the cold morning. His warriors waited, some of them smirking as if assuming what had kept him so late. Nearby stood Seri, arms folded and with a mutinous jut to her chin. Most likely because her mother had forbidden her to join them. Yet judging by the girl’s expression—and the repressive look that Kelir sent her—Seri would only wait until they were out of sight before following behind.

  “Seri of Firebloom, daughter of Nami and Kalin!” Maddek barked.

  She startled, pivoting to face him. When her eyes met his, he told her, “Banek guards my bride, but he is of my Dragon, my armor. I would have you be Yvenne’s—and to continue her hunting lessons while we are away, as she would have no better teacher.”

  Her expression softened with surprise, and she only seemed torn for a moment before new purpose settled her features into proud, determined lines. “I will,” she vowed.

  Nami gave him a grateful look as he reached his horse. Mounting quickly, he swept his gaze to the eastern sky, already bright with the approach of dawn.

  “Maddek!”

  He reined the horse around to see Yvenne limping toward him, her face still pale and eyes still shadowed, but not in so much pain. She carried a small velvet pouch, and was digging through it—pulling out jewels, strands of gold. As if she meant to bestow a token upon him, as young lovers did.

  He would not stay to kiss her rubies, then, but wear them into battle. “What do you have for me?”

  “For your vengeance. I made no mention of it before, because I feared you might think it was akin to speaking with sly tongue—or you might believe I’d stolen it, and cut off my thumb.” Her voice was wry but laced with real pain as she continued digging through the pouch. “But now that your vow is rescinded, I can give it to you, to wear next to your father’s as you cut off Zhalen’s head.”

  His mother’s crest. She placed it into Maddek’s palm, and for a long moment there was nothing inside him. All this time, she’d had it. And it was his own vow that had made her fearful of showing him—not just the crest, but the seam bent to fit a smaller finger, and a symbol roughly etched beside the dragon of Ran Bantik’s tribe. A crescent moon, the sigil of the House of Nyset.

  The weight of that small silver ring in his palm seemed to drag Maddek from the horse, for he had no memory of dismounting before he stood before her.

  “You cannot give this to me,” he rasped, his throat raw. “She has pinched it to fit your thumb.”

  “You could wear it on your smallest—”

  “I could not, Yvenne. Even if it did fit, I would not. This is not the crest of a warrior who has fallen, but one who lives.” One who belonged to both Syssia and Parsathe. Not merely a crest offered to show approval, but far more. “This mark adopts you into the dragon tribe. She has made you a daughter of the Burning Plains. Only you can wear this.”

  He took her hand. His own fingers shook as he slid it over her thumb, and then he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her c
rest so fiercely. There was sudden silence from the riders behind him, who saw what Yvenne wore now. Who understood what it meant. She had not lied, she had never lied. Even without this proof, Maddek would have married her and had come to believe her—though almost too late. Now this crest would help combat the lie that he had spread about her.

  The consequences of that, Maddek would have to face later. Most likely, it would be said that his doubt had been justified. But he cared not what was decided. He would bear anything—because the one consequence that he couldn’t bear had already been thwarted.

  So close he had come to losing her. So very close. Because of a vow made in grief and rage and haste. But a clear view he had of her now.

  And a much clearer view of himself.

  CHAPTER 37

  MADDEK

  The wolves are uneasy.”

  Maddek glanced over at the two dogs circling restlessly in front of Fassad’s mount, their lips raised in snarls.

  “Dogs are always uneasy near the Scourge,” Kelir said. “The demon’s foul magic lingers here.”

  “Perhaps,” Fassad agreed, staring ahead. “Except I am uneasy, too.”

  Kelir shot a glance at Maddek. One that said his friend could not truthfully reassure the others, because he was uneasy, too.

  As was Maddek.

  Much different it was from the constriction in his chest as they’d ridden south the previous day, when Yvenne’s hopeless gaze seemed always before him. A constriction that increased whenever the crest was mentioned again, along with idle wondering if she hadn’t known what the gift meant, and that was why she’d hidden it for so long.

  But she had hidden it for good reason. And had been right to. For in truth . . . if she had presented that crest to Maddek, he would have believed it stolen. At the beginning, he had been stubborn in his certainty that his mother would not have chosen such as her. So even if she’d given him proof, he would have doubted.

  That shame had been a festering wound in his chest as they’d ridden south. This unease and prickling tightness over his skin was not the same.

  The sun was rising to the east. Facing the Scourge, the Parsatheans were lined up on their mounts—a thousand riders strong, with Maddek and his Dragon at the center. The Syssian soldiers at the Scourge’s base would see but a line of riders across the horizon.

  It was those soldiers who should be uneasy. They were already in formation, ten by ten, only a hundred in number. These were the soldiers from the Syssian outpost. The bulk of the might Zhalen had brought was in the Rugusian army, three hundred more in number—not in sight, but instead gathered behind the Scourge.

  “Do they think to conceal their numbers from us?” Toric asked.

  Maddek shook his head. He knew not what the purpose of it was. And that likely added to his unease.

  Enox rode up, the faint light catching in the silver beads in her hair. “Our scout reports the same—Rugusians waiting behind, only Syssians ahead.”

  “Do they have a position on Zhalen?” So that Maddek might kill him.

  Enox shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “It makes no sense.” Ardyl spoke what they all thought. “We cannot see them, but whoever is their command can also not see us.”

  No, they could not. “What of the Scourge? Might they have archers hidden in the ruins?”

  “Not that I have yet seen or heard reported from my scouts.”

  So there were only the Syssian soldiers who posed an immediate threat. “I will ride forward and appeal to Yvenne’s soldiers as I promised.”

  Enox nodded.

  An alarm she would give if any new threat appeared. Kelir raised a flag, signaling that they only approached to speak. Trotting forward, Maddek studied the Syssians. No clear leader was there among them. None were mounted. Where would an order come from?

  “Movement at the head of the Scourge!” Danoh called.

  “Drepa?” Toric asked. “There is a nest in the eye.”

  “There was a gleam of metal.”

  From armor or weapon. Yet the Scourge’s head was a poor position to take. The ruins were so huge that an archer standing between the eyes might only hit a target as distant as the Scourge’s nose, and could be no threat to anyone near the Scourge’s belly.

  Maddek neared the Syssians, his unease lifting the hairs over his skin. For not only were none of the soldiers mounted, neither were they armed. Instead they only wore heavy armor, their arms strapped with vambraces jutting with spikes. He slowed his horse, the Dragon doing the same.

  No soldier would wear such armor. Too easy it would be in battle to stab one’s own face or chest—though these were well protected in both face and chest. By the orange torchlight, Maddek could see little within the close-plated helms—only the wetness of drool that stained chins green, as if they’d been eating grass.

  Realization gripped his chest. “Fall back!” Spinning his horse about, he shouted again. “Fall back!”

  Snarling and roaring came from behind him, a wave of brainless beasts unleashed. With one hundred poisoned soldiers after them, the Dragon raced back to the Parsathean line.

  “Silac venom?” Kelir yelled. “But they were held!”

  Just as revenants had once been held at a stream, though humans could not be made revenants. And never had Maddek heard of a poisoned beast waiting for anything. So he knew not how it had been done, but it had been.

  “It must be Aezil!” Ahead, he could see the Parsatheans readying for the soldiers’ charge, but they still didn’t know what came behind them. “Is there a familiar?”

  “No birds!” Danoh shouted.

  But the sorcerer would need eyes on the soldiers to control them. Realization hit them all at once, but it was Ardyl who yelled it. “He’s on the Scourge’s head!”

  And so too would Maddek be. But not yet.

  He galloped along the line. “Fight by two!” he shouted. “Bludgeon to hold, blade to kill! By two, bludgeon and blade!”

  For the soldiers were armored so well they would not be easily struck down. But a blunt force might knock them back long enough for a blade to find a mark.

  He pulled up alongside Enox. Their horses had outpaced the rampaging soldiers, yet soon they would be upon them. “That is why the Rugusian soldiers are hidden behind,” he told her, chest heaving. “So not to draw notice when the beasts are released.”

  Which also meant whatever control Aezil had over them was not absolute, if he could not make them distinguish between Parsathean and Rugusian.

  An angry gleam flashed through her eyes. “Should we draw notice to them?”

  By riding around the ruins, with the beasts following. “As you will. The sorcerer must be on the Scourge—and perhaps Zhalen with him. I will take my Dragon with me.”

  She nodded. “Ride as one.”

  As silver-fingered Rani did, as death did—though she had already come for the soldiers. Many times in the past day, Maddek had wondered whether Yvenne ought to have accompanied them. She was well protected, yet not having her near was a fear in itself. That he couldn’t stop what might harm her.

  Yet he was fiercely glad she hadn’t seen this—her soldiers, poisoned. Sacrificed and changed into beastly weapons instead of allowing them to fight of their own will. Turned into brainless animals that the Parsatheans would have to put down.

  Zhalen must have feared that the soldiers wouldn’t be loyal to him.

  Leading the charge, Enox raced down the line and a thousand warriors thundered after her. Remaining in place, horses snorting and stamping, Maddek and his Dragon watched the brainless soldiers turn in that direction.

  “When we have a clear path—”

  The ground shook. His mount snorted, prancing uneasily.

  A great boom followed, as if thunder were right upon them. The galloping army transformed from a flying arrow to
whirling confusion, like leaves scattered on a stream. A thousand horses screamed in fright, the warriors upon them staring in terror as the ruins in front of them moved. The mountain of obsidian shifted and heaved, cracking and shattering, like an old man stretching his bones after a long sleep.

  The Scourge was rising.

  “Temra be merciful,” Toric said, his voice full of horror.

  Maddek shook his head. He would not pray for that. That goddess only showed mercy to the dead.

  “Fly to the Scourge!” he commanded. “Fly!”

  As one, Maddek and his Dragon raced toward the monster that was awakening.

  CHAPTER 38

  YVENNE

  Yvenne’s satchel spilled from her hands to the bed as foul, cold, strong magic sliced down the back of her neck.

  Gasping, she braced her hands in the furs, her head swimming.

  “Yvenne!” Seri hauled open the flap of the tent. “You must come see this!”

  Heart pounding, Yvenne followed her outside. It was just after sunrise, but the sun was still low on the horizon, the hollow still in shadow. Only a short time ago, she’d risen from her restless sleep. The rest of the camp was still awakening, fires being stoked, breakfasts cooking. But the warriors had abandoned those fires and breakfasts.

  Yvenne looked to the sky, searching for birds. High above, geese arrowed north. No others could she see.

  “This way!” Seri grabbed her hand.

  As fast as she could make her leg move, Yvenne followed her to the southern edge of the hollow, where Banek stood watching something in the distance. She had been warned not to climb the steep sides of the hollow, or her presence might break the illusion of unbroken plain from outside. Yet all of the warriors stood on the rim, looking southeast.

  Where the Scourge was rising.

  Sheer dread and horror gripped her throat. The mountainous heap of black rock shifted higher. Like a beast it was, six limbs topped by a horned head. The face resembled a skull, with gaping eye sockets and nasal cavities, the cheeks deep hollows above a jaw full of razored teeth. When the demon had lived within the monster, those cavities were filled with fire and molten rock. But now they were cold and dark.