“That’s where she made good use of Belen’s—or should I say her—knife,” Kerrick said. He turned to me. “You can keep them if you promise not to use them against us.”
I copied his flat expression. “First, it’s not your decision if I can keep them or not, it’s Belen’s. Second, I am not going to promise—”
“The knives are yours,” Belen said. “And we should teach you how to swing a sword.”
Kerrick coughed. “No, we shouldn’t. She’s dangerous enough.” He ended the discussion by ordering us to gather our packs.
We said goodbye to Bianca, Peni, Melina and Mom.
“You’re welcome to come back anytime,” Mom said to me. “We’ll always have a room for you. No charge. I know what you must have done for my daughter, but don’t you worry, we won’t say a word.”
I hugged her in thanks. It felt good to be embraced even if it was for only a moment.
We headed north. No clouds marred the bright blue sky. The air held a cool crisp scent of leaves and earth—gorgeous weather that was perfect for hiking. Kerrick led, and for the first time since I’d been rescued from Jaxton’s jail, I felt…not quite content since anxiety, worry and fear still shadowed me. But more alive.
When I used my magic to heal others, I had a purpose and felt satisfaction over helping another. I was needed. Even if this “adventure” didn’t last long, it had roused me from the nothingness that my life had been before. Three wasted years. Even though I’d healed a few children, I could have done so much more, but had been too afraid.
Despite the men’s routine, I decided to help when we stopped for the night. As the designated cook, Loren prepared the meal. His concoctions were edible, but plain, so I went in search of something…tastier.
Of course Kerrick followed me. “Where are you going?”
I bit my lip to trap my sarcastic reply. Instead, I said, “If I had intended to break my word, I would have done it last night after you passed out.”
He didn’t respond right away. Finally, he said, “Don’t wander too far.” He returned to camp.
Interesting. I looped around, inspecting the plants. Tara had taught me which ones could be used for fevers and other maladies. She explained that in a few cases like minor injuries, plants worked just as well and would save our healing energy for the more dire cases. In the six months I’d been her student, I had learned so much. But to her, it had only been a small portion of her vast experience and expertise. I not only mourned her death, but the loss of all her knowledge, as well.
I found a few sprigs of rosemary and returned. Ignoring the collective sigh when I appeared, I stripped off the leaves and handed them to Loren.
He sniffed them in suspicion. “What’s this?”
I guess it would take more than my word for them to trust me. “Rosemary.” No glimmer of recognition. “It’s to make your stew taste better. Don’t you know the basic herbs and spices?”
“No. I took this job in self-defense. Quain burns everything. Belen thinks jerky is all we need to survive. Flea’s idea of a good meal is something that hasn’t been in a garbage can first. And Kerrick poisoned us—”
“Not on purpose,” Kerrick said. “The meat looked done.”
I realized then that Kerrick had assigned Quain first watch. Another oddity. “Well, my cooking skills are rudimentary, but I know herbs and can help you if you’d like.”
Loren glanced at Kerrick, before he said, “Sure.” He returned the leaves to me.
I broke them into little pieces and sprinkled them into the stew.
“Speaking of food,” Kerrick said. “Belen, do you remember when we were in school and Ryne had gotten upset over the amount of wasted food?”
Here we go. Kerrick was as subtle as a thunderstorm.
Belen chuckled. “Yeah. He’d been assigned garbage duty for fighting.”
The real story.
“I wouldn’t call it fighting,” Kerrick said. “He was protecting the new kid from Stanslov.”
“Good thing Master Fang came when he did. Otherwise, Ryne would have been turned into pulp.”
“Instead, his punishment was two weeks of dealing with garbage.” Kerrick placed another log on the fire. “By the end of those two weeks, Ryne had worked out a way to donate all the extra food to the poor in town.”
I debated ignoring them, but this could be a good opportunity to get more information. “Did you meet Ryne in school, then?” I asked Belen.
“Yeah. The three of us attended boarding school for brats.”
“Brats? I can’t believe you’d fit in that group,” I said.
Belen’s deep laugh vibrated in my chest. “I didn’t.” He jabbed a finger at Kerrick. “Even though I’m four years older than him, his father insisted I go along so I could keep him out of trouble.” Belen huffed. “Didn’t work. And every time he caused problems, I’d be sucked in and we’d both be punished.”
“You’d have been bored otherwise,” Kerrick said.
“Are you two related?” I asked Belen.
“No. My parents worked for his family for years. We grew up together.” Then Belen sobered. “The plague took my mother and my older sister. But my younger sister survived, and Izak, one of Kerrick’s brothers, lived.”
Quiet descended over the campsite.
“As far as I know, my great-aunt Yasmin is still alive,” Kerrick added. “Which doesn’t make sense since she’s ancient and has been ill for as long as I can remember.”
Nothing about the plague made sense. The healers had tried every herb and tonic they knew to heal the victims to no avail.
“Where is your sister now?” I asked Belen.
“Sayen is guarding Prince Ryne. He has many loyal supporters. We were expanding our reach and bringing order to the chaos, but once he sickened, everything stopped. There’s no one else like him.”
“You’re right. No other Realm leader has executed as many prisoners as Prince Ryne.” The words popped from my mouth before I could stop them. I glanced at Kerrick, but he kept his relaxed position by the fire.
“His father ordered all those executions,” Belen said.
“Come on. Everyone knows King Micah was just a figurehead during the six years after his accident. And he died before the plague struck.”
“A figurehead who still had loyal generals despite his erratic behavior. When Micah decided to clean out the dungeons, they followed his orders. By the time word reached Ryne, it was too late.”
Flea started throwing stones to practice juggling. I joined him, glad for an excuse to end the conversation about Ryne.
Except it picked up where we had left off the next night and the following three nights. I had made a mistake in directing my questions to Belen on that first night. He had a sincere honesty that was hard to ignore, and, after getting the topic steered to Ryne, Kerrick let Belen take over the reminiscing.
However, on the fifth night Kerrick took first watch. Belen paced around the campfire and even Flea remained quiet. During the day, I had noticed the strain in Quain’s face and witnessed a couple intense, but private discussions between the men.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked Loren.
He heated water over the tiny fire—all that Kerrick would allow. Loren exchanged a glance with Belen.
“If you’re trying to protect me from bad news, stop it right now. I don’t like secrets,” I said to both of them. “I can’t help if you keep me in the dark.”
“We’ve a couple bands of mercs on our tail,” Belen said.
Having already warned Kerrick of this possibility, I wasn’t surprised. We then played hide-and-seek with the three different groups of mercenaries for the next two days. Our rest breaks shortened until we skipped them altogether. Cold
food and a scant few hours of sleep during the day became our new routine.
Kerrick didn’t have to say that the mercs were closing in. I knew from the others. No one smiled. No one spoke more than a few words. No one put their weapons down.
When the sun rose on the third day, Kerrick stopped. We were at the edge of the forest. Spread before us was an abandoned village. A carpet of thick thorny vines had grown over all the wooden structures, obscuring the streets. White, man-size Lilys dotted the greenery. Peace or Death Lilys—it was impossible for anyone to tell them apart.
“Damn. They’ve been herding us like cattle to the slaughterhouse,” Kerrick said.
Belen noticed my confusion. “The mercs knew this was here.” He swept a hand out, indicating the buried village. “They’ve must have coordinated their efforts because the mercs have us boxed in on three sides. The only way we can escape is through the Lilys.”
Fear energized my tired muscles. Too bad it wouldn’t do me any good.
“We’re trapped,” Loren said.
“We’re dead,” Quain said.
Chapter 9
“Those thorns look sharp, but what’s wrong with going through the Lilys?” Flea asked.
“Nothing if they’re all Peace Lilys,” Belen said.
“Unfortunately, there is no way to know if there’s even one Death Lily hiding among them,” Quain said.
I met Kerrick’s gaze. “Did you know this was here?”
“No. The town is outside the forest. Besides, I can’t tell if a Lily is benign or lethal.”
“No one can,” Quain said. “That’s the problem. You don’t know until the flower opens, and by that time it’s, See you later, sister!”
Staring at the barrier, I tried to find a route that would avoid the white flowers. No luck. When we had plenty of workers, they would pull out the new shoots of all the Lily plants before they could grow a flower. With its deep root system that covered miles, eradicating the plant had been a full-time job. The Lilys also grew in unexpected places and the Death Lilys killed the unwary.
“Now what?” Flea asked.
“We stage an ambush of our own. If we move fast enough, we might be able to fight our way through one side and escape,” Kerrick said.
“Not going to work,” Belen said. “Too many of them.”
“I’ll surrender and they shouldn’t hurt the rest of you,” I said.
“No,” Kerrick and Belen said together.
“We’ll take our chances and go through the Lilys,” Kerrick said.
“You’re crazy.” Quain gestured with his knife. “I’d rather take my chances against the mercs.”
“What are the odds?” Loren asked.
“It’s more like a ratio,” Kerrick said. “Approximately one Death Lily for every hundred Peace Lilys.”
Everyone turned to the field. I estimated there were about three hundred Lilys.
“Approximately three Death Lilys,” Kerrick said. “I’ll pick a route with the least number of Lilys and go first. Belen, keep her close to you. You’ll be last. Who wants to go second?”
This was the first time Kerrick asked for volunteers.
“I’ll take second,” Loren said without hesitation.
“Third,” Quain said.
“Then Flea,” Kerrick said. “If one of those flowers so much as twitches, run.”
Lining up in order, we followed Kerrick. The flowers’ scent misted the air. A combination of sweet honey and tangy lemon that evoked a strong feeling of déjà vu in me. We climbed through the vines, avoiding the thorns with little success.
When we reached the halfway point, the crash and rustle of many boots sounded behind us. A line of mercs spread out along the forest. No going back now.
The mercs cursed and called us idiots with good reason. If a Death Lily grabbed you, it would do one of two things. Either consume your flesh and then spit out your bones, or spit you out whole. But don’t get too excited about being released. You’d most likely die later. Only ten percent survived the toxin the flower injected into them.
And if you were caught, your friends wouldn’t be able to cut through the petals. They were thick and fibrous. Plus they would need to get close to the plant. Then the vines would ensnare them, saving them for the Lily’s next meal. Nice, huh?
With the arrival of the mercs, Kerrick picked up the pace. We skirted many of the white flowers, but couldn’t avoid them all.
Memories of my younger brother kept surfacing in my mind. Something about the Lily’s scent reminded me of Allyn. He had gone from crawling to running in a matter of days and all before he turned a year old. Once mobile, he’d never stopped moving unless asleep. My family had constantly chased after him. I remembered bolting after Allyn with my heart slamming in my chest. He had wandered into a copse of trees and had been too young to know what traps to avoid. I couldn’t recall if I had caught him or not. The rest of the memory remained elusive.
Funny how one sound could bring everything back. A low hiss. I froze. How could I have forgotten? The shushing noise grew. Flea paused under a big bloom. Kerrick and the others had gone ahead.
The petals above Flea parted. I shoved Flea out of the way as the Lily attacked. A whoosh echoed. White petals surrounded me. Then all was black silence.
Cocooned within the Lily, I waited for the pricks. The toxin was supposed to kill me so the plant could digest me at its leisure. I should be terrified, except this wasn’t my first time inside a Death Lily.
My brother had finally stopped running long enough for me to catch up to him. He’d pointed to a huge hissing white flower, and in a heartbeat the Lily had grabbed me. Obviously, I survived. However, I had no memory of being released.
Two thorns pierced my arms. A familiar feeling flowed over me. I drifted as if transformed into a wisp of smoke. Forgotten memories sprang to life. After being spat out, I’d endured two weeks of sickness. However, the toxin must have blocked the memory of my time inside the Lily, and since no one, except Allyn, had seen me snatched, they didn’t know what had caused me to be sick. The symptoms matched a bad bout of stomach flu.
My consciousness now spread along the plant’s roots and into the plant’s soul. Through this strange mental link, I peered beyond the petals. Kerrick and the others had tried to cut the Death Lily down only to be caught tight in its vines. The mercs had watched them with amusement even though they had been upset over losing me. Or more accurately, over losing their share of forty golds.
The Death Lily dipped to expel me.
Wait, I thought. Keep me until the mercs leave.
It stopped. I sensed its contentment at knowing me again. Its pride over my life since we’d been together. I felt its regret over unsuccessful encounters. Yet it was ever hopeful. It had sensed potential in Flea, aiming for him.
I asked it to allow me to remember. The Death Lily wasn’t truly a predator; it was trying to help, but its efforts either killed a person right away, or they died later. Only a few survived. Time passed. The mercs left with the setting sun.
Don’t take Flea, please, I asked. Let us pass.
Agreement flowed along with sorrow over parting. It pulled the thorns from my arms. I snapped back into my body, feeling heavy, blind, stiff and awkward. Its petals opened and I tumbled out. Belen caught me in midair.
“Avry, what happened?” he asked.
The vines retreated, releasing the men.
“Run before it picks a new target,” Kerrick ordered.
Belen wouldn’t put me down as they bolted to the far side of the village. No other Lilys attacked and soon we reentered the forest. Kerrick kept a fast pace until we reached a small clearing.
“Oh, man!” Quain said. “I thought we were Lily food for sure.” He rubbe
d at the creases on his neck where a vine had pressed against his skin.
I squirmed from Belen’s arms. Kerrick strode over to me. I stood my ground even though I wanted to duck behind Belen.
“Do you have a death wish?” he asked me. Anger spiked each word.
“Of course not. It was an automatic reaction.”
“Can you survive the toxin? How long do you have until it kicks in?” he asked.
The Lily had granted my wish. I remembered the entire encounter, but I needed some time to sort it all out. “I’m immune to the toxin.” I expected my news would be well received. It had the opposite effect.
Kerrick stepped closer as pure fury rolled off him. “And why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I didn’t know earlier.”
My answer threw him. He sputtered before reining in his emotions. “Why do you know now?”
“Common sense. I was in that flower for hours. If I didn’t have a reaction by now, I’m not going to.”
Kerrick let the topic drop, but he barked orders for his men to set up camp. His ill humor lasted through dinner.
I finally barked back at him. “You should be happy. The mercs think I’m dead. They won’t be chasing us anymore.”
My comment earned me a glare from Kerrick.
Belen slapped his leg. “She’s right! What a day. I thought we’d all die. Killed by a giant plant. Not the way I’d want to go.”
“How would you want to die?” Loren asked.
“Doing something heroic and not something stupid,” Belen said.
“Not like you get a choice,” Flea said. “Starving to death isn’t heroic or stupid, it’s just plain sad.”
It wouldn’t surprise me if Flea had personal experience with starvation. During the two years of the plague, no one tended the fields or cared for livestock. Many people who had survived the disease died of starvation.
Flea sat across the fire, juggling two stones. He’d mastered the technique. I offered to teach him how to include the third stone.
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