Ember and Eclipse (A Coven of Ruin Standalone), page 10
Devdan broke his own rule—he showed mercy.
Chapter XVIII
Two days later, Rel was just beginning to recover from her mystery illness. Leeda brought her what she called ‘the only cure you need’, which happened to be a brothy onion soup with fresh bread. She couldn’t bring herself to eat it, though.
She’d been surprised that no one seemed to have anything to say about a man walking out of the tavern with a knife sticking out of his thigh. Across stormy skies, she sent Silas her gratitude and her wishes for him to heal quickly. And her hope that he forgot about her or, at the very least, didn’t feel guilty. He’d tried, and that was more than she could say for anyone else.
He just wasn’t enough. It would take more than one person to bring the Wolf of Romul down. If she thought she could summon the God of War, she would choose him as her champion to pit against the Lunae. As it was, any god she prayed to was silent and absent.
By early evening, Leeda burst in and saw that the food still sat untouched. “Not even a bite? Maybe your husband should have a medicine woman come look at you.”
Rel groaned. She didn’t want anyone poking and prodding at her.
“Well, if you don’t feel better by tomorrow, I’ll call her myself,” Leeda said, hands fisted on hips. “As for right now, I’m just here to tidy up. I hate being on cleaning, but I have to cover down with the number of guests.”
Leeda gave them fresh water and towels and changed out the fragrant herbs, chatting away about business, crowded streets, and drunken fools. “Some of these foreigners really don’t know how to handle their spirits, and yet they’ll come back each night and drink cups on cups. Us Gavenites have stomachs and livers made of iron,” she said, slapping her abdomen to emphasize her point. “Anyway, I need to get back downstairs before Ceril has the babe down there while trying to control everything. Send your grumpy husband with anything else you may need.” She left in a twirl of her skirts, humming a tune offkey as she went.
Rel was fond of her. She was the type of woman who decided in a moment she was someone’s friend. Too bad there would be no exploring that possibility.
Her body still aching with fever, she groaned as she rolled onto her side slowly, but a purple-flowered sprig in the vase caught her attention.
Lavender.
She forced herself out of the bed. She had to get rid of it, had to—
Before she could act, the soft scent drifted to her. What should have been a calming aroma was an assault on her senses. The reaction was immediate, sending bile rushing up her throat. One would think that the smell of fire or cooking meat would have a similar effect, but no. Instead, it was the strong earthy, yet sweet scent of lavender that threw her back to her knees in that carpeted room on that fateful day two years ago.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed herself to be present, but…
Gold and crimson came into her vision first—the abstract design of the rug she knew all too well, the one Asear loved so much. Rel had spent enough hours with the fibers digging into her knees as she knelt, her blood staining the red, darkening it in some areas. Too many hours spent with her head bowed over it, staring at it.
When she tried to tune back in, to focus on where they were at in this macabre ceremony, she found it eerily quiet besides a soft crackling sound. And that smell… Shifting, she realized her arms were hanging loose, nothing holding her in place. The ties that usually bound her hands were gone. When she rose, shakily and slowly, and turned, it was apparent why. She was surrounded by bodies. The closest were scorched beyond recognition, with tendrils of smoke still rising off them. It wasn’t until she saw them that she registered the sizzling and popping of still burning flesh.
She looked for the prince, and at first, she didn’t see him, but it was only because another blackened mass was over his, sunken and charred. What she could see of the prince’s neck and face was a red mess of peeling, burnt skin and tissue.
She stared at him. It took her mind long moments before she could translate what she was seeing. He was dead. And though a sense of grief, heavy and visceral, was present within her body, mingled with horror and despair, there was also something else.
His unmoving and marred form was like being given a key to a room of possibilities.
Dead.
But who had killed them and spared her?
Looking down at herself, she found her clothes were singed completely off. She felt no injury, not even the marks that Asear had carved into her. Reaching back with shaking fingers, she found the wounds rough from cauterization. The sudden and clear realization settled over her like ash. She had done this. Her magic had caused this ruination. She had killed the only living son of Imperator Ralen Othonos.
Reeling, she just managed to keep herself standing. She had to get out. She had to flee. But there was nowhere for her to go. Guards would seize her the moment she left the room. Except… Prince Asear didn’t keep guards in the hall when he was conducting his show of dominance. She lurched forward, but dizziness overtook her, and she stumbled instead over a seared body’s arm. The flesh slipped and squelched beneath her weight, with some parts crumbling away into black and crimson ash, smudging into the carpet.
Forcing herself upright again, she heaved, her empty stomach producing nothing. Spots of light filled her vision as she bent over, once again staring at that repulsive carpet. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, it was with sheer determination she made it to the door.
The hall was mercifully quiet.
She trailed the long corridor, half-dazed and depleted of energy. It ran open and unobscured from one end to the next. It was Asear’s domain—only those he chose to invite entered this floor. Her quarters, unfortunately, were located there. The trek down the hallway felt like it took too long. Surely, by then, an alarm should have been raised. Pushing herself into her room, the bed immediately called to her like a siren’s song. Instead, she stumbled toward her wardrobe.
Staying would mean death.
Pulling a simple beige dress over herself took a matter of moments. She grabbed one of her older and darker cloaks, pinning it hurriedly around her throat and pulling up the hood. In Romul, her dark red hair was a dead giveaway. Lacing up boots took longer than she liked, but if she was going to try and escape, good footwear would be important. Lastly, she grabbed a sack and tossed clothes and items she hoped could be worth money into it. A hair pick that looked expensive, two candelabras with stones encrusted in them, and a silver bracelet that the princess had given to her. The latter she put around her wrist—she would only sell it if she had to.
She left her quarters, walking quickly and confidently as if she had a right to be there. The hour was late, and the usual hustle and bustle of the castle had turned into nothing but servants coming and going, preparing and cleaning so as to not be seen during the day. At the last minute, she turned and walked toward the center of the castle and then south. She could more easily get out through the gardens without being seen. There would be roving guards, but if she stayed in the high hedges, she should be able to go undetected in her dark cloak.
The moon was but a crescent in the sky, casting the gardens into something more fitting of a nightmare. The limbs of trees and the towering hedges left gnarled, reaching shadows. Taking a deep breath, she moved toward it. When no one called out for her to stop, she moved faster, her hand trailing against the hedges to guide her. The gardens ended with an option to go left, which would wind and lead back to a farther part of the palace, or right, which would lead her to the courtyard and the stables. She turned right to follow the more open, stone-inlaid path, cursing the crunching sound the gravel made beneath her feet.
The summer festivities had ended the night before, most of the carriages already packed and gone. She didn’t know what her plan was exactly. Steal a horse? She had never ridden alone, and the couple of times she had ridden one had been long ago.
As she approached the stables, she heard voices. “Come on, lad, that’s what I’m paying you for.”
“It’ll take me a while to get both horses ready and attached, and it’s late,” the youth whined sleepily. A smack of a sound then, “Ow! Fine, but I want double the coin.”
“Just get my horses. I want to get out of this gods’ forsaken territory. Barely sold enough to make it worthwhile, and that was with taking the cheaper option,” the man muttered. She peered into the stable to mark him. He was short and stout, balding but committed to keeping the few patches of his wispy hair he had left. There were three other men, all severe looking, with weapons and dressed for riding.
Mercenaries.
That meant they were going through Heigar’s Pass. Closer to Witch Country. The boy was already set to his task, so Rel went back out of the stables and around until she stood before the impatient merchant. “Sir,” she said, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat and tried again but still kept her voice low. “I can offer payment if you let me ride in the back of your cart through Heigar’s Pass.”
“Get away, beggar,” he waved his hand in dismissal but then looked at her and the sack she was holding up. He attempted to snatch it from her hands, but she pulled it out of reach.
“All I ask is you don’t mention I’m with you and for food and water.”
“You a criminal?”
“No.” Yes. She had just killed the future Imperator of Romul.
“That’s what a criminal would say,” one of the mercenaries said, then laughed heartily at his own joke.
She shrugged. “You won’t know I’m there.” Pulling one of the candelabras out, the merchant’s eyes immediately focused on it.
He looked from it to her and then nodded. “Fine, but you better not get me in trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman did. Stole everything from me the last one did,” he grumbled.
“Which cart is yours?”
The man gestured at a large carriage that transformed into a shop cart. The stable hand was leading the second horse to it. She waited until both horses were attached, staying out of sight of the boy before opening the door. The inside was slightly cramped, filled with crates of herbs and other wares. The lavender overpowered every other scent, though. With the low light, she could just make out a tarp in the very back. Climbing in, she shut herself inside and waited. Either she would be caught, or she would be free.
A fist pounded on the back door sometime later, startling her so much that she jerked involuntarily. “You in there?” the merchant asked.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“We’re on our way. Hope you’re comfortable because I’m not going to stop until I’m well out of this shit-filled territory.” The last part was faded as he moved around the carriage and mounted.
With a lurching movement, they were off.
She spent almost an entire moon in that carriage, surrounded by the strong scent of lavender. Most of the time, she was lost in a dream-like haze from the herb itself and from the lack of food and water. But what she dreamed of was a lush and green-jeweled world, laughter that came easily, and a place to call home.
She dreamed of freedom.
Chapter XIX
The jostling of the carriage became so intense that she opened her eyes. Except, she wasn’t in the merchant’s carriage, running away from Romul. She was back in the bed of North Star, the inn in Gavenport. Sitting up slowly, she found the hunter staring at her, his gaze an intense assessment of her person. He was sitting in the chair by the window, the object seeming like a toy beneath his considerable size.
“I found you,” he drawled, “on the floor. Unresponsive for the most part.”
“I—” Her voice cracked and broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It happens sometimes.” She immediately regretted the confession. It would have been easy to blame it on the fever. However, she noticed the last of its grasp on her had broken while she was passed out.
He arched a brow. “You just pass out? No explanation or reason?”
“There is a reason, but what does it matter to you? It isn’t going to kill me if that is what you’re concerned with,” she snapped. “You’ll still have your precious bounty, Wolf.”
“The soup is cold. I’ll have more sent up. You will eat,” he commanded as he stood, coming to his full height, and moved toward the door.
That must be the tone he used when he expected people to follow orders. But she was not inclined to obey. “No,” she seethed. “You can take me from my home, drag me off for something you can’t even begin to understand, hold knives to my throat for all I care, but if I don’t want to eat, then I’m not going to fucking eat.”
A challenging glint was in his gaze when he looked over his shoulder. And then he was gone.
She waited for his footsteps to disappear before she got out of the bed, held her breath, and tossed the lavender out of the window. Despite the immediate cool breeze that drifted in, she left it open for good measure.
Rel washed, changed, and brushed her matted hair. Her energy was still depleted, but despite revisiting the past, she felt much better. Night had fallen while she’d been out, the music picking up for the nightly celebrations.
When the door opened again, she expected to see Leeda’s smiling face, ready to scold her for not eating again. Instead, it was Devdan, carrying a tray with a bowl and two slices of buttered toast on it. He shut the door with a kick of his heel and moved toward her. When he set it on her lap unceremoniously, she was forced to grab it before it toppled the steaming soup onto her and across the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Eat,” he demanded.
She glanced from the food to the hunter, then carefully slid the tray off her lap. “No.”
He nodded as the corners of his mouth pulled down in a determined frown. Picking up the platter again, he sat it on the chair. But when he turned back around, a piece of bread was in his hand.
He stalked back toward her and, without warning, clapped a large hand over her eyes and nose, pressing her into the mattress.
She thrashed. “Are you fu—”
The piece was shoved into her mouth, and his other hand closed over her lips. She struggled against his hand, clawing at it until, unable to breathe or move, she swallowed the piece of bread. The moment she did, he removed his hands.
She sat upright, fury boiling hot within her. “How dare you?”
“I’ll do it for the entire meal if I have to,” he said, not bothering to look at her as he brought the tray back to her and sat it in her lap. “Eat.”
Maintaining her hateful glare, she picked up the bowl slowly, careful not to let the soup slosh over the side. Even though she sorely needed the nourishment, she had no appetite. She took three spoonfuls while picturing all the ways she could kill the man, though.
Then, a thought, wicked and foolish, entered her mind.
“Don’t,” he growled, “even think about it.”
But she had already decided. She lifted the spoon like she was going to take another bite, but then, as fast as a throwing knife, she threw the bowl at the hunter. He dodged it. Mostly. The bowl clipped his shoulder, toppling and spraying the floor and him with broth and opaque onions.
For good measure, she sent the tray flying in his direction too, but that he swiped out of the air deftly.
For a moment, she thought he might hit her, and she pushed the covers off herself so she wasn’t trapped beneath them. Her hands curled into fists. The anticipation of a fight gave her a renewed spirit.
Instead, he tossed the tray down. “For someone who is looking for any opening to kill me, you are unwise to not keep up your strength. If you want to weaken yourself further, so be it.”
He slammed the door, and his footsteps faded, but her heart continued to beat erratically. She searched for the feeling of vindication or victory but found only a quiet shame.
She would clean it up, naturally. She hated to waste food.
Sighing, she got out of bed. The energy of a fight extinguished like a dying flame. It left only an exhaustion in its wake and a feeling of profound dissatisfaction.
She hated losing. And with Devdan, it had been nothing but losses.
Chapter XX
Not three mornings later, Devdan was nudging her to get up. “We’re leaving. Now.” She groggily pulled herself from the confines of the sheets to a sitting position.
Dawn was still in the earliest stages, and the room was chilled. She pushed the covers fully off herself, half awake, until she remembered where she was, what she was doing. The awareness froze her in place. Once they left Gavenport, that was it. They’d be on the road again, away from civilization and any real possibility of escape.
“I—” she started but cut herself off. The hunter looked at her, but when she shook her head, he merely went back to checking he had everything. It wasn’t like he would care.
She dressed when he went downstairs and followed when she was ready.
The tavern was quiet, only a couple patrons coming and going, not paying them any mind. Rel looked for Leeda, but no one was at the counter. She would have liked to say goodbye to her.
In record time, they were on Friend and plodding through the streets. The winding, uneven roads were quieter than usual, but shopkeepers were up already. They were opening shutters, sweeping off stoops, fixing signs and displays that had been displaced from the festivities over the last few days. Bakers were already working, the smell of fresh baked goods drifting in the air.
“Won’t the roads still be in poor condition?” she finally asked.
“For a merchant cart to traverse? Yes. But with Friend, no. A day and a half will have allowed enough to drain off that we should be able to stay to the sides without worrying about stepping in a deep puddle. That, and we will be ahead of the caravans of merchants, allowing us to hopefully pass through Heigar’s Pass without trouble.”
Rel didn’t respond. And they ended up riding and making camp in complete silence for two days. She gave up quickly on not leaning against him and instead got as comfortable as she could, her entire upper half pressed into him. If she was going to ride to her imprisonment and death sentence, she might as well be comfortable. Not to mention, she’d been much closer to him on other occasions—it seemed laughable to maintain that standard when he had kissed her and warmed her.
