A Curse of Blood and Stone Read online

  I tremble within my drenched cloak as we glide through the darkness in brooding silence, moving farther away from old dangers.

  And surely closer to new ones I can’t fathom yet.

  2

  Zander

  I knew Romeria was hiding something from me.

  I study her cloaked back and her woven hair, once a regal crown atop her head, now an unkempt mess. She seems so delicate, hunched and shivering, her damp clothes clinging to her body.

  All along, she reeked of deception, and I knew. I challenged her on it, daily.

  But I never imagined this. How could I?

  Between her poisonous blood and these supposed caster affinities, she has the power to destroy Islor. And if she does, if she causes the death of so many innocents … it will have been my fault.

  I am a king without a throne, unable to make hard decisions.

  She shudders, and the thought to pull her to me, to offer warmth, loiters like a regret I can’t shake.

  But I remain where I am.

  3

  Romeria

  Dawn teases the horizon when we reach the inlet. Elisaf and Zander jump into thigh-deep water to haul the battered skiff ashore, seawater freely pouring in through a widening crack in the vessel’s side. In the approaching daylight, the missing chunks from its frame are glaring. Zander’s alarm wasn’t exaggerated. How we didn’t sink, even with Gesine’s intervention, is no small miracle.

  Ahead of us, driftwood lays scattered on a sugar-white sandy beach dappled with crops of lichen-covered boulders. A dense line of trees shelters the quiet area, the branches serving as a perch for the choir of mourning doves and robins. Aside from the birds, there are no signs of life, no witnesses to report our whereabouts to Cirilea. I see why Zander insisted on this spot.

  The moment the boat’s hull meets resistance, Gesine drags her limp frame over the edge, as if she can’t stand being in it for one second longer. Where her dark locks were once combed neatly off her forehead, they now hang in a drenched, clingy mess. Not that the current state of my hair—or the rest of me—is much better.

  Her striking pale green eyes are red-rimmed, sickly. The power she expended to carry us here has weakened her, much like Wendeline always was after healing me. But instead of finding a place to sit and gather her strength, Gesine pulls her body upright and takes several staggered steps toward me, holding out a feeble hand. “Your Highness, allow me to help you.”

  “I’m fine.” The adrenaline that has fueled me since the square is fraying, but I’ve spent years in survival mode, hungry and cold and uncomfortable. I throw my legs over the side, my sodden boots landing in the sand with a dull thud. All my clothes are wet, right down to my underthings. “And it’s Romy.” Even if I’m only her in spirit now. I don’t even have my face anymore, outside of the illusion Sofie bound to this ring.

  “It is best we skip all formalities unless it benefits us to identify ourselves.” Zander rifles through the stash bag he collected during our escape from the castle.

  “As you wish.” It’s the first time Gesine has spoken to him since he pulled his dagger on her and flashed his fangs.

  “Also, the truth about Romeria must remain among this group. If word should get out …” He shakes his head. “No one but the four of us can know.”

  “Corrin knows.” She was there when I was forced to divulge my secret in the mad dash to escape the castle. “And Wendeline too.”

  “Corrin will not answer anything unless asked, and there is no reason Atticus could ever suspect what you are. As for Wendeline …” Zander’s jaw clenches. “I only hope she feels the punishment is worth keeping your secret a little longer.”

  “What about Abarrane?” She’s always been part of Zander’s inner circle.

  “There is only one thing the Legion despises more than Ybarisans, and that is the casters of Mordain.” His head shakes. “She is loyal to me, but I fear she will have too many reservations about keeping a key caster alive.”

  “You really think she’d kill me?”

  “I think she’ll kill you when she discovers what you are. You are already so dangerous to Islor’s existence as it is. News of your blood’s potency will spread, stirring rebellion from the humans and panic from the elven. What we saw last night was merely a battle ahead of the coming war. But if the masses find out what you truly are, how dangerous you are not only to Islor but to Ybaris and Mordain …” His voice drifts.

  Is Zander having reservations? Regrets? He spent the sail back to land brooding quietly, staring out in Cirilea’s direction. Does he wish, in those split seconds between Tyree’s proclamation and Atticus’s condemnation, that he had chosen a different path? That he had been the one to declare me an enemy?

  Gesine stumbles a step and leans against the skiff’s bow for support. It creaks noisily in return.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I shift closer in case I need to dive in to catch her.

  She waves off my worries. “I just need rest.”

  “There is no time for that. The trek to Eldred Wood is long. It’ll take us most of the day.” Zander sheds his cloak and ruined jacket, leaving him in only his black breeches and shirt, damp and clinging to his muscular frame. Beside him, Elisaf wrings the water from his tunic while his eyes comb the shadows.

  “We won’t need to walk,” Gesine says between labored breaths. “There is a small village not five miles from here … Shearling. A human named Saul waits with horses at the mill south of the bridge.”

  “Horses,” Zander echoes, and there is no mistaking the shock in his voice. “But you were intent on landing in Northmost.”

  “I coordinated various routes for Romeria’s”—she falters on my name—“departure, including passage back to Seacadore, if our route north was impeded.”

  “Escape routes.” Just like I used to map out when I was working for Korsakov.

  “Yes, to account for a myriad of scenarios.” She offers a weak smile. “It took much planning. Many letters dispatched and coin purses lined. The things I’ve had to do to reach you …” Her voice drifts, sadness filling her features.

  “Who helped you?” Zander demands.

  “Wendeline, for one. But many others. Too many to name.”

  “So while Queen Neilina and Princess Romeria were strategizing to murder my family and take Islor, you were scheming with my people to sweep in after and collect your key caster?”

  “I did not know of Malachi’s plan for the key caster—”

  “But you knew of Neilina’s plans, and you did not dispatch any letters or deliver any coin to stop that.”

  She sighs. “I could not—”

  “You chose not to!” His condemnation is clear. If he were sitting on his throne, an execution in the square would likely follow.

  Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. We knew Gesine had been writing letters, marked with Mordain’s official scribe seal. At least she didn’t lie about it.

  The Princess of Ybaris must survive at all costs, by Malachi’s will. That was the message Gesine sent to Margrethe. A proverbial nail in my coffin from this world, while Sofie was busy driving one into my chest from the other.

  Tense silence stretches on, the rift of distrust between Zander and Gesine widening.

  Finally, she clears her throat. “This inlet was not an ideal option, given its proximity to Cirilea, but I planned for it, anyway. It will take longer, but it will lead us to Bellcross just as well.”

  “We’re going to Bellcross?” That name has been on many tongues lately, after Princess Romeria’s brother Tyree and his soldiers murdered a tributary.

  “Yes. That is where Ianca waits, and we must—”

  “No, we are meeting the Legion in Eldred Wood,” Zander counters evenly, cutting her off. The frazzled version from the open sea is gone, his calm, ice-cold demeanor having returned.

  Gesine dips her head. “But after that, we will all head for—”

  “I will decide where we go once I speak
with my Legion commander.” He looms over the sagging caster. “And before I do that, you will answer every question I ask of you about what you have been up to, about what Neilina knows, about the end to this curse, and you will do it truthfully.”

  Back in Cirilea, Zander was reeling from the treachery and seemed intent on two distinct paths, with his and Elisaf’s having nothing to do with mine. Now, he is back to playing the domineering king, demanding people obey his will.

  But he promised they would get us to the mountains where Gesine could train me. Will he renege now that he’s had time to think? Now that he’s seen how powerful she is? What does he want, besides reclaiming his kingdom? He ridiculed Gesine and these seers for speaking in riddles, but is Zander holding out hope that there is truth to this prophecy? That he could rid Islor of this blood curse that has plagued the lands for two thousand years?

  Gesine sighs. “As you command.” I can’t tell if it’s respect for a king or if she’s simply too tired to argue.

  Either way, my pity for the woman swells. Quickly behind it is my anger. “Hey, Your Highness”—I haven’t used that patronizing tone in weeks, and it feels oddly satisfying—“in case you haven’t noticed, we’d probably all be dead or in a tower by now if it weren’t for Gesine’s help tonight, so maybe dial it down a notch or twelve.”

  “I’ve noticed. I’ve noticed everything,” he answers me, but his glare remains on her.

  Gesine dismisses my defense with a raised hand. “It is all right. His anger is just.”

  Zander studies her another long moment, dragging his gaze over her pale face, her slouched body. When he speaks again, his tone is less hostile. “How many horses?”

  “Two.”

  I stifle my groan. That means doubling up, and something tells me the two Islorian males won’t agree to ride together.

  “And you trust the human?”

  “Saul’s keeper is an unsavory fellow who provides little for his family, despite his thriving mill. He requires Saul’s sons to work grueling hours and threatens to loan his young daughters to acquaintances for feedings any time Saul complains.” She shakes her head. “The mortal holds no love for his keeper or his king.”

  Zander’s teeth grit. This Islorian is the type of immortal he wants purged from his kingdom.

  “Atticus will be dispatching riders in every direction by now,” Elisaf says. “The road is not safe to travel.”

  “And yet to get to Gully’s Pass, we need those horses and the road. Find them and bring them to us. We’ll meet you as quickly as we can. Be careful.”

  “Wait.” Gesine reaches within her cloak to fish out a small velvet coin purse. She tosses it to Elisaf, who deftly catches it. “Tell him Cordelia sent you. That is the only name he knows.”

  Planned escape routes and fake names. I’m feeling closer to Gesine already.

  “Cordelia,” Elisaf repeats and then takes off, disappearing into the tree line at a clipped pace.

  She hobbles over to slump against a boulder, her complexion green.

  “Do not get comfortable,” Zander warns, removing an assortment of daggers from the sack.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She closes her eyes, her chest rising and falling with practiced breaths as if trying to keep the vomit at bay.

  He watches her as he straps the arsenal of blades to his body. With his casual outfit and mussed hair, he reminds me less of the king I knew yesterday and more like the warrior who left camp in search of a nethertaur. Unfortunately, I fear neither is the version I face now.

  “You’re being an asshole,” I whisper, working the countless fasteners and pins from my hair.

  His attention snaps to me. “And how do you suggest I behave with a woman whose conspiracy against me has cost me my throne and put our lands in jeopardy of war? Should I bow down to her for getting us out of a predicament that she and this Ianca helped create?”

  “There’s a lot we don’t know yet,” I remind him. “I just mean that unless you feel like carrying her to the horses, you should let her rest. She is three seconds from face-planting into the sand.”

  “And if you believe she does not have a use for you beyond what she admits to, you are a fool.”

  “I know she probably does.” I steal a glance to where Gesine sits perfectly still. I lower my voice. “But I need her. I need to understand who I am. What I am, what I can do. Given our current situation, don’t you think that would be helpful?” While Zander brooded earlier, I spent that time mesmerized by possibilities. In just days, I’ve fought an underworld beast and stopped a hundred flaming arrows, and I have no clue how.

  His lips purse.

  “She can give us answers that no one else can.”

  “If she chooses to. Casters aren’t known to be forthcoming, as I think you’ve now seen. They speak in lies and half-truths that may as well be lies.”

  Fair enough. “But she’s powerful, Zander. Look what she did out there.”

  “She’s reckless. That wind could have killed countless innocent people had she unleashed it against the shoreline. And do not suggest for one second she didn’t intend to ignore my need for Eldred Wood and take us to Northmost.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think her reasons were evil. More like pragmatic.” I slide my fingers through the braids Corrin so carefully spun, quietly praying my lady maid is safe at the castle after being interrogated by Atticus. Though knowing that salty woman, she would have scolded him for daring to question her. “Gesine can protect us.”

  His face turns grim with annoyance. “Relying on others to protect you will be the fastest way to get yourself killed. Put this on.” He thrusts a strap toward me. “And remember that everyone is an enemy now.”

  I collect the leather piece. “Even you?”

  He hesitates. “Those you least suspect.” Tearing a strip off the silk jacket he cast aside, he crouches to soak the material in water.

  Is he referring to his brother? Because I suspected that snake’s ambitions weeks ago, only Zander wouldn’t listen to me. Or maybe it’s the captain of the king’s guard. “I can’t believe Boaz launched those arrows at us, even if he was aiming at me.”

  “I can. Like I said before, Boaz is loyal to the crown, and clearly, he does not believe I should be wearing it any longer. He never approved of this marriage, or of allowing the Ybarisans to set foot in Islor.” Zander climbs to his feet. “Though I’m sure Lord Adley’s relentless whispers have not helped. Who knows how many minds that worm has poisoned.”

  My anger surges at the mention of the vile nobleman’s name. “You should have had the Legion assassinate him. He deserves it.” Not even for the lies he’s spun into treason, but for all the crimes he allows in Kettling. Humans being bred and traded in the black market, sold as babies for feeding off their sweet blood, and likely a dozen other atrocities I don’t want to know about.

  “Now you’re thinking like a queen,” Zander murmurs, his focus on my cheek. “A piece of debris must have hit you. Hold still.”

  I wince at the sting of brine as he gently dabs the soaked cloth against my skin. “How bad is it?”

  “You’ll live.” His eyes touch mine before shifting back to his task. “So, this is not really your face?”

  “Not the one I remember, no. Same dark hair, but that’s it.” My irises were a brighter blue, my face rounder, my lips fuller. That woman I saw reflected within the apothecary’s mirror is striking, but she’s a stranger. And yet, if what Gesine said is true, that there is no going back for me, I had better get used to this new face because without my ring on, I’ll be looking at it for the foreseeable future—a reality that hasn’t sunk in yet.

  He mumbles something I don’t catch before saying, “That must be quite unsettling.”

  “Not much isn’t lately.”

  Zander tosses the rag into the sinking skiff before giving it a hard push offshore. “Your wound will heal within the day on its own, but I’m sure Gesine can mend it for you if it does not. Assuming s
he has abilities similar to those of … other casters.” The muscles in his jaw tense.

  He can’t bring himself to say Wendeline’s name. Will any justification ever dull the disloyalty he feels, caused by a woman he relied upon so heavily?

  “Thank you.”

  He grunts in answer. “How is that strap fitting?”

  “I don’t know.” It’s long and cumbersome and likely sized for a man.

  Zander’s deft hands take over, adjusting its position to sit a bit lower on my hips. “Did no one ever wear these where you’re from?” His tone is softer, conversational, but I hear his fatigue.

  “Yeah … like, a hundred years ago.” The tiny knife I used to strap to my thigh was done so with a tidy nylon band that slipped on like a garter.

  He tests the belt’s tautness, his palms smoothing over my hips. The simple touch stirs memories of the times he’s gripped my body like that but for different—intimate—reasons.

  Zander’s hazel eyes meet mine. He must have caught that spike in my pulse, but unlike in the past, there’s no teasing smile to go along with his awareness, no hint that he might feel the same. His expression is stony, unreadable.

  This wall between us keeps growing higher; I just can’t be sure which of us is faster at stacking the bricks. Part of me desperately hopes he’s changed his mind about leaving me, that he’ll stay by my side. But then I replay our conversation as we ambled through the castle’s secret passage, when he blamed me for him being blind to what Atticus would do, for not being able to think straight. In essence, Zander blamed me for him losing his kingdom.

  And so quickly after, he was ready to cast me aside.

  I clear my throat and with it, the heady thoughts. “Now people mostly use guns.”

  “Guns?” He frowns. “What are those?”

  “Weapons that shoot bullets.”