Chapter Fourteen
“There’s blood on your sleeve.”
Caris dropped the bound feet of the would-be assassin to look at her elbow. The prisoner grunted through his gag as his feet hit the dungeon cell floor.
“Oh, dear,” she cursed. “That will never come out.”
“It will,” Nora said as she dragged the prisoner further into the cell. “Just put it to soak in cold water when we’re done.”
The prisoner thrashed on the cold stone floor, trying to kick them. The noise fell flat against the damp stone walls.
“This is nice,” Avice held the lantern high as she lifted the wooden lid off the privy hole. “It’s not a cesspit. There’s flowing water down here, under the grating. Nice large openings. No stink. Remember that midden in—”
“I wonder where it flows out,” Caris said quickly, not wanting to remember that particular incident. “Is it a potential escape route?”
Avice reached down and tugged on the metal grille. “Seems strong.” She wrinkled her nose and wiped her hand on the stone wall.
Mira, who had followed them in, closed the cell door. “Won’t the body parts raise suspicion? She asked, frowning at the prisoner.
“Not if they’re small enough,” Nora was already loosening her laces. “I brought my knives and cleavers. Help me with this, Avice.”
Caris watched the wide-eyed prisoner, who was trying to talk through the gag. An older man who served at table, with a graying, pointed beard and a mostly bald head. She’d seen him about, of course, although she couldn’t remember his name. She did remember his annoying habit of humming under his breath as he went about his duties. He was struggling, but not effectively. “Poisoned cake,” she said, kicking his bound ankles. “What were you thinking?”
Mira settled on a stool in the farthest corner. From the look on her face, she was stewing on something. Caris left it to her. Sooner or later the worry would come spilling out of her.
Nora and Avice stripped naked, piling their garments in Mira’s lap and taking off their slippers.
The prisoner’s eyes bulged.
Nora laid out her kit on the floor. She and Avice knelt on each side of the man, untied his hands, and used painful joint holds to stretch his arms wide and pin him down.
Caris couldn’t help rolling her eyes; despite everything, his gaze was locked on their breasts. Men.
“Your life is already forfeit.” Caris stood at his feet, glaring down at him. “What happens next depends on you. We need to know who hired you, who gave you the poison. Tell us, and your death is a quick one. Refuse, and—”
The man shrieked against his gag, his body arcing as he writhed in pain.
Nora tossed his little finger into the privy, her knife in her bloody hand.
“Nora,” Caris scolded.
Nora looked up, her face filled with lust. Blood had splattered her neck and chest. Her eyes were glazed over; her lips parted as she licked them.
“He’s not going to tell us,” she crooned as she leaned down, letting her hardened nipple brush against his remaining fingers. “He’s going to let me cut and cut and—”
“Nora,” Caris deepened her voice into a command.
“Fine.” Nora leaned back but kept her grip. “Talk him to death.”
Caris huffed, shaking her head and turned back to the man. His eyes were filled with tears, and he was still thrashing. She lifted her voice, drawing his attention back to her. “Information,” she said firmly, “and this will end.” She nodded to Avice, who pulled out the gag.
Their prisoner spat with rage. “Death to House Wvyern, death to the bitch queen and her spawn.” He drew in a sobbing breath, then screamed again as Nora took another finger.
“No one can hear you,” Caris raised her voice. “And if they did, no one would stop us.”
He cursed again, spitting his words.
“Fine.” Caris said and nodded to Avice, who shoved the rag back in his mouth. “Break his elbows,” she said. “Then start on his feet.”
She went to stand by Mira, watching as the others worked.
“Don’t you already know who gave him the poison?” Mira asked softly, holding the mass of skirts and underclothes that came almost to her chin.
“We have suspicions,” Caris nodded. “But having it confirmed would be good. Besides,” she leaned her head down and lowered her voice so she wouldn’t be heard over the muffled screams. “Nora needs to work off her malaise. She’s been vexed lately.”
“We all have.” Mira looked glum. She picked at a bit of lace on one of the sleeves. “Iris has been gone for so long; we have never been separated like this before. I keep looking for her, thinking I need to tell her something, but I turn and she is not there.” Mira drew in a breath that was almost a sigh.
Caris gave her a questioning look.
Mira spoke slowly and carefully. “The Bonded is suffering. So far, her orders are rational, but I fear…” Mira gave her a side glance.
Understanding her caution, Caris gave her an encouraging nod.
“Our Queen is smart and clever and manipulative and vicious,” Mira let the words out in a rush. “But she always has a purpose. Lately she is just lashing out like a wounded bull. It can’t continue, Caris.” Mira seemed about to say more, but that foggy look entered her eyes and the words never came.
Thankfully, a clear scream drew both their attentions. Nora was pulling at the man’s privates, clamping down hard. Avice was waving her knife before his face, whispering something.
“Lord Calfar, Lord Calfar, his steward paid me, paid me—” the hoarse, terrified rasp was cut off when Avice stuffed the rag back in his mouth.
“Ah,” Caris said. “Good enough. Kill him. We can’t be about this all day.”
Nora and Avice just looked at her. “It’s more fun when they struggle,” Avice said. “If they’re dead, it’s just work.”
“Twenty minutes more,” Nora promised.
“Fine,” Caris agreed. She glanced at the stone behind her, decided that her dress was already dirty, and leaned against it. “We’re all concerned, Mira. She’s bearing and—”
“No, you don’t understand.” Mira shook her head. “I’m doing what I can, what I know. But Caris, my training was solid, but my experience…” After a breath, the words tumbled out of her. “I have basic healing skills, yes and I’ve birthed some babes on my own, and nothing’s gone wrong during those times, but—
“She won’t hear of another midwife. I fear that—” she gulped in air and tears filled her eyes. “I can’t even ease her nausea. What if she starts to lose the child, or the babe comes out wrong, or—”
“Mira,” Caris pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to her. She glanced over to see that Nora was starting to drop parts into the privy. The muffled screams had dropped to moans.
Mira sniffled. “She gets so worked up about the mages and Tarwain’s daughter and that sculpture that the King wants and the money worries.” Mira blew her nose. “She’s becoming more and more irritated and irrational, and she won’t listen to me, and I am so afraid for her.” She dropped her voice to the barest whisper. “And for us.”
Caris tightened her grip, then released it. “A very real fear,” she said.
“What is?” Nora asked absently, staring down at the wreckage that was left. She prodded the body with her toe, inducing a whimper.
“Fear of the Bonded’s wrath,” Caris said.
“Fear of failing her,” Mira spoke loudly, as if afraid to hear her own words. “Fear of what happens if the child dies.” She shivered. “Fear of what happens if she dies.”
Instinctively, they all looked at their brands. Caris rubbed hers, frowning.
“I only speak to protect the Bonded,” Mira said.
“Nothing is going to happen,” Avice said firmly. She thrust her dagger into the man’s belly and sawed down. The stink of guts and bowels rose as his back arched and his legs thrashed weakly.
“If Iris were here, she’d listen to her,” Mira pouted. “She always listens to Iris.”
“She doesn’t always listen to her,” Avice was put out; she always wanted to be the one in charge.
“Iris is not here and we don’t know when she will return,” Nora said.
“Still, we can’t ignore Mira’s concerns,” Caris said. “We will have to try to talk the Bonded into thinking it’s her own idea.”
“That might work,” Mira said, though she looked doubtful. She plucked at a piece of invisible lint on one of the dresses. “It’s just that…” she sighed. “Nothing is right without Iris. We’ve never been apart this long before.”
There was a final gurgle. Nora knelt down and poked. “Dead.”
“Perhaps we didn’t quite think this through,” Avice said, cutting the soiled clothing they’d taken off him into strips. “We are not going to get the large bones through that grate.”
“Leave them,” Nora said. “They’ll make quite the impression.”
“The Queen will want the head on a spike,” Mira reminded them.
“We’ll take it to her, after we get you cleaned up.” Caris said as Avice kicked the remains over to a corner. Caris looked over at Nora. Her once-wild eyes were calm and clear. “Feel better?”
“Much.” Nora stood and stretched with a languid smile. Then her eyes sharpened. “Mira is right, you know. Iris—”
“Iris does the Bonded’s will,” Avice said sharply. “Nothing more need be said.”
Caris felt it then, the familiar tightening, the pulse through her flesh that started at her wrist. She nodded in obedience.
They all did.
Iris crouched under the shelter of a pine and watched as the icy rain coated the needles. Her armor was sodden, her boots squished, she was cold and wet and none of that mattered.
She was close, so close.
She had to admire the vore and the marcus. She’d caught a glimpse or two, outlines on a ridge at sunset.
How was the babe being fed? She’d no experience with babies, perhaps the marcus was female and had brought milk to its breasts? For all she knew newborns didn’t need to eat that often. But this hunt had taken days so far.
If there was a babe. She had to face the thought that she might be chasing a wild rabbit. But if that was the case, why not just try to kill her and be done? She’d been careful to watch her back trail for fear that the vore would circle round and take her from behind. But there’d been no sign of that.
The marcus, the vore, they’d tried everything in the book to lose her, but she’d found the trail each time. Not much, admittedly. A buried nappy at a cold camp, a babe’s wail on the wind. The rare print in snow and ice.
Oh, they were good, she’d grant them that. She was better, and if the weather hadn’t stopped her, she might have caught them this night.
She rubbed her wrist where the bond pulsed, driving her forward with an urgency that beat with her heart. But she and the others had learned long ago of the danger that the bond would push them past exhaustion and hunger until they staggered with fatigue or just collapsed.
The urge was softened now, muted. No doubt the Bonded slept.
She’d left Satia’s side carrying the barest of food, thinking this chase would be an easy one, and had stretched those few provisions as far as she dared. Obedience stopped short of wasting herself. She needed food and rest. If the weather was forcing her down, it was a safe bet that it would force her targets down as well, especially with a babe. The trail was there, and clear, and the risk that she would lose it small.
She’d skirted farm fields a while back. She’d backtrack and see what she could find. Still, Iris hesitated. Her belly ached with hunger, but another pain bothered her more.
Her hands were cold. She stripped off her gloves, undid a few buckles, and thrust her left hand under her right breast to warm it. Her fingers rubbed against the puckered scar there, the skin rippled and rough under her fingertips. An old habit, an old comfort, to rub the old burn, long healed. She had no memory of the fire that had burned her as a child. The scar had always been there.
Even the Bonded could not break her of the habit, and had given up trying long ago.
She focused on the feel, the touch, and knew the source of her unease. She’d never been this far from the others before this, and it felt…odd. Wrong. Like she was incomplete. She missed Avice’s assurance, Mira’s gentle worry, Caris’s warm smile, and Nora’s quick fierceness. Her longing for their presence was an ache.
Rain dripped off the edges of her hood.
There was another source of discomfort. She’d never been this far from the Bonded before, or for this long. Never operated without instructions or supervision for so long.
Even as that thought rose, the strands of the Bond tightened and she focused on her task. Farm fields meant a farmhouse. She’d steal what she needed. If an alarm was raised, she’d kill any unfortunate who crossed her and sleep in their bed.
The morning would bring a pulse of the drive to hunt again and she’d be off on the trail.
Iris shivered as some cold rain got under her hood. She distracted herself from her misery with the idea of the end of her task.
She’d finish this. Stalk them, kill the marcus, gut the vore, and wrap the dead baby in its hide.
Her grip on her knife tightened at the picture that formed in her head.
The Bond within Iris coiled in pleasure.