Chapter 11
Seren
I needed a damned strategy.
The night had been long, sleepless, punctured by the sounds of Rykr shifting on the rug, his stomach growling occasionally. He was probably ravenous, but that was his own fault—I’d given him food. If he chose to turn his nose up at it, his hunger was his responsibility.
Despite my lack of sleep, I rose with renewed energy and purpose.
Maybe I couldn’t break the bond while in my encampment, but I only had days to learn as much as I could about the Skorn trial before Seth dragged us to Emberstone.
Our repository had books on that, some that even elders of our tribe had written.
Unfortunately, today was a market day and my time would be limited.
Every Lysday, each Viori tribe set up a market in the middle of their encampment, selling and bartering goods. Most stocked up on food for the coming week on market day, as I would need to do.
My family also maintained a market stall. Tara and I prepared pelts and dried venison, while Mother made potions and jars of healing honey infused with Ibarran magic.
Madoc normally sold handcrafted wooden tools and trinkets, and it was incredibly difficult not having him here. He should be home. He should have found Esme. Gods, is he okay?
Has he found where they’ve taken Esme?
Esme had been gone for over a month now. The longer time passed without her return, the more I worried they’d come up against some obstacle—or, worse, had been captured themselves. If that was the case, how would we even learn what had happened to them?
I’d been tempted more than once to ask Amahle to use her spirit gliding to try to see where they were. She probably would, but the farther away a person was, the more Amahle’s gift taxed her.
She’d tried to find Esme the day she was taken, and her heart had nearly stopped. I couldn’t risk that again.
Rykr stirred as I strapped on a bandolier for my daggers. Mother had given me an extra set of clothes for him the night before, but he’d need a chance to bathe soon. I should probably tend to his wounds, too. Like him or not, he was my responsibility.
“How’s your back feeling?” I squatted beside him.
“I’m fine.” The timbre of his voice was deep from sleeping.
A rugged, self-assured swagger marked the way Rykr carried himself, and that was unbelievably appealing—in addition to his attractiveness. Ignoring the tug of interest coiling through me, I touched the hem of his shirt. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Actually, it might be easier if you just take the whole shirt off.”
Rykr said nothing as he complied. I’d seen plenty of men shirtless before, but with Rykr, I fought the urge to avert my gaze. Fight temptation.
Other men didn’t make me want to reach out and touch hardened chest muscles, run my fingertips over the flat, ridged plane above their waistbands. I dragged my gaze away, my mouth going dry.
It’s just the bond. Isn’t it? His razor-sharp wit the night before had made him utterly likable, even as I reminded myself it could all be a ploy to charm and manipulate me.
Shifting so I could see his back better, I peeled back a bandage.
The skin underneath, though slightly pink, had completely healed. Even the redness had faded. Only the barest whispers of scars remained.
I’d seen my mother’s salves work quickly, but this was different. His wounds had been severe. This kind of healing wasn’t natural.
Then again, he had been able to walk away from the flogging, and I’d never seen anyone do that either. And even though I didn’t share any marks from the whip, I’d felt the full depth of his excruciating pain until my mother had dulled the connection.
“How in Nyxva did you heal so fast?” Despite my unease, I touched the scar, his skin warm and soft below my fingertips. He didn’t flinch.
He attempted to look over his own shoulder, to no avail. “What?” Reaching his hand behind his back, he tugged a bandage away and felt along his skin. His eyes widened. “What did your mother put on me?”
I removed the other bandages, revealing his fully healed back.
What in the world?
I tried to stay calm. This couldn’t just be my mother’s medicine. Come to think of it, his wounds from the vuk had healed quickly, too. I’d been proud of my work … but what if it hadn’t been me?
Who was he?
I stood abruptly. “You self-heal, don’t you?”
Rykr yanked his shirt back over his head. “No. That’s not even possible, is it?”
“Clearly it is.” It had to be a rare ability. But Rykr must have known about it before this, mustn’t he?
“You sure it’s not another one of your ‘gifts’ from this oath?” He combed his fingers through his dark hair, where the short strands had matted while asleep.
“If I had self-healing, I’d be showing off by now. But you’ve clearly got something special. So, tell me, how long have you known?”
Rykr sat straight, pulling his shirt down with deliberate calm. “Hate to break it to you, solwyn, but you and your mother are the ones with spellcraft. Ask me how I managed to capture a Viori outpost alone and that I might have an answer for.”
Solwyn. I refused to react to his sarcastic taunt by calling me a term of endearment aimed to belittle me.
“Self-healing doesn’t have to do with spellcraft.
It’s inherent to the fabric of a person’s essence—like this.
” A quick flick of my fingers and frost spread over the chair beside the stove.
A faint chill prickled the air around us as a fine sheen of ice crackled over the wood, sparkling in the morning light.
Rykr jerked his chin, a wary look crossing his handsome face. “Ice powers?”
I’d always thought of my gift as more nuisance than strength, but the wary way Rykr watched the ice made me feel … powerful. Just for a moment. Then the self-consciousness returned, creeping in like cold seeping through my boots.
“Remind me to never make you angry in bed.”
Tarseholster.
Before I could call him the vulgar word, he quirked a brow. “Are ice powers common around these parts of the forest?”
“Most Unbound have some natural gift like this. Mine is mostly useless—how often do you need ice in the middle of the forest?” I stood, my mouth dry.
As I continued to stare down at him, a knot formed in my gut.
“But you’re right. You wouldn’t have self-healing as a natural gift. You’re Bloodbound.”
He spread his hands out, a smirk crossing his lips that read told you.
Barely minutes after waking and we were already on the wrong foot. “Get ready. It’s market day and we can get breakfast there. I’ll explain on the way.”
Rykr scowled and put his boots on. “Unless you mean put my own irons on, I’m ready.”
Despite his moodiness, my lips twitched.
He was probably as tired as I was of squabbling. I readied his irons as he used the chamber pot in the corner, doing my best to ignore the forced familiarity of our situation. When he’d finished, he approached. “Where should I empty that?”
“There’s a privy with a pit my family uses outside. I’ll show you.”
“What happens if I don’t wear the irons?” he asked after I’d replaced them. He shuffled beside me as we left the tent.
“Seth might transfer you to the dungeon, which is the only permanent structure around here. Impossible to escape.”
Rykr’s gaze swept over the distant tents. “Why not build houses instead of living in tents?”
“We used to move every year, but as our waldren grew older, we stayed longer in one place. Now it’s been several years. He died, but in theory, we try to be prepared to pack and leave the territory at a moment’s notice.”
“But why?” Rykr almost tripped, then glowered. He was tall and clearly unaccustomed to shortening his stride like this.
“For protection. The elders believed it was safer so Liriens never knew exactly where we were. We also have to negotiate with some forest creatures to allow us to stay sometimes, too. In those cases, we pay for the use of the territory and it’s a short-term agreement.”
Rykr stopped short. “Creatures?”
I turned to him, quirking a brow. “Why? You’re not afraid of the creatures of the Dreadwood, are you?”
“The first one I encountered attacked, so I think that’s justified.”
“The vuk’s attack was unusual. I’ve never seen one do that.
” I still hadn’t decided whether it attacked because it saw Rykr on top of me first. Would it have left us alone if we’d been by ourselves?
“But I meant bigger creatures. Like centaurs. We spent one summer in a dragon’s nesting grounds, but I barely remember it. I think I was seven.”
“And you regularly interact with these creatures?”
“Rarely. But dragons are hard to miss.”
His expression remained skeptical.
But he also probably wouldn’t have believed in vuks before, either.
“None of those creatures exist in Lirien?” I continued toward the clearing where the market was held. Much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t mind his company. With my friends and Tara and Madoc moving up in rank in the Vangar, conversation was welcome. Our shifts often kept us apart.
“The treaty Seth mentioned yesterday—King Anders’s—set aside the Dreadwood for the Lirien’s magic creatures. But that was over three hundred years ago. Most of what we know about the forest now is just legend.”
“How did you read the treaty?” I plucked a tall blade of grass as we drew closer to the market stalls. “I thought all those documents were locked in the vaults of Ederyn.”
“They are. But I’ve spent some time in Ederyn.” He paused, then added, “For my Sealing.”
Ederyn. My parents had recounted so many stories of their life there that I felt connected to it. The realization struck me. Of course the Sealing took place there. Even though I knew more about the Sealing than most Viori, I’d never considered that’s where it happened.
“You’ve seen the Golden City of Suomelin?”
“I have. And walked in the Hall of Kings. The Sealing is usually done in the throne room.”
The throne room. The idea of him standing there, where my father had undergone the same ceremony …