Chapter 6 Odessa
Six
Odessa
A scream rips through the night. Brielle stares at me, tears streaming down her face. Blood coats her hands. Two knives glint in the firelight from where they lie in the dirt. Smoke clouds the air.
One moment, Brielle stands in the street. The next, she is gone.
…
I gasped awake, sitting upright so fast the small bedroom began to spin. It took a moment for me to remember that I wasn’t on that street in Ellder. That I was safe in this house, far away from the fortress.
Shit. I pressed my fingertips to my temples, rubbing small circles as I gave my heart a few moments to stop pounding.
If Evie’s nightmares felt as real as mine, it was no wonder she jerked and kicked and whimpered in her sleep.
She was curled against my hip, her hands clasped beneath her cheek. Her eyelashes were dark crescents above her soft cheeks. A lock of her wispy brown hair had curled beside her temple.
Careful not to wake her, I slipped out from beneath the patchwork quilt and stood from the cot. The floor was cold on my bare feet as I crept to the corner chair where I’d piled my pants and socks. I pulled them on, then took a seat, picking up the stack of books I’d left out last night.
They seemed heavier this morning, like the weight of their words was growing by the hour.
The journal with the emblem from my necklace was unreadable until I learned the old language, so I set it aside. Then I fanned through Luella’s other two books that I’d found hidden in the compartment in the stairs of the migration cellar. Each was full of Luella’s handwriting.
One contained the detailed ingredients and instructions for creating the elixir she’d given Ransom and taken herself.
It included her notes about where and how she’d harvested supplies.
From korakin to cave ginger, it had the recipe to create her elixir and a list of every person who’d had it injected into their body.
The other journal wasn’t as organized. It was full of notes and scribbles about how to find a cure for Lyssa. It was her theories and tests. Some were circled. Others were crossed out with angry lines.
I hoped that if I gave these two books to my father’s alchemists and healers, they’d be able to take Luella’s notes and find a cure. And that with the help of the clerics in the castle’s sanctuary, I could decipher the journal with the winged emblem.
Did the Voster know the old language? I loathed the idea of asking Brother Dime for help, but maybe he could teach me on our trek across Calandra.
I put Luella’s journals aside and opened the last of the books I’d stuffed into my satchel. My own journal, filled with sketches of monsters and an incomplete map of Turah.
Now that I had Ransom’s cuff, I could finish the map and plot the road to Allesaria.
For generations, the Turans had kept the city’s location a secret.
Most suspected it was hidden deep in the mountains—or a myth altogether.
Perris had once been the capital, but after it was decimated during a migration, the king had left the former castle in ruins and moved his stronghold.
Turah’s wealth, knowledge, and history were now in Allesaria.
I pushed back my tunic’s sleeve, studying the cuff beneath. My fingertips skimmed over the lines and etches that Ransom had carved and notched into the brown leather, some grooves soft and faded while others were fresh and bright.
A map. Possibly the only complete map of Turah in existence.
Maps were forbidden in Turah, and to be found with one was punishable by death. Yet Ransom had made this cuff anyway. He’d plotted towns and villages along with notches for the monsters killed with Lyssa as he’d tracked the infection’s spread across his kingdom.
And he’d cut a thin line that marked the path to a hidden city.
The road to Allesaria.
A capital guarded by blood oaths and magic. Yet, somehow, Ransom had circumvented the nuances of a blood oath.
Every king in Calandra would kill for this cuff, including my father.
Father had sent me to Turah not only as the Sparrow to fulfill Quentis’s obligation to the treaty, but also as his spy. He’d tasked me with finding the way into the Turan capital.
Except I wasn’t a spy. I’d failed spectacularly at gleaning information from the Turans. The only reason I knew Allesaria’s location was because of Ransom. He trusted me enough to take this cuff and safeguard its meaning.
He trusted me not to betray his people. Our people.
I wasn’t sure what my father wanted in Allesaria, but until I learned his motives, my map would stay unfinished. After closing the book, I tucked it into my satchel. Then I pulled down the sleeve of my tunic, covering the cuff.
One by one, I put the other books back into my satchel, praying the seams of the bag were strong enough to hold until Quentis.
Faze uncurled himself from the cot where he’d slept on my feet all night, keeping them warm. He jumped down and stretched, then prowled over and hopped into my lap, nuzzling a hand.
“Still spoiled,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears.
He gave a quiet rawr.
Two new rows of red-and-orange scales were forming along his spine. Four rows were becoming six. His fur was still pink, but it was slowly darkening, and the stripes at his ribs were more pronounced with every passing day.
“What am I going to do with you?” I asked, my voice low so I didn’t wake Evie. “We can’t keep you forever. Maybe we should leave you here. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take you to Quentis.”
As if he knew exactly what I was saying, his vibrant, violet eyes locked with mine, and he gave me a pleading look that reminded me so much of Evie it was uncanny.
“Do you two conspire against me when I’m not looking?”
He purred.
“Thought so,” I muttered, giving him another scratch before setting him on the floor. I grabbed my boots from beside the folded pile of our dirty clothes, then slipped out of the room.
Sally was in the kitchen, shaping a mound of dough. The room smelled of sage and yeast and sweet smoke.
My stomach growled.
“Good morning.” She smiled, her cheeks rosy.
“Morning.” I went to the table’s bench, pulling on my boots. “Thank you for letting us stay.”
“My pleasure. We are originally from Westor, and there was always a family member or friend who’d pop by.
We’d have visitors every day. It was rare for Damon and me to share an evening meal alone.
But now that we’ve moved away from the city, we don’t get many guests.
I’m still learning to cook for only two. It’s lovely to have you here.”
“And where exactly is here?” I peered out the window, but with the house sunken into the ground, all I could see was grass and dirt.
“We’re at the southern end of the Axmar Mountain range. About half a day’s ride from the Ozarth border.”
Shades, no wonder my entire body ached from day after day of riding. We’d crossed nearly the entire kingdom of Turah in eight days.
The Axmar Mountains acted as the border between Turah and Ozarth. It was the longest and most treacherous range in all of Calandra. And somewhere in those mountains, if I was reading Ransom’s cuff correctly, was Allesaria.
“Damon always wanted to live in the countryside,” Sally said, smiling as she plopped the roll of dough into a cast-iron dish.
She covered it with a lid and carried it to the hearth, sliding it onto a rack so the bread could bake.
“It’s taken some getting used to. We only go to town every few months for supplies.
In the winter, it will be even less. But we both thought it might be safer during the migration if we weren’t in a city full of other people.
The couple who lived here before us survived two migrations. ”
She went to the center of the room and tapped a carpet with her foot.
“There’s a tunnel here that leads to an underground cave.
There’s fresh water, and we’ll stock the cellar with supplies.
It’s large enough that we’ll be comfortable with the baby.
By next spring, he’ll be old enough to stay underground. ”
Except the migration wasn’t coming next spring. The crux scout in Ellder meant the migration was months—or worse, weeks—away. The crux horde would be here before winter.
“You should prepare now. Don’t wait.”
Her eyebrows came together. “But it’s not even winter.”
I opened my mouth to tell her about the crux scout, but before I could warn her, Evie emerged from the bedroom, dressed in the bloody, dirty nightshirt she’d worn before her bath. “Evie, what are you wearing?”
“My shirt.” She looked down at the stains, then to Sally. “Can I have my pants?”
Sally nodded, moving to the line where they’d hung all night to dry.
I stood and took them from her, then waved Evie into the bedroom, closing the door before kneeling in front of her with the pants in my lap. “How about we wear the clean shirt you slept in last night?”
“I wanna wear this one.”
“It’s too dirty.” I lifted the hem, but she pushed my hands away and stepped back.
“Evie—”
“This is my shirt.”
The shirt marred with Zavier’s blood. “You can’t wear this, little star.”
“Yes, I can.” She stomped her foot and crossed her arms.
I closed my eyes, summoning strength for a fight that would hurt. “Take it off, Evangeline.”
She shook her head as tears filled her big, gray eyes and she backed away. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and this time when I reached for the shirt, I didn’t let her push me away. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” she wailed as I stripped it off of her and tossed it aside.
She kicked and squirmed, fighting me every moment as I swiped the clean shirt from the floor. Her hands pushed at my jaw, and her head whipped back and forth. But somehow, I managed to get the shirt over her head.
“I’m sorry.” I repeated the apology over and over, hoping she could hear me through her screams.