The Barbarian’s Vow (Barbarian Duet #2)

Chapter One

T here was indeed a worse fate than crossing the damn sea—doing it in the stinking heat.

Cador’s pitifully empty stomach heaved as the ship rocked over the white-foamed waves. Sweat stung his eyes, and he gripped the bow rail with slick palms.

After weeks with only the water and sky in sight, now he blinked at mainland Onan huddled on the horizon, growing bigger by the hour. The temperature soared seemingly by the minute. At least the cursed sun was behind them now as it bore down mercilessly, prickling his reddened neck.

Though he’d stripped down to only his vest and trousers, his face was flushed and his throat constantly dry.

He’d trimmed his beard and scraped his face clean with a razor, yet his stubborn hair grew back to a thick stubble too quickly.

He toyed again with removing his boots, but he was so rarely barefoot he’d felt strangely unguarded and exposed when he’d tried it.

The sea spray stung his chapped lips, but at least it was cool. His pale skin burned easily, but he couldn’t stand covering his arms. He wore the damn vest so he didn’t roast his back. He could only manage sips of water or his stomach rebelled.

The very worst part was that he’d suffer it all gladly if Jem would so much as look at him.

Jem owed him nothing—least of all forgiveness. Cador reminded himself of this daily. Hourly. He had only himself to blame. He’d agreed to his tas’s plan to marry Jem and plot his eventual kidnapping.

It was almost impossible to believe now he’d cared so little for Jem’s fate. Jem had only been a burden. A means to an end. Jem had been nothing . Now he was everything, and he hated Cador. Perhaps that was the punishment Cador fucking deserved.

A terrible scream split the air.

He jolted, immediately shamed to be grumbling about the heat and wallowing in self-pity.

He hurried to the ship’s rear, passing Jem and Jory, their dice game abandoned for the moment.

No matter how he tried to ignore it, to walk so close by Jem and feel as though they were strangers was a dagger twisting in his gut.

All eyes were on Hedrok. Or at least what they could see of him on a pallet under the sunshade of boar skin strung tight. Cador’s sister, Delen, watched from her usual position by the helm, staying close to Creeda and Hedrok, but not too close.

Creeda knelt by her son, leaning over him, muttering her prayers and assurances.

She clutched a bound bundle of twigs from the old sevel trees.

Her dark hair was knotted tightly as usual, copper skin largely untouched by the sun since she rarely left Hedrok’s side.

Her cheekbones stood out even more sharply, her muscled body taut and too thin.

As much as Cador despised being at sea, there were indeed many things far, far worse. The deadly wasting disease that struck only Ergh’s children, including his nephew, had claimed too many victims.

“Can I help?” he asked, his fingers twitching.

Creeda didn’t spare him a glance, eyes locked on Hedrok’s pale face twisted in agony. “More water.”

He hurried to fill the small pail. Leaving the helm, Meraud joined him by the water barrel. Her small, trusted crew accompanied them on this unexpected journey, along with a few hunters who were ignorant of the scheme to kidnap Jem. And Bryok’s secret scheme to murder him.

“Getting low,” Meraud murmured. Her graying curls hung past her shoulders, tied back at her neck.

Indeed, Cador had to lean in, the pail thudding the barrel’s bottom as he filled it. “Enough?”

She squinted toward Onan. “Just. I expected more rain.”

“Should I tell Creeda to make this last?”

“No. Let him have as much as he needs.”

Another of Hedrok’s screams carried on the wind. Cador nodded. “I’ll give up my share.”

Meraud laughed softly, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “You can barely keep it down anyway.” She nudged him affectionately. “You and that poor horse will be glad to know we should make land before morning.”

They had brought only one mount since the voyage was hard enough for people, let alone horses who needed to roam. The unfortunate gray beast, Lusow, stood in a makeshift stall they’d quickly nailed together at the stern, though Jory walked him about the deck for hours a day.

At first, Lusow had stamped and snorted and bucked when Hedrok screamed or wailed. Even the horse had become inured to the boy’s cries. Though Jory had gone to him, feeding him a carrot and brushing his back soothingly.

Jory had chosen Lusow for speed and would ride ahead to the Holy Place to send for more horses and provisions, then south to Neuvella with the news for Tas that Bryok was dead and their convoy would be arriving soon.

Part of Cador had wanted to bring Massen, his faithful stallion, but he would not subject him to the journey needlessly.

Hedrok thrashed on his pallet, legs unmoving beneath a thin blanket. Cador returned with the water, hovering uselessly as Creeda encouraged Hedrok to drink. He shivered, sweat dampening his hair. He pushed at the blanket tucked around his waist.

“It’s too hot to be covered up,” Cador said.

Creeda glared up at him, her brown eyes narrowing. “Go on, then. Remove the blanket.”

The challenge had been issued, and Cador crouched, pretending it didn’t bother him at all. It shouldn’t have bothered him to see the evidence of the disease. He didn’t allow himself to flinch as he uncovered Hedrok’s spindly bare legs.

At his feet, the dried husks of bone and dead flesh were a dark color that got lighter as it spread higher, Hedrok’s long tunic bunched at his hips.

The blistered, violent rash that spiderwebbed to the tops of Hedrok’s thighs was blood red.

Cador forced his gaze to remain on Hedrok’s writhing body, hating the way his legs remained motionless.

Creeda dampened a cloth, wiping Hedrok’s brow as Cador uselessly asked, “Are you sure it was wise to bring him?” before he could school himself.

She gave him a withering look. “As I told you, Hedrok suffers whether he’s here or home.

He suffers every hour of every day. Your prince promises the Neuvellan healers will try to help, and sevels are plentiful there.

If the lack of sevels truly caused this, I will feed them to him until his dying breath. We have nothing left to lose.”

Cador nodded. They’d considered bringing all the afflicted children, but if they declared war with Ebrenn in the West, the children could be put in more danger. There was no good answer. Who the fuck knew the right thing to do?

“And here, we are closer to the gods,” Creeda said. “The clerics will help. I pray and pray, and perhaps the gods will finally heed my cries.”

“Mmm.” He could say no more in favor of the gods or the clerics. Were the clerics truly pious and good, or did they crave power like everyone else? Tas certainly believed the clerics would worm their way into control of Ergh if given a chance.

As Hedrok whimpered, Cador tried to soothe him without getting in Creeda’s way. Her other words echoed. My prince. If only it were true.

He asked, “Is this new? Has he been fevered before?” He should know the answer. He should have visited his nephew daily. Should have been there for Bryok and Creeda and their little ones left on Ergh who showed no signs of the sickness yet. Yet.

Gaze locked on her son, Creeda muttered, “It’s happened before. Not for this long. Bryok said—” Stroking Hedrok’s hair, she sighed.

“What?” Cador was suddenly desperate to know. His brother was sunk in the depths of the Askorn Sea, where he belonged. Still, he was eager to hear this unknown thought. Bryok’s death had left Creeda a widow, and he wondered if she mourned him or if there was simply no space left for it.

“He thought more heat would burn out the sickness. That perhaps the mainland weather would help.”

Squirming, Hedrok rasped, “No fire.” He’d reached ten years, yet seemed so small and young.

“No fire,” Creeda agreed. When Hedrok stilled, she muttered to Cador, “Your mad brother almost burned down the house trying to torch the sickness free.” She curled her lip. “He’d have been the end of us all.”

No, it didn’t seem Creeda grieved her husband. Cador couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure he grieved Bryok either. He was aware of Delen inching closer and sensed his sister’s worry. When he turned to give her a reassuring nod, he found Jem’s honey eyes on him too.

Jem jerked around on his low stool, facing the sun that moved steadily west. He closed his eyes, basking in it as he had often in these days of sunshine as they neared the mainland. Would he ever want to leave again?

There was so much to grieve, yet the thing Cador mourned most was the loss of his husband. He’d have sailed a thousand days sweating under the pitiless sun if Jem would only forgive him. He had to be patient.

Fuck, he hated patience. Action had always been the better way.

He settled beside Hedrok, relieved when Creeda allowed it.

The sticky heat lingered in the shade, but at least there was relief from the glare.

Hedrok mercifully dozed as Creeda sang lullabies, the bundle of sevel twigs tight in her grasp.

Cador had always known her to be serious—severe, even, and it still surprised him how light and sweet her voice was when she sang.

Midship, Jem sat alone. He threw the dice over and over in a strangely compulsive way, pausing to scratch his head.

It gladdened Cador that he didn’t hide below-decks in a miserable huddle as he had during their voyage to Onan after their wedding.

Yet each scant, precious word Jem spoke to another made his complete silence with Cador all the more torturous.

Creeda had been willing to see Jem’s head delivered to his mother the queen to spark war, yet Jem appeared to hold no grudge against her, wholeheartedly offering Neuvella’s help to fight the disease that ravaged her son. Of course he did, for he was good .