Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
AUDREY
“Hope can cause you to over-commit. Never hesitate to turn back.
Everything is replaceable, except you.” ~ Matri’sion lesson
M y body ached. My hips hurt the worst where they had dug into the hard ground through the thin mattress. My shoulder hurt, too. But everything hurt.
The warmth felt good, though, and I knew the pain was only a fraction of what it could be. What it had been. I huddled into the pile of makeshift blankets and wished myself back to sleep in the cozy nest he’d re-made around us while I was still trying to recall what world I was in.
Mayhap I drifted in and out of dreams. The pain stayed, though, as I listened to the horses snuffling outside and the rise and fall of Chay’s voice as he cared for them. I should’ve joined him. The sun had been up for some time, and he’d already banked the fire and replaced the water.
But if I moved, then the day was a reality I’d need to face. And I didn’t want to. There was nothing good that would come from leaving this bed.
As I was swimming up through a sleepy haze of guilt and hopelessness, the door creaked open, and cold air gusted over me.
I ignored the pain as best I could, wiggling my toes and focusing on my breath. I could’ve pretended to be asleep, but I didn’t. When I saw the worried way Chay was looking at me, the guilt moved to the fore.
“If we wait a little longer, the sun’ll burn some of the cold off the air,” he offered quietly. “We should head straight back.”
There was no point in returning to the stone. Which meant there was no point in returning to La’Angi.
Had Isolde been well enough to bank her own fire? The thought had made my sleep sporadic and kept my belly knotted. And I wouldn’t know until I went back.
“We could stay,” he said softly, sitting on the ground. “There’s wood and some food. Plenty of honey.” His eyes went to my lips, just for a moment. “The horses have shelter.”
Tears burned my throat, and I swallowed them away. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to fix this.
“We can’t spend another day at the stone,” he said slowly. “You know that, right?”
“Yes.” That didn’t mean I’d accepted it.
He was quiet for a moment, then offered, “I could make the ride to and from. You could wait here. If you wait here.”
I remembered the time I’d fallen out of a tree Isolde had been teaching me to climb. I hadn’t broken anything, but half my body had been bruised. I’d hurt. She hadn’t been especially gentle or gracious. There had been no additional encouragement or teachings. It was what it was. I healed. I recovered. We tried again.
I didn’t know why the memory of such an everyday occurrence made me want to cry. Of all the memories I had of the woman, was that the one that would stay with me at the end? Not the time I’d seen her appear behind a man, cut the artery in his groin, and whisk away the children he’d threatened? Or…or the other things jumbled in my head? Like violently tossed bedsheets, the thoughts layered over one another, jarring. My heart skittered in my chest, and I couldn’t slow my breath.
What if she was dead?
It was going to happen. I’d known it was. One day, I was going to walk in and find her alone in that big bed, the floor awash, dangling halfway to the floor, bruising around her throat and…
“Storm’s happy,” Chay said, and the words hit me like as smithy’s hammer on hot steel. “She’d prefer her warm stall, of course, but I found some apples that weren’t half bad and gave them both some treats.” He shifted to sit beside me. “Sun hasn’t been up long. I probably woke you cutting the wood a little while ago. The beekeeper must’ve had chickens, but they’ve been nabbed by someone hungrier than him. His garden’s passable, though.” He settled back into his place at my back, and I leaned into him. “I’m sorry about the stone, Audrey. I really am.”
Of course he was. He had it, too. I’d effectively ended his life in every single way. “It works,” I told him, and my voice creaked from disuse. “I know it does. I just don’t know how.”
“It might have nothing to do with fire,” he said tiredly. “For all we know, it’s powered by giant waves.”
It wasn’t impossible. It had to be fueled by something. “We don’t know enough about old magic,” I said, wishing I could be angry about that, about everything that had been stolen from us. “Did you know La’Angi used to have potatoes, not apples?”
“No,” he said. “Can I hold you?”
“Yes.” It was the only answer, really. “I read that fruit was a hot commodity, so the orchards were planted by Barloc’s son. The people were worried because trees hide many foes, but they were assured that there would be peace, and they’d prosper more with fruit harvests than common vegetables.”
He made a thoughtful noise, holding me close. “They weren’t wrong.”
“Was it peace, though?” I asked him, feeling like I was a million years old.
He shrugged. “For some, it would’ve been. Few common folk care who wears the crown. If they’ve got bread in their bellies today, and they know it’ll be there tomorrow, things are well enough.”
I knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that people’s definition of peace was irritatingly simplistic. I could be silent and not be at peace—and frequently was. “It’s either blood magic, or it’s a type we don’t know of.”
“Could be faded after all these years,” he said softly.
I shifted, but I couldn’t see him properly without craning my head. Even as I moved, he slipped his arm under mine, and it was perhaps the best pillow I’d ever put my head on. “Do Blood Oaths fade?”
“Not as far as I know. But that’s one lifetime. We’re talking a half-dozen or more. And it’s sustained by my life.”
Blood magic was so messy. “It never made sense to me, needing to kill people to fuel your spells.”
“I’m not dead,” he said reasonably. “It doesn’t all burn through lifeforce.”
I turned the idea around in my mind. “Have you seen much of it in your travels?” It was strictly controlled here. What I knew was fragments of a picture I couldn’t fathom.
“Fortunately not.” He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. I suspect whatever stopped that arrow the other day is the same thing that stopped the wave, if either thing ever happened.”
“They happened.”
He nodded. “I trust you. I’m not sure what way’s up right now. I don’t know that I want to, either.”
My heart ached. I found his hand and covered it with my own. But there was little I could do to make him feel better, really.
It wasn’t an unfair assumption, which is why it’d been mine, earlier. But I’d cut my hand, and it hadn’t triggered the stone in any meaningful fashion.
“We could test it again,” I said slowly. “I had a cut on my arm that day. It was minor, but I brushed up against the stone. I could blood it, then have you shoot at me.”
He clicked his tongue. “My blood’d boil if I did it right. And the arrow would probably go wide and be a useless test. I never did spend enough time practicing the bow. You could shoot at me.”
The thought of it failing and leaving him with an arrow lodged anywhere made panic flash through me. “No.”
“I’ve a shield,” he said mildly.
“Good.” I was quietly confident that wouldn’t matter. The thought of the man who’d stood in the shadow of curtains, lining Chay up in the rain, waiting for his shot, made me achingly cold. I snuggled back into him. “We could get more blood.”
“I could certainly fetch a few people I’d volunteer for that,” he agreed. “And why not, if we’re all doomed?”
I wasn’t sure if he was serious, so I didn’t respond to that. I doubted sacrifice was the key. It didn’t feel like it’d fit. Lining people up, cutting throats, when you had a giant wave bearing down on you? Too many things could go wrong. A sensible system would be sustainable. And cutting someone’s throat didn’t involve fire. The monolith had been burned. There was fire involved, somehow.
“I’m sorry I said that,” he told me, the words full of sorrow.
“Said what?” I shook my head. “Worry not.” They would’ve kept the area stocked with burnables, I was sure of it. And that would be why drainage didn’t include that park. They wouldn’t want to extinguish them while they burned. And really, if they were willing to sacrifice anyone , that wouldn’t be the slowest thing to accomplish, I supposed. But a person took only a short time to bleed out. I’d done it. The memory made my skin crawl. It had felt like an eon but had only been a few moments. Burning blood didn’t seem efficient.
Excitement rushed through me. What made sense wasn’t to burn blood— it was to burn the whole body.
“Chay,” I said, trying to contain the spurt of hope. “What if it’s fueled not by life, but by death? Bone, not blood?”
“Bone magic?” he asked me. “A lesser man than I would make a joke of that, my lady. Tell me more before I decide if I’m a lesser man today.”
Laughter bubbled in me. I sat up, searching for my layers. “ If it’s blood magic, and if it uses fire, wouldn’t it make sense to burn bodies?”
He watched me, no longer laughing. “I know we’re in a dire situation, Audrey, but I’m not comfortable setting someone alight. At least, not anyone I can access today.”
I dismissed that, focusing a majority of my attention on dressing as swiftly as I could. “Not a live person. This is to be used in urgent circumstances. A smart people would have a system they could initiate quickly with low variability. You wouldn’t want to have to find a sacrifice, then make sure they were sacrificed at the right time in the right place.”
He was frowning. “No, you wouldn’t.”
I didn’t look to try to see whether he was laughing at me or not. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” The One, the Wife, and the Son, I hoped I wasn’t wrong. “I want to try it.”
“I can tell.” He sat up. “We can try once, then we return here and warm up.”
I nodded, because he was right to be wary, and also because if I had another idea whilst we were there, I was going to try it regardless and he couldn’t stop me. “We’ll need a body.” I should’ve been more concerned about that. Mayhap it spoke to the levels of loss we’d endured, or mayhap I was not a kind person.
“Got one,” he said, straightening. “The owner of our magnificent lodgings.”
My heart twisted at the thought. I’d known, of course, but I hadn’t really known. “It makes sense, though, does it not?”
“It makes sense,” he agreed. “It explains why there are no old burial grounds in the city, if you used to burn your dead. I believe it was a very common practice.” That bit of information hit me like a match into tinder. My hands started to shake. I couldn’t do my laces straight. “I’m going to ready the horses. If Storm’ll carry him, it’s probably best I tie him to your saddle. Bliksem can carry the both of us, whereas she’ll struggle to move me. And I’d rather ride with you than him.”
That made sense, too. So many things made sense. And while the thought of tossing the man who’d lived and died in this sweet little home over my horse’s saddle made me want to scream at the unfairness of the situation, it was a neat solution. And it had the benefit of Chay’s warmth.
And his touch.
I was a monster for thinking such things whilst organizing to transport a person’s remains.
“Unless you’re not comfortable with that,” he added.
“Of course. No. I mean, of course, I’m happy to ride with you.”
“I’ll see what can be done, then. Don’t rush those laces. I’ll be checking later.”
Delight skimmed over my skin, and I paused for a moment to watch as he let himself back out into the cold. Silhouetted for a moment against the winter sunlight, he looked like the hero I’d always wanted. Strong, long legs, sword riding comfortably at his side, well-worn boots, and shoulders wide enough for even the weight I brought with me.
Then the door closed, and I was jolted from my reverie, guilt rushing into the gap it left behind. He didn’t need to carry my weight. No one did. Those wide shoulders had many uses, but that wasn’t one of them.
The lace I was tightening snapped under the force of my self-disgust.
It took far too long for me to be ready. By the time I was, both horses were saddled, and Storm was grudgingly permitting Chay to tie the man’s remains to her.
He’d tossed a blanket over the body, and I was grateful for the kindness while also feeling like a coward for taking the easy out.
“Did you bank the fire?” he asked me from the other side of Bliksem. “It’s worth having somewhere to return to.”
I put aside my feelings on the matter and nodded, doing what he recommended and adjusting how he’d set the logs already to slow their burn. If this didn’t work, we’d have a safe hidey-hole. At least for another night. If we opted to stay.
Adjusting the scarf around my face, I returned outside to find we were now ready to go. He brought me over, standing behind me, and introduced me to his warhorse, who stood significantly taller than my Storm and looked at me with disapproving eyes.
I wanted to squirm. “I don’t believe he approves.”
“He’s just possessive,” Chay told me, taking my hand and offering our joined fingers to his horse. “She’s with us, friend,” he murmured as the horse snuffled at our fingers. He was a gorgeous beast. I’d expected him to be strong, and he had the deep chest, long legs, and wide back you’d expect from a ’Ban warhorse. But his face was pretty. “I wouldn’t ask you to carry just any old person, now, would I?”
He snorted at Chay, withdrawing his muzzle. Behind him, Storm nickered at me, and I looked over at her, feeling like a turncoat. “They must be hungry.”
“They’d happily have some chaff, but they’ve grazed well. I’ll give you a boost.”
I looked up—all the way up—to where I needed to climb, kilting up one side of my skirts quickly.
The loss of those layers increased the chill factor immediately. I didn’t dally, and I wasn’t proud, letting Chay give me a quick lift to save Bliksem from my attempts. Storm was fine, I knew how to mount her in both saddle types. But this fellow was a different shape, and while I suspected he was a tough old veteran, I didn’t want to ask him to use his strength where he didn’t need to.
Chay was murmuring to him and Storm both, and I just sat there as he made it all work around me.
The beekeeper’s hut looked so small from the outside, so plain. There was a part of me that wanted to climb back in there and curl up under the covers. Except the covers weren’t there anymore. They were all in use.
“Coming up,” he told me, and I made as much space as I could but had to settle back, practically in his lap.
That probably would’ve been awkward yesterday. Today, he just flicked his cloak over my right leg where I’d kilted up my skirts.
He didn’t kiss me. I sort of expected he might. I didn’t know if I wanted it or not. I knew I definitely didn’t want to endlessly loop on the topic of the monolith, and I certainly didn’t want corpses on my mind. Not the one near us, and definitely not what I might find back at the keep. As we started to move, he murmured encouragement to the horses still. Out of the lee of the beekeeper’s home, the wind was bitter and biting. Almost immediately, I ached all the way to my soul.
I huddled back into him, and his arms tightened a little more. One-handed, he adjusted my cloak so my gloved hands were safe beneath it. My heart hurt.
Nothing I’d done for this poor man was good.
I didn’t want to think about any of it. So I grabbed onto the first thing I could. “You never asked if I was a virgin,” I said.
I couldn’t see his expression, but he didn’t tense up at all. “None of my business, is it?” he asked me. “You knew what you wanted, and so did I.”
It was that simple for him. “Do you still want it?” I realized I’d just referred to intimacy with myself as it, but didn’t know how to fix my poor wording. Ideas charged through my mind.
“I’d like a bath,” he said before I could explain what I meant. “I’m not handling the dead then putting those hands on you, Embers.” I wanted to rest my head against his, but Bliksem’s gait made that a dangerous idea. My eyes burned. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said quietly. “I had a lot of fun, but you need rest and sleep, and somewhere warm.”
I did. “You’re warm.”
Finally, he turned his lips into my hair. “So are you, once I’ve had a few moments with you,” he said, the words a little lower. “If my hands were cleaner and the situation happier, I could warm you up right now.”
The thought was so far removed from reality that I had no problem enjoying the fantasy. He probably could, too, the way he’d brought me to my peak with just the pressure of his palm yesterday.
We’d have to get back on a horse eventually. If this didn’t work…
“I’m looking forward to it,” I told him, and let him shelter me in his arms.