Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
THE BARN WAS EMPTY. THIA BLINKED IN THE DIMNESS, WONDERING IF, in her fatigue, she was seeing things. But no, Oskaren was gone.
Dess appeared beside her, pale brows knitted together. “She escaped.”
Thran’s footsteps sounded on the barn floor behind them. “Or someone came to let her out.”
“I doubt it,” Dess said. “But Oskaren is wily, I’ll give her that. Those knots weren’t—”
A furious cry sounded from above, and a lithe shadow hurtled from the beams. Thia screamed, lurching forward as Dess was tackled to the ground.
“Oskaren,” she yelled, recognizing the back of the girl’s ponytail. She wondered if she’d been waiting up there the entire time on the slim chance they might return.
Recovered, Thia found it slightly amusing.
A laugh bubbled in her throat, only to halt when Oskaren shoved Dess hard against the floorboards.
He bucked his hips, sending both of them into a roll, and thrashed about like trapped animal.
Oskaren was several years older, a few inches taller, and nearly as broad, and it took only a few more moments until he was pinned.
“Oskaren,” Thia screeched, sharper this time.
Oskaren turned her head, Dess purpling as her arm pressed into his neck. There was nothing but hate in her eyes, hate and betrayal and furious, furious anger that made Thia’s blood run cold.
She thought of her earlier statement. Heartless people can’t feel angry. Betrayed. Bitter. Heartless people can’t feel.
Dess rammed his head forward, trying to connect with Oskaren’s.
It didn’t reach, but it did force the girl’s attention back on him.
She released the pressure of her arms a fraction, and he gasped in a breath, only to still when she yanked a blade from her belt and pressed it to his skin.
“Careful, brother,” she growled. “You took away my vengeance. I’m not in a forgiving mood. ”
Useless. Thia was useless. Her gaze was pinned on the tip of the dagger, the pool of Dess’s blood gathering on the floorboards.
Her mind fruitlessly informed her just how she’d bandage the cut, when what she needed was her feet to move.
At the last second, she remembered the knife she’d been given, hanging from her own belt, as everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow motion.
She drew the weapon from its sheath as Oskaren leaned forward, and Dess began to choke.
There was a brush of wind that carried a curl against her cheek, a shape—Thran—barreling for Oskaren.
The thud of body striking body, and suddenly time rushed in as Oskaren went flying back against a stack of hay.
She wrestled with Thran, but Dess was on his feet again, blood dripping onto his collarbone as he scrambled over to assist.
They restrained Oskaren. It took several minutes for her to give up.
She swore and thrashed and punched until she was soaked in sweat, and then, finally, still.
The two men waited for a moment to see if she’d begin again, and when she didn’t, they cautiously dragged her to her feet.
Someone had clipped her in the mouth; her rugged lips were swollen and split, red smeared on the corner.
There was still murder in her snarl, attention flicking between them and to the blade in Thia’s hand, but she seemed to conclude that attacking all three of them together would not be wise.
Silence rang in the barn. Nobody moved.
Then Oskaren spat a glob of blood onto Dess’s face.
“Argh,” he spluttered, wiping it off, face whitening with anger. He raised his hand and probably would have thrown a punch if Thran hadn’t grabbed his fist.
“Enough,” the older man said quietly.
Dess appeared incredulous. He opened his mouth to retort, but Oskaren spoke before he could.
“I assume you didn’t see the king, since you’re all still breathing.” Her voice had regained some of its usual disinterested coolness.
“Actually,” Thia said, taking too much delight in the girl’s flinch of surprise. “We did. And he said he would help us.”
“Liar.”
Thia shrugged.
Oskaren stared her down. “Then what”—her voice dropped dangerously—“are you doing here?”
Thia exchanged a glance with Dess.
The boy cleared his throat. “We need you to tell us how to get to Xercae’s lair.”
Whatever Oskaren had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. She frowned, glancing between them. “Why?”
“Because,” Thia stalled, trying to decide if she should lie. “Callista told the king I’m a witch-slayer. He asked us to bring him Xercae’s head in exchange for his aid.”
What the girl made of that, Thia couldn’t tell. Oskaren’s face stayed neutral.
“Tell us,” Thia urged. “You still want your vengeance, right?” Dark eyes met hers. She told herself the strange skip in her chest was fear, and not intrigue at the intensity she found there.
“It is all I want,” Oskaren said.
This time Thia did lie. “Then tell us how to find it, and we will take you with us when we return to the Mage King.”
Dess made a noise of protest. Thia could feel Thran watching her, but she kept her own attention fixed on Oskaren.
“No.”
Thia sucked in a breath. “No?”
“No. How can I trust you’ll come back for me when you’re finished?
And”—mockery quirked her lips—“I don’t exactly like your odds against Xercae.
” She relaxed against their grip, posture too casual.
“If you want my help, Faelyn, here are my terms. I will accompany you to Xercae’s lair and help you dispatch her.
Then I will accompany you to the king. For as long as we journey together, Storm Crow, you will remain within my sight. ”
“Absolutely not,” Dess said. “How many times does she have to prove that she only serves herself?”
Some distant part of Thia was both amused and distressed that, for all she’d survived, they were in exactly the same position they’d been in before leaving Black Forest—debating Oskaren’s trustworthiness and setting out for certain death. Well, highly probable death.
At least this time, the king’s promise was waiting on the other side.
“She won’t,” Thia said. “She needs us.”
Oskaren’s voice was dangerously low. “Well,” she said, expression glinting, “I need you.”
“You are not helping your case,” Thia snapped, and Oskaren tossed her a smirk that sent her nails into her palms.
But the girl raised her hands. “I swear on Syrrene, in whose divine name I received my first blade, I will not harm any of you.”
“What do vows mean to one with no heart?” Thran asked quietly.
A fair point. But Thia didn’t know what else to do. “We need her help, don’t we?” she said to her companions.
No one answered.
“Don’t we?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Dess said through his teeth.
“Then we have no choice.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dess grumbled. “She needs you alive.”
“Trust me or don’t,” Oskaren shrugged, though the shift of her weight between feet betrayed her interest. “Those are my terms.”
“I accept.” Thia looked at the others. She could tell they were not happy, but also didn’t see an alternative. After a moment, they both nodded.
She turned back to Oskaren. “Where are we going then?”
Oskaren’s eyes flicked to her and then away. Her shoulders curled, and if it wasn’t for the curse, if it was anyone else, Thia might have said she seemed forlorn.
“The sea,” Oskaren said at last. “We’re going to the sea.”