Chapter Thirty-One
The Wastes
“Chosen?” The Liam stared at the flames where the image of Guyik flickered and danced.
“Yes,” Guyik wore the smug smile of someone sharing gossip. “A healthy boy, bearing the dagger-star birth mark of the chosen upon his chest.”
“Flames and ashes.” The Liam remembered to breathe, struck dumb by the news. Then his thoughts stared to race. “Athelbryght.” That was his first thought, but the second came on fast. “The vore,” he winced.
Guyick nodded, still smug. “I can just imagine how they will react, to the child of a blood-magic tainted woman and a usurper to the throne. That’s a dust storm on the horizon.”
The Liam nodded slowly.
“Word is that messengers are being sent out to all of the Baronies and Soccia.” Guyik grinned slyly. “Apparently the babe came a bit earlier than expected, caught them off guard. It won’t be long before the word is spread.
“The better news is that word has come that Orval and Amari are thriving in the Black Hills. Their children wer well and healthy when word was last sent. Thanks to that, my hostess seems to have forgiven the Captain that took them to the Black Hills.”
Tension eased from the Liam’s shoulders. “That is more welcome news,” he said as he fed a bit more wood into the fire.
“There is talk of new taxes and tithes in the name of the new babe. Remember that it is all gossip,” Guyik said. He rolled his shoulders.
“What of you?” the Liam asked. “Are you safe? Do you have resources, are you yet unrecognized?”
“All’s well,” Guyik assured him. “I am using the earth, not a flame. I am holed up in my chamber and all is quiet. My skills blend well with this city. And it was years ago that I was known in these parts. Have no concern for me. Do you have someone close to the Black Hills? It would take me time, but—”
“No, I need you where you are. I have other people headed toward the Blood.”
Guyik nodded. “The Wastes are home, but this city life is not so bad. I miss spiced kavage, though.” He shook his head. “Nothing here has quite the bite.”
“You and your fire-snake peppers,” the Liam snorted.
“Love them or hate them, the best thing about the Wasting was that it gave us peppers.” Guyik insisted.
“Some would say the worst.” the Liam shook his head. “Be well, Guyik.”
“Be well, master.”
The Liam finished the ritual, thanking the elements in turn for the use of their powers. He emptied his ritual bowls and sat for a moment, staring at the stars.
Complications. The elements seemed determine to place complications and obstacles in his path. Both Dust and Iris were drains on their resources. Given their rate of healing, they would be for some time yet. Aiding them was no light thing. A burden on his people.
And yet…
The wind picked up and the Liam rose to his feet, brushing sand and grit from his trous. It was late, best he be about his work.
He hadn’t gone far from the lodge entrance, and his return was soon acknowledged by the guard, who also reported the hunting parties’ successes. Which made him feel better; there would be full bellies for a few days.
He made his way to the back of the lodge tunnels, where their guests were housed, more to protect them than to keep them hidden. Jillia’s apprentice was settling Iris back on her pallet, covering her nakedness with a light blanket. “Let me help,” the Liam said.
Iris lay back, docile, and didn’t flinch when he lifted the blanket a bit before tucking it in at her shoulder.
Long enough for him to confirm what he had already seen. The odd birthmark below her breast. A dagger-star, pale pink against her dark skin.
“Your healing goes well,” he said.
Iris was quiet and watchful, and yet there was no curiosity in her, no questions. She did as she was told, almost like a doll rather than a person. She ate what was placed before her, drank what was in the cup she was offered, and made no complaint, no expression of joy or sorrow.
It was a bit creepy.
“It does,” the apprentice, Artian, responded, as unnerved by the silence as the Liam was. “Jillia has said we can try weight bearing soon.”
Healers, the Liam snorted, “always with the ‘we.’” He smiled and sat beside the pallet. “If I might ask you to fetch us some spiced kavage?”
Artian blinked, casting a glance at Iris. “If you think that wise…” he let his voice trail off, but the question was clear.
“I do,” the Liam said firmly, and was obeyed with a nod of the head and Artian’s departure.
The Liam turned back to Iris. “I thought a warm drink might be welcome.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. Her arm moved under the blanket, her hand rubbing the birthmark, a habit both he and Jillia had noticed. Iris was frowning as she did so.
“Are you hurting?” he asked.
“No,” Iris shook her head.
The Liam sighed and kept his face neutral. “Tell me what you are doing.”
“Rubbing my scar,” Iris said immediately, obediently. “Except my scar is not there.”
Scarring would explain much, would have hidden the birthmark from all eyes. “Tell me how you were scarred,” the Liam said.
“I was burned as a baby, rolling into the fire,” Iris replied, but it was like she was reciting a poem or an old story. “I have always had the scar.” She frowned, casting her eyes down. “Was I healed?” she asked.
Well, that was a good sign. The Liam shook his head.
“We do not know of any that heal with magic,” he explained.
“That knowledge was lost long ago; not even the Qual have found answers, and they have been searching since the Wasting.” He leaned back, waiting for more questions.
Especially about the Qual. But Iris just nodded, accepting his words.
Interesting.
Artian reappeared, with two mugs and a pitcher. The Liam accepted them, pouring just a bit for himself and a fuller cup for Iris. “Drink,” he offered with a warning. “It’s hot.”
Iris took the mug and sipped. Then sputtered, her eyes wide.
“I said it was hot,” the Liam said mildly.
“What is that?” Iris asked.
“Kavage with fire-snake pepper,” Artian said, kneeling and using a cloth to clean the mess. “It’s spicy, isn’t it? What do you think?”
Iris said nothing, then took another, hesitant sip. Then another.
“Would you like more?” The Liam busied himself with his own drink but kept an eye on the woman.
Iris frowned for a moment, then nodded.
A choice. A small one, admittedly, but a choice. The Liam rose to his feet. “Feel free to ask for it, when you wish.”
Artian gave the Liam a look. “I need to warn you that spicy kavage cleans out more than your airways—”
The Liam moved quickly, not wanting to share that little talk.
Dust’s chambers were a bit further through the maze. Distance was thought to be a good idea, given the circumstances of her arrival on the Wastes. The Liam ducked his head and pushed back the curtain to enter.
Dust wasn’t there. Her pallet was empty.
He froze.
“Shush,” Jillia said from the corner. She pointed at the other pallets across the room.
Dust was sleeping with the others, cradled in the center of the group of animals that had arrived with her. That breathed with her, that shared the same stupor that held her in its grasp.
The Liam opened his mouth, but Jillia was already pushing him out of the chamber. “She crawled there,” Jillia said. “Right into the middle of the pile, and they all shifted around her. First movement we’ve seen, so I am leaving her there for now.”
“I don’t understand it,” the Liam said. “Dust used to speak with us in the elements, and she was in human form then.”
“Her healing need both body and mind,” Jillia explained.
She urged him further down the hall. “The body healing goes slow but well. The mind—” she shrugged.
“Her mind is tangled in knots not of her own making. Let her be. It will happen in her own time and her own pace. Not yours.” She gave him a stern look.
“I know you want to see those blood memories, but you need her consent, yes?”
“I do,” the Liam confirmed, stopping to scowl at her, not wanting to hear these truths.
Jillia scoffed. “Explain to me how it is that the Wastes strips them of the effects of magic forced upon them, yet keeps that vial intact.”
The Liam sighed. “Explain to me the wind’s ways.”
“I am no snow-walker.” Jillia placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be patient,” she said, then gave him a push. “And take yourself off out of my halls.”
The Liam nodded. “There is hope,” he said. “I gave Iris spiced kavage. I think she liked it.”
“Oh fine,” Jillia crossed her arms and scowled at him. “And when her ass burns and her shit turns bright red on us, where will you be?”
The Liam took himself off.