Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (16 page)

Pril walked along the windy rooted path littered with twigs and rocks. Her hands tied together hung at her back and swung with each stride she took. Cato walked behind her and held the rope attached to her hands and feet. The Renoldi left no slack in the twine, and if she stepped too soon, he’d jerk her backward. Last time he nearly pulled her shoulder from the socket. She’d not make the same mistake twice.

The boy stumbled in front of her, his legs still weak from the hours of sleep. His steps were slow and clumsy, a sign he was still feeling the effects of the Witch’s berry. She called out to him. He did not answer. The child walked alone, no guard held his rope. The boy was not a threat as he was still intoxicated from the berry he’d been fed.

She stepped closer to the boy and was wrenched back. The motion pulled her shoulders toward one another and curved her spine. She lost her footing and stumbled to the left. She tried to steady herself, but with her hands and feet tied together the act was useless. Her ankle bent, the joint rolled onto the ground, and she bit back a scream from the shock as the pain traveled up her leg.

She leaned her hip against the trunk of a tree and inhaled, trying to relax. The ankle pulsed, the ache deep within the bone, and she could feel the injured limb swell. She peered at Cato, a smug smile upon his pockmarked face. She ran her back teeth together and carefully grabbed hold of the rope. She stepped around the tree and tugged on the twine, using the tree as her anchor. Cato’s upper body jerked unexpectedly, and he stumbled forward. When he looked at her, she smirked.

“Do you consider yourself smart, Peddler?” he asked.

“Smart, no? Clever, yes.”

He wrenched her toward him, and she slammed into his chest. Her ankle screamed from the pressure of her weight, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

He grabbed hold of her cheeks and turned her face toward his.

“How
clever
of you to get yourself killed.”

She swallowed and tried to pull herself from his grasp.

He hauled her back to face him.

“I will enjoy watching you burn.” He released her chin. His laugh faded into the back of her mind as she turned to face the center of the Renoldi camp.

Apprehension sucked the wind from her lungs causing her mouth to go dry and her tongue to stick to her cheeks. Three poles were erected in the middle of the camp, wood piled around each one. This was no hanging. The Renoldis would burn them as Cato said.

Bavol and another man she did not recognize led Kade toward the center pole, his face red with welts, his arms slashed and bleeding. She averted her eyes unable to see what they’d done to him. This was her fault. If she hadn’t begged him for his help to find Tsura, dragged him all over the bloody land, he’d not be beaten and facing death.

He lifted his head and gazed at her—raw, bare emotion stirred within the onyx depths, and she couldn’t control the tears as they filled her eyes. He’d done all of this for her, and now he’d not see his beloved ship or the sea again. She mouthed her apology to him and saw the flash of remorse when he witnessed her bruised cheek and cut lip.

Bavol and the other Renoldi tied Kade to the pole. They wrapped the rope around his middle several times before they knotted it behind him. He shook the post, his arms taut, the muscles tense as he pulled against the ropes.

They motioned for the boy to come forward, and because he wasn’t of right mind the child did as he was asked. They bound him to the pole on Kade’s left without any struggle.

“I will kill you both for this,” Kade snarled.

Bavol laughed, a deep meaty chortle and slapped the Renoldi man beside him on the back.

She felt the pull of the rope as Cato directed her to the post on Kade’s left. She couldn’t look at him as she passed, too afraid she’d break down and fall at his feet to beg for his forgiveness.

“You okay, Gypsy?” he asked as Cato wound the rope around her waist, fastening her to the log post.

She inhaled, letting the air resonate throughout her body and calm her nerves.

“As good as ever,” she answered.

“What did they do to the boy?”

“Witch’s berry.”

He raised a brow.

“He’s ingested a little too much thanks to Pias.”

“Where is the bastard? I’ve not seen him.”

“On route as we speak, delivering Tsura to whomever has the pendant.”

“The Monroes.”

Her mouth dropped, and she gaped at him.

His face was void of any emotion.

“The Monroes agreed not to attack Pias if he obeys their commands,” he said.

“They have the pendant?”

“What pendant?”

There was no time to explain. She needed to find a way out of this. She searched the faces in the crowd and recognized most of them. They’d been her family. How could they kill her without remorse, without a logical reason?

“Please, you must remember who I am,” she called out to them.

Mothers turned their children away from her, while men glared from behind them.

“I have not caused you harm. I left to keep you safe.”

“You are of Vadoma’s bloodline. The child is hers,” an older woman said, her wrinkled face showing no sign of regret at what they were about to do.

“Yes, but I can assure you Tsura is not like her mother. She is kind and loving. She is a child—a little girl.”

“Just as we believed Vadoma to be,” another said.

She saw the frightened faces within the Renoldi clan. The children cowered into their mothers’ skirts. The men appeared angry and unpredictable. Vadoma had struck fear into them, and the worry had lasted all this time. They dreaded her child, and rightly so, but Pril was determined to help Tsura do good works instead of the evil ones her mother did.

She thought of her sister. She wanted to believe there was good in her, that somewhere deep down love and forgiveness had flourished, but as she scanned the people before her she could no longer deny what Vadoma was. Time and time again she’d stood up for her, refusing her brothers a vulgar word against the Chuvani. Her desire to see the good overshadowed what had been right in front of her all of this time.

Vadoma was evil—born with a black heart. She’d known what would come of Tsura’s birth, of the blood curse, and because of her wrongdoings she’d made enemies in the very clan they’d been raised to be a part of. Pias wanted the power, and Vadoma had shown him what it could do.

Second born, she’d walked in her sister’s shadow. The Chuvani, the great enchantress, possessed magick even Pril could not understand. Yet, she idolized her sister. Greed overtook Vadoma’s soul and turned it dark. Pril saw it now. She remembered the spells, the slant of Vadoma’s face when asked to aid the sick. She heard her screams when rebuked, and she saw the power when Vadoma cursed the Monroes. All this time she thought the evil bestowed upon Tsura had come from Silas when it had been Vadoma who passed the gene to her daughter.

“Vadoma’s child is evil and must be stopped,” Bavol said.

“No, she is not. How can you justify killing a child? How will you live with what you’ve done?”

“What of the blood curse? Vadoma cursed the Monroes, casting us all into her threat.”

“I understand your anger and resentment, but Tsura is a little girl who holds no traits like her mother.”

“The bloodline needs to end.”

“You are a simpleton! Do you not see that Pias has mixed your way of thinking?”

“My father has done no such thing.” Pias’s eldest daughter, Amara, walked to the front of the crowd. Her long white-blonde hair was parted in the middle and hung to her waist.

“Where is your sister, Emine?” The two were inseparable, and she knew the other sister was near.

Amara stared past her.

“I am here,” Emine said and came around Pril to stand directly in front of her. Unlike her sister, Emine had mousy brown hair that fell to her knees in thin wisps. She had not been blessed with soft, pleasing looks but instead harsh, sharp features.

“Are you in agreement with your father? Do you wish me to burn along with my friend and a small child?”

The girl’s green eyes gazed at Kade, but did not fall upon the boy.

“The two, yes, and you soon after.”

Pril fought the rope that held her to the post.

“Do you not remember me?” she asked.

Both girls stared blankly at her.

“You have no memory of the games we played? Of the sewing, the potions?”

“I have no memory of such events,” Amara said.

“How could you not? It was but four years past.”

“Had it not been for your vile sister, our mother would still live, and we’d not have such horrid memories of our time spent with you.”

“Vadoma should’ve went to your mother that night, and for that I am sorry. I cannot take back what she did to you or anyone else within this clan, but I can tell you she no longer lives, not in me or her daughter.”

“Enough!” Emine snarled and nodded toward Cato.

He reached for the torch beside him and walked toward the boy.

“No! Not him. Please!” Pril yelled.

Kade shook the post he was bound to, his face crimson, the veins protruding from his temples.

Cato smiled as he laid the torch upon the wood surrounding the child.

The boy screamed and tried to wiggle up the pole, but the ropes would not allow it.

Fury burned within her, hot anger melted together with boiling rage, and she growled low in her throat. The boy would not die while she still lived.

“Fire! I command thee to burn no more. Cover the earth in blackness until I bid thee to restore!”

The fire around the boy, and every burning torch, snuffed out. Darkness shrouded the camp, the only light coming from the moon.

“Bloody hell,” Kade mumbled.

The moon was full, permitting them to see in hues of green and grey. She struggled against her ropes, trying to loosen them. She listened as the men shook the torches. Bavol pulled his knife and flint from his pocket. He ran the blade along the flint, and sparks flew onto the torch but it did not ignite.

Pril heard the arrow right before it whizzed past her and stuck into Bavol’s chest. The man glanced down, eyes wide, then he fell forward dead. High-pitched shrieks bounced off of the forest walls as the Renoldi clan panicked. Women clutched their children, disappearing inside their cabins. The sound of men drawing their swords, arrows and pistols filled the night air.

She could hear Kade as he wrestled with the ropes. Another arrow flew between them to strike a woman running past in the leg. There was no time for the Renoldis to find shelter as more arrows struck husbands, wives and elders. She felt the rope loosen around her middle and peered behind her to see Sorina standing there.

“I am so glad it is you,” she whispered.

Sorina smiled, and although dark her face lit up the night to warm Pril’s heart.

Kade was free and wasted no time diving on top of Cato. The two rolled to the ground, and she prayed Kade would come out the victor. She went to the boy, his eyes glossy, lids heavy and drooping halfway over his pupils. She helped Sorina untie him. Without the ropes holding him up, his knees buckled, and she caught him before he fell to the ground. Lifting him, she turned toward Sorina.

“This way. There are horses waiting,” the woman said.

Pril glanced over her shoulder at Kade, still in the throes of battle and ran. She swatted at the branches as she followed Sorina through the forest. Pain shot up her leg from the injured ankle. Each step felt as though the bone had been crushed. The uneven ground did not help her, and she caught herself twice from falling with the child in her arms.

They came to a small clearing, and Sorina stopped suddenly.

Pias’s daughters stood waiting for them.

Amara’s pasty white skin was translucent and glowed in the dark. Her green eyes flashed against her pale complexion.

Pril knew they’d not let them pass without a fight, and she laid the boy beside a tree before going back to stand with Sorina.

Emine had the same colored eyes as her sister but instead of the pale skin, hers was dotted with freckles.

“I am sorry, Cousin, but you cannot pass,” Amara said. Her airy voice reminded Pril of a cold windy day.

“What is it you want?”

“Your blood,” said Emine the darker of the two sisters in looks and heart.

She narrowed her eyes.

“My blood?”

The sisters nodded.

“Why?”

“Your line is of Chuvani. Surely there is greatness within your blood,” said Amara.

“And if there is, what will you do with it?”

“Drink it of course,” the sisters answered in unison.

Eyes wide and mouth gaping, she couldn’t believe what Pias’s daughters wanted to do.

“Surely you know that is uncommon, even among our people.”