Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) (7 page)

“They have my child!” She reached for her bow.

“You’re not sure.”

She went to walk around him when he grabbed her arm.

“Your brother is injured.”

She’d forgotten about Galius. She stared past him into the dark forest.
Tsura.
Her brother needed her, but so did her daughter. She stepped toward the trees.

Kade placed his arm on her shoulder. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

She pushed past Kade and went to her brother.

Galius lay on the ground, face down. Three arrows protruded from his back. Pril knelt beside him and laid her head next to his.

“Brother?”

He moaned.

She observed the clan gathered around their leader, clothes torn, dirt and blood splattered upon their faces, weapons clutched within scraped hands, and sweat glistened off their brows from the battle they just won.

“We need to remove the arrows.” She glanced at her vardo, nothing left of it but a heap of smoking wood. She’d need to go into the forest and find the correct herbs. “Is there any wax left?”

“Yes, my vardo is still intact, and I have wax, herbs and my teas,” Sorina said.

She didn’t miss the tremble in the other woman’s voice or the tear she quickly wiped from her cheek.

“Please, bring me what you have.”

Sorina nodded.

“We’ve searched the debris of your vardo and the camp itself. Tsura is not here,” Emmett whispered.

“Thank you. Are the other children safe?”

“Yes, they are all accounted for.”

She dipped her head so they wouldn’t see the torment as it sliced across her face. Desperation grabbed hold of her soul and squeezed. The air within her lungs grew stale, and her vision blurred. She locked her shaking hands together, clenched the fingers between her palms and squeezed the limbs until they hurt. She wanted to expel the anger—to kill the bastards who took her little girl. The need to drain the horrible thoughts tormented her mind and rounded her back. She placed her head onto her knees. She released one sob—one pitiful, heartwrenching sob. With it she sucked in the ache, the fury and every piece of fear that clawed at her insides wanting her to fall a part. She gathered them, grabbed hold of any strength she had left and buried them deep within her.
Tsura.
I will find you.

She straightened, tipped her chin, and her eyes sought Kade.

“I will need you to hold Galius while I break the arrows on his back.” Unsure of why she asked him and not another from her clan, she dismissed the thought and shifted to the side for Kade to kneel at Galius’ head. He placed both hands on her brother’s large shoulders and waited.

His eyes met hers, and he nodded that he was ready.

She grabbed hold of the first arrow and broke the wood in half.

Galius pushed up against Kade’s hands and let out a guttural cry that tore at her heart. She’d never seen him injured like this before; he’d had his fair share of scratches and burns but nothing to this extent. He’d always been the strong gentle one out of the three siblings.

“I am sorry, Brother.”

She broke another one. This time he didn’t move just growled low into the ground.

“One…” SNAP “more.” She wiped the sweat from her brow and tossed the last piece onto the ground beside her.

Sorina returned with her sister, Sabella. The quiet girl held a bucket and ripped sheets while Sorina carried the herbs and wax.

“Emmett and Ivan, I will need light. Please bring your torches near,” Pril said.

The two men stepped forward, holding the fire sticks away from Galius but close enough for Pril to see what she was doing.

Her stomach dipped. She’d need to do this without her peppermint leaves and without a spell. She exhaled slowly, the act calming her nerves and stomach.

“Let me know when you’re ready to begin,” Kade said while he hovered over Galius.

She rubbed her hands briskly together.

“Give him this. It will help him to sleep.” Sorina handed her a small bowl with crushed berries.

She lifted the bowl and sniffed.

“Opium paste?”

“I have not put in very much, but enough to knock him out for the better part of an hour.”

“Have you tested this on anyone?”

Sorina eyed Kade.

“You drugged me?” he growled.

“I am sorry. I was only doing what I was told.”

“I don’t give a damn—”

“Please, we need to concentrate on the task at hand.” Pril nodded toward Sorina.

The other woman put some of the paste on a spoon and fed it to Galius. Once the contents were ingested, they waited a few minutes before loud snores rumbled from his chest.

“Who has a blade?” Pril asked.

“I do,” Stefan said from above her.

His shaded eyes caressed her face.

Irritated, she frowned, and for a mere moment the thought of lashing out at him appealed to her.

“Heat it within the flames of Emmett’s torch. Do not give it to me until the tip glows orange,” she said without looking at him.

The urge to chant a spell for Galius moved over her. Too many ears and eyes watched her, and she clamped her lips shut instead.

The blade was handed to her. The harder she gripped the handle the more her hand shook.
Steady…steady.
She tried to gain control, but the shaking increased until the knife fell from her hand onto her skirt to singe the fabric.

Kade was quick to grab it.

“I will do it.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

With the blade still orange he dug it into Galius’ flesh beside the first arrow. A few minutes passed before he pulled the arrow free, and Pril placed a cold compress over the bleeding wound.

He did this two more times, removing each arrow. Once the bleeding had subsided, Pril took two Achusa Strigosa leaves from the jar and crushed them within her palm. She placed them over the open wounds and sealed them with the wax from the jar.

“I will need to stitch these wounds closed.”

Kade nodded.

“He needs to be moved to his vardo.”

Kade stood, and with Stefan’s help they carried the large man to his wagon.

Pril watched them take her brother, thankful the arrows hadn’t gone in deeper, or he would’ve died. The weight of the past events pulled her chin down, and she hung her head. How was she going to fix this? Tsura was missing, her clan needed explanations, and Galius was injured.

One person’s name came to mind.
Milosh.
Hot anger scorched her stomach, and her face heated. She needed to find her brother. He was the reason her daughter was gone, and Galius was hurt. She stood. Determination set her shoulders, and she frowned as she marched toward his vardo still intact.

“Milosh,” she yelled outside his wagon. “Milosh, you coward! Come out, and face me!”

A few minutes had passed when she heard footsteps coming from inside. Magda pulled back the curtain and cast evil eyes toward her.

“What do you want?”

“I want to speak with my brother.”

Magda’s black hair hung in matted knots, and dark smudges circled her eyes. Her skirt and blouse were soiled with dirt, and the night breeze carried the stale scent toward Pril.

“He is not here.”

“Where is he?”

The other woman shrugged.

“Tell me where he is, Magda.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I ask it of you.” She stepped toward her. “Please, I beg you.”

“Pril, sister to the mighty Vadoma, begs?”

She glanced around them, mindful of the others.

“You have kept this secret far too long,” Magda said.

“Vadoma is passed. I am not what she was.”

“You are worse.”

“Please, Magda, this is important.”

“Important you say? Well, dear sister, isn’t that a horrible dilemma? Vadoma would’ve admitted her wrongdoings. She would’ve dared us to judge her. But you have not come to my vardo since the death of my only child to offer condolences.” She choked up, her voice wavering. “To offer your love. Instead you stayed away. You fooled our clan into pitying you. Poor Pril. You never cared about our dear Alexandra. All you cared about was Tsura.”

“No, that is not true. Oh, I feel horrible.” She blinked the wetness from her lashes. “I cannot sleep for the anguish I have caused you and Milosh. I am sorry…so very, very sorry.”

The edges of Magda’s eyes softened for a brief moment before contempt, betrayal, and pure raw hatred filled the black depths. “Sorry you will be,
Sister
.” She smiled and let the curtain fall between them.

Pril knew without a doubt that Milosh had taken Tsura. The Renoldis had come in hopes of finding her daughter, but Milosh had already vanished with her. What did Milosh want to accomplish by having the Renoldis attack their camp, especially with his wife still here? Something was amiss. Milosh adored Magda. Why hadn’t she gone with him? An uneasy feeling settled at the back of her neck, and the urgent need to find her daughter grabbed hold of her soul and squeezed.

Kade was tired. He’d worked for hours helping the Peddlers clean up their camp, and he didn’t think he could stay awake much longer. He kicked at a mug covered in soot; the tin clinked as it knocked into a cracked jar of honey. He’d picked up unbroken ornaments, jars and dishes stacking them into a pile most of the night.

Once Galius had been mended the clan went about picking up the wreckage and building shelter for those who’d lost their wagons. They hadn’t begun to build anything yet. Charred wood, arrows, clothing and buckets still littered the ground.

The sun crested the east hills giving light to the once ashen land. The warmth from the sun’s rays pushed out the shadows and cold the night had brought. He shivered into the woolen sweater he’d been given to keep warm. It’d been a long night, and he hadn’t slept in more than two days. His mood was sour, and he was famished.

His last meal was yesterday while locked in the wagon. The gypsy girl had given him some sort of root soup with bread. He’d been so hungry he hadn’t thought, much less cared, if there was any drug or poison within the delicious fare. After he’d eaten the soup, he could not keep his eyes open and fell asleep. The fact that he was poisoned did not sit too well with him.

He brushed away a long lock of hair that clung to his whiskers. He’d lost the rope he used to tie back the wild mane. He didn’t like wearing it down. The hair got in the way, but he wasn’t about to cut it either. The mane was a symbol of what he’d become—what he’d worked hard to achieve. He thought of his father, Samuel Walker. The tall, brawny, rough around the edges captain had taught him everything he knew about the sea. He’d shown Kade the business of a merchant, taught him how to fight and most importantly to never trust anyone.

He smiled. The old man had gotten him into a few tussles over the years too, but he always came out the victor. He wondered if Sam’s motives were deliberate, and the gleam in his eye when Kade finished a fight told him so. Old Sam was a codger. An educated man with a giving heart.

He picked up a child’s handmade doll. The feet on the toy were singed from the fire, but everything else was still intact. He turned the doll in his palm, saw a name stitched on the back…
Tsura.

The child, whose hair had been cut short, donned trousers and wore a knit sweater. He frowned. He hadn’t missed the terror in Pril’s voice as she searched for her child, when she called Tsura’s name and as she begged for her daughter’s life. He picked up on the words—the meaning, and he’d known Tsura was the child he searched for. Relief and angst filled him. After months of hunting, he’d finally found her. He could make good on his word. The stakes would be high to get her back from who ever stole her, but he didn’t have a choice. Another life counted on him.

He scanned the camp for Pril. She knew the Renoldis had taken her daughter. Soon she’d go in search of them, and he would follow. He hadn’t seen her since she left Galius’ wagon hours before. Her own wagon had been destroyed so he didn’t bother looking for her there. He didn’t know where the Renoldi camp was, and he needed to stay close to Pril in case she left. He ran his hand through his hair. He’d trail Pril, steal back the girl and head home.

A commotion caught his attention, and he turned to see three of the Peddlers tossing destroyed furniture, pieces of their wagons and other household items into a burning pile at the center of camp.

He stuffed the doll into his pocket, picked up a long piece of singed wood and walked toward them. It was a shame the peddlers had to start over. When he’d come into their camp two days before he was shocked to see how charming it was compared to some of the other gypsy camps he’d entered. Theirs resembled a small village. Gardens and bushes, placed into long wooden boxes, grew fruit and vegetables. Wood was neatly stacked, furniture in its place, and flowers hung from windows and doors. It was inviting and warm. Now as he stood in the center of the camp it resembled a war torn village with little left to continue on.

Had they known the child was among them? Had they been aware and made a pact to protect her? And why was she so special? He groaned. There were no answers to his questions, and he was too exhausted to think on them any longer.

“There is still so much we need to clear,” Ivan said beside him.

The high flames from the fire warmed him, and Kade stepped closer to rid the chill in his bones. He tossed the wood he’d held onto the pile and watched as the fire ate it up.

“It will get done.”

“Yes, but it won’t fix the devastation within our hearts.”

“You can rebuild. It will take time, but together you can do it,” he said.

Ivan’s eyes reflected a deeper emotion, more than broken and burned wagons.

“We’ve lost another child. I fear this one will have the same fate as the last.”

“The last?” Who was the last, and what had happened to them?

“Milosh’s daughter was killed nigh on thirteen days. We found her body over the hill.”

He pumped his fist. Children should not die. There were a lot of awful people in the world that needed to meet the Almighty, and he’d helped a few get there, but not children. Never children. He thought of the reasons he was here. Why he’d trekked through every bloody town for miles. Why he was so desperate to find the girl with the mark.

“Have you seen Pril?” he asked.

Ivan turned and pointed toward her wagon, now a pile of rubble. On the far side, and away from view, Pril sat on her knees sifting through the debris. Her wavy red hair, pushed from her face, cascaded down her back where the ends dipped into the dirt on the ground. A green shawl draped across her arms and tied in the front. Determination thrust her shoulders back and set her jaw.

“She is strong…but this will kill her,” Ivan said.

The other man walked away, and Kade stretched his arms to rid the heaviness within his chest. He prayed no harm came to the child. He was desperate to bring her back—to receive what was his.

He needed information, and he shouldn’t feel guilty about asking. He’d given his word damn it; therefore he couldn’t let the emotions of a gypsy stand in the way…even if it was the mother of the child he was going to steal.

Pril tossed a hunk of wood to the side and cringed. The tips of her fingers stung, burned from touching the too-hot wood. She’d searched for hours and still hadn’t found the spell book. Her heart sank as the reality of what had happened to it began to settle over her. The spell book had been in her family for more than a hundred years, and now it was gone. How would she teach Tsura about the gift if she had nothing to help her do so?

She’d memorized most of the spells, even though she could only count a handful of them, but it was the information within the ancient pages that Pril required to aid in raising her daughter. Tsura was still so young that Pril hadn’t begun to explain things. Tsura had healed her without the words…instead using only her own hands. How was it possible? She’d hoped to read it in the book for she hadn’t seen it yet, and she’d not finished the thick tome.

She slammed her hand down into the dirt and yelped. The burned flesh screamed as the skin throbbed. Her head ached, and every time she blinked pain shot across her forehead. The disappearance of Tsura pressed into her shoulders, and the urgency to find her daughter caused her lips to tremble. She didn’t know what Milosh would do with her, but she was sure it would not be good.

My baby where are you?

Her brother had become a stranger to her—a ruined soul that housed bitterness and hatred, and she mourned the loss of him, even though his presence she felt everywhere she went. She yearned for his forgiveness, for his love and acceptance, but it had never come. He pitied her for taking Vadoma’s child, for being stuck with a curse until he realized it would affect them all. His pity turned to anger, and soon their relationship had been strained. Neither willing to sacrifice their beliefs for the bond they once had.

The blame lay with Vadoma, with the blood curse and her acts as Chuvani before she died. She’d left them with nothing but a legacy of evil doings. She understood the anger her brothers felt toward their eldest sister, but she could not hate Vadoma and raise Tsura at the same time. She had to put tainted thoughts aside and concentrate on her daughter. But even now after so long the words were at the tip of her tongue to lash out at her dead sister—to speak unkindly of her—to hate her. Instead she bit the inside of her lip and refused to give into the anger she felt.

“What are you searching for?”

Kade stood behind her, and she tensed. She thought he’d be long gone by now, leaving the clan to deal with their mess.

“Why have you not gone?”

“Help was needed.”

“How kind.” She dismissed him. Her heart was empty, drained of all emotion. She was unable to hold a conversation with him. She had more insistent matters that took refuge within her mind. She’d have to leave soon if she thought to have a chance at catching Milosh and Tsura.

“I can see you really think so.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Gypsy?” He glared.

“I need your help. I can pay. I—”

“First you throw insults, and now you’re begging. That is not an attractive quality.”

“I need not this quality.” She bristled. “I need to find my son.”

“Son?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who took him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Who?”

She inhaled and paused.

“Who?” he repeated.

“My brother, Milosh,” she whispered.

“You have two brothers?”

She nodded.

“No one else will help you find your child?”

“I cannot ask if of them.”

“Why not?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “The clan has just been devastated. I cannot expect them to help me in the midst of such chaos.”

His black eyes searched her face for any hint of deceit she may try to hide.

“Stand so that I may see you.”

She pulled the shawl tight around her shoulders and did as he asked.

“How are your burns?”

“They…they are well,” she lied.

He nodded.

“Truth. It is a word I value above all else. And, it is what I’d like from you.”

She averted her eyes and nodded. He did not know of the burns, and she’d keep the act to herself at all cost.

Kade took her chin within his fingers and lifted it so he could look at her.

“I will not put my life in danger for a liar.”

“I am not a deceiver.”

“Yes, well that is to be decided now isn’t it? You will answer my questions with the truth. If I feel you’re misleading me in any way I will not help you.”

She nodded this time, keeping her eyes on his.

“Tsura is your daughter.”

How did he know? Had someone told him?

“Answer me.”

With no other choice but to tell him the truth, or part of it, she whispered, “Yes, she is.”

“Why do you dress her as a boy?”

“Because bad people have hunted our children, killing many of them. They search for a little girl. We decided to keep our children safe and dressed them as boys.”

“Why are they hunting gypsy girls?”

“Some say because of a curse, but we do not know.”

“Why would Milosh take his niece?”

“I do not know.”

“I say you do.”

“I do not.”

“I wish you well on your journey,” he said and walked away.

“Wait.”

He stopped.

“Milosh’s daughter was killed not long ago. He must be angry that my child lived when his did not.”

She watched as his brows rose, and she prayed he believed her. She gave him half of the truth. To give it all could mean destruction far worse than she was ready to face. The Monroes hunted Tsura, and right now they were the least of her worries. What Milosh was going to do with her daughter was more important.

“So he wants revenge?”

She nodded.

“What will he do with the child?”

“I do not know.”

He reached behind him and handed her a doll. She recognized it as the one she’d made for Tsura months ago. The girl always slept with it.

She ripped it from his hands and clutched it to her chest.

“Where did you find this?”

“Over by one of the dilapidated wagons.”

“Was it close to the forest?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Tsura slept with this doll. She wasn’t allowed to take it from the vardo.”

“She had it last night.”

“Yes, and where you found the doll is the direction I must go to find her.”

He regarded her for a long while, and she twisted the doll within her hands. The only man who’d ever shown her any attention was Stefan, and she kept a safe distance from him. She was about to ask him why he was so forthcoming when he turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?”