The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (49 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

T
HEY TRAVELED PART
of the night, and spent the rest huddled beside a tiny fire. Bennick sat upright, his head jerking forward whenever he dozed. Jaumé gripped his knife, listening to the cries of night creatures, watching the writhing steam. Eyes gleamed occasionally. Twice he saw breathstealers.

He hated the jungle, hated the bottomless steaming pools, hated the things watching.

They set off at dawn, following the river, forcing their way through the jungle. In the afternoon, they came to an outcrop of rock stretching downriver as far as they could see. It looked like a petrified forest with the tree trunks all clumped together. Some of the stone pillars stood upright, some leaned over, some twisted like seaweed.

“We’ll have to leave the pony here,” Jaumé said.

“The mages will find her.” Bennick’s face was gray. He looked an old man.

“Mages?”

“Witches, you call ’em. They can turn into birds. If they see the pony, they’ll know we’re here.”

Jaumé swallowed. “I’ll kill her. I’ll... I’ll use my knife.”

“Can you do that, Jaumé?”

“If I have to.”

Bennick looked at him, then shook his head. “No lad, you can’t. Take her into the jungle as far as you can and let her go. She’ll forage.”

Jaumé took off his pack and led the pony away, past steaming pools and twisting vines, until he came to greener trees. He unbridled her and slapped her away and she trotted off and soon was lost in the shadowy foliage.

“Good luck,” Jaumé said. He’d grown fond of the pony.

He made his way back to Bennick, who’d fallen into a doze with his back against a slanting rock.

Jaumé roused him. “We’ve got to get above the steam.”

Bennick raised his head groggily. He groaned, grimaced, struggled to stand. “They’ve sucked out my life, Jaumé.”

Jaumé shouldered his own pack and picked up Bennick’s. He found a ledge sloping upwards, where the stone pillars had fallen over, and helped Bennick to climb. Bennick moved like a sleepwalker. Jaumé stopped him from sliding sideways into the water and heaved and wrestled Bennick’s pack up. Bennick kept his sword, his throwing knife, his Stars. Even in his weakened state, he wouldn’t surrender them. Or his bow, strapped over his back.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

T
HEY RODE NORTH
, following first Hew, then Ebril, pushing through the humid, stinking jungle. In places the trees grew densely together, covered with leprous fungi, hung with vines, impenetrable. “May I take you down to the riverbed?” Ebril asked, the third time they’d come to a halt. His expression was harassed. “I swear there’s no way through this, Cora.”

The Szal was a good mile wide, braided with channels, some flowing, some dry, and long shingle bars. They stayed in the dry channels closest to the bank and made quicker time despite the river’s meandering curves. Mid-afternoon, Petrus looked up and saw tongues of mist spilling over the riverbank from the jungle and rising in vaporous coils. He caught a whiff of sulfur. “Hot pools?” Katlen said, riding alongside him.

“Maybe.” Petrus glanced back to where Justen rode, and then ahead to Cora and the prince. What had Innis told Cora last night? Cora had looked thoughtful, rather than angry. And why had Rand been summoned to join the discussion?

The smell of sulfur grew stronger. The horses didn’t like it. They snorted, put their ears back. Streamers of mist curled around them and drifted into the sky. Ebril led them across a narrow creek that steamed and bubbled as it flowed into the Szal. The others exclaimed over it, but Petrus paid the simmering water scant attention. Anxiety was tight in his chest. What was he to do if Innis had lied to Cora? Protect her? Expose her?

His anxiety grew until it was close to anguish. It was almost a relief to notice that the curse shadows had grown darker.

“Cora!” Petrus called. “The curse shadows.”

Everyone halted.

“Ah, yes...” Cora grimaced. “Well spotted, Petrus.”

Rand glanced around, shivered. “Disconcerting. Was it like this in the desert?”

“The last few days before the anchor stone, yes. We need to be careful.” Cora beckoned Ebril from the sky. “Select a defensible campsite tonight.”

Prince Harkeld’s gaze flicked from person to person, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Can you see them?” Rand asked.

The prince’s face tightened in frustration. He shook his head.

E
BRIL TOOK THEM
to where a river channel had changed course, isolating a portion of the riverbank. The small islet was grassy, flat-topped. The channels on three sides were dry, while the fourth held a trickle of water.

“There are lots of other islands,” he said, gesturing at the broad river flats to their left. “But we’ll get wet getting out to them, and if it rains upstream, we’ll be in trouble. Here, we can get back to the bank if the water rises.”

Cora surveyed the islet, chewing her lip.

“Looks defensible to me,” Katlen said.

Still Cora hesitated. “We don’t know what’s out there. We lost eleven men, that first night in the canyon. I don’t want a repeat...”

“We could pile driftwood around it, ready to set fire to,” Petrus suggested. “And don’t forget there’s you and Katlen
and
Flin. We’re actually better off than we were in the canyon, in terms of fire magic.”

“And I didn’t see anything that looked like graves today,” Ebril put in. “Did you, Hew?”

Hew shook his head.

Cora blew out a breath. “Very well. We’ll camp here.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

T
HEY CLIMBED ROCKS
like stepping stones. The river lay below, dull evening light on its surface. On the far shore, Jaumé saw dark humps amongst the foliage, like giant sleeping beasts.

Jaumé found a fissure leading into the rock. It was barely wide enough for Bennick, but once through the narrow opening it broadened, giving them room to sit but not lie down. He dragged in Bennick’s pack and got food for them—dried meat and bread—and gave Bennick water. Bennick fell asleep with his head on his chest and his back against the wall.

Jaumé was afraid to sleep. The fissure ran up into the dark. Anything might live there. And breathstealers might come.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

D
ARKNESS FELL WHILE
they piled driftwood around the island. Petrus was sweating, panting, by the time it was done. He wiped his face, batted away the hovering gnats, and stood for a moment to catch his breath.

After they’d eaten, Cora brought out a map he’d never seen before. “Justen, I want you and Innis to fly to the anchor stone tomorrow. Check everything’s all right. Look for Fithians.”

Petrus leaned close to see the map.

“Looks a bit of a maze,” Rand said.

“The delta mouth changes all the time, apparently, but back here, where the rivers join, it’s stable.” Cora tapped with one finger. “There’s an island here, where the Szal meets the Yresk. The anchor stone is on it.”

“It’s a long way from the coast,” Hew said. “I thought it’d be right at the mouth.”

“No. And that’s your second task tomorrow, Justen. Fly to the coast and see if you can see the ship that’s meant to be meeting us.”

Justen nodded.

Cora rolled up the map. “We don’t know what will happen tonight. Hopefully nothing. If not... well, Flin can now help us fight anything off, so we shouldn’t be overrun. In fact, we may not need the shapeshifters at all. Hew, if it does come to a battle with corpses, oliphants are best.”

Hew nodded gravely.

“Petrus, you and Innis are splitting the watches tonight. Don’t worry about overreacting. If you see or hear anything unusual—anything at all—wake us. Whatever comes may not be a corpse, it could be something else entirely, and I’d rather be short of sleep than dead.”

Innis took the first watch. Petrus tossed and turned on his bedroll, worries churning in his mind. Beside him, Hew slept deeply, muttering and groaning occasionally. No noises came from outside the tent, but what if something had happened to Innis? What if corpses were silently creeping over the barrier of driftwood? What if everyone but he and Hew were already dead? And what exactly had Innis told Cora last night? Why had Rand been involved? And how could he ask her?

Finally Petrus gave up trying to sleep and crept out of the tent. Billowing mist covered the ground. Everything was peaceful. The driftwood barrier was intact, no skeletal figures lurched out of the darkness, the tent flaps were all closed.

A small, dark owl glided low. Innis. He beckoned her down.

Innis landed and changed into herself. “Is something wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” Petrus said. “I’ll take over from you.”

“I’ve still got a couple of hours—”

“No point both of us being awake. Go to bed, Innis.”

“Well...” She hesitated. “Wake me up early, then.”

“Maybe. Seen or heard anything odd?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

There was an awkward hesitation.
Innis, what did you tell Cora?
But he couldn’t say the words aloud. What if they came out like an accusation?

“Be careful,” Innis said. She went to her tent, her bare skin pale in the moonlight.

Emotions flooded through him. Jealousy at her infatuation with the prince. Anxiety that she might have lied to Cora. Fear that their friendship was over. And love.

He still loved her, whatever she had done.

“Innis...” He needed to know whether they were still friends. Needed to know what she’d told Cora.

She looked back at him. “What?”

A bird called harshly in the jungle. The sound jerked him back to awareness of where he was and what he was meant to be doing. “Sleep well.” He changed into an owl and swept swiftly up into the sky.