The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (50 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

A
NOTHER MEAL, ANOTHER
spoon, another nail dug out of the wood.

Britta went back to her pallet and ate the fish stew. It was cold.

She was chewing the last mouthful when the bolts on the door were drawn back. She swallowed hastily, put the bowl down.

The assassin who entered was one she’d seen before, his hair cut close to his skull. He put her rinsed chamberpot on the floor and held out his hand for the bowl, not speaking. His eyes—cold, hard—seemed to look right through her.

These men weren’t like Duke Rikard. She wasn’t a woman to them. They looked at her as if she was a piece of wood, a lump of rock.

Britta handed him the bowl and spoon.

“And the candle.” His vowels were short, his consonants guttural.

She gave it to him.

The assassin bolted the door, left her in darkness.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

H
ARKELD SLOUCHED IN
the saddle, exhausted. He yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, while his horse picked its way along the dry river channel. Mist curled out from the jungle, dispersing in the bright afternoon sun. Beside him, Ebril seemed almost asleep. His eyes were closed, his face almost gray with fatigue beneath his red-tinted stubble. The mage had reason to be tired—he’d flown all morning, finding the shortest route through the twisting river channels—but Harkeld didn’t. He’d slept last night, his dreams a chaotic jumble that he couldn’t quite remember.

He glanced over his shoulder. Rand also slouched as he rode, also yawned, and Katlen wasn’t her usual erect self. She sagged in her saddle, her face nearly as gray as Ebril’s.

Rand looked up. “Innis is back.”

Harkeld followed his gaze. Two hawks circled in the sky—cream-feathered Petrus, whom they were following, and a smaller, darker shape he recognized as Innis.

The dark hawk glided out of sight over the jungle. Half a minute later, a third hawk flew into view. The bird was as large as Petrus, but brown-winged. It landed and shifted into Justen.

Everyone halted. “Did you find it?” Cora asked.

“Yes.”

“Any Fithians?”

“No.”

“Any sign of the ship?”

Justen shook his head.

Harkeld closed his eyes while Cora and Justen talked, listening to the murmur of their voices. He must have dozed. When he woke with a jerk, Justen was dressed and mounted.

He glanced sideways. Ebril was definitely asleep, his chin sunk low on his chest, the reins fallen from his grasp.

“Ebril...” Harkeld gripped the mage’s arm and shook him gently. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” Ebril blinked and swayed in the saddle, and then straightened. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY

B
ENNICK WOKE HIM
at noon. “You did well finding us somewhere safe to sleep,” he told Jaumé, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Good lad. I’m proud of you.”

They traveled north along the rocks. Rain started. Warm rain, making puddles where they could fill their waterskins. It seemed to keep Bennick fresher. He recovered enough to think like a soldier again. He looked for a cave and found one large enough to spread their sleeping mats in.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

T
HEY HALTED BEFORE
dusk. Gray thunderheads piled in the sky. The site Petrus had chosen was much like last night’s: a small island cut off from the jungle by a dry channel.

Rand sighed. “Do we have to fortify it?”

“Yes.” Cora looked as exhausted as Harkeld felt, dark shadows beneath her eyes. “I’m sorry, Rand, but if you’d seen those corpses...”

Harkeld was gasping for breath by the time the barrier of driftwood was built. His legs trembled and his head ached.
Why am I so tired?

He wiped sweat from his face and looked around. Justen was the only one of them who didn’t seem tired. He’d hauled logs and now was pitching tents, wielding the mallet with a vigor that made Harkeld wince.

At least the horses were tended to and the stewpot was on the fire. Cora and Katlen had seen to that.
I should help with the tents
. But he couldn’t make his legs move. He massaged his forehead, trying to ease the ache there.

Rand sat down at the campfire with a groan, his face almost bloodless beneath his whiskers. His closed eyelids looked bruised with exhaustion.

“Are we tired because the curse shadows are stronger?” Harkeld asked.

“Could be the mist.” Ebril sat with his elbows on his knees, head hanging. “Or steam, or whatever it is. Maybe it’s poisonous? It sure stinks enough.”

Rand grunted and opened his eyes. “Doubt it. I spent a whole winter in Sondvaal once, hot pools all over the place, stank like this. None of us ever got poisoned.”

“It’s a thought, though,” Cora said. Her plait was unraveling, but instead of tidying it, she brushed it back over her shoulder. “We could move further out into the river.”

Silence greeted this suggestion, then Ebril groaned aloud and raised his head. “Tonight?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s steam coming out of the river too,” Katlen said. Fatigue robbed her voice of its usual curt edge. “This whole place is steaming. Must be hot springs all over. Going out into the river isn’t going to help us—if it
is
the vapor.”

“I doubt it is,” Rand said, his eyes closed again. “The horses seem fine. They’d be like us if it’s something in the air. Or water.”

“Well, what is it then?” Hew asked. His face was so pale that his freckles stood out like flecks of mud. “Something to do with the curse?”

“The shadows
are
stronger,” Ebril said.

“It’s almost certainly the curse,” Cora said. “Something Ivek did to protect the anchor stone, like the corpses. But what? And how do we stop it?”

No one answered. Harkeld looked around at the weary faces. Both Hew and Ebril seemed to be shaking with exhaustion.
This is not good
. “How many days to the anchor stone?”

“Three.”

Alarm prickled up the back of his neck. “We need to figure this out.”

Ebril grunted a laugh. “You think?”

Harkeld didn’t smile. “If something attacks us tonight—”

Rand opened his eyes. “If something attacks tonight, we fight. However tired we are.” He glanced at the simmering pot. “That stew ready, Katlen? We could all do with some food.”

I
NNIS ATE A
quick dinner as Justen, then shifted into an owl and patrolled while Petrus ate. To her surprise, it wasn’t Hew who flew up to relieve her, but Petrus again. Cora took her aside once she’d landed. “Hew’s in no state to shift. You and Petrus will have to patrol again tonight. I’m sorry, I know you’ve flown a long way today.”

Innis shook her head. “I’m fine, but Petrus... I don’t think he slept much last night.”

“He’s not as tired as Hew.”

Innis glanced at Hew. He sat slouched, his face gaunt with exhaustion. “Shall I try healing him?”

“Anything’s worth a try.”

Innis dressed and went to Hew. She crouched alongside him. “Hew...”

He half-opened his eyes.

“I want to try something.” She took one of his hands in both of hers and let her healing magic flow into him. What she felt shocked her. Hew’s whole body was straining, from the hand trembling in her clasp to the labored beating of his heart and the effort it took to draw each breath. Cora was right; if he shifted shape, he’d not have the strength to change back into himself. His exhaustion was blood-deep, bone-deep.

Innis frowned, concentrating, pushing some of her own strength into Hew. When his hand no longer trembled, she stopped. “How do you feel?”

“Much better. Thanks, Innis.”

She nodded and glanced at Cora. “Shall I do everyone?”

“As many as you can. Start with Flin.”

Innis turned to the prince. His face was shadowed with stubble and tiredness, his expression impossible to decipher as he held out his hand to her.

She took it and let her magic flow into him. The familiar sense of who he was flooded through her. Honor, stubbornness, confidence, pride, determination, courage.

When she’d healed him in Lundegaard, fear and confusion and hatred had been his dominant emotions. Those were gone. Worry was at the forefront of his thoughts now. His sense of humor was buried deep tonight, he was too tired for laughter, but he wasn’t as exhausted as Hew. His hand didn’t tremble in her clasp, although he was wearier than she liked and he had a bad headache.

Innis let some of her strength flow into him, spent a few minutes banishing his headache, then released his hand and turned to Ebril.

Ebril was even weaker than Hew. Innis gripped his hand, pouring her magic into him, and looked across the fire at Cora. “Ebril mustn’t shift shape.”