Wild Blood (Book 7) (20 page)

At the same time, the prospect of sneaking away without even telling Cyril made her feel rather ashamed, as if she was somehow betraying him. Well, she
was,
there was no denying it, and after all his kindness and help, too. But if she tried to take Cyril with her, his presence might ruin her chance of a welcome among the elves, just as it had before, and he’d certainly insist on accompanying her if he knew— if, in fact, he didn’t try to stop her from going at all. And it wasn’t just herself she was thinking of, Ria reminded herself sternly. Cyril might have been seriously hurt, even killed, by the Blue-eyes; certainly they’d be far more willing to kill a human than they would Ria. So she simply had to leave him behind. What other choice was there?

Cyril was some time in coming, and when he arrived, he slipped furtively through her door carrying a large box of bottles, vials, and pouches, and on top of that, the heavy grimoire.

“I was afraid someone would see me,” he said, sighing with relief as he laid down his burden and locked the door. “Mother and Father have invited probably every single person of noble birth in Allanmere to sup and discuss the midsummer festival and the wedding. I’d have had to attend, but I told them that if they weren’t bringing you, I wouldn’t go, either.”

“Thanks,” Ria said awkwardly. Again guilt twinged, liberally mixed with anger at Lady Rivkah, who hadn’t even mentioned the event to her. But then, in all fairness, Ria had to admit that she’d always dodged formal suppers whenever she could.

“I was glad of the excuse,” Cyril admitted, giving Ria a wry grin. “All those nobles, and you not even there to make it less boring? Yech. Guess I’d better get used to it, though, hadn’t I?” He started setting out the jars and pouches he’d brought.

Another twinge of guilt as Cyril considerately said
I
instead of making the assumption of
we.

“Cyril,” Ria said uncomfortably, “did you really mean all those things you said about if I married you?”

Cyril glanced up from his preparations.

“Yes,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Did you think I was lying to you, trying to trick you?”

“No, no,” Ria said hastily. “I just—well, after all the fuss everybody’s made about this wedding, it’s hard to believe that
someone
cares what I want.”

“Well, I do,” Cyril said quietly. “And I’m going to prove it to you, too.” He glanced at the page in the grimoire. “There. I think I’m just about ready. I’ll light the brazier, and then I’ll be ready for Jenji.”

Ria wanted to ask what he meant by “proof,” but Cyril was already chanting as he struck flint and steel to light the brazier, and who knew what might happen if she interrupted him? She reached to her shoulder for Jenji, but he had already scampered down the pillows and was crouched almost touching Cyril, shifting from paw to paw in excitement.

Pungent smoke drifted up from the brazier, and the flames shifted from orange to blue, then purple. Cyril chanted on, reading from the grimoire, his fingertip marking his passage through the strange words; at last he reached out to touch Jenji. The chirrit scampered over to meet his hand as if understanding what was happening, giving his little trilling purr of happiness.

Ria gasped.
Something
—was it a mist, a kind of glowing light?—was rising from Cyril’s skin. She couldn’t quite focus on it, much like the flickering shadows she sometimes saw from the corners of her eyes that vanished when she turned to face them directly. She looked slightly to the side; now she could see it almost clearly, a purplish sort of glowing stuff flowing down Cyril’s arm to Jenji. A similar glow, pale bluish in color, seemed to rise from the chirrit and flow back to Cyril; the two colors meshed and flowed together where Cyril and Jenji touched. Gradually Cyril’s glow assumed a more bluish shade, even as Jenji’s glow took on a purplish tinge, so that the two colors matched. Cyril chanted a few more words, and gradually the glow faded.

“Is that all?” Ria asked a little hesitantly when Cyril stopped and sat back on the bed.

“That’s all,” Cyril said. He shook his head. “It’s—it’s strange. I can feel him inside me somehow.” He shook his head again as if to clear it. “I’m not sure I like it.”

Ria grimaced. How often she’d wished
she
could do that.

“Well, I’ve got a working lattice,” Cyril said at last. “Let’s try the healing spell so I can dissolve it. No use my getting too attached to using a familiar. Mother would never let me have it, even if Jenji wasn’t your pet instead of mine. Why don’t you unwrap your leg while I start the spell?”

First Cyril had to set up a clean brazier and kindle a new fire; then he had to assemble the proper herbs and powders and begin his chant, this time with Jenji on his shoulder. It took Ria almost that long to unwrap the bandages, gingerly peel away Lady Rivkah’s dressing, and wipe away some of the gooey ointment so Cyril could see the entrance and exit wounds clearly. They hadn’t healed much, and her calf was still swollen and achingly tender.

Cyril raised his hands, still chanting, and Ria could see out of the corner of her eye the same sort of glow she’d seen before, but this time much stronger. Cyril laid one hand very gently on each side of Ria’s calf, and Ria hissed between clenched teeth as a tight, painful heat shot through her leg, following the path of the arrow. Hurriedly she grabbed a pillow and stuffed the corner into her mouth, biting down hard to stifle a scream that might bring the servants running or, worse, distract Cyril. The tight pain seemed to last forever, but gradually it eased, and Ria took the pillow out of her mouth, sighing with relief as the pain seemed to flow out of her leg. The swelling was subsiding under Cyril’s hands even as she watched, and the red, inflamed appearance with it; when he took his hands away, Ria was delighted to see the pale pink of newly healed skin instead of the raw wounds.

Cyril chanted for a few more moments; then at last he stopped, and Jenji scampered down from his shoulder to resume his usual place curled against Ria’s side. Cyril slumped, and Ria hurriedly scooted aside so there was room for him to sit back against the pillows.

“Whew!” he said weakly after a few long moments. “I’ve never tried anything that powerful. Mother always made it look so simple. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, though. Now I can see why so many mages have familiars. Mother’s right; it would be easy to start depending on that extra help.”

“But you did it, though,” Ria said excitedly. “Look, my leg’s healed.”

Cyril looked.

“It certainly is,” he agreed. “But remember when Mother’s healed our injuries before. It’ll probably still be a little sore for a few days.”

“I know that,” Ria said impatiently. “But still it’s good enough to—” She stopped.

“Good enough to what?” Cyril rolled over to look into her eyes.

“Good enough to walk on,” Ria finished lamely.

“Good enough to get you to the forest,” Cyril corrected. “That’s it, isn’t it? Good enough to get you to the forest right now, before Mother finds out that your leg’s healed. And this time you wanted to go without me.”

There was nothing she could say. Ria cleared her throat uncomfortably, not meeting Cyril’s eyes.

“I figured it out as soon as you asked me,” he said, quietly closing the pouches and jars.

“But you still did the spell,” Ria said hesitantly.

Cyril glanced at her, grinning a little crookedly.

“I said I’d prove to you that I meant what I said,” he said. He reached into the box he’d brought and pulled out a small pack. “There’s enough food in here for a few days. I hid your practice armor out by the stables. It might stop an arrow if the elves shoot at you again, or then again, it might not. Maybe if I’m not with you it won’t have to.” He shrugged. “Tomorrow I’ll pick up your meals at the kitchen and say I’m bringing them to you. You’ve kept to yourself so much lately, none of the servants would disturb you. With any luck no one will notice you’re gone until Mother or Yvarden stops in to change your dressings tomorrow night.”

Ria squirmed uncomfortably. She was beginning to wish she’d never asked Cyril for his help. Even if everything went as she wished, was it worth the guilt she felt?

“Cyril,” she said, steeling herself, “I—I’m not in love with you.”

To her surprise, Cyril only grinned, raising one eyebrow.

“You think I didn’t know that?” he said, chuckling. “I’m not quite that stupid. I’m not in love with you either.”

“You’re not?” Ria sighed with relief, although she felt a pang of something suspiciously akin to disappointment.

“Of course not,” Cyril said, chuckling again. “I suppose I’ve never really thought of myself as your brother, though —you’re too different from me, from all of us.”

“If you don’t love me,” Ria said hesitantly, “why are you wanting to marry me? Is it like your parents, alliances and politics?”

“I think those are important,” Cyril said slowly, “but not important enough to force you to marry me against your will and then probably hate me all your life, not after all those years we were friends. I’ve got to marry, though, and I’d rather it be you than anyone else I’ve met. I’ve got plans for Allanmere too, and I think that if you ever wanted to share the rulership of the city with me, you’d be a fine High Lady; but even if you didn’t, you’d stay out of it and not hinder me, not get sneaky and ambitious and manipulative like some of the noble ladies I’ve known.”

He grinned again.

“Besides, I didn’t say I don’t love you; I’m just not
in love
with you. I love you as a special friend. Maybe the other will come in time. I just know it’ll never happen for you—or for me—as long as we have no choice. So I want us to have a choice, for my sake as much as yours. Is that so strange?”

“I suppose not,” Ria said finally. “I just don’t want to— to owe you anything.”

“I don’t want you to owe me anything.” Cyril reached down and pulled his Heir’s signet from his finger. “Here, you take this with you. It doesn’t mean anything. Just to remind you that I’m back here thinking about you. All right?”

Ria slid the ring onto her finger. It was hopelessly large and loose. At last she pushed it over the knuckle of her thumb, where it fit comfortably.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll take the ring. But your parents are going to roast you over a slow fire for giving it to me.”

“What, as if I won’t be in trouble enough for healing your leg and helping you sneak away again?” Cyril said, grinning. “They’d probably throw me in the dungeon as it is, if they had one.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ria said, glancing at Cyril shyly. Something had just passed between them, some understanding that she did not completely comprehend; somehow the rules had changed.

“Well, you’d best be going, then, to get a good start,” Cyril told her. “All the servants are going to be busy in the dining hall for another hour at least, and most of the guards are stationed at the gate tonight to meet the guests, instead of on the wall; you shouldn’t have any trouble slipping away. Better go out the window and down the debris.”

“All right.” Suddenly Ria felt inexplicably reluctant; her escape had somehow become something else, something engineered by Cyril rather than her in a way that made her uncomfortable. But she could spend days questioning his motives, and by the time she figured them out she’d be married.

“All right,” she said again. She took the small pack and stood. Her leg was slightly sore and stiff, but it felt wonderful compared to the pain of the last few days.

“I’ll—I’ll try to come back soon,” she said. The words tasted like a lie. “Unless they catch me, and then I’ll be back very, very soon.”

Cyril smiled.

“No promises,” he said. “Just take care.” He held her hand for a moment, then released it to stroke Jenji gently. “And take care of this little fellow. I rather enjoyed working with him.”

She pulled her warmest cloak and her soft boots on, then turned back and, before she quite realized what she was going to do, leaned forward and kissed Cyril briefly. The sensation was not really unpleasant, and Cyril’s smile made Ria feel a little better. She turned away hurriedly before he said anything else, something that might make her feel even more ambivalent. She climbed onto the windowsill, then quickly, without looking back, slid out to the ledge, and freedom.

The ledge was narrow by human standards, but it might as well have been a broad road to Ria’s tiny feet. Despite her still-stiff leg, she scampered along hurriedly until she reached the highest point of the tumbled stone blocks below, where she could safely lower herself to the topmost block and carefully work her way down stone by stone to the ground. Only when she’d safely reached the ground and could take shelter behind one of the blocks did Ria remember to check anxiously along the wall for guards; however, Cyril had been right. There were only a few guards patrolling the wall at infrequent intervals; most of them had been moved to the gate at the front of the grounds.

Without Cyril’s big feet and slower climbing pace to hinder her, Ria was up one side of the wall and down the other with amazing speed, and from there it was only a short scramble to one of the abandoned huts. She took almost the same route to the outer wall that she and Cyril had used before, although she planned to climb over the outer wall instead of passing through a gap, just to be safe, in case Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah had ordered extra guards by the breaches. This time Ria planned to approach the wall at the northern edge of the city nearest the swamp, where the remote location meant fewer guards. She could use the edge of the swamp for cover between the city and the forest, and as she needed to enter the forest much farther north than she had previously, the change in her route made sense.

To Ria’s disgust, however, there were plenty of guards on the outer wall, either because of her prior escape from the city or because of the elven attack on Cyril and herself. Ria stared at the guards from her hiding place and frowned. There’d be no sneaking past them through one of the wall gaps, and they’d quickly see her climbing the wall, too. Well, Cyril had taken a chance and stretched his magical abilities successfully; she’d simply have to do the same.