Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf #1)(47)

“Not afraid of anything, are you?” Toris had asked me at the banquet in Syric. Everything, I’d thought. “Not anything,” I’d said.

Not afraid of anything, are you? I heard him ask again, an echo.

Yes, I answered.

Zan.

I’m afraid of Zan.

Everything slowed, stopped. We were alone in that fragile moment, suspended together in magic and light.

Then I closed my eyes and let go.

The last bit of power burst from me in a wave, rippling across the wall and filling the cracks like salve in a wound. When it was done, I collapsed into Zan’s arms. The magic was gone, leaving me empty and deflated and cold. And yet, as we held each other in breathless bewilderment, I was certain I’d never felt more alive.





?19




I barely remembered getting home; the spell had sapped my strength completely. The only thing I could recall was the sound of Zan’s soft encouragement to put one foot in front of the other. “I can’t carry you,” he said, though the words were fuzzy in my memory. “Please, Emilie. Keep going. We have to do this together.”

The next morning I woke in my cot to a chorus of soft, syncopated taps that grew into a murmur. It was a familiar, comforting sound, and I drifted for a long while in the borderland between sleep and wakefulness, listening contentedly. Kate had done a goodly amount of work on my hut; the murky atmosphere and the smell of dust were gone, replaced by the scent of fresh garden flowers and rain-soaked pine.

It wasn’t until a second noise—?a hard, harsh pounding—?interrupted the first that I shook off the last dregs of slumber. I sat up on my cot and saw that Zan was waking up too, rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself to his feet, papers scattering from his lap as he rose. It looked as if he’d fallen asleep while drawing by the hearth after helping me to bed. “What is that?” Zan asked in a creaky morning voice, dark circles under his eyes, soot stains on his fingers.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! I stumbled to the door and flung it open to find Nathaniel on the stoop, his clothes soaked through, rain slathering his hair onto his forehead.

Rain.

“Zan!” Nathaniel said breathlessly. “Zan! Is he here?”

“I’m here,” Zan said from behind me. “What’s the matt—?” His eyes went wide and he pushed past me into the downpour, lifting his hands to catch the raindrops, his face a mixture of wonder and horror.

“You have to come with me now, right now,” Nathaniel said urgently. “It’s High Gate.”

“Stay here,” Zan ordered, slamming the door shut in my face. I stared, stunned, at the panel of wood for several long seconds before going for Kellan’s cloak. I would not be left behind, not if something had gone wrong with the gate.

The entire city was pouring out of their houses to gawk and marvel at the downpour, whispering and pointing in a singular direction. Soon the three horses appeared above the rooftops, but their pristine marble was now marred with scorch marks. In the alleyway I spied the corpse of a silver-white stallion, an Empyrean, but one I did not know. I gaped at it. I’d used Falada to undo one of the two completed sacrifices. The death of one horse should not have been enough to cause this.

I felt a hand on my elbow and turned to find Kate, her heart-shaped face colored with concern beneath her dripping hood. “Emilie,” she said gravely. “Don’t go over there. I promise you, you don’t want to see.”

My lungs began to expand and collapse in rapid pace. I shook her off and pushed myself through the gathering crowd.

I knew that something terrible had happened—?knew it in my bones—?but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of it. Before I could stop myself, I let out a keening wail.

Nailed to the lintel above the portcullis was the head of a once-white horse. Her muzzle was curled back from her teeth, frozen forever in a contorted scream, while her beautiful mane was matted with blood into snake-like ropes. Her blood was splattered and smeared all across the marble, black burns streaking out from the stains like the feathery marks of a lightning strike. Blood and rain dripped from her lips, forming rivulets of red that outlined each cobblestone below. The spirits of the gate wandered listlessly beneath the grotesque spectacle, unmoved by death or downpour.

I hardly noticed Zan and Nathaniel making a beeline over to me, or Zan’s attempts to quiet the awful sounds that were coming from my mouth. I couldn’t look away. Falada was dead. Dead.

“Emilie, stop. Please. You’re making a scene.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Emilie, just stop—?”

“Don’t touch me!”

Nathaniel scooped me up as easily as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. I fought against him, but the man must have been made of granite; he didn’t seem to notice my struggle at all. When he set me down again, we were out from under watchful eyes. Kate and Zan were following close behind.

“How dare you,” I said, quivering with rage.

Zan’s face was a mask of calm, which infuriated me even more. “This is what we were trying to prevent, Emilie . . . Bleeding stars. They must have realized, after they killed the one horse, what we’d done. And even though she was disguised, they could have cast a spell to see through it.” He cursed again. “I’m sorry about your horse, but you have to understand we have much bigger problems now . . .”