Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf #1)(53)

“Just this.” I took out a paper, folded and sealed and addressed to Lord Fredrick Greythorne, Kellan’s older brother. It recounted everything—?what Toris had done in the woods, how Lisette was living in the castle under my name, how Conrad was unhurt but seemed to be going along with the charade. The last thing I included was my belief that Kellan had escaped, injured, and that he was probably recovering in one of the villages outside the Ebonwilde. I had signed it with my own name, marveling at how foreign it felt to use it.

If Fredrick could find Kellan, his story would corroborate my written account and provide proof of Toris’s treachery. Likely, we could link his efforts to insinuate himself into Achleva with the Tribunal’s takeover, and charge them all with treason. Mother could take back her crown, and then . . . they could come for Conrad and me. We’d be saved.

“You’ll need to take this to Lord Fredrick Greythorne. Deliver it to him and no one else, understand me? His land is in the western Renaltan province. You’ll save time if you go by boat and take port in Gaskin. From there it will be about four days’ walk.”

“One problem.” Thackery stopped his ravenous chewing. “How am I going to pay for boat fare? They robbed me of everything when they took me. And how will I eat, for that matter? A man’s got to eat.”

I pursed my lips, wondering if I should remind him that up until five minutes ago he was going to starve to death in a gibbet. But I thought better of it and said instead, “Here. This should buy you boat fare and a little bit of food besides.” It was the last of my treasures—?the golden chain of my charm bracelet. Another piece of myself I was forced to surrender. “Don’t stop. Don’t dawdle. Time is of the essence. Now let’s get you off this wall,” I said. “Quickly, now, before anyone comes.” I tried to help him to his feet, but he was too weak to stand.

“I can’t help you . . . in the condition I’m in. I’d already be . . . dead if it wasn’t for the rain. Sucked it out of the gag.” He swallowed and said, “I’m useless to you, girl. Might as well put me back in the cage. Better that way. Gilroy would miss me too much, anyway.”

“Quiet,” I commanded. “I’ll do no such thing.”

I gave myself another little cut with the luneocite knife and then placed my hand in Thackery’s. “Give it to me,” I said, just like I had to Zan in the tower.

But with Zan I’d acted instinctively and emotionally. This was different. I did not know or care for this man. I could not make the same connection.

But I had to. Time was running out. This was my chance—?probably my only chance—?to undo some of what had been done to me. Anger and impatience bubbled inside. “Give it to me, damn it!”

It hit me like a blow. The nauseating hunger. The thirst. The weakness. I sucked in a hard breath and let go of him, breaking the connection.

“There,” I mumbled, doubled over.

He straightened up. “What did you just do?”

“I made it so you . . . can get out of here.” My voice was hoarse.

His eyes widened. “You’re a—?”

“Shut . . . up and get . . . out of here.”

“What about—?”

“I’ll be . . . I’m fine. Do as I’ve . . . told you and go. Now!” I barked.

He bolted away, springing like a rabbit down the curve of the wall that led past the docks and onto King’s Gate. I dragged myself to the battlements to try to watch him, but my vision was too affected; I lost track of him as soon as he passed High Gate. There was nothing more I could do; either he would make it to Renalt or he wouldn’t. Either he would deliver my message or he wouldn’t. There was no point in worrying now. It was done.





?21




I didn’t make it home that night; I spent the hours between Thackery’s release and daybreak stumbling, dizzy and drained, from street to street, every step an effort. At least the last time I’d been half-starved it had come upon me bit by bit, instead of hitting me like a sack of bricks, square in the stomach. By midmorning I had gone only as far as the city square.

Thackery’s hunger was fading, but by now my own exhaustion was setting in. I was sagging against a pillar on the stoop of a textile shop to catch my breath when I heard an exclamation from behind me.

“Emilie?” Kate was exiting the shop, a basket full of cloth held in the crook of her elbow.

I turned and forced a smile. “Good morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster.

She threaded her arm through mine. “I’m glad I’ve run into you! With the royal wedding so close now, I’ve got a pile of new orders for engagement-ball costumes. One woman is going as an owl, another—?you won’t believe this—?as a tree. A tree. And not a good one, either, like a spruce or a weeping willow. No, she’s going as a mulberry. Which I guess is pretty enough, with little berries and such, but we had a mulberry on our property when I was growing up, and it did the most unpleasant things to the birds who ate the berries . . .” She stopped. “Emilie, are you all right?”

I nodded weakly. “I’m fine,” I said.

She looked like she didn’t quite believe me, but continued, “Anyway, with the extra money from those commissions, I bought these”—?she motioned to the fabric in her basket, delicate florals made of downy material—?“so I can finally make a few things for the baby. Aren’t they lovely?” She stroked the cloth dreamily. “Can you imagine a little dressing gown out of this? She’ll look so sweet.”