Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf #1)(61)

“You can’t go,” I said bleakly. “Tell Domhnall no. We need you here. I need you here.”

Zan cleared his throat. “Can we talk? Maybe . . . outside?”

I followed him, arms crossed.

Alone on the stoop, Zan said, “Emilie, I know it’s bad timing, and I don’t expect you to understand—?”

“Good. That’s good. Because I don’t.”

“This is what my king has commanded—?”

“Your king is a feckless half-wit.”

“That doesn’t make him any less a king.”

“Doesn’t it? I thought you were loyal to Achleva.”

“I am. That is why I have to obey the rule of its monarch.”

I heard the echo of my father’s voice alongside my own. “Kings do not rule; they serve. The people do not swear fealty to a king, but he to them.”

“Damn it, Emilie, I have no choice.”

“Look around you, Zan.” I motioned to the decaying mulch of Kate’s garden that only yesterday had been populated with cheerful yellow flowers. “If obeying Domhnall means letting his people suffer, or putting them in danger, you have only one choice.”

“And what is that?”

“Disobey Domhnall. Resist.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand. We’re in it up to our necks here, and you’re going to take a vacation. You’re running away when you need to stay and put up a fight.”

“Like you did, with the Tribunal?”

I said dangerously, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He was inches from my face. “Neither do you.”

“Good luck on your hunt.” I ended the conversation with the slam of the door.



* * *



Kate kept herself occupied with sewing projects while I buried myself in books to distract from Nathaniel’s movements around the house as he packed for the hunt, but though I was turning pages, I absorbed little of what I was reading. After I watched Kate sew and unpick the same seam three times, I suspected she was similarly agitated.

Shortly after midday, Nathaniel stopped just outside the sitting room, bag in hand. “I’m going now,” he said. His eyes were fixed to the wall, as if he were addressing it instead of us.

When Kate did not respond, he picked up his satchel and moved for the door, his broad shoulders sagging just a little bit lower than usual.

Kate closed her book and rose from the table. “Wait,” she said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Be careful.”

His expression softened. “I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and put her hand on her belly. “We’ll be waiting.”



* * *



Nathaniel’s departure left Kate feeling drained; I felt comfortable letting her stay in the house alone only after she promised to try to sleep. She’d extracted a similar promise from me, too, but I had no intention of keeping it. I tried to convince myself that maybe it was better this way. Maybe with Zan gone, I could go back to worrying about my own problems instead of being constantly distracted by his.

The first thing I needed to take care of was the Founder’s blood relic. Toris had tipped his hand when my threat to destroy it caused him to retreat. I’d insinuated that I’d spelled the relic and hidden it, and that’s what I decided to spend my time accomplishing. Better late than never, after all.

I thought of a half dozen places to hide it, but none of them felt right—?that one was too close to home; wouldn’t want Toris to track it back to Nathaniel and Kate. That one was too open; it could be too easily glimpsed by a passerby. Burying it wouldn’t work, because what if an animal found it? Keeping it on my person at all times seemed like a good option . . . except that if Toris ever searched me and found it, I’d be dead on the spot.

Over and over, the thought that kept coming back to me was: Aren.

She had frightened Toris in the Ebonwilde. Her tower was protected by bloodleaf; no self-preserving individual would cross it willingly. And as my fluency in magic grew, so did my awareness of its currents. At the exact center of the city, the tower acted almost like an anchor to the ley lines rerouted into the wall. I was drawn to it.

The flooded canal passage had mostly drained in the days since High Gate fell, leaving behind a thick layer of mud and debris. I slogged through it, falling a few times, and ascended the tower stairs soaked and feeling sorry for myself.

It didn’t take long to find a brick loose enough to remove and replace with the vial concealed behind it; indeed, it seemed as if the structure was still standing only because of luck or magic, or a combination of both. The brick I chose was on the pedestal just below Aren’s left heel. I could have used a brick in the front, but it seemed somehow unfair to make her watch over the blood of the brother who’d killed her. I didn’t spell it, either; I was tired, and my hands hurt—?they were never without a new cut, no matter how quickly I healed—?and I felt certain that if I did, it would somehow go awry, just like everything else.

Just as I was rising from my knees to brush the dirt and chips of mortar off my dress, I heard the sound of trumpets in the distance. I leaned out from the tower battlement in time to see the king’s hunting party exiting through Forest Gate, blue Achlevan pennants streaming. It was a collection of lords and ladies dressed in costumes nearly as fine—?and absurd—?as the masquerade. A half dozen sleek hounds ran alongside the parade, barking for joy and nipping at the horses’ heels. I caught sight of Lisette and Conrad’s matching golden heads just as they disappeared under the gate. Behind them, about three riders back, rode Nathaniel and Zan.