The Blessed Curse (The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 4)(22)

With a sigh, she grabbed the reins that were slipping from her arm and tucked them tighter against her. Before she could glance up again, the bucket fell to her feet with a solid thud and she looked up quickly to find the ropes that had secured it swinging loosely against the pack saddle. The horses snorted softly at the noise and her quick movement. Glancing around, Zoelyn frowned and reached down to pick up the bucket, taking care to move slower so the horses would settle once more. She knew she hadn’t worked at the knot enough to loosen it to the point of falling, but odd little things like that had been happening a lot lately.

For the past few weeks, small tasks that were usually a difficulty for her had been done silently, and there was never anyone around to thank for the help. She hadn’t mentioned it to Dominic at all, and wondered now if she should have. She had a suspicion about what was helping her, and if she was right, her invisible friend was in a great deal of danger in their current surroundings.

With another quick look around to make sure no one was watching her, Zoelyn smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she whispered. As always, there was no response to her words. With another faint sigh, she turned toward the river and scanned for the other girls. They were easy to spot in their brightly colored dresses and she carefully steered her own path upriver and away from them. Not only would her horse get cleaner water this way, she wouldn’t have to deal with their sideways glances and hushed whispers. They would, of course, still be whispering and glancing, but she wouldn’t be close enough to care.

Zoelyn tossed the loose reins over the saddles as they reached the river edge and both animals moved forward quickly to slurp at the cold water. She smiled at them and moved a few feet away, sure that they wouldn’t stray far once they had their fill of water. The entire bank was covered in lush green grass. The battle hadn’t reached this side of the field and from where she stood everything was pristine, if you could ignore the smell of burning bodies and blood on the wind.

Setting the bucket down in front of her, she lifted her hand and slowly began to unbuckle her glove. Normally she never removed the gloves during the day, but they were heavy leather and bore iron plates along the fingers and palm. If she got them wet while gathering the water her hands would be raw and chapped by nightfall, not to mention the iron rusting. Lifting the bucket once more, she moved downstream from the horses and walked carefully out on the rocks to the water’s edge. The iron plates on the bottom of her boots skittered against the stone and she held an arm out to her side to keep balance.

“Here, let me help,” a man’s voice offered from behind her and she felt another hand on the handle of her bucket. Startled, Zoelyn staggered away, moving her hand quickly from the handle to avoid letting the man touch her flesh. Her boots slid once more on the rocks and she lost her balance, tumbling backward into the river. By instinct she caught herself to keep from falling flat on her back and almost instantly she could feel the surge of her curse pouring through her. The cat tails that lined the bank withered, turning from bright green to brown. Within a breath the river around her was filled with the small bodies of fish and frogs as they floated to the surface all life drained from them.

Thrashing she stood quickly before her wretched body could do any more damage and found the man who had tried to help her, staring at her in shock. He was young, or so she guessed. It was difficult to guess the age of an Elder Blood such as he appeared to be. His dark hair was long and pulled back, and his amber brown eyes were wide. Screams began to rise from farther down the river as the first of the dead fish reached the other girls. Zoelyn turned at the noise and found all of them staring at her with utter revulsion on their pretty faces.

“Undrae!” One of them screamed loudly and fished in the water with her hand. The girl rose quickly and hurled a rock at Zoelyn. Within a breath all of them were repeating the word and hurling rocks. Several bounced off her long coat and it wasn’t until one grazed the side of her face that Zoelyn actually gathered her wits enough to move back behind the cat tails and out of their sight.

“Stop that at once!” the young man bellowed, stepping out into the river himself to stare hard at the girls. By their reactions, Zoelyn guessed the other girls hadn’t known he was at the river either.

“I’m sorry,” Zoelyn whispered as she quickly pulled her glove back on and retrieved her empty bucket from where the young man had dropped it. She stole another glance at him while his attention was locked on her tormentors and noted the colors of his uniform: purple, silver, and white. They were unfamiliar to her, which was why he was still defending her, despite what he had seen. Had he been from Arovan or Glis, she would have known the colors of his uniform, and he would have known the word Undrae. No one from either nation would help anyone bearing that title. In the Glis tongue, the word meant unclean or unnatural. Most often, however, it was simply another way of saying monster. Moving swiftly, she dunked her bucket in the river and gathered the reins of the horses. It no longer mattered if the leather of her gloves or boots got wet. She was soaked up to her chest from the fall.