The Blessed Curse (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #4)(19)

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.

“Wait!” the man called behind her as he realized she was already fleeing the area. “Please. I won’t let them throw anymore at you. Just wait a moment. Who are you?” He was moving back toward the shore, but the rocks were slowing his progress enough to keep most of his attention on his footing.

Shaking her head quickly, Zoelyn glanced back at him and then to the girls. “Thank you,” she repeated a bit louder, but ignored his question completely as she quickly continued her way up the hill. She didn’t want anyone in the camp to know her name, especially after what had just happened. With any luck at all, the man’s only description of her would be her coat, and she could hide that with a cloak easily enough.

Water was still dripping from her long coat as she crossed to the tent to set down the bucket, but thankfully Dominic was too occupied to notice. “The water is by the entrance, Dominic I’m going to settle the horses somewhere,” Zoelyn called softly inside and he nodded absently in response. Turning quickly, she led the horses off toward the picket lines near the trees and farther from the bustle of the camp. She could only hope that everyone had too many other things to attend to than bother listening to the gossip the girls would spread. If they didn’t, however, she would be out of sight long enough that perhaps no one would realize it was her they were speaking of.

Zoelyn’s muscles relaxed and her breathing slowed as she stepped into the shelter of the trees. The spot she had chosen was far enough away from the other horses that no one else would likely bother wandering over, and yet close enough for the animals to be safe. Leaning heavily on her mare’s saddle, she watched the camp long enough to spot the man from the river passing through the crowded tents, his eyes searching. She shook her head slowly and let herself relax further. He was going farther into the encampment and farther away from her. There was nothing to worry about for now.

Standing straight once more, she unbridled both horses and tethered their ropes to the trees, giving them enough slack to reach the tall grass, but not enough to become tangled. With practiced ease she removed the saddles and carried them far enough away from the pickets that the animals wouldn’t step on them. Her eyes lingered on the horses’ sweat soaked sides and her gaze wandered up to their pack horse. Really she should brush them both, but the brushes were in the packs on the horse in the camp she was avoiding.