Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy, #1)(36)

His eyes slid to the streets around them, as though fearing the mercenaries would emerge from the shadows. Fear was good, though. Fear was a weapon, as Sadov had taught her so very well.

“Bounty hunters,” the bartender said, his words slurring with a lowborn Cyrilian accent.

“And where are they taking him?”

“Kerlan,” the bartender whispered, growing paler still. The name seemed to cast a shadow over him, cinching fear tight around his neck.

“Who?”

“Kerlan. Lord Kerlan.”



“Who is that? And where is he?”

“The Head of the Order, in Novo Mynsk.”

She’d meant to ask him what Order he spoke of, but her heart caught at the words Novo Mynsk. May was headed there.

All other thoughts scattered. Her direction was clear. “I need a horse,” Ana said, taking a wager.

The bartender nodded frantically. “The stables. Choose whichever you’d like.”

She rewarded him with a flat smile like the one she’d so often seen on Sadov’s face. “One more thing. I’ll be taking this.” She scooped up the pouch of goldleaves that had been abandoned on the dirt road. She didn’t feel bad for that, Ana realized, as she turned on her heels and strode toward the stables in the back. After all, the bounty hunters had paid that gold for Quicktongue, and since Quicktongue was her prisoner, it stood to reason that she should take the gold.

“Stay there until you can’t hear my horse anymore,” she called over her shoulder. “You move, and I’ll bleed you dry.”

The stables were surprisingly well kept. Ana selected a valkryf with a coat the color of milk, already saddled, as though the owner had expected a short stop. When she rode out of the stables at a brisk trot, the bartender was still standing where she’d left him. She kept her Affinity honed on him until she was far enough away that the glow of his blood had faded to a flicker, and then to nothing.



* * *



—

The sun had almost set, its light bleeding out over the expanse of the Syvern Taiga like a last breath. Storm clouds gathered over the horizon, and the air thickened with the promise of rain.



Ana stretched her Affinity out, sweeping the vicinity for the bounty hunters’ trail. The Gray Bear’s Keep was close enough to the edge of town that she didn’t have to wade through a thick crowd of bodies before she closed in on the bounty hunters. There was no mistaking it; she sensed, blurred and distant, three figures: two with blood fast-flowing, and one sluggish, several hundred paces ahead of her.

As she steered her horse around the last dacha, she caught sight of two horsemen in the distance, speeding into the shadows of the Syvern Taiga. She suddenly wished she had some sort of weapon on her. She’d never learned to spar—or to even handle a sword—and coming into a fight with a weakened Affinity and empty hands made her feel extremely vulnerable.

But she didn’t have a choice. May was gone, her alchemist still missing, and her only hope lay unconscious on the back of one of those mercenaries’ horses. Ana had no weapon and no plan, but she also had nothing more to lose.

A hundred paces. She drew steadily nearer. At any moment, the mercenaries could turn and catch sight of her.

Fifty paces. She could see them clearly now, moving much more slowly than she with the unconscious con man tied to a horse.

And they saw her.

They slowed their horses and rounded the edge of the trees, hands lingering near their swords. A cold wind stirred, rattling the dry winter leaves across dead grass. Shadows flickered across the men’s faces.

Ana gave her hood a tug. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she found herself reaching out with her Affinity, keeping it poised as she would a blade. A sense of calm enveloped her as her Affinity settled over the blood pulsing through the mercenaries’ bodies. Hers to command, if she wished.



She grasped that thought, letting it fuel her courage. “Release that man. He is my charge,” she called.

The mercenary riding alone—the leader—spoke first. Even on his horse Ana could see that he was an impossibly tall man. He was the one with a black beard, the one she had watched hand the pouch of goldleaves to the bartender. She was close enough to hear his low growl. “You got some guts, lass, riding after us alone. Got a death wish, or what?”

“You must have heard by now,” Ana said, “what happened at the Vyntr’makt in Kyrov?”

“What? You lost your damashka doll?” Blackbeard and his companion rasped with laughter.

Ana kept her face blank. She knew from lessons with her brother that some negotiations required placidity. Others called for firmness. And finally, in the rarest of cases, you showed your power.

Slowly, Ana slid off her glove and stretched her fingers, lifting her hand high.

She summoned her Affinity.

The mockery on the mercenaries’ faces vanished, replaced by alternating horror and disgust, as the veins in her hand began to turn dark, from the tips of her fingers to her elbow.

“An Affinite,” sneered Blackbeard. “You think you can threaten us just because you’re one of those deimhovs? Oi, Stanys. Watch me cut this witch down.”

“Need help, boss?” his companion called.



“Take the quarry to a safer place.” Blackbeard turned to Ana with a malicious grin. “The witch is mine.”