Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(38)

“Ina left,” I said, my voice flat. “She’s angry with me about something I did back home—something I should have told her sooner. I had tried to help her, but it all went wrong. Then it turned out there were things she hadn’t told me either.”

Hal nodded, not seeming to mind how vague and jumbled my explanation was. “Do you think you can work things out if you talk again?”

“I don’t know.” But I did. She would never come back and she would never forgive me. Ina always kept her word. I should have wondered sooner why she never promised me anything.

“So what now? Where will you go next?” Innocent curiosity shone in his eyes.

I wondered if he would look at me that way if he knew everything that had happened to lead me here—if he knew about the trail of blood Ina and I had left behind.

“A place someone told me about,” I said. “But I don’t even know exactly where it is, so I suppose I need to figure that out first.”

“Oh?” He seemed intrigued. “I’ve traveled a lot of Zumorda in the past year. Maybe I’ve heard of it.”

It couldn’t hurt to ask. “Have you ever heard of Atheon?”

Hal furrowed his brow. “I haven’t heard of a town by that name, no. But maybe it’s in the northwest? I haven’t spent much time there. It’s mostly peculiar little villages. And sheep. Lots of sheep.”

My heart sank. “What about someone named Veric?”

“I don’t personally know anyone by that name.” Hal tapped his chin thoughtfully. “But there’s an old drinking song about a man named Veric. Why?”

“Do you know any songs that aren’t about drinking?” I eyed him balefully, ignoring his question.

“Not really!” He grinned.

“How does the song go?”

“I only remember the chorus. ‘Drink for a penny or drink for a crown, hunt with a smile and kill with a frown. Few things are certain and that’s why we sing, but the blood of Sir Veric can make you a king.’”

“I hope that song is long out of fashion,” I said, disturbed. If people still sang it, did that mean they knew what could be done with my blood—the things Veric had alluded to in his letter, perhaps even more dangerous than the spells Miriel had taught me? And if mortals knew of those things, why didn’t I?

“I’ve only heard it once, on a trip to Kartasha. The tavern served a raspberry lambic meant to look like blood. Kind of silly.”

“And awfully macabre,” I added. “What about you—where are you headed from here?”

“Back to my sister as always,” he said.

An uneasy feeling twisted in my stomach. She’d been looking for the Fatestone, too, and surely she had more information about it than I did—maybe even some idea where Atheon was. But finding out what Nismae knew about the stone and its location meant walking right into the middle of a feud. The last thing I needed was the leader of a group of assassins chasing after me if I obtained the Fatestone and they found out. What hope did I stand of defending myself against trained killers?

Ahead of us, the Tamer boy whistled a greeting, and then a series of birdcalls echoed through the forest.

“We have a problem.” The boy dashed ahead without looking to see if we would follow.

Hal and I exchanged a worried glance. We could have used the opportunity to escape, but I had no doubt the Tamers would be able to catch up with us no matter how far and fast we ran as long as we were within the borders of their woods. We broke through into a small clearing a few minutes later.

Mukira knelt over a Tamer who lay very still. I didn’t need to get closer or reach for my Sight to know that she was near death. My gaze skittered through the surrounding trees, searching for signs to confirm my suspicions about what had happened. Broken branches littered the ground around a nearby pine. Bile rose in my throat.

I knew it had been Ina.

Elder Mukira used her staff to get to her feet, then turned to face us with a deep frown. “The fall broke her back. There is nothing we can do.”

“Was anyone else injured?” I asked, my voice small.

Mukira shook her head.

I approached the fallen Tamer. An owl hooted mournfully in the branches overhead, though the sun had not yet set.

The woman lying on the ground was Kaja, the Tamer who had captured me.

She’d already gone into shock, her skin clammy and cold with sweat. Her life was slipping away, back into the forest she’d spent her life protecting, but it wasn’t her time. She hadn’t deserved this. The remnants of Leozoar’s magic surged up with curiosity, giving me an idea. Some good could yet come of that murderous old wraith.

I crouched beside Kaja and pressed both my hands into the earth, digging my fingers into the thick bed of pine needles and other shed foliage on the forest floor. Life hummed under my fingertips, glowing gently in my Sight. My senses blurred. It was almost as if the forest had a sound, like a chorus of bells so deep they were barely audible.

“May I?” I asked Mukira. I had performed smaller healings before and had an unusual amount of power at my disposal now. It couldn’t make things worse to try.

The elder looked at me with a strange expression. “If you do no harm,” she acquiesced.

I pulled my journal out of my satchel and flipped to one of the simpler blood spells Miriel had taught me. I nicked my finger and drew the symbol of the spirit god on Kaja’s forehead for clarity of Sight. My magic melted into her, letting me see the broken pieces of her body.