Magic of Talisman and Blood (Curse of the Ctyri Book 2) Page 12

  The generals murmured amongst themselves, and Averitt’s gentle expression became shrewd. “You’re going to steal his land, his subjects, and their loyalty.” He nodded. “I think we can all agree to give that a try.”

  One down, one to go. Adaline squared her shoulders. “Now, back to the issue of rapists. If I give you an order, explicitly detailed on how to punish offenders who break the law, will you follow it?”

  He nodded and at the same time said, “Yes, Your Highness. Until I receive different orders from the queen regent, I’ll follow your orders.” His gaze lifted over her head as he glanced around the tent at the other generals and then came back to her. “We all will.”

  With her success, sudden and intense exhaustion washed over her. Her stomach turned and vision tilted. She blinked several times, trying to focus on General Averitt, who continued to watch her warily. She blew out a long, slow breath and said, “I’d rather not order you, General. My father respected you and your judgement enough so that I’ll honor his respect. But these atrocities must stop. I am not tenderhearted, and ever since my family died, I’ve lived to avenge them. But my father would’ve never approved of rape, and I think you know that.”

  “But a fine and imprisonment isn’t feasible,” General Averitt said matter-of-factly. “Though, I suppose you have a suggestion?”

  Adaline glanced at Gunhild, who gave the princess a nod of encouragement. “In the villages where Gunhild’s people come from, if a man rapes a woman, he is castrated.”

  “But that’s . . . but that’s . . .” His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide with horror.

  Adaline’s stomach clenched at seeing his shock. Disgust roiled through her, and she glared at the general. “Let me get this straight: You would go to war because your queen and princess were raped and murdered. And I imagine you’d be just as livid if it were your wife or daughter who was violated. Yet you see nothing wrong with men forcing themselves on a woman if she is from another country . . .” When the general dropped his head, she snapped, “General Averitt.”

  But the problem wasn’t just him, and Adaline turned her glare to each of the generals in the tent. “Generals, listen to me now. If you’re willing to condone or even look the other way if a woman is being raped, you are hereby relieved of your position in the army, effective immediately. You may turn your command over to General Gunhild and leave my encampment. Now.”

  Silence fell, and nobody moved.

  “Excellent. Then I’ll assume you’re in agreement and expect you to mete out punishment.” Someone made a strangled sound, and Adaline added, “If any of you don’t have the stomach for the consequence, I’m fairly certain General Gunhild will help you in this matter.”

  “I would be happy to, Your Highness,” Gunhild said in thickly accented Cervenean common.

  The tent blurred and Adaline swayed, resting her hand on an intricately carved table. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’m not trying to wrest command from any of you. Each of you is an expert on armies and waging war. I’m merely an expert on my father and his respect for women. I hope you’ll act with honor and humanity in reverence of his memory. Especially in these trying times.” The features of the men around her grew hazy, and Adaline feared she wouldn’t make it to her tent if she didn’t leave soon. Curtseying shallowly, she said, “I’ll take my leave now. Cervene and I thank you for your service.”

  They all hastily bowed low, all except Gunhild who nodded with a wide grin plastered on her face. “My warriors and I will escort you to your accommodations.”

  Evzan’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing about the escort when Adaline accepted. Her reason was not gratitude, nor was it a show of alliance. She was tired, exhausted even, though it was only mid-day. The Malas were intimidating and would keep the other soldiers away, but more than that, Adaline wanted to ask the Mala general about Sir Vodnik.

  As they stepped out into the sunshine, Adaline took a deep breath of the fresh air. Perhaps she should’ve demanded her generals bathe more frequently while she was at it. Adaline turned right, intending to skirt the center of the camp, and Evzan grabbed her elbow.

  “Your tent will be moved if it hasn’t happened already,” he grumbled, his gaze darting to the Malas.

  As they headed in the direction Evzan had indicated, he stayed so close to Adaline her heels were in imminent danger of his filthy boots. She grimaced at him, but he only raised his brows as if to say she was the one being unreasonable. Normally she’d snap at him, but she lacked the energy to even care about his proximity. What she wanted most was to disappear into her tent and sleep.

  The afternoon air was scorching hot, and the humidity only made it worse, like walking through soup. Only a few soldiers, stationed strategically, lingered nearby. Deeper in the camp, the smoke of fires rose into the air, accompanied by the smells of meat and cooking stews. In the near distance, the stone walls of the fortress waited for their attack.

  “You did well with your generals,” Gunhild said in Mal-mal as she walked beside Adaline.

  Adaline nodded, unsure if Gunhild’s words and tone were meant to be patronizing or encouraging. Not that it mattered. Adaline owed the Mala gratitude. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Gunhild waved away Adaline’s gratitude. “You are young but wiser than you give yourself credit. You recognized the men would not initially accept orders from a woman, so you evoked a ghost to order them and then shamed them with their own consciences.”

  That’s what she’d done? Most of what Adaline said was instinct, or her rationale came from arguing with her father. Right was right, regardless of country.

  “But your best move was to honor them at the end. These knights are soft and full of ego. They think women aren’t smart or strong. I’ve struggled with this since our arrival. These babies tense every time I speak then puff out their chests with pride. I could take two of them at once, perhaps three, and best them in a fair fight.” Gunhild shook her head, sending her thick braid swinging.

  “I think my aunt faces the same problem.” Adaline thought back to her aunt’s exhaustion during their training sessions. “The queen regent, I mean.”

  Gunhild laughed. “These men talk about their queen regent like they do about a new bride.” She stopped and pursed her lips, letting the silence settle. Gunhild then said, “I believe the queen regent will be a difficult person to follow in power.”

  Adaline wasn’t exactly sure where to put that comment in her exhausted mind or how to respond. But Gunhild didn’t even give Adaline a chance.

  “You, likewise, gave me great honor with your generals as well as a healthy dose of humility. I understand we have differences on how we wage war, and this war is yours. We will slaughter our enemies and honor those who sue for peace.” She looked to the men who accompanied them, stone faced and pointedly ignoring the conversation. “My men are loyal and strong. They will respect your wishes at my command. But when we reach Beloch—”

  “I’m not asking you to abandon our goal, Gunhild. Only spare the lives of the innocent when you can.” Adaline stumbled, and Evzan grabbed her arm and kept her upright. She offered him a wan smile and then said to the general, “When we reach Rizy, there should be no hesitation when we fight Tsar Baine. Those who stand with him will be slaughtered. We will tear down his castle, take every last coin from his coffers, and make him suffer for the evil he’s inflicted.”

  As Adaline spoke, she felt her mind dislodge from her body. She shook her head to clear her blurred vision, trying to gather her wits with her utter exhaustion. The ground rolled beneath her feet, and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, wishing for a drink. Her eyes burned she was so spent.

  “There is one more thing I wish to say before I leave you; it is the reason I have accompanied you here,” Gunhild said. She narrowed her gaze and grabbed hold of Adaline’s arms. The large woman’s blue eyes shone with her seriousness when she said, “The spike on the dead man’s ring was full of frodleikr eitr.”

/>   “Sorry,” Adaline said, grimacing. “Frodleikr eitr? I don’t know—”

  “This is our tent here, Highness.” Evzan stepped up to the group, glowering at the Malas. “We will wish you good-day.”

  “In a second,” Adaline said, raising her hand to her guard with her attention still fixed on Gunhild. “Please, I do not know these words, frodleikr eitr.”

  “The smoke rising . . . his green tears. You know what was in that ring even if you do not know the words in my language. The man who attacked you did not buy that ring. The price for such a ring would be”—she looked off over the sea of tents—“It would be worth more than the eastern compound, and the knight’s armor was second rate.” Gunhild leaned forward and whispered, “Somebody wants you dead, and I’m not sure it was only a second-rate knight. Be careful.” Gunhild bowed shallowly, her men beside her echoing the show of respect. “Good-day, Princess.”

  “Thank you,” Adaline whispered, blinking as the warning sank in. Fear crawled through her muddled thoughts and pounding headache as she wondered, Who would want me dead?

  16

  Evzan growled an order at the guards and followed just behind Adaline. The flap slid closed, submerging the two of them in muted-gray light, and she closed her eyes.

  “If you’re going to yell at me, do you mind waiting until—” Adaline sucked in a breath as Evzan wrapped his arms around her.

  He held her close, their bodies aligning perfectly, and liquid honey poured through her and filled her heart. When he embraced her, it felt as if the world also aligned like everything in existence would make sense if she could just find a way for the two of them to be together.

  Adaline should pull away, but instead, she turned, still in his arms, to face him.

  The light softened the sharp lines of his features. He looked younger, kinder, in this stolen hazy moment between them. As she examined him, she felt him do the same. His gaze halted, fixing on her lips as his own parted.

  Adaline regarded her guard through heavy lids and said, “Please, don’t kiss me if you’re just going to reject me.”

  The words came out breathy, and his grip tightened. He dipped his head, and she tasted his warm, spicy breath on her lips. She wanted to contradict her own words and close the distance herself, and her hands slid up his chest.

  She should be telling him about the poisoned ring or about Vodnik having a benefactor. Adaline should be briefing Evzan on so many things, but those things flitted from her mind as he rested his forehead against hers. She wanted to drown in his taste, in his smell, and in his gentle caresses. He ran his hands through her hair, and she closed her eyes, melting into him.

  “How . . .” he whispered and then cleared his throat and started again. “How could you be such an idiot and pick a fight, Adaline?” His tone was glacial. “Frodleikr eitr is poison; he tried to kill you. You could have died all because you were trying to make a point?”

  Evzan’s words felt like a slap, and Adaline woke up from her fantasy. With a heartbeat, her shock evaporated and feelings flipped, and the tenderness she’d felt morphed to anger.

  “Let go of me, Evzan,” she snarled, pushing out of his arms. The tent swam in her vision, and she said, “I need to rest. And I need some space from you. You can guard me from outside the tent.”

  Pain flickered through his eyes, and he pursed his lips. He inclined his head and replied, “Of course, Princess. As you wish.”

  Adaline stood in Sir Vodnik’s tent, staring at the possessions of the man who’d tried to kill her. She’d tried to rest, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning after Evzan’s departure. A few minutes later, she’d climbed out of her new lavish silk-draped bed, determined to find answers to the questions pounding through her head.

  Adaline put her hand on the dead knight’s breastplate and pressed down with her body weight. The metal bowed. His armor wasn’t even steel but another weaker alloy. No wonder the poor page had dented it. Chain mail would be better than this rendering of flimsy protection. But the gold filigree was a costly piece of decoration.

  Evzan’s armor, when he wore any at all, consisted of a light chain mail shirt and plain and sensible metal plating. A knife, or even a poorly wielded sword, would simply deflect off it.

  But even a dull blade would best Sir Vodnik’s poorly constructed protection. His tent was much like his armor. At first glance, the expensive possessions prominently displayed throughout the space made him appear wealthy. But on further examination, gold paint easily chipped away with her fingernails on his chests and plaques.

  “An ambitious coward,” she muttered to herself as she rifled through his things.

  “Did you call for me, Princess?” Evzan asked as he pushed through the tent flap to join her.

  “No.” Adaline rolled her eyes, not wasting the energy to look his way. She knew he’d find her. He always did. He’d probably pretended to be elsewhere when she’d snuck out of her tent, letting her think she got away while he continued his vigilance. “All of Vodnik’s possessions are just for show; there’s nothing of substance here.”

  “His skills didn’t match his position in the army, either. He likely purchased his knighthood. He certainly lacked sufficient training.” Evzan kicked the gilded chest.

  He was pretending their interaction in the tent never happened? Adaline could go along with that.

  “Do you recognize this?” Adaline held up Sir Vodnik’s chest plate.

  Beautiful gold filigree decorated the metal from the outside edge of his family crest to the very rim of the defensive plate. Adaline frowned at the emblem. Why did it make her think of her father?

  Evzan studied the elaborate ornamentation. “The wolf and hammer belong to the Chiffon family.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but isn’t the Vodniks’ crest something similar?”

  Reaching forward, he rubbed the edge of the plate with his fingers and immediately warped the metal. “The Vodnik family doesn’t have a crest anymore. A year ago, your father stripped the Vodniks of their lands and dukedom for buying slaves from Beloch.”

  “Slavery is illegal in all of Ctyri,” she said, shaking her head with disgust. “It has been for a hundred years.” But Evzan’s words tickled a memory; Mari had told Adaline about the Vodniks losing their title and land.

  “And yet, the flesh market persists.” Evzan sighed, dropping his hand to his side. “Why else would your father have to deal with the likes of the Vodniks?”

  Her stomach roiled, and she dropped the breastplate as if Vodnik’s poisonous spirits still clung to it. “But then, how did Sir Vodnik get to be a soldier? How did he get a knighthood?”

  “Likely he received his knighthood before last year, and no one thought to strip him of it. Or perhaps, Sir Vodnik’s parents were still wealthy enough to purchase a knighthood for him. Maybe they’d used all of his family’s money for the commission and hoped to be rewarded for valor.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, Princess. You won’t find anything here, let’s go.”

  Back to princess, were they? Fine.

  “You go. I need another minute,” she said, staring at the scattered pieces of Sir Vodnik’s life.

  Evzan let the tent flap fall, but Adaline didn’t hear her guard walk away as expected. She blinked, her mind spinning. Did Vodnik know Adaline’s true identity? King Jarian stripping the Vodnik family of their title was ample motivation to kill her, but her mind rebelled at the very idea. There was no way he could’ve known who she was when they’d ridden into camp. Yet, injured pride seemed an equally unreasonable explanation. Why would an ambitious man use such an expensive ring to murder a mere squire?

  Amidst the cheap gilded possessions and functional items, there was nothing to indicate a wealthy patron even if he’d had one. No damning correspondence with instructions or a description of her, not even paper or ink.

  Adaline rifled through Sir Vodnik’s toiletries, his shaving razor, mirror, soap, and chipped wash basin, kicking the latter item aft
er she dropped it. Even the shaving mirror was only a shard of glass, too small and sharp to be of much help. There were no answers here. None at all.

  Perhaps the ring was a family heirloom, and Vodnik had inherited it, using it in the heat of anger. The explanation was as believable as any other, yet Adaline still felt unsettled. She stared at the mess, searching for evidence of something.

  Evzan poked his head through the flap again. “This is a morbid way to spend the evening, Princess. He was a fool, and now he’s a dead fool. Are you quite satisfied with his pitiful possessions?”

  “No. But as you said, there’s nothing of value here. I was hoping to understand the man who died for such a foolish reason. Perhaps we could’ve prevented similar foolishness in others.” Adaline sighed, defeated by the conundrum.

  “You can only change one person, Highness. The rest have to do it on their own. As for Vodnik, I wish he hadn’t died,” Evzan said, his eyes glinting. He stepped into the tent, and the pulse in his neck feathered as he continued, “He should’ve paid for his treachery with hours of agony before being released to death. I would’ve found ways to make him suffer.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “In the future, you will tell me if someone threatens you.”

  Adaline shivered from the barely restrained violence brimming in her guard, but she shook her head. “Why bother teaching me to fight if you’re determined to wage all of my battles for me?”

  Evzan’s jaw hardened, but his voice softened when he replied, “You cannot possibly understand what this is like.”

  Was he in earnest?

  “How could I?” she replied, frustration simmering in her chest. “You don’t tell me anything. I don’t know a bit about you or your family. I don’t even know . . .” Adaline bit her lip as she tried to pick one of the millions of questions she had for him. “What did you do before you were my guard?”

  Evzan crossed the tent to her in two strides. He studied her face, his gaze holding her captive. “I’ve been many things over the years,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “A sell-sword, a soldier, a mercenary, but most recently, a huntsman.”