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Another tenth turn was about to fade away, and I still had no way to open the damn Chasm.
My people knew my father’s mantle had been conquered by the earth bender king. It wouldn’t take much to count the turns and realize the chance to take it back was ending. I wasn’t surprised they’d gone to such lengths to find a way to heal what was dying.
Unsurprised, but it didn’t mean I needed to be merciful for the betrayal.
Murdo spit blood at my feet. “When our king leaves us to destruction, the desperate will do anything. Perhaps a new king might finally return the Ever to its former glory.”
“You could be right, Murdo. But we’ll never know.” I’d learned quickly how to fight with a weak limb and have a weapon in hand before an enemy even noticed. My knife rammed between two of his ribs. There were the screams I craved. Hand on the hilt of the bone knife, I leaned close. “We’ll never know, for you cannot take what is mine by right, by blood, and by destiny.”
I yanked the knife out of his ribs. The old lord spluttered and gasped. Close to his face, I dragged my tongue along the blade, letting the tang of his blood drip from my lips, down my chin.
With the point of one slightly elongated canine, I pricked my finger until a bead of blood surfaced. Murdo’s skin paled.
“Swear your fealty, Murdo, and you won’t greet the Otherworld today.”
The lord sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. He clutched his side and maneuvered to his knees again. A gasp of pain scraped from his throat when he bent forward and pressed a kiss to the toe of my boot.
I chuckled, low and harsh, then kicked my foot up, knocking his teeth. Blood slicked the top of my finger now. I crouched, failing to hide my own grimace, and hovered my palm near Murdo’s wound.
“I accept your vow.” Through the hole in his side, I jabbed my bloody finger. The bastard roared in pain when I twisted and scraped more than was needed. Convinced enough of my blood had tangled with his, I stood.
Murdo let out a few gasps, head on the deck.
When silence surrounded us, a groove gathered between his brows. “M-My King?” He stammered the words like a question, waiting. Already the veins of crimson snaked from his wound, coiling around his belly, up his ribcage, aimed at his heart. He convulsed. “King Erik . . . p-p-please.”
“Did you expect me to sing?” I tilted his head. “I wonder why. I don’t save traitors.”
Spittle and blood foamed at Murdo’s mouth. His eyes grew wet and glassy as his body twitched from the poison of my blood. I’d earned the name Bloodsinger at a tiny four turns when my father tested the magic of his heir.
In the worst of ways, I’d discovered exactly what my blood could do.
A simple song from me would save Murdo. But with silence, my blood would fester and destroy his insides until his heart gave out. I didn’t utter a sound, and returned my fallen tricorn to my head, adjusting it low on my brow. Like an insignificant piece of the deck, I stepped over Murdo’s body and strode for the gangplank leading to the shore.
“You going on land?” Celine’s twittery voice was muffled beneath her mask.
“You found it?”
“We did.”
“Then I am going to retrieve it.” With a jerk of my head, I gestured at Athol. “See to it he understands what happens if he follows his father’s footsteps.”
Halfway down the plank, another form came to my side. I clenched my fists. “I don’t need you to guard me, cousin.”
Tait, my obligated first in command, didn’t move away. Half a head taller, Tait was built like a shield, broad and thick. We shared the same bronze-brown skin, but Tait’s hair was dark as shadows and fell over his shoulders. Mine was like the soil underfoot and shorter. The scarf on my head kept it free of my eyes, but the scars on the back of my neck reddened with irritation when my hair grew too long.
There was little love between the two of us. Harald, his father, had seen to it what affection we once had as small boys was slaughtered through harsh treatment and forced distance.
No doubt, Tait suspected I was the one behind the death of his father. He’d be right, and I was convinced he didn’t press me on it out of fear I’d do the same to him.
Again, he’d likely be right.
“Where is it?” I snapped.
Tait lifted a beringed finger, pointing at a woman who clung to a girl, no older than twelve. “Their alchemist was to make an herb poultice with it.”
On our approach, the mother shifted in front of the child. Folk of Rusa all shared the pale skin, a shade of ivory, some nearer to slate. The flames reflected off every tone like glass.
“You must be the alchemist of the isles?”
