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Maybe it was a prayer after all, and maybe it was nothing more than a plea cast out into a void in which no one was listening. But I wasn’t waiting on divine intervention to save my prince.
I was fucking well doing it myself.
The trees began to steadily thin and after half an hour I stumbled out onto tilled farmland draped in a thin layer of snow. The soil cracked underfoot, tough and unsuitable for growing anything but the hardiest of foods, but tended to recently enough to give me hope that a settlement was close by. Scanning the darkening sky, I spotted a haze of light erupting from a handful of buildings nestled near a watermill that was crouched over a creek.
It took several impatient thumps on the door and a threat to break it down to bring the occupant of the closest dwelling out into the cold to greet me, which he did with a suspicious scowl and a sickle clutched tightly in his hands.
“Healer,” I demanded in Temarian, not bothering with niceties. He was hardly going to invite me into his house for tea, and I wouldn’t accept if he did. “I need a healer,now.”
The old man squinted at me. “Where you from, boy? You been on the road long?”
“A healer, please,” I begged. “My lov…friendis injured, and only someone with the Touch can…can…”
The stranger’s face expression softened, and he lowered the farm tool. “You’re in luck, boy. A month ago, I’d have to have said there’s no such person in these parts.”
My breath caught. “But now?”
“Now…” The man glanced behind me into the snow, the suspicious look returning. “You don’t go causing him trouble, you hear me? You keep your mouth shut when you get to wherever city or town you’re going. The last thing we need is the crown’s soldiers coming to take him away because some fool ran his tongue.”
I understood. All Blessed were required to surrender themselves to their ruler so they could be put to work in the palace or army or wherever else their magic was needed. No matter where on the continent, none of them–technicallyus,but I had no intention of ever working as a seer and my gift was too haphazard in any event – were free. Sharing rumours of this healer’s presence would see him taken to the capital, forcibly if required, to benefit those whom my mother deemed most worthy.
Which wouldn’t be the residents of this tiny, remote settlement in southern Temar.
“I won’t,” I said. “Please, tell me where I can find him. My friend doesn’t have long left.”
A sympathetic grimace washed over the man. “He’s taking shelter in the watermill until we can get some proper lodgings built,” he said, jerking his head to the right in case I’d missed the only distinguishing feature of the entire hamlet. “Poor lad carries his demons, but he’s a fair healer. He’ll do you right if you can pay, I’m sure.”
“Blagodarya,” I blurted by way of gratitude, and rushed the half mile to the watermill. Further graceless knocking yielded no response, so I shoved open the door…only to find the building beyond empty.
Furs were scattered in the corner of the draughty room, scraps of wood and parchment littering the surfaces of the small table and chair, but my eye was drawn to the incongruity of the weapon leaning against the far wall. Unlike the worn-down, decrepit nature of the building and the rest of its contents – an aesthetic which mirrored the old man and his sickle – the sword gleamed with ill-matched luxury. I stepped inside, peering closer at it. It was an expensive item, polished and gilded, although it was missing the emerald I knew had once been in its hilt.
“Zlatkov said you needed a healer?” asked a familiar voice in accented Temarian, and I sensed someone entering the room behind me, stamping their boots on the hard dirt floor. “As long as he told you I don’t do shit for free.”
“Well?” the man demanded impatiently when I didn’t turn around. “Either you do, or you’re wasting my time.”
I eyed the sword, wondering whether I could run him through before he realised who I was. But that wouldn’t save Ren.
So I turned around and looked him directly in the eye, refusing to let the prick see any of my fear.
“I do.”
Kolya’s expression went slack with disbelief as he stared at me. “Natty?”
*
Chapter Sixteen
Snow fell onto my face, dainty flecks which quickly melted into wet drops that ran down my cheeks or hung from my eyelashes. Every few seconds, I allowed myself to blink them away.
If I rolled onto my side, maybe I could protect my face from the swirling snow. But I couldn’t move. Every part of my body felt heavy and foreign and hot andwrong.
“Poor, pathetic Ren,” Comandante Moreno drawled, idly stretching out a leg next to mine. I could just make out his mocking smirk in my periphery. “Did you really think you were worthy to rule Quareh? Did you expect youwould bewelcomedto the throne?”
I flinched.
“Kings don’t die all alone and unloved in someone else’s country,” the Comandante continued, inspecting the scars across his palm that he’d been forced by my father to put there himself. “Kings don’t fail their people before they’re even crowned.”
“You’re not really here,” I told him dismissively, regaining my composure. “Fuck off.”
