Altered Destiny (3 page)

Oren nodded, the creases of his brow smoothing. She felt a stab of guilt. He trusted she knew what she was doing. She didn’t.
A Svistra on my land.
What if the soldiers were right, and the Svistra were on the move? Her stomach knotted. How would she protect Oren from a pack of monsters?
It can’t be.
She’d worked hard to make a life for them; she wouldn’t let anyone, even the Svistra, ruin it.

“Hey Selia, how come the barn’s locked?”

The voice broke her train of thought. She looked toward the door to see Marc, Jim’s oldest son, enter the tavern followed by a young woman she’d seen in the village.

“And what were you planning on doing in my barn?”

A flush and a glance toward the girl answered her question. “Well, why’s it locked? Maybe I was gonna put my horse in there.”

“Your horse? That’s what you’re calling it now?”

The tavern erupted in roars of laughter.

She leaned back against the bar faking an ease she didn’t feel. “Commander warned me to keep my barn locked. I’m a law-abiding citizen. I follow orders.”

Another bust of laughter filled the tavern.

Selia smiled along with her friends and neighbors.
If they only knew…

In the barn, under the lantern light, the Svistra’s wounds looked worse than before. She and Oren had spent the better part of the night dragging the three dead bodies off the path and toward the river. The arrows smoldered in the tavern’s oven. She was tired, and the sun would rise in a few hours.

“Are you sure about this?” Oren asked.

They’d often brought injured creatures in and nursed them back to health, but this was different. “No. I’m not. He was wounded. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“No, of course you couldn’t.”

“He might not be what he seems.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Oren shrugged.

Selia stared at Oren for a heartbeat. Good question. Why wouldn’t he be?
Because even though I couldn’t just let him die, if he’s a Svistra—and let’s face it, he is—then maybe I should have.
Svistra were dangerous, more dangerous than any stray creature they’d tended. Even if the Svistra didn’t attack, if the villagers found out…

“You want me…” He pointed to the sword hanging from her waist.

“No. I don’t think he could hurt us now if he tried. You hold the lantern. I’ll clean him up.”

Oren was the gentlest person she knew, but he didn’t know his own strength. She took the cloth and bowl of water and washed the man’s face. He didn’t flinch as the cold liquid touched his skin. She placed a hand against his throat to make sure there was a pulse. He was warm under the blanket she’d thrown on him and very much alive.

“We’re going to have to sew this one up.” She spoke without turning, cleaning the caked blood from a cut over his eye.

The light wavered. Oren handed her a bundle. Selia unwrapped it, threaded a long needle and sewed the laceration closed with deft strokes. As she dabbed at the wound, she examined his features. With his face clean, his cheekbones were even more pronounced. Dark, thick eyebrows crowned slanted eyes and long lashes fell across very pale skin, Svistra skin.

“Is he fevered?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“You’ve wiped his forehead a lot. It’s clean. You might want to wipe the blood away from his mouth. He might have missing teeth.”

Selia breathed deep. She’d avoided the full lips of his mouth. The one thing on which all the rumors agreed, whether as part of a ritualistic practice or depravity, is that Svistra consumed human blood. It seemed strange, almost unreal, that those lips could attach to a living human and…

Her hand shook as she rinsed the cloth, then she wiped the blood away from his mouth. His lip was split, but nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own.

“He might be broken,” Oren said over her shoulder.

He was right. If she was going to do this, she might as well do it right. “Hang the lantern. Help me get him undressed.”

They cut the bloodied shirt away from the Svistra’s body. She didn’t know what she expected, but not a well-muscled, human-looking masculine physique. She winced at the discoloration that would soon darken into nasty bruises.

A dark tattoo twisted down the right side of his body, curving like flames across his chest and over his shoulder. Wide sinuous lines spiraled into an image like the sun across his abdomen before disappearing beneath the waist of his leggings. She’d seen tattoos before, but never one so feral, as if it represented nature itself. She chided herself for the flush creeping up her cheeks and gently pressed against his torso checking for broken ribs.

“One maybe two.”

Oren promptly handed her a long, thin piece of cloth.

“Hold him steady.”

He gently lifted the Svistra.

Selia leaned over to wrap his torso, getting closer than she was comfortable doing. A rich spicy scent wafted in the air. She leaned closer. Herbs and something tangy she couldn’t name. Then she gasped. His back was a series of crisscrossed bloody welts. “They whipped him.”

Oren peered over the Svistra’s shoulder. “Bad men.”

“Yeah. Lay him back down for now.”

“He sure is bruised,” Oren said. “Who were those men beating him up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could they have been from Commander Nathan’s group?”

What if they were? How could she explain three dead soldiers near her land? Then she relaxed. “They didn’t have the sign of the bear anywhere on them.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re telling me. Hand me the cloth, and I’ll clean his back. Then we’ll finish wrapping those ribs.”

“Er…what does he eat?”

“Broth for now I think.”

“I mean, isn’t he going to need…”

The enormity of what she’d done struck Selia. Her stomach churned. “No. I mean if he does he’s out of luck, isn’t he?” She wrung out the bloodied rag. The water was now pink.

“I guess so.”

Selia cleaned then smeared salve across the Svistra’s back. Together, she and Oren bandaged his ribs.

Oren stood. “I’ll go get him one of my old shirts. You know, from when I was little.”

“That’s a good idea. His isn’t worth mending.” She fingered the material. It was a fine weave, better even than theirs. She brought it to her nose. Even dirty and bloody, the Svistra’s scent lingered on the cloth. “Will you get him some broth and the willow bark tea? We might as well see if he can eat.”

Oren nodded. “Are you…”

“I’m fine. He’s not going anywhere.”

Selia watched Oren until the door closed. She narrowed her eyes then jumped when the Svistra moaned. Without thinking she laid a hand on his brow. “You’re safe now.”

His eyes fluttered and opened long enough to display tawny-gold irises before he closed them again.

By the Trickster, what have I done?

Despite occasional rumors of Svistra, business remained brisk as villagers frequented the tavern to swap the latest gossip. If they traveled in groups and left earlier than usual, it suited Selia. She had been perpetually exhausted from the moment she’d rescued the Svistra.

She absently wiped down the already clean counter as she surveyed the tavern. Spluttering lanterns flickered over the men drinking and playing Reveal or Battle at the tables. Even if she didn’t know them by sight, it was easy to tell the locals from the Inlanders.

The locals bought their clothes from Jim, the weaver. He spun and wove his own material and if he put a few more elaborate stitches than strictly necessary to hold the garments together, no one complained. They were well made and with unmistakable flair. Jim used to be a highwayman; at least that was the gossip, but he’d fallen ill and collapsed when attempting to rob an old weaver. The man took him in, cleaned him up and taught him the craft. Jim never stole again.

The backdoor opened then slammed shut. Selia jumped. The nearest customers stopped drinking and stared. She nodded and continued her needless ministrations with the cloth.

She had entrusted the care of their patient to Oren. It wasn’t necessary for both of them to tend an unconscious, wounded man. For the most part, Oren completed his added task without complaint or remarking about it, for which she was grateful. The more they spoke about it, the greater chance of someone overhearing. But in the night, when the tavern was quiet and sleep eluded her, she wondered if Oren’s silence meant something else. He’d always reported on how his patients were doing. If he was going to, the Svistra should have regained consciousness by now. But then she’d chastise herself for letting the rumors get the best of her. Svistra couldn’t possibly do half the things attributed to them, especially control minds.

Behind her, Oren rummaged around in the kitchen. Something clanged to the floor and Selia flinched. Damn, she was skittish. Soon the locals would notice. Her heart sped every time horses neared the tavern, and the traffic had increased. Usually, the horses kept going, other times the riders stopped for a quick meal. In the last four days no one had insisted on stabling his horse, but it was just a matter of time. What if they did? What would she say? What if they somehow found the wounded Svistra? She didn’t have to think about it too much. Justice was swift in the Outskirts and, though it wasn’t used much, the tree in the town square still bore scars from the last criminal’s struggle against the rope that bound him as he was beaten to death.

In the tavern, the noises stayed at a constant drone, broken periodically by a sudden laugh or swear. Not one suspected that a Svistra lay a hundred yards from where they drank, and she knew for that crime, she couldn’t trust in village camaraderie. If there wasn’t time to send for the king’s men, they’d beat her themselves.

A farmer had discovered the three dead men a few days before and ironically assumed they were victims. The dark priests had given a perfunctory blessing, added the proper herbs to the fire and sent them to the Nameless god and whatever fate awaited them.

Oren ducked through the kitchen doorway, his brown eyes scanning the room as one of the customers called for a mug of ale. Leaning over, Oren whispered, “He said thank you.”

“He’s speaking?” Selia almost dropped the half-filled mug.

He nodded.

After taking the ale to the waiting customer and bringing back a few empties for refills, she drew close to Oren. “How much is he moving?” she whispered. Would they have to tie him up? What was she supposed to do now?

“Not much really. Oh, I said I’d bring some of your willow bark tea later tonight. He seems in a lot of pain.”

Had she expected the Svistra to die? She suddenly realized it would make her life easier. Her conscience would be clear, and she wouldn’t have a bloodthirsty monster in her barn.

“He says his name is Jaden.”

She dropped the mug. “What?”

“Jaden.”

The ale drained between the cracks in the planks of the wooden floor. Oren bent to pick up the broken crockery.

She squatted down to help him. “Next time you go out there, I’m coming with you.”

“Sure. He wants to meet you.”

I bet he does.

Oren hummed a tuneless melody as he and Selia neared the barn, its dark shape delineated against the starlit sky. A gust of cold wind blew from the north, bringing with it the smell of rain and tang of wet pine.

She kept a hand near her brace of knives, her body tense and ready for action as Oren fumbled to slide the key in the lock. Successful, he moved the bucket containing a mug of tea into his other hand and, after glancing back at her, stepped into the barn.

“It’s just me, Jaden,” he whispered. “I brought Selia. Remember, I told you about Selia?”

The barn remained quiet as they neared the stall where she’d left the Svistra. Was he gone?

As she followed Oren, Selia scanned the darkness beyond the pool of light cast by the lantern. Her nerves sizzled.
What if he’s waiting in ambush?

A rustle sounded ahead. The hilt of her knife found her palm as though drawn there, but Oren blocked her aim.

“I brought you the tea,” Oren said.

“Thank you.”

The back of her neck tingled. It was the same voice she heard in the forest, the timbre unmistakable.

Another rustle, and Oren stepped to a side.

The Svistra lay propped on a bale of hay, covered in a moth-eaten blanket and wearing one of Oren’s old shirts so threadbare she could see the tattoo under the fabric. With a mug halfway to his mouth, their eyes met. His golden gaze didn’t stray to the knife in her hand but he stiffened slightly.

“It seems I owe you my life.”

She remembered the color of his eyes. How could she forget? But she wasn’t prepared for the weight of his gaze.

Oren glanced at Selia then back to Jaden. “Would you like some stew?”

“Yes. Thank you, Oren.”

She kept her gaze on the Svistra as Oren left carrying the bucket.

“In payment for my life, as is our custom, I owe you fealty.”

He didn’t seem very servantlike. She imagined a lounging king might have the same demeanor. “You owe no debt, and I need no servant.”

“You could do worse than having the loyalty of a Svistra, especially in this day and age.” His gaze never wavered.

“I wasn’t aware Svistra knew any form of loyalty, especially in this day and age.”

His smile was devoid of mirth. He looked deliberately at the knife still in her hand. “You are skilled with a blade as well as an arrow?”

“The arrow shot didn’t matter. If I missed, you were dead anyway. Death from my hand would have been quicker than what the thieves had in mind for you.”

His pale eyes narrowed. “I can’t fault your logic. But why—”

“Why have I cared for you? Or, rather, why has Oren cared for you?” she finished. “Oren and I often take care of wounded beasts from the forest. We care for them, then, if they survive, release them.”

The Svistra gazed into the tea. “You didn’t expect me to live.”

Something in his voice filled Selia with shame. He couldn’t know she’d thought that very thing earlier.

“You will release me back into the wild?” he continued.

“As soon as you are able.”

“For your sakes, I hope it will be soon. But that doesn’t release me from my bond.”

“It is your custom, not mine.”

His hands shook. Holding the mug must have tired him.

“Drink your tea. It will get cold.”

“As you wish.” He drained the mug and looked up moments before Oren opened the barn door.

“Careful, it’s hot.” Oren removed the bowl from the bucket.

The Svistra tried to move and winced.

“I’ll feed you. Stay there.”

Jaden settled back against the hay as Oren maneuvered around her.

After a few bites, the Svistra looked at Selia and then the knife. “That’s really not necessary.”

“I’ll decide that.”

The flames shimmered in Jaden’s topaz eyes, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement there as he inclined his head in apparent agreement. “Oren says this is a tavern,” Jaden said.

“Yes.”

“And you own it?”

“Yes.”

“And your name is Selia.”

How much information had Oren given him? “Yes. It is.”

Jaden glanced up at Oren who was scraping the bowl. “I’ve had enough, thank you. There’s a family of kittens buried under there.” He pointed toward the stall opposite. “I’ve watched the mother hunt mice from time to time. I haven’t seen her since the kittens were born.”

Oren’s grin lit up his face. “I wondered where she’d gone off to. I used to feed her scraps at the kitchen door.” He squeezed past Selia to investigate.

“How do you know the kittens were born?” she asked.

“Well, my first clue was the mewing. The second, the mother hasn’t hunted today.”

Oren beamed. “Selia, come see how cute they are. Their eyes aren’t even open yet.”

She ground her teeth.
He’d watched the cat hunt mice?
Selia glanced past the lantern light to the pitch-black barn.
And now he’s concerned for kittens?
What game was the Svistra playing?

Oren made comforting sounds to the unseen feline.

As Selia turned the Svistra watched her. “Have I offended you?”

“No.” She lowered her voice. “If you hurt him, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Jaden’s eyes opened wide, and he matched the pitch of her voice. “Oren?” His face hardened before her eyes until it appeared made of stone. “I wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Good, then we understand each other.”

“I think I understand you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“We speak the same language. I mean exactly what I said.”

She met his stony, topaz gaze, irritated at the flush creeping up her cheeks. He was Svistra, for the Trickster’s sake. A child killer.
Then why did you rescue and nurse him back to health?
Anger replaced the shame. That was it. Why had she? Through her mind flashed the glimpse of gentleness she’d seen in the Svistra’s eyes. Gentle? Like a Svistra worried about a momma cat?

“Oren. We’re done here. It’s time to lock up.” She turned and left the barn.

Standing inside the flap of his tent, Keldar waited for the horse carrying the human messenger to enter the camp. The acrid stench of fear assailed his nostrils even before the man slumped from his mount and walked slowly toward him, a sealed missive in his outstretched hand. Keldar stepped into the sunlight, knowing he looked impressive in his full body armor. The smaller human seemed to shrink further.

“A message?” Keldar held out his hand just short of the letter. A brief surge of nerves twisted his stomach. What if the king didn’t cooperate? He fought it down.

“Yes, your…um, er, Commander.” The man must have realized he’d have to take a step closer to Keldar to deliver the message because he visibly swallowed before approaching. His hand shook so badly, he almost dropped the letter before Keldar snatched it away.

Curiosity won out over irritation. He would let the human’s clumsiness go unpunished in the spirit of cooperation. Of course, he could reconsider his decision depending on what the message contained.

He waved his hand to two of his men. “Make sure the king’s messenger is fed and rested before he returns.”

The messenger trundled off between the two taller Svistra, looking more like he was on his way to the gallows instead of a tent filled with food and wine.

Stepping back into his tent, Keldar broke the seal and read the words with growing exaltation.

After the usual greetings, consolation for the loss of his father and assurances that the treaty would continue, King Josiam of Darmis conceded that a meeting was necessary to renew the bonds of friendship. Friendship? Keldar snorted. He felt nothing but contempt for the southern king who would so easily turn on his brethren. Traitors deserved to die the seven deaths in every layer of hell. But he would use this man to his advantage, just as Tinlor had.

A moment of regret soured his thoughts. Keldar had admired his father and longed for his acceptance all his life. Tinlor’s one great weakness, his love for his traitorous elder-born son, had been his downfall.

Even after Jaden abandoned them again, Keldar knew Tinlor would take him back without hesitation. That’s why Keldar ordered his men to track Jaden and kill him. Obviously, they’d failed. How the attention and patience Tinlor had shown Jaden had chafed. His elder half-brother excelled in the fighting arts—so, what of it? He’d had the best tutors and the best weapons. He had been forced to practice with those things Jaden had outgrown or no longer wanted. But when it came down to it, Jaden had refused to lead an army against the humans. Not once, but twice. He’d betrayed the hope and love Tinlor had showered upon him for years.

Keldar unsheathed his sword and held it to the light, the day his father bestowed it upon him with the title of second so vivid in his memory. He also remembered the sadness in Tinlor’s eyes and the bitter gall in his own throat, knowing he was not the one his father had wished to name. Second choice.

The image in his mind’s eye changed from his naming day to the evening he’d discovered Tinlor wounded and raving about Jaden. He shut the image out. Tinlor had grown sentimental in his old age. He was no longer effectual. No one but Keldar’s closest men knew he had sped Tinlor into the land beyond the sun. Of course, a carefully placed rumor that Tinlor had died in a human ambush had spread quickly throughout the Svistra ranks. The commander had been much loved by his people as a demanding but fair leader, and Keldar agreed. With one obvious exception.

The effect of Tinlor’s death was better than he could have hoped. The messages from the Telige had spoken of a general outrage against the humans. Even those reluctant to wage war had shifted their support to him. Keldar’s ranks swelled and with it, the knowledge that he had been chosen by the gods to lead the Svistra, and his family’s name, into glory.

And now King Josiam of the humans’ southern realm had confirmed it.