The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (57 page)

At the beginning. Back in Lundegaard, when she’d first shared fragments of dreams with Prince Harkeld.

“Let’s sit over there.” She walked across to a log on the riverbank and sat.

Petrus sat down beside her.

Innis tucked her hands into her cuffs and took a deep breath and told Petrus everything, not looking at his face, talking to the hissing, rushing water. She finished with Rand’s comments. “He says we need to tell Flin. He says this kind of attachment is rare.”

Petrus said nothing. Innis glanced at him. His expression wasn’t thoughtful, as she’d expected, but almost grim. “You and I have never shared dreams.”

“No,” Innis said. “Our bond is different.”

Petrus pushed to his feet in an abrupt movement.

Innis scrambled to stand. “Petrus... are you angry?”

Too late, she remembered that he didn’t like the prince.

“Petrus, this isn’t something either of us have any control over,” she said hurriedly. “It just happened—”

Petrus turned away from her.

“Petrus...”

He didn’t stop at the campfire. He kept going, his strides fierce, his cloak flaring, steam billowing behind him.

Innis stared after him, dismayed, with the river rushing and hissing behind her.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

T
HE MANACLE WENT
around one ankle and was bolted into the floor. The chain was short. She could lie down on the pallet or stand, but not walk. The window—nailed shut again—was out of reach.

Britta sat on the pallet, gripped the chain in both hands, and tugged.

The bolt stayed firmly anchored in the floor.

She heard Karel’s voice, fierce with conviction.
You can do it. I know you can.

Britta tugged again. And again. And again. Another ten days until they reached land. She’d pull the bolt out by then.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

T
HE SMELL OF
sulfur was so strong that Harkeld barely tasted the stew. He could have been eating boiled shoe leather for all the flavor the meat had.

After they’d eaten, Cora unrolled the map of the river junction and delta, sheltering it from the rain with her cloak. They crowded close, crouching.

“You’re about thirty miles from the coast,” Serril said. “We’re anchored here.” He tapped the map, leaving a wet fingerprint. “There’s a sand bar formed here”—he traced a curve to the west of the delta—“and a deep channel on the lee of it where we can come in close and load the horses. If we can get them across the river, that is.”

“Can the water mage stop the river flowing?” Harkeld asked.

“Not that volume, no.” Rand grunted a laugh. “Nice thought, though.”

“But
we
need to cross,” Harkeld said, staring at the map. “You and me and Cora. How do we do that?”

“Serril has an idea. If it doesn’t work...” Rand shrugged. “I hope you can swim.”

“An oliphant could cross the Szal here,” Innis said.

Serril glanced at her. A grin flashed in his beard. “You a mind-reader, girl?”

“We’ll ride across on oliphants?” Harkeld asked, startled.

“It’s an option,” Serril said. “But we’ll try something else first. Something quicker. I’d like to get you all aboard tomorrow, and if you three have to come back here to cross, and then ride ten leagues to the coast—
if
we manage to get the horses across... well, it’ll mean another night out with the breathstealers, and I’d like to avoid that. Now, tomorrow...” His finger moved south on the map to where the two rivers merged. “The anchor stone is still high and dry, but the ridge of rocks between the island and the riverbank is underwater. You’re going to get wet crossing to it.”

Rand grunted another laugh. “We’re already wet. In case you hadn’t noticed, Serril, it’s been raining the last couple of days.”

“Well, you’re going to get wetter. There’s about three foot of water flowing over those rocks. If it gets any deeper, you’ll need an oliphant to cross.”

Harkeld examined the map—the converging rivers, the island where the anchor stone was, the spreading fan of the delta. By this time tomorrow, the stone would be dust, destroyed by his blood and his handprint. He wished he could ride there now. He wanted it over with.

Nine miles to the anchor stone, twenty more to the coast.
And then we’ll be gone from here
. The curse would be two-thirds destroyed and the end of the nightmare would be in sight.

In sight? Yes.
But it gets harder after this
. Masse and Ankeny were the easy anchor stones. In Sault, the curse would be active. If they drank even one drop of water they’d go mad.

“Any questions?” Cora asked. “No?” She rolled up the map.

Innis glanced around and stiffened.

Harkeld followed the direction of her gaze, but saw only writhing steam. “Breathstealers?”

Innis stood, her hand on her sword. “Lots of them. Lots and
lots
of them.”

Harkeld pushed to his feet.

“More than last night?” Rand said.

“There are hundreds. They’re everywhere.” Innis seemed to make a conscious effort to relax. She lifted her hand from her sword. “They’re not advancing. They’re just watching.”

“Waiting for dinner,” Harkeld said.

Rand snorted. The tension around the campfire eased.

“How far away are they?” Cora asked.

“About five or six yards.”

Harkeld glanced around. He couldn’t see anything but steam and darkness.

“I don’t think they like the fire,” Innis said. “They’re not moving any closer. And last night they hung back until the fire had died down.”

“Do they burn?” Rand asked, with a glance at Cora. “Care to try?”

Cora shrugged. “Why not?” She raised her hand. “Where, Innis?”

“Anywhere you like. They’re all around us. About knee height.”

Cora threw a bolt of fire to their right. Something flared alight with a sizzling burst of flames.

Innis flinched back, covering her ears with her hands.

Harkeld blinked to clear the afterimage of flames from his vision.

“Well?” Rand asked. “I take it that was a breathstealer burning?”

“Two of them.” Innis lowered her hands. “Couldn’t you hear them scream?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Are they leaving?” Serril asked.

Innis shook her head. “They’re not afraid at all. They don’t seem to understand death.” She massaged her temples, as if the breathstealers’ screams had given her a headache.

“Hundreds of them?” Rand asked.

Innis nodded.

“I have two suggestions,” Serril said. “One, the fire mages burn the breathstealers that are already here. More will come, if they spawn in the steam vents, but it will reduce their numbers for now.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he observed Innis. “But their screams hurt you, don’t they? So perhaps that should be our second choice.”

“And the first choice?” Rand asked.

“Fires. A ring of them around the tent. It’ll keep them back, and if a few do make it through, Innis will be able to deal with them.”

Innis nodded. “That could work.”

“If I’m wrong and too many get through, Innis only needs to shout, doesn’t she? Once you’re awake, you’re in no danger.”

T
HEY BUILT BONFIRES
around the tent, hauling driftwood from the riverbank and stacking it in huge piles. Steam billowed around them as they worked. Harkeld imagined breathstealers jostling one another, plucking at his trews and clutching at his cloak.

Cora lit the fires. “I don’t want them too hot,” she told him. “They need to burn slowly.”

Harkeld nodded, looking at the flames. They were a mild orange-red, licking the wet wood lazily.

“Touch them. See if you can feel what I’ve done.”

Don’t burn me,
he told the flames, and put his hand in the fire.

“I’ve gone for stamina and endurance, rather than intensity. Feel it?”

The flames licked his hand. The rain wouldn’t put them out—he knew that without knowing how or why. The fires would consume the wood slowly, and only when no fuel remained would Cora’s magic allow them to die.

“How did you do that?” he asked, removing his hand.

“I’ll teach you. But not now.” She stood and turned to the others. “Hew and Petrus, you’ll sleep shifted tonight, and with so many breathstealers, I’ll feel better if you’re inside this ring. In fact, given the rain, it might be best if you sleep as mice, inside the tent.”

Both shapeshifters nodded.

“Hew, take the first shift. Petrus, no patrolling for you. You get to sleep all night.”

Petrus didn’t return Cora’s smile. Beneath his dripping hood, his face was expressionless.

“Now, bed, everyone. We need all the rest we can get. Tomorrow’s going to be challenging.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

H
ARKELD’S EYELIDS JERKED
open. His heart gave a kick in his chest.
This is it
. Today he destroyed the second anchor stone.

He heard conversation outside and rain pattering down. He pushed aside his blanket and scrambled out of the empty tent. “There you are,” Rand said. “I was just about to drag you out. Breakfast is ready.”

Harkeld was halfway through a bowl of steaming gruel when movement at the river caught his eye. Two massive shapes loomed out of the rain.

He almost choked before he realized what he saw: oliphants, lumbering across the Szal. A man was perched on one, swaying to the beast’s movement, and on the other...

Harkeld blinked, stared, uttered a laugh. “A boat?”

Everyone turned their heads. “Ah,” Cora said, sounding pleased. “They’re earlier than I thought they’d be.”