“Would you risk it without rest?” Richard asked.
“If the incentive was high enough,” she said.
So she valued her goal higher than her life. He would have to take that into account. She was likely to overextend herself on her own.
“What about doing this on a smaller, individual scale?”
The woman shrugged. “Infecting a single target is much easier.”
“Are you still capable of healing?”
She reached over and drew her hand across his cheek, letting the tiny golden sparks penetrate his skin. The ache in his face dissolved.
“Does the bruise still hurt?” she asked.
“No.” It was in his best interests to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help himself. “What you do . . . it’s a gift. Reconsider.”
Bitterness dripped from her voice. “Too late.”
“Are you able to control your magic? Can you rein it in?” Richard had to account for all possible contingencies.
“Yes,” she said. “What I do requires a very deliberate intent and concentration. I won’t be infecting you in my sleep because I had a nightmare.”
“Do you have any family? Anyone who could be used to compel you to do something against your will?” Anyone he could use to talk her out of this madness.
“No.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
“Yes. Elvei Leremine, my ex-husband. He’s terrified of me and will take every opportunity to obtain revenge. Also, by using my art and magic to murder, I’ve broken the healer’s oath. If I’m discovered by the realm, Adrianglia will execute me. If you don’t want this to happen, the use of my magic must be more covert.”
He was running out of questions.
“There is one more thing you should be aware of,” she said. “I can’t heal myself. If I’m injured, I’ll have to recover by normal means unless we can find another healer.”
She had committed herself to it. She would embark on this path with or without him, but her chances of survival were much higher if he took her with him. She had great power, but she was vulnerable. This time she got lucky. If he abandoned her now, eventually she would walk into the wrong camp. It would take just one man to shoot her dead or knock her unconscious. She had saved him twice, once from the wound and the second time from the cage. No matter how much he didn’t want to witness her transformation into someone like him, he owed it to her to safeguard her.
Richard held out his hand. “Last chance to turn back.”
“No.” She put her hand into his.
“These are my terms. You will accept my authority. If I say to wait in a certain place, you will wait. If I say to kill someone, you will kill them. You understand that your life is secondary to our cause. If your compassion jeopardizes our mission, I may not be in a position to be merciful. If you choose to hinder me, I’ll cut you down.”
He waited, hoping he’d scared her off.
Her face showed no hesitation. “Agreed.”
They shook.
“My name is Richard Mar.”
“Charlotte de Ney,” she said with a sigh.
A noble title. She had mentioned she had one, but even if she didn’t, he would have known simply by the way she held herself. Blood itself, noble or no, didn’t confer any special benefits. He was living proof of that—an Edger mongrel, yet he could and had passed for a blueblood many times. But he had years of education, and he recognized in Charlotte the grace and poise that training imparts.
Propriety dictated that he should let go of her hand. He did, although he didn’t want to.
“We start with the bodies,” Richard said. “Voshak should carry a copy of the cipher. One more thing.”
“Yes?” She raised her eyebrows.
“The dog.”
“What about him?”
“You can’t possibly mean to take him with us.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
“He’s a wolfripper. Born and bred to hunt wolves, and since he was owned by the slavers, he was trained to hunt men. You’re looking at 170 pounds of cunning and vicious predator.”
“I’m so glad you think he’s smart.” Charlotte smiled at the dog. “The dog stays, Richard.”
He sighed.
Charlotte pushed herself up from the pile of bags. He read exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders. Her magic had come at a cost. He decided not to argue.
“As you wish.” Richard handed her his knife. “We have some corpses to strip. It’s easier to cut pockets than rummage through them. We may have to ride hard once we find what we’re looking for. Can you do it?”
Charlotte raised her head, her gaze regal and proud. “Of course I can.”
FOUR
JEANS definitely had their advantages, Charlotte decided. For one, they provided a nice protection for one’s thighs when in a saddle. Unfortunately, they did nothing for the ache in her core muscles. It had been two and a half years since she had last ridden a horse, and although her posture and balance were still good, after eight hours, her inner hip muscles and her butt had turned into painful mush. The reality of expending so much magic so quickly had crashed into her a while ago. Her head felt fuzzy. Her eyes wanted to close.
“Almost there,” Richard murmured.
“I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”
Considering that he was near death less than twenty-four hours ago, of the two of them she was in much better shape.
They rode side by side on the Salino-Kelena Adrianglian highway. Around them tall oaks dripped long beards of moss. The day had long since burned down to night, and the moon shone from the sky, drenching the road in silver light. Darkness hid between the tree trunks. Strange noises came from within the woods: a deep guttural grunting, followed by the distant snarls of a predator, the high-pitched squeaking of some rodent, and the eerie hooting of the great twilight owls trying to flush out their prey. Somewhere between the shrubs, the dog glided, silent despite his bulk.
They had searched Voshak’s bags and found the cipher and another map, hidden in the false bottom of his canteen. Richard translated it while she chose the best horses and searched for useful weapons. The map indicated a pickup point just north of Kelena, a large harbor city. The map gave a specific date and time, eleven o’clock, evening, the day after next. The moment they had finished gathering supplies and Richard finished stuffing some of the more outlandish pieces of leather into their saddlebags, they had ridden out.
Richard slowed his horse.
“What’s wrong?”
“My wound is aching,” he said.
Her magic told her that his wound was no worse than it had been hours ago. He was giving her an opportunity to rest, and she was too tired and too grateful to fight him on it. Still, she had to. “I appreciate it, but please don’t make allowances for my sake. I’ll manage.”
“We’re only a few miles away,” he said. “Have you ever been to Kelena?”
“No.”
“It is a noisy, garish hive of a city. We’ll be walking into the Cauldron, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Adrianglia. They call it the Cauldron because that’s where the worst humanity has to offer is thrown together and allowed to boil until the scum floats to the top.”
Charlotte laughed softly. She hadn’t thought she would ever laugh again after what she had done, but her body had passed the point of pain, and she felt weightless and disconnected. “You’ve missed your calling.”
“I’m a complete failure as a poet,” he said. “When I was fourteen, I wrote a long ballad about the bleakness of my life and the heaviness of the burden that was being me. My brother stole it and read it out loud at a family gathering. That was the first and the last time I managed to make the entire family laugh.”
The laugher kept coming. She heard the hysterical tone in her own voice but couldn’t stop it.