“It’s hard to get her out of that Vyggian’s sight, and your brother employs him,” Gerard replied. “I don’t know what that bastard with one eye wants with her, but he is always near her. I think he’sbedding her. My men say they saw him go into town. This may be the only time we can get her away from him.”
“And the father says it should happen before Skow.”
“Yes. He says she best die before Skow. And he says your father and brother cannot know how it happened. I trust in my priest, and though I do not understand his intent, I have a personal grudge against this witch.”
“As do I. I’ve watched her escape punishment since she was a child.”
A low keen came out of me at this pronouncement.
“Shut the hell up,” Bertram growled.
“Sirs!” came a young man’s voice. “Have you need of torchlight?”
“Oh, godsdamn it,” said Bertram. And then he barked, “Stay away, fool!”
“Oh, I—I did not mean to intrude on...” The young man’s voice was stammering and sounded closer now. “I wanted to offer you my torch. I saw you here in the dark and I... What are you doing with her?”
“Did you just ask the most superior officer of this outfit what he does?” snarled Bertram. “What kind of respect is that to show your captain?”
There was a gasp, and then the soldier said, “Captain, I didn’t know! I didn’t know it was you. I just wanted to help.”
“Of course, lad,” said Gerard. “But note who else you insult. Careful not to tread where you do not know, involving yourself in things you don’t understand. That’s Lord Sheridan the younger you question. That is Lord Bertram.”
The soldier began to apologize profusely, over which Bertram bemoaned his very presence, telling him to go away. Gerard was speaking too, clearly trying to turn the boy’s attention away from what he and Bertram were about and onto his own embarrassment.
My upper arms were still pinned back painfully while my forearms, wrists, and hands dangled limply. When my left hand—flopping about as I was, jerked slightly by the emphatic movementsof both men castigating the boy with the torch—grazed the breastplate Gerard wore, I flinched. The pad of my ring finger was pierced slightly by one of the spikes that I had only thought of as decorative. They were actually rather sharp, and I sucked at my teeth as I felt a droplet of blood swell on that fingertip.
Please. I don’t want to die,I prayed again, knowing a pricked finger was nothing compared to the agony of drowning alive—drowning being a particularly awful thing to me as it was the way I had once lost someone beloved.
And then I had an idea. The kerchief had blinded me, but now, because of the torch and its heat, I could make out where the young soldier was standing. He was still sputtering his apologies while Bertram berated him, Gerard trying to respectfully speak over Bertram and make the boy leave. I could make out his lifted right arm holding up a large torch.
I had only heartbeats of time to decide, and I reasoned I could very well harm myself. But I was better off scarred and alive than dead with unblemished skin.Besides,I thought,what are a few scars? I already have wrinkles and tattoos.
I turned my wrist so that my left palm faced upward. My thumb worried at the little slit in my fingertip, pushing more blood out of it. I squinted behind the kerchief, noting the dull shape made by the iron chamber of the cresset that held the flame. My aim into one of the cresset openings had to be accurate. Clumsily, with only the vague rectangular orange outlines of the fire within the cresset, I flicked the blood towards the flame.
All three men started screaming.
I fell slightly backwards, stumbling as Bertram’s and Gerard’s grips loosened. I nearly fell to my rear, but I leaned into the stumble and kept pumping my legs, back and back, in the most awkward, graceless effort to get not just as far from my captors as possible but also away from the explosion of white- and peach-colored fire from the torch.
It took me a second to right myself, to wrench the blindfold awayfrom my eyes. When I did, I saw Gerard on his hands and knees, violently coughing. The torch had fallen to the ground and caught fire to the grass below. Bertram had wrenched his tunic off and was beating the flames, calling out for water. And the young officer was clawing at his chest where flames danced.
I could not spare them a second thought, and I ran.
57
NOW: BREATHLESS
We’ll slit that little mute girl’s throat while she sleeps.
The words echoed in my head as I stumbled towards the camp. I did not know what to do next, where to go. It occurred to me that running back to wagon four hundred and twenty-three might be dangerous, might bring my would-be murderers straight to my family. I tried to reason with myself as I stumbled through the grass along the perimeter of the camp, staying in close range of the campfires and throngs of people.
“Thank you,” I squeaked out, coming to a stop, bracing my hands on my knees, trying to breathe. “Oh my gods, thank you for that torch.”
“Robbie.”
I stood up to see Reed standing in front of me, his hand on one of the swords at his hip, his eye squinting to look over my head into the night.
“Did someone accost you? Who did this?”
