David closed his eyes. “I – I believe you. Be that as it may–”
“You’re the one who sent everyone scattered about out here like ants.”
“No, that was yourcountry cousin. If we had our wagons–”
“It wouldn’t matter. Some other horror would take you. It may still. And if I’d had my way, none of you would be here. Sabina would be safe at her brother’s country estate, not wandering about alone in the darkness–”
“You’re not the only one who deserves the chance,” said David.
Something in David’s words gave him pause. “Have you considered what we’re attempting to do? Really considered it.”
Bertrand barked a grim, high laugh. “Risking being eaten alive by an evil tree?”
“Giving Edgard eternal life. He’s already a tyrant. Can we honestly expect immortality totemperhim?”
“He does have a point,” David said haltingly. “If Edgard were a better man–”
“And what if the next king is worse?” Bertrand replied. “What if the high-ranking nobles get rowdy over this little quest and replace him with someone more vicious? What if he dies without an heir and we’re invaded by Preule, or by the Marchess Empire, made to adhere to their customs, made subservient to their economy? What if parliament takes over and nothing ever gets accomplished because none of the pompous shits can agree? Better the devil you know. And if the devil is ageless, then we’ll get to know him very well.”
“I know him well enough,” Sy said quietly. Well enough to know he must do anything to be free of him, whatever the price.
“How well do you know him, Sylas?” Bertrand asked, implication thick on his tongue. “People do say the wildest things.”
At that, David rose quickly to his feet and stormed into the brush. To Sy’s relief, he took his pen kit with him. It would do no good against bears or carnivorous fruit, but it could protect him from other humans, at least.
Bertrand watched not David, but Sy. He returned Bertrand’s stare evenly. “Anything else to add?”
“What about you?” Abruptly, Bertrand rose, gripped the bottle of whiskey David had left behind. Grimacing, he took a drink. “Go on. You’ve been dying to ask me what I’m doing here.”
“I really haven’t,” Sy said, rubbing his temples. His headache was worse than ever, and his fatigue, chased away by adrenaline, now crept back into his limbs.
Bertrand continued as if Sy hadn’t spoken. “You know I’m studying to become a physician.”
“You’re going to use your knowledge of the body and David’s of magic to compose a spell, then split the prize. Am I close?”
“Jealous?”
“We’re through,” he said coldly. “If that wasn’t painfully obvious.”
“It wasn’t. I wouldn’t need the prize if I had a sovereign for every fight between the pair of you.” Bertrand cast a glance in the direction David had gone. “Your huntress is going to catch it, anyway. Good work setting her on the trail,” he added bitterly. “If she wasn’t a target already, she will be, now.”
Sy’s eyes snapped up. Bertrand shrugged. “Others will be stalking her, tracking her. They’ll wait until she catches it, then steal it from under her nose. Or her neck.”
Sy felt his chest tighten. “Others like you?”
In reply, he took another drink.
“You have an idea. Don’t you?”
“Spoken like a man who has one of his own.” Sy mimed brandishing a hand of cards. “Show me your hand and I’ll show you mine.”
Bertrand weighed his offer. Sy knew his guesses were worth their weight in gold to the others; they were in the forest on his hunch, after all. At the moment, he held all the cards.
Perhaps not all of the cards, anymore.
Bertrand finally made his decision, brandishing his red glove with an ironic flourish. “Are you familiar with the concept of metempsychosis?”
“Can’t say it rings a bell, no.”
