The Half King

14

Cerise awoke the next morning when Blue squirmed out of the sling she had repaired. She reached for him, but her hand landed instead on a warm knee, and she opened her eyes to find Kian sitting cross-legged beside her, scratching Blue’s ears and wearing nothing except for a shawl draped over his lap. He must have just materialized, because the sun was barely aglow behind the mountains.

The king smiled. He glanced at the fingers curled atop his knee and whispered, “Good morning to you, too, my lady of the temple.”

It was lucky she hadn’t lost any blood last night, because all of it seemed to be rushing to her face. She snatched away her hand, which awoke the rest of her muscles. She groaned in pain and rolled onto her back. Her arms and shoulders were tender from the fight, her back and thighs sore from a day in the saddle. And if that wasn’t enough, her stomach felt like a wet fist clenched around a ball of ice.

She was never eating jackrabbit again.

“Seems I missed quite the party,” Kian added, hooking a thumb toward the remains of the titan hyena pack that they had burned last night, along with her bloody clothes. Cerise had saved a single incisor from the alpha male she had battled. She could think of no greater offering of darkness to the Blighted Shrine than a piece of the monster that had tried to kill her.

“You shouldn’t have all the fun in the shadows,” she whispered back. “The rest of us are entitled to a little suffering, too.”

A smile played at his lips as he glanced around the cluttered camp. She followed the direction of his gaze, first to the covered supply wagon, below which slept General Petros. She’d learned that the general had a phobia of birds and refused to sleep in the open because he was afraid they would peck at his face. He had packed tents, but in the aftermath of the attack, the group had been too tired to pitch them. To the left of the wagon slept Daerick and Nero, still positioned back-to-back, daggers in hand. At the rear of the camp stood the horses—six of them now—and in the opposite corner lay Father Padron, unconscious on the blanket pallet Cerise had made for him.

The one person Cerise didn’t see was Delora Champlain. In the chaotic haze of the previous night, she hadn’t given a thought to Delora. But now that she looked around the camp, she realized the king’s courtesan wasn’t there, not even in the covered back of the wagon.

Cerise pushed onto her elbows. “Where is Lady Champlain? How are you able to sit here if—” She cut off as a realization struck her like a blow to the skull. Kian hadn’t appeared at Delora’s bedside because his spirit was drawn to someone else now—to her —and it had been for days. “It was you in my room,” she whispered, turning her wide eyes to him. “I locked my door each night, and you unlocked it when you left.”

Kian offered her an apologetic grin. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“And yesterday,” she realized. “You gave Blue a treat from the kennel master. I wondered how he got it.”

“I hid a few of them on the balcony,” Kian said. “I couldn’t have him barking at me every morning and startling you awake.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, a little hurt because she had known there was a fondness between them. The king had made that much clear with his flirtatious words and touches. So why had he concealed the extent of his fondness from her? Was he ashamed of her? Did he wish that he was drawn to someone else?

Kian released a quiet breath and dropped his gaze for a long moment before looking up at her again. There was a new softness in his eyes, a tenderness that warmed the deep, hidden parts of her that she hadn’t known were cold.

“I should have told you,” he said. “Kings are stubborn creatures. But now that my secret is out, you might as well know that I like you, my lady of the temple. I like you very much.”

Cerise felt her cheeks go up in flames. Not only her cheeks—her whole body.

He tried and failed to hide a smile. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“No,” she denied but then quickly admitted, “well, yes…” She didn’t know how to tell him that she liked him, too. That she liked the way she felt around him, and the low timbre of his voice, and his storm-cloud eyes, and even the way her chest erupted into flutters whenever he stood too near.

“Yes, and…?” he prompted.

Her racing mind made it impossible to say the right thing. Her emotions were all in a jumble. He was the king , and she was a lady of the temple. What did it matter how much she cared for him? Her life belonged to the goddess. She could not marry. And until her Claiming Day, she couldn’t even take a lover without risking her chance of gaining the Sight. Her duty had to come first—not just to the goddess but to the king himself, as well as to every cursed firstborn. Only a worshipper of pure faith could earn the sunset runes. She had to stay faithful. She had to stay focused.

She had to stay away from him.

“I’m glad your spirit is drawn to me,” she finally said. “You don’t have to sneak off anymore. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

Friends . Her fluttering heart called her a liar.

“Certainly,” Kian agreed, though he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes. He peered around the camp as if searching for a new topic of discussion. He found it when his gaze landed on the nearly lifeless face of Father Padron. “Gods alive,” he breathed. “What did you do to my high priest?”

Cerise didn’t say so, but it was more a matter of what Father Padron had done to himself. Last night after his fall, she’d noticed blood soaking through the back of his robe, much like several days ago, when he had shown her the catacombs. So she had removed his robe to see what was the matter. She hadn’t been prepared for the mutilation she’d found. From the look of the gashes on his back, he had used a cattail lash, and not for the first time. His back was woven in scars, some of them fresh and pink, others old and white, and far below them, the silvery ghosts of another decade. There were so many layers of injury stacked on top of one another that no healthy skin remained. What he had done wasn’t overzealous atonement. It was self-loathing. He had been punishing himself savagely for at least half his life.

Cerise would give nearly anything to know why.

“He dispatched a pack of titan hyenas,” she said, keeping Father Padron’s secret to herself, at least for now. She owed him her life, and she felt obliged to protect him in return. “That’s more than twenty priests could do.”

Kian grunted in disagreement. “It’s nothing for him. You don’t know the man like I do. When I was still in clods, my father sent Padron to put down an uprising in Solon. They say he stopped the hearts of fifty men before he broke a sweat. And he was practically a boy then. He’s grown more skilled with time. Killing a pack of hyenas shouldn’t have fazed him.”

“War stories,” she dismissed. “I don’t care what anyone says. A priest has to rest after dispatching death.”

“I wonder if he’s ill.” Kian pushed back his hair, which was long again, as the transformation had worn off and restored his true appearance. “Come to think of it, he looked a bit rough when I saw him yesterday. It was only for a moment, right before sunset, but his face seemed waxy, like he’d eaten a tray of spoiled oysters for lunch.”

Or like he had brutally whipped himself? Cerise thought.

On the other side of the camp, Nero stirred and pushed onto one elbow, looking rather pale and weak as well. Cerise still hadn’t forgiven Nero for cutting Blue’s sling, so she scowled at him and glanced away.

“If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness,” she said and gathered Blue in her arms. Her pup was heavier by at least two stones, which made sense, considering he was half titan. Luckily, Blue had inherited Stella’s good nature and not that of his sire. But the titan half of Blue would require more food to eat. “We’re going in search of a suitable bathroom. And if we’re lucky, breakfast.”

“And I should find my clothes.”

“Everything is in the wagon,” she said, pointing. “Though I must say that shawl looks lovely with your complexion.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, extending an ankle. “Makes my legs look fetching, too.”

“Better put on some pants before the horses swoon.”

She left Kian with a smile, which was her favorite way to go, and then she walked along the trail until she found a secluded spot to freshen up. She set down Blue, keeping watch over him as she used the water from her flagon to wash her chest and arms. While her blouse was unbuttoned, she caught sight of her pendant and stopped to take a closer look at it. The metal had changed. It was twisted and mangled, as if a team of oxen had trampled it. Maybe each act of protection weakened the metal. That would explain why it was dented when she had received it. She wondered how many uses it had left.

Footsteps sounded from nearby, and she quickly buttoned her shirt as Daerick and Nero strode into view. Daerick still hadn’t let go of his knife, and Nero was so exhausted from the walk that by the time he reached her, he had to stop and brace both hands on his knees. Casting the shield must have drained him more than she’d realized.

But Nero had enough strength to complain. He jerked a thumb toward camp and hissed, “I didn’t agree to this. To him . Gods be damned, you brought the high priest of Shiera to my door!”

“You didn’t seem to mind when he saved us,” Cerise pointed out.

“I could have handled it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Because we were doing so well on our own.”

“None of this would have happened if you had just let the mongrel go!”

At that, Blue growled.

“Shhh. Guard your words,” Daerick reminded them. “Let’s focus on what’s important.” He nodded at Nero. “By the time Father Padron rode to the rescue, you had already dropped the shield. He has no reason to believe you’re anything except an ordinary mountain guide.”

“What about the curtain?” Nero asked. “He’ll sense the energy when he wakes up. He might have sensed it last night.”

“We’ll tell him it was a gift, blessed by priests to protect you,” Daerick said. “They do that sort of thing all the time.” He shifted his gaze to Cerise, splaying both hands in confusion. “And you . I saw that monster use your throat like a chew toy, and there’s not a scratch on you. Want to share your secret with the rest of us?”

Cerise touched the pendant below her blouse. She wished Nina hadn’t sworn her to secrecy. “The goddess works in mysterious ways,” she said again, and then she closed the subject by turning her attention to Nero. “Are you strong enough to reopen the spring? We have three times as many horses now.”

“Yes.” Nero frowned. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she repeated. “That would have been nice to know before I used my water to wash.”

“Either way, I won’t use my energy around the high priest.” Nero shifted nervously and glanced higher up the mountain. “There’s another spring close by. I’ll ride ahead and open it and pretend I found it that way.” His stomach grumbled loudly. “And check my traps, too.”

“Anything but jackrabbit, please.”

“Sand melon tastes no better.”

“I don’t care about the taste—”

“Jackrabbit,” Daerick interrupted, tilting his head as if solving an equation. “The second largest Mortara hare. Its flesh is rich in protein, but it hosts a wide variety of parasites such as hook mites and sand lice. You were wise to burn the pelts, Nero.”

The statement had come out of nowhere.

Cerise shared a worried look with Nero, who had already known that Daerick was a Calatris but had clearly just realized that Daerick was a firstborn Calatris. But Daerick’s Claiming Day was still moons away. Why would his curse begin affecting him now?

Daerick blinked and returned to himself, blushing and refusing to look at them. He had always joked about his curse, but now it seemed the joke wasn’t funny anymore.

Cerise drew him into a sideways hug and rested her chin on his shoulder. She thought of Nina’s baby and the countless other Calatris children whose only crime was being born in the wrong order. Despite what she had told her sister, she would break the curse or die trying.

Daerick peeked up at her. “I don’t suppose you woke up with the Sight today.”

She wished she could tell him yes, but with just over two moons until her Claiming Day, her hope was dwindling. Still, there were special cases—late bloomers like Father Padron. She tried to put on a brave face. “I don’t need the Sight. Who says I have to be an oracle to change the world?”

“You’re not an oracle,” Nero said. “And you never will be. You’re umbra sangi .”

Cerise whipped her gaze to him. “What does that mean—what does any of that mean?”

“I want to know, too,” Daerick agreed. “I think the direct translation is hot blooded , but that’s all I could find out.”

“Fire blood,” Nero corrected. He jutted his chin at her. “You’re a descendent of the goddess. Her life force runs in your veins.”

Cerise sucked in a breath. It sounded like Nero believed in the heretical Triad nonsense that Daerick had told her about—that the Reverend Mother had warned her about. “You can’t be serious.”

“I was surprised, too,” Nero said. “But it was my grandfather who tasted your blood, and he’s never been wrong.”

“Well, he lied, either to you or to me,” Cerise pointed out. “Your grandfather told me my blood wouldn’t speak to him, remember? He said my origins were blank to him, just like my path is blank to Seers.”

“That was the truth.”

“How can it be true?”

Nero pointed back and forth between them. “Because I’m umbra sangi , too, and my grandfather can trace our fire blood back through the ages. But not yours. In your blood, he could taste nothing beyond the flame. That was why he spat it out. Your blood was too rich for him. It could have consumed him if he’d swallowed it.”

A chill puckered Cerise’s flesh, despite the growing heat of the day. She heard the Reverend Mother’s voice echoing from her dreams: He will be sorry. The flame he seeks to dampen will consume him .

“My grandfather is afraid of you,” Nero went on. “He thinks the flame in your blood is too strong for you to control. But I think anyone with your fire would make a good ally. That’s why I agreed to be your guide.” He considered for a moment and then pointed at her. “Have you ever burned your blood before? Set fire to it?”

Cerise wrinkled her forehead at the odd questions. “No.”

“It would burn black if you did,” he said. “What about the clothes you wore last night? You burned them with the others. Did they burn darker than the rest?”

“Not that I noticed,” she said. But none of the blood on her clothes had belonged to her. It had all come from the titan hyena. And besides, she had heard rumors of black flame omens. There were many reasons for an object to burn darker than usual.

“Pay attention next time,” Nero told her. “You’ll see.”

Cerise looked to Daerick with a question in her eyes. None of what Nero had said could possibly be true, could it? But stars , everything about him contradicted what she’d learned at the temple, every single text that she’d read. The Order had lied to her before. Could this be another one of their lies? Or was Nero the liar in this case? She didn’t trust him, either. After all, he’d tried to sacrifice Blue.

She had to get her Sight. She had to.

Daerick shrugged. “The Triad has never been proven, but it’s never been disproven, either. If you believe that Shiera created all life, it’s not a stretch to believe that she could impregnate a woman.”

“But fire blood is inherited, right?” Cerise asked Nero.

He nodded.

“Then I can’t possibly have it,” she said. “There’s no magic in my family. My father can trace his Solon roots back for ten generations, and even though my mother doesn’t know who her parents are, I can promise you she has no gifts. None of us have one. Not even me. So if I’m a descendent of Shiera with fire in my veins, explain why I’m ordinary.”

“I wish I could,” Nero said.

“Me, too,” Daerick added. “But there’s an unfortunate lack of reference materials on the subject of demigoddesses.”

“Don’t call me that,” she told him. There were limits to how far she was willing to stray from her teachings. To consider herself a demigoddess was heresy, and besides, she hadn’t seen enough evidence to convince her that Nero was right. Sure, he had magic, but maybe there was a segment of the Order that had defected at some point. There were too many things they didn’t know, like why the priests were bound to the Mortara kings.

And none of this mattered right now.

“Whatever’s in my blood, it won’t save you or the king or my sister’s baby from the curse. For that, we need the Petros Blade. So let’s focus on what we can control.”

Nero and Daerick were wise enough not to argue with her. The two of them returned to camp while Cerise finished washing. She brushed the tangles from her hair and then twisted it off her neck and secured it with a pin. When she was done, she pulled her scarf over her head and shoulders and followed the trail back the way she had come.

At the outer fringe of the encampment, Nero stood holding his horse’s reins. He had saddled the animal, but he hadn’t mounted it. Instead, Nero seemed distracted by something that was happening behind the supply wagon.

Cerise drew closer to camp, cocking an ear as she picked up bits of conversation.

“…never seen him this weak,” the general rumbled. “…might not get another chance.”

Kian’s voice followed. “…can’t…uprising…my armies couldn’t…”

“…madness,” Daerick answered hotly. “And I know a thing or two on the subject.”

Cerise had walked close enough to the group to see what they were discussing—or, rather, whom—because at the center of their huddle lay Father Padron, still unconscious. It seemed the group had carried him as far as the wagon, and now there was some debate over what to do next.

“I don’t suppose we can just leave him here.” General Petros raised a hopeful eyebrow at the king. “Can we?”

Cerise made a noise of disgust, causing all three men to whirl around. “I can’t believe this is a question after what he did for us last night. No matter how you feel about the Order, you should want him by our side. There are creatures on this mountain far more dangerous than titan hyenas.” She glanced at Nero. “Tell them I’m right.”

Nero scratched his neck and pretended not to hear her.

“Make no mistake, my girl,” General Petros muttered through his teeth. “The most dangerous creature on this mountain is the one lying on your blanket.”

“General,” the king warned in that way of his. “Load the priest and be done with it. We do need him, and we have ground to cover.”

The general obeyed, but when he set Father Padron in the wagon atop the folded canvas tents and sacks of feed, it was with more force than necessary.

Nero mounted his horse and pointed at the trail winding up the mountain. “You should all follow this path and stay together. I’ll come back for you as soon as—”

“Come back for us?” Kian interrupted. “You’re not leaving my sight. Dismount your horse until the rest of us are ready.”

A muscle ticked visibly in Nero’s jaw. He remained in the saddle. “We won’t last long without water. I have to ride ahead to find a spring.” He begrudgingly added, “Your Majesty.”

Cerise felt the sensation of being watched, and she turned to find Daerick arching a brow at her. She nodded in return. Now they knew the answer to whether or not Nero was subject to the king’s command. He wasn’t. Nero’s magic truly must be different than that of the priests. If Nero was right about inheriting the blood of the goddess—and that was still an if —then it would seem Shiera had allowed her descendants to use their magic freely while she required her priests to repay their gift of magic through servitude to the king. But for what reason remained a mystery.

“Very well.” Kian clapped General Petros on the shoulder. “My general will go with you to make sure you don’t lose your way. He’s an excellent navigator. Aren’t you, Petros?”

“The best, Your Highness,” the general said while staring at Nero. “But I’m an even better killer.”

Kian grinned. “Have a pleasant ride.”

The general stalked toward his horse—a mammoth stallion at least twenty hands high—and hoisted himself into the saddle. With one last regretful look at Father Padron, he spurred his horse onto the trail ahead of Nero, who heaved a sigh and followed.

Cerise shielded her eyes as she watched them leave. At least when Nero used magic to open the spring, it would be in the company of someone who despised the Order as much as he did.

Daerick drove the wagon, which was pulled by his horse and trailed by Father Padron’s mare. Cerise rode in front of Daerick while Kian led the group. When the trail was wide enough, Cerise fell back and rode side by side with Daerick, sharing the shade from the wagon top and listening to his stories about the old court.

Cerise enjoyed listening to Daerick’s tales, which were mostly collections of gossip—the schemes and scandals that had filled the castle before Kian had grown weary of his guests and sent them away.

“In my defense,” Kian called over his shoulder, “I thought I would die soon. I didn’t want to spend the time I had left in the company of depraved bastards.”

Daerick snickered as he loosened the reins. “To give proper credit, depraved bastards make the best entertainment.”

He launched into another story, this time about a lord and his three adult sons, all of whom were unknowingly trying to bed the same woman—a redhead who was secretly having an affair with the lord’s wife. In an added twist, both women were conspiring to kill the lord for control of his fortune.

“The family that betrays together stays together,” Daerick added with a snort.

Next came a tale about a common girl who passed herself off as a lady at court for half a year and during that time received eleven proposals of marriage before she disappeared into the night with a wealth of engagement jewels. Then there was the viscount who’d had an unnatural affection for goats; the royal tailor with a fetish for dirty socks; a colonel running a brothel out of the military stockade; and a young stable boy, no older than thirteen, who had made a sizeable income from keeping all of their secrets.

“No wonder you sent them home,” Cerise called ahead to Kian. “I would take a thousand lifetimes in the temple over one year at court.”

Daerick leaned aside in his wooden seat. “It wasn’t that bad,” he admitted. “I might have embellished the story about the goats.”

As Cerise rode on, she thought about what her father had said: court politics were dangerous, and she should remain silent. But she couldn’t resist the chance to find out what her parents were hiding. “What about Cole Solon?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Kian told her. “We could spend a fortnight telling you stories about him.”

“He thought I looked familiar when we met in the kennels,” Cerise said. “He kept asking about my family. I told him I resemble my mother, but he claimed he didn’t know her. When I talked to my parents about it, they reacted…very strongly.”

Daerick arched a brow. “Interesting.”

“Were there any rumors about Cole and a common girl named Elaina Igalsi?” she asked.

“Not that I can recall,” Daerick said. “But Delora is the real keeper of scandals at the palace. She would know better than any of us if Cole bedded your mother.”

“I doubt that he did,” Kian said. “Cole isn’t one for commoners. He tends to invest his affection where it will reap the most rewards.”

Right then, the trail narrowed again and required them to ride single file, so Cerise turned her attention to Blue, whose growth spurt had strained the limits of his sling. She had just shared the last sip from her flagon with him when Nero and General Petros appeared ahead of them on the trail. She suspected from their relaxed body language that they had bonded over their mutual loathing of Father Padron.

“There’s a spring just ahead,” Nero said, pointing. “We’ll stop long enough to water the animals and refill our skins, then move on.” He squinted at the wagon. “Without the protection of your priest, it’s more important than ever that we reach the next camp before nightfall.”

The king nodded his consent, and the caravan continued to a wide section of the trail that had probably once been a watering hole. Though a spring bubbled freely from the ground, it was obvious from the lack of mud and animal tracks that the hole had only recently been filled.

Cerise set Blue down and led her horse to drink, and then she dipped her flagon until it was full. After quenching her thirst, she filled a bucket with water and added some healing herbs to make a poultice for Father Padron’s back.

To her surprise, she found Father Padron awake in the wagon, lying with one arm curled beneath his head and blinking sleepily at the canopy.

“You look better,” she told him.

He gave her a tired smile. “Then I can only imagine how ghastly I looked before.”

She lifted the bucket for show and set it on the wagon’s edge. “If you’ll give me your shirt, I’ll soak it in this. It will help you heal faster.”

Father Padron’s smile died. He probed the fabric at his chest, seeming to realize for the first time that she had removed his robe and exposed the mutilation on his back.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “No one else knows.”

He avoided her eyes. “Thank you, Cerise, but all I need is a drink.”

She climbed into the wagon and helped him into a sitting position before offering her flagon. “I understand why you don’t want to heal,” she whispered as he drank. “You mean to suffer, and it’s not my place to question you. But this is cursed land, and you’re our only defense. We need you strong and whole.” She gently blotted the water droplets from his beard and implored, “Please let me help you.”

He rewarded her with one of his rare soft gazes—the kind that made her want to forget everything she had learned about him: his lies about the hidden antechamber, his possible ambition for the throne, his willingness to let other priests facilitate murder on his behalf. She hated to believe that any of it was true, but she refused to live in denial. She would respect his power and station while keeping her head clear and her heart guarded.

“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” he asked.

After peeling off his shirt, she let it soak while she tended to his wounds. When she wrung out the garment and helped him put it back on, his resounding sigh told her the medicinal water brought relief. Once he was settled comfortably, she crawled out of the wagon.

Father Padron caught her by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong. “One thing before you go.” He peered around the wagon. “I sense magic here, and it’s not mine.”

Cerise made a special effort to hold his gaze, to give him no reason to doubt the lie that was about to follow. “Our guide has some blessed objects—gifts from priests,” she said. “And it’s a good thing, too, because their blessings kept us safe until you arrived. The goddess was watching us with her merciful eye. Don’t you agree?”

Father Padron said nothing at first, only looked at her in silence until her pulse ticked and she had to remind herself to breathe. She sensed that her deception hadn’t fooled him, though she hoped she was wrong, because she didn’t have a better story to tell.

“Yes, Cerise.” The grip around her wrist loosened. “The goddess rewards the faithful. But her betrayers will suffer until the end of days. You would do well to remember that.”