Bound by Blood and Sand (11 page)

There was still enough magic for her to follow with her mind. She let the remnants of power pull her out into the desert, where she saw almost nothing at all. There was a different kind of energy out here in the sand and in the few scraggly plants that held on despite the drought. There were even animals, foxes and reptiles and insects that looked like glowing specks.

Finally the trail she followed brightened, widened, and joined up with another trail—another aqueduct. It must have come from another estate, branching off from the main duct Jae was following toward the Well. If she followed it, she might be able to find the central cities, or at least another estate.

But instead of following the branch, she continued along the main duct, farther out in the desert. Away from civilization, toward the Well. It was easier to track now that there was more water, and she skimmed along it quickly, out of breath, as if she were running. Another branch joined up, and she knew she had to be
close,
with this much water. More water than she'd ever seen before, than she'd ever imagined existed—

Searing pain hit her.

She was used to the Curse feeling like a hammer to her skull, but this was more like something trying to pull her apart. She gasped, barely able to get a breath, and tried to pull away, but it gripped her, yanking, as if it wanted to pull her mind out of her body entirely. She toppled forward but couldn't catch herself. The Curse still pulled, ripping her, tearing her apart, but there was something
beyond
it. She spread her hands on the floor, fingernails scraping stone as she grasped for something just out of reach—

The sense of whatever was near faded, her mind too awash with pain to latch on to whatever it had been.

The agony was too much. She gave up and let go of her other-vision, crashing back into her body. She was staring up at Lord Elan. Not a glowing imprint of him but his face, eyes dark and full of concern. He knelt next to her, a hand on her shoulder.

She recoiled reflexively, and the world kept spinning even after she'd gone still. She shut her eyes to it, heaved, and vomited. Some of the pain began to fade. Not much, not
enough,
but it dulled around the edges. She opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the late-evening light.

“What happened?” Lord Elan asked.

The question set the Curse off, focused it into a throb at the base of her skull. At least that focus freed up the rest of her body. She panted, her chest still aching a little, and managed to say “I was following an aqueduct, looking for more water, but…the Curse, it…it was too much.”

She pushed herself up until she was sitting, facing away from the pool of vomit, and wiped her mouth with her hand. Elan screwed up his face and gestured to the cistern. “Take a drink— No, wait. You look like you'll faint. Sit; I'll get it.”

She dragged herself farther away from where she'd been sick, sure she'd be the one who'd have to clean it up, and sat against the wall. Elan dipped his mug into the cistern and carried it to her, pressed it into her hands. It was damp against her chapped skin, and she drank gratefully, reveling in how it cooled her throat and washed away the taste of vomit.

She caught her breath as the Curse's throbbing tapered off. Elan's face had gone red by the time she'd finished drinking and could breathe easily again. He didn't say anything, just stared at the mug in her hand, and she realized slowly that the Highest probably never fetched their own water. They certainly didn't serve it to other people—it was given to them as a gift, a sign of respect to the families who maintained order. This might have been the first time one of the Highest had ever fetched water for a Closest.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pushing up to her feet slowly.

Elan nodded, then cleared his throat and demanded, “Tell me everything.”

Jae groped for an answer before the Curse could force one out of her. “I
can
sense water,” she explained. “I could feel where the aqueduct is buried. I followed it— It's hard to explain— It was as if I was flying, but I could still see every detail. Smell everything, taste it. And then I reached some kind of barrier….”

“Did you find the Well?”

“No, but I think I could. I know where it
is,
” she said. “The aqueducts that serve the reservoirs, they all come together out in the desert. All I'd have to do is follow them. But the barrier…”

“Tell me about it.”

She gestured uselessly, her hand painting nonsense in the air. “It felt like hitting a wall—not quite like the Curse, and even stronger. I couldn't cross it, couldn't even see beyond it. When I tried, the Curse punished me. It wouldn't let me pass.”

He frowned. “I've never heard of anything like that. I don't know why anything like that would happen.”

“I don't, either,” she said, but she was groping for an idea on the edge of her mind, one that hadn't quite taken shape yet. If the Highest were the ones who had stolen control of the Well, and there was some magical barrier keeping her away from it, then…

He looked at her expectantly and finally prompted, “What?”

“I don't
know.
” She glowered as the Curse ripped it from her. “I almost had it, but…I think it had to do with the War, and the Closest, and the Curse. It felt like I had been ordered not to cross that barrier and was fighting against it.”

Lord Elan considered that for a moment, then nodded. “During the War, that might have made sense. If the Closest were trying to steal control of the Well, of course my ancestors would have found a way to keep them away from it.”

She examined Lord Elan for a moment, but it didn't seem like he was lying. She wasn't sure she'd be able to tell—she had never needed to consider if someone was telling her the truth before. Anything coming from the Avowed was an order; anything coming from the Closest could only be honest. It sounded as if Lord Elan really believed the Highest had crafted the Well.

But they hadn't, so they weren't trying to keep control of it with that barrier.

“You look thoughtful,” Lord Elan said.

“I'm trying to figure it out,” Jae said when he looked at her expectantly.

“How to get past it?”

She shook her head and was forced to admit the truth: “Where the barrier really came from.”

“You don't think it was the Highest?”

“I
know
it was the Highest,” she said carefully, measured.

“Then…what?”

It was maddening to have him ask her so many questions, pull the truth out of her no matter how hard she tried to twist her words, and though she tried to bite her tongue, the Curse pulled from her, “I'm trying to figure out why the Highest created it, when they
didn't
craft the Well, weren't trying to protect it from the Closest.”

Elan laughed.
“What?”

Helpless, Jae repeated herself. “The Highest didn't craft the Well. The Closest did. But they weren't called that yet.”

His laughter faded, leaving him staring at her in disbelief. “That's madness. That's even more ridiculous than a Closest with magic!”

“I'm cursed,” she reminded him, the words bitter in her mouth. “It's the truth.”

“You're
wrong.
” Disbelief gave way to anger, his voice going low. “My ancestors crafted the Well. Even a Closest must know that.”

She didn't answer—she didn't dare contradict him, not when he was glaring like that. But anger sparked in her chest, because she
knew.
Everything she'd seen, the way her mind had opened to magic,
everything
only made sense if she was right and the Closest had crafted the Well. Which meant the Highest had started a war over it.

Daring and angry, she looked up and met his gaze.

He clenched a fist and then let it go again, his hand still tense. “My ancestors built the Well, and saved this world—including
your
traitorous caste. Without them, none of us would be here.
You
would not be here to be so—so ungrateful. I've made allowances for your rudeness, I've shown you every kindness. And this is how you repay me, with—”

“If you don't like the truth I'm telling, that's your own cursed problem,” Jae snapped, her anger spilling out like water from the mug. “I know what I've seen, and I
saw
my ancestors crafting the Well, and defending it. All I know for certain about
your
ancestors is that they cursed me—they cursed
us,
and now you're leaving us all for dead.”

She didn't bother to hide her sneer, too angry to care what he did to her for it, because she knew the truth. The Closest's ancestors, the Wellspring mages, had crafted the Well, and it was their bloodlines that kept its magic bound. If their descendants died out, the Well would die with them. Abandoning Closest to die at Aredann and other estates would weaken the Well, not strengthen it, until it went entirely dry. The Highest's bloodthirsty lies would finally be revealed when they did nothing to save the Well or the world, because there was nothing they could do. Killing the Closest cursed the whole world.

Lord Elan could punish her. He could kill her. But he couldn't change that fact.

“I ought to— I ought to—” he sputtered. “I don't know why I bothered trying to reason with you. You never deserved a moment of my time.”

She glared right back at him. She didn't
want
a moment of his time. She only wanted him to leave, to take the Avowed with him. Elemental energy sparked around her, brilliant and flashing. She didn't know what she'd do with it if he truly threatened her. If she tried to fight back, the Curse would crush her—but she'd rather take the pain of fighting than the hopeless, endless pain of obedience.

But all Lord Elan said was “Get out.”

For a change, she didn't wait for a pulse of pain from the Curse to remind her that it was an order. She turned and strode out, slamming the door behind her.

Jae was surprised the next morning when she didn't receive any new instructions from Firran. She didn't want to go anywhere near Lord Elan and had half expected him to order her back to her grunt work in the garden, but maybe he was so far above her that he didn't even care that she'd snapped at him. Or maybe he wanted her under even closer control, now that she'd shown she wouldn't just give him everything he wanted, swallow all of his lies.

Either way, she still woke before dawn to take a quick look outdoors with Gali, and then to set about waking the Avowed. Jae shuddered her way through the task of waking Lady Shirrad and then the minor Avowed, like her advisor, Lord Hannim, and then Lord Rannith. The sight of him on his sleeping mat made her even more anxious, and she quaked as she retreated toward the master chambers.

Lord Elan woke slowly and fixed her with a long, flat stare once he realized who'd been calling his name. He ordered her to help him dress, to fix his hair, and he ran a critical hand over his chin before turning away from the mirror. “Tell them I'll be down for breakfast soon,” he added, dismissing her.

His voice was cold, devoid of the fury he'd shown last night. As Jae hurried to the kitchen, she realized she trusted that even less than anger. Anger came with punishment, but coldness was
calculating.
A mask that covered everything else as he figured out what to do with her.

Elan didn't even look at her as she served breakfast. He just drank his morning tea and nodded politely at the subdued breakfast discussions. After, he let himself be pulled into the study with Lady Shirrad and her advisors, no doubt discussing his father's impending arrival. Lord Elan's father, Highest Lord Elthis, was the one who would choose where each of the Avowed would go, what estates they'd be assigned to.

It was a grimly satisfying thought. Lady Shirrad and the other Avowed were used to having power, not being at its mercy. When Lord Elthis told them to leave Aredann and where to go, they'd be just as helpless to refuse as any of the Closest. Except, unlike the Closest, they'd still be alive.

As Jae worked on the tedious, pointless mending, something stirred in her chest. An ember of anger. Nothing as bright and hot as her fury the previous evening—it wasn't about Lord Elan or the Well or their history. Not really. Instead it was about the lifetime of work she'd given Aredann. No, it hadn't been by choice. She didn't care at all about Lady Shirrad or any of the others, or want to serve their meals or mend their clothes. But Aredann was her home. She'd spent countless hours tending the garden and the lawns, fighting a never-ending battle to keep the grounds beautiful. Maybe Aredann belonged to Lady Shirrad in name, but it was Jae's, too, by virtue of the work she'd put into it. When it was abandoned, that work would count for nothing. None of the Closest's work would mean anything, and it would be as if they'd never lived at all.

Lord Elan tried to reassure the Avowed that they'd be given good positions in the central cities, while Lady Shirrad watched with a sour expression, no longer bothering with a polite smile, and Jae stewed. It was a relief when she was called away for other chores and didn't have to listen to their conversation anymore. Preparing lunch was a hot, unpleasant task—tending a fire in the middle of the day, when the sun turned the whole kitchen into an oven—but it was still better than listening to the Avowed.

Lunch, usually more boisterous than breakfast, was subdued, too. Jae made her way through it, serving olive-topped platters and staying out of sight as much as she could. She hoped that Lord Elan would send her away to work on anything else during the afternoon so she wouldn't have to listen to the Avowed's petty, selfish conversation anymore.

The meal was finally ending when Rannith grabbed her arm as she picked up his empty plate. “You, Closest,” he said, gaze flicking up to her face for a moment, “come to my chamber this evening after dinner.”

The Curse settled around her, weighed her down, choked her like a yoke around her neck, and all she could do was nod.

The first time she'd been called to Rannith's room, she'd been thirteen. Her mother had just died, but before she'd passed, she'd warned Jae, Gali, and Tal about the Avowed and their roaming eyes and hands. She'd told them what to expect, that the girls might bleed the first time, that taking certain herbs would make pregnancy impossible. Even back then, Gali, with her sweet smile and curving figure, had already caught several Avowed's eyes, and Lady Shirrad had already been too fond of Tal, in a girlish and innocent sort of way. No one had looked twice at Jae, the dirt-covered gardener.

No one until Rannith.

Her mother's warnings hadn't really prepared her. Her skin crawled from the second she walked into his chamber, even before he stripped her clothes off her. She'd stood there shaking, and he'd smiled at the sight. She'd shied away when he touched her—she couldn't help herself. His hands had wrapped around her wrists like manacles, pulling her close. She'd bitten her tongue until it bled, tried to keep quiet, but he'd lost his patience with her. Ordered her to lie still and be silent.

The Curse had taken over, forced her to obey. She'd tried to accept the compulsion, let it sweep her along while she shut her eyes and pretended to be anywhere else at all. She'd needed so badly to scream and run, to rake his face with her jagged nails and push him away, but the most resistance she could put up was trying to push him away as she quaked, and that brought the wrath of the Curse down on her.

The agony spread through her body, but the Curse's ache wasn't enough to block the pain. When she still fought, hands clenching the sheets against the urge to shove him away, the Curse had finally taken over her body entirely.

It didn't matter that she tried to scream, tried to run. Her body went limp and pliant, the Curse still burning her from the inside out, until Rannith finished with her. He laughed, he stroked her cheek. She wanted to cry but couldn't even do that. Not until he sent her on her way with an order to return the next night.

She'd fled to the relative safety of the back wall, hidden by trees, let their shadows wrap around her like blankets. Even so, she tried to swallow her misery and cry quietly, afraid someone would hear and find out. She didn't want to think about it, to talk about it. Not with anyone.

Tal had found her anyway. She hadn't told him anything, and he hadn't asked, just seemed to know. She'd flinched away from his supportive hand on her elbow, and he'd let her. He didn't speak, just comforted her by being there with her. And somehow he always knew when Rannith called her to his room and she needed Tal's strength. He always found a way to come be with her until she calmed down, the overwhelming misery shriveled to just a small ember of anger.

Rannith didn't call Jae to his room very often. He hadn't in months.

She
hated
him.

The afternoon was more of the same pointless, unending chores that the morning had been. Mending and fixing, serving, running errands. Every time Jae had to leave the room, something in the back of her mind cried out at her to run. To run out of the house, off the grounds, into the desert. Better to die of sunsickness on her own than find herself trapped on Rannith's mat. But she never took a single step toward the gate. The Curse wouldn't allow it.

The house was stuffy. The heat, the Curse, the fact that Lord Elan still didn't even look at her, all weighed her down until she could barely lift her head. Every step felt as if bricks had been tied to her feet. Her stomach churned and the scents from the kitchen made her ill, and she was still breathing around the ember in her chest, smoldering with anger and dread.

Dinner was as quiet as lunch, with only the most polite, quick conversations. When the meal ended, Jae found herself clearing dishes and watching Lord Elan. Part of her hoped desperately he'd call for her, demand that she follow him. He was one of the Highest, after all, and his orders were more important than Rannith's. If he wanted her to attempt to use her magic again, she'd
have
to obey, and Rannith could curse himself. But Lord Elan just left the dining room.

Rannith glanced at her, smiled, let his gaze linger. Jae felt as if she'd turned to stone, unable to look away, her hand still clutching the plates she'd gathered. Then Rannith left, too, and she had to get back to work before the Curse forced her.

Dizzy with dread, every step a chore, she willed herself to move. To finish the cleaning from dinner, and then, step after step echoing in her mind, to walk to Rannith's room. He called for her to enter when she knocked, and she let herself in. Shut the door behind her. Then it was just the two of them.

Her heart beat too fast, her chest aching with the effort of keeping herself under control. She didn't look up at him, but that didn't matter. He took her arm, pulled it down from where she'd held it crossed over her chest, and she swallowed and dropped both arms to her sides. He circled her once, then stood in front of her, smiling.

“Well, you aren't beautiful,” he told her, and reached up to run a thumb across her cheekbone. “You ought to smile more, like your brother.” His hand skimmed lower, fingers brushing her neck. “Smile, Jae.”

The Curse thrummed in her head as she tried. Maybe it was enough—she knew it didn't look happy, didn't look
beautiful
like he wanted. He hummed his approval, pushed the neckline of her dress aside, and traced the U-shape at the base of her collarbone with his thumb. He reached around behind her, nudged her to turn so her back was to him.

Then he undid the lacing at the top of her dress.

She gasped, couldn't stop the sound from escaping.

“Shhh, shhh,” he murmured, as if he were soothing an infant, as he carefully untied the rest of it. She ground her teeth, keeping her lips shut tight as he worked, but she couldn't stop herself from trembling. She shut her eyes and told herself to be good—be calm, be obedient—and it would be over soon.

When he pushed the dress from her shoulders, skimmed his hands down to her breasts, she still flinched, then froze, waiting for the order to stand still. It didn't come, but he stood too close to her, his hands roaming her skin. She clenched her own hands into useless fists, her arms tense as she resisted the urge to stagger away from him. He'd never allow that, and she didn't want the Curse to take control of her body—but she didn't want to be
in
her body, either. Not like this, not with him touching her.

He turned her around again and pressed his lips against hers. They were just as chapped and rough as her own, and the ember of anger in her chest sparked a little.

He stepped back, but only so he could strip off his own clothing. She didn't watch, didn't want to see his naked body. She never had, really. He'd ordered her to lie still, but never to look at him. Never to open her eyes.

“There,” he said, as if stripping had been satisfying in and of itself. He took her arm again and tugged her toward the blankets and the mat on the floor.

She followed him, stiff but obedient, and sat on the edge of the blankets, then lay down when he nudged her to. When he didn't settle on top of her immediately, she made the mistake of opening her eyes to see where he was. He was just looking down at her, smiling. And glowing.

He and the rest of the room were swimming with light, energy.
Magic.
She'd been forbidden to use it, so the Curse wouldn't allow her to without Lord Elan there to give permission and supervise. Even so, the way everything gleamed, so bright after the darkness of her closed eyes, was almost comforting. It was there, it was
hers,
she could do anything with it—if not for the order Lord Elan had given her.

Rannith finally moved toward her, shining with a twisted, horrible aura. She shut her eyes against it as his hand skimmed down her body. She swallowed a whimper, her face hot with humiliation because she didn't dare resist him. There was nothing she could do, and she felt like nothing, like she was no one—