Bound by Blood and Sand (19 page)

Shirrad crouched next to Elthis and pressed a hand to his chest. A moment later she said, “He's alive. You need to go
now.
Do you understand that, Tal? I
order
you to go with your sister into the desert.”

Tal nodded.

“Shirrad—” Elan started, but she cut him off.

“They were gathering supplies. Take what you can and go. Jae, I know you can save Aredann. I
know
you can.” She stared at Jae, her eyes wide white saucers in the dark room. “I've given you your brother, and I will give you anything else in my power if you protect this place.
Please.
It's your home, too.”

Jae swallowed. She didn't owe Shirrad anything at all—Shirrad was one of
them.
Lady Shirrad had only been able to help Tal
because
she was one of them—

“Do you know what Elthis will do to you for helping us?” Elan asked.

“It doesn't matter,” Shirrad said. “Aredann is my home, and I won't abandon it. Not if there's even a chance to save it.”

“Good,” Jae said, and for the first time, she met Shirrad's gaze and held it. “Elthis is a liar. The Highest are
all
liars. They didn't craft the Well, and they can't control it. They never, ever could.”

Shirrad looked from Elthis to Jae, and nodded. “But you can. Please. Go now, before—before anything else can stop you.”

Jae hesitated, gaze falling on Elthis's unconscious form. This was her chance. She could finish what she'd started, kill Elthis now while he was helpless, and strike down anyone who challenged her. She could find the Well and make it her own, take revenge for her ancestors and all the generations since, force the Avowed into the same servitude the Closest had known. She could do anything,
anything
with her power.

But she looked at Tal, and remembered his unease with how she'd killed Rannith, and how scared Firran had been, and how Gali had still served Jae meals, even knowing she was going to be abandoned. Jae had so much power, and the very first thing she'd done with her freedom was kill.

But she'd grown flowers, too.

She could do anything.

Jae stood, offered Tal a hand up, and looked at Lady Shirrad. “We'll find the Well, and I'll save Aredann. When Elthis wakes, warn him that I will return. And if he has harmed any Closest here, I will kill him. I think he will believe me, this time.”

Shirrad nodded, and when Jae looked at Elan and Tal, they both did, too.

“We have to go now,” Elan said. “Hurry.”

Jae started for the hallway, Tal at her heels, but despite his words, Elan didn't move. He stared down at the figure of his father for a long moment, then up at Jae. Then he squared his shoulders, walked away from the blood, and followed her out into the night.

“I wonder if they came after us,” Tal said.

Elan looked back at the expanse of sand and scrub, even that slight stretch pulling at his wound, sending a pulse of pain through him. It was hard to make anything out through his mesh head covering, and with the moon having sunk to the horizon, but he didn't see anyone.

They'd run just before midnight, grabbing all the supplies they could carry or load onto a groaning camel. Most of it was water: several jugs, plus large satchels strapped onto Tal's and Elan's backs, and individual water skins to drink from while they traveled. This far out in the desert, water was life. They'd also taken food, a low tent, a few changes of clothes, and supplies in case one of them got injured. That was all. They hadn't even taken his father's horses—they'd need too much water in the desert, especially considering even Jae didn't know exactly how long the trek would be.

Dawn hovered at the edge of the sky. Elan sagged in place, catching his breath for a minute, just long enough for the night chill to raise bumps on his neck. He welcomed it, wishing there was a way to bundle it, hold it against his skin. He hadn't told the others about the wound on his chest yet—they seemed to think Tal had gotten him with the knife, and he'd assured them he was fine. He'd wrapped bandages around his torso while they'd loaded the camel, so they hadn't seen.

He hadn't been stabbed. The brand on his chest had turned into a raw, fresh burn, searing his skin the moment his father had declared him disavowed. The initial flash of pain had only lasted a few seconds, but the wound remained. Every movement that had jostled his body had ached, until they'd walked so far that he'd gone entirely numb.

He nodded at Tal. “My father brought guards to keep the order as they abandon Aredann. He'll probably send at least a few of them to look for us. He'll have to.”

Jae looked over at him, the whites of her eyes all he could make out under her hood. She cocked her head a little.

“No one can raise a hand to the Highest and live,” Elan explained. “It ruins the order of things. And disavowing me…” He swallowed, throat tightening as he tried to explain. He fought to keep his voice steady, to ignore the betrayal that ached just as much as his chest. “Disavowing me would be humiliating for him, admitting he couldn't even keep his own son in line. The Highest can't afford weakness in their ranks, and between your magic, and me challenging him, and even Lady Shirrad…he'll have to do something.”

“I wonder if we've come far enough to rest,” Tal said, his voice lilting up into something that was almost a question. He was leading the camel with one hand. The other reached up toward his neck, his fingers alighting on the back of his hood for a moment, where his ponytail had been. His hand jerked away quickly, dropping to his side.

“I think so,” Jae said, turning back toward the open desert to the west, away from Aredann, long out of sight though it was. “There's so little life out here. I'll be able to feel anyone coming.”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd check,” Tal said.

“Let's settle first,” Jae said. “I don't want to be in the open when the sun comes up.”

Elan spotted a boulder a little way off. It wasn't enormous, but hopefully it would be big enough to cast a shadow. His body protested as they walked toward it, limbs exhausted from overuse, but he'd be glad to have the shade during the day. Even though the tent they'd brought was designed to keep as much heat out as it could, it would still get cursed hot.

The boulder came up to his rib cage and was wider than it was high. He and Tal unloaded the tent, which sent more jolts of pain across his chest and shoulder. He grimaced but didn't say anything—it was no worse than Jae and Tal had dealt with their whole lives.

Elan had never actually put a tent up himself before, but he was the only one who had even seen what it was supposed to look like, so when Tal and Jae both gave him questioning looks, he did his best. It took all three of them to figure it out—there were cut wooden poles of different lengths that tied to the fabric, and they had to experiment to figure out which pole tied where. In the end, Elan wasn't actually sure they got it right. It was lower to the ground than he expected, and it looked like a strong gust would knock it over. It would have to do, though, because the sun was creeping up and exhaustion was creeping in.

Tal tied the camel outside, and they all filled their water skins, then crawled in. The sleeping mats were thin, barely protecting them from the sandy desert floor, and there was just enough room for them to set up shoulder to shoulder. Elan laid his mat out to one side, with Tal between him and Jae.

Elan groaned as he sat, amazed at how silent both Tal and Jae were. They were more used to pain and physical labor, he knew, but he doubted they'd been prepared for hours of a forced march like this. People said “as quiet as the Closest” for a reason, and a lifetime of silence would have to be a hard habit to break.

Tal pulled off his boots in jerky, awkward motions, and blanched at the sight of his own feet. They were blistered, bloody, and raw. “Are you all right?” Elan asked.

“It hurts,” Tal answered.

“Don't ask him questions,” Jae said, shucking off her own boots. Her feet were in bad shape, too. “It's rude.”

“Oh,” Elan said. “I—I didn't know that.”

Tal shrugged a little. “I don't mind all that much. But I
am
compelled to answer—that's why it's rude. To force a Closest like that.”

“Oh,” Elan said again. That made sense, and he'd never even thought about it.

“Well, no harm done.” Tal gave him a friendly smile and began digging through one of the packs. “We've never been anything but barefoot.”

Of course. Elan looked away as he lowered his hood and shrugged off the thick travel robe. He'd grown up wearing sandals and travel boots. His feet ached from the long walk, but the calluses on his heels had protected him from blisters. But the Closest had been given that name because they went barefoot; they were the closest to the land they were bound to work. Tal grabbed clean rags from the bag and dampened them with water. Without even asking, he reached for Jae's feet first and dabbed the blood off.

After they'd finished cleaning their feet and wrapping them in gauze, Tal turned to Elan. “Let me see your wound. Running all night can't have been good for it.”

Elan shook his head. “It's fine.”

Tal glanced over at Jae, and Elan had the disconcerting feeling that they were having a conversation without ever speaking a single word. Finally Tal said, “You're not fine; you were stabbed. It'll get infected if we don't take care of it.”

Elan hesitated. He didn't know what it would look like and didn't want them to have to deal with it. But the burn could get infected just as easily as a stab wound, so finally he stripped off his shirt. Jae looked away, pulling her knees to her chest and staring down at the sand and her mat, but Tal scooted closer and began peeling away Elan's clumsily tied bandages.

“You didn't stab me,” Elan said uselessly as Tal gaped. Jae looked up sharply, and her eyes went wide.

“I don't understand,” Tal said, sinking back to get a better view.

Elan turned away, uncomfortable with their scrutiny. His rib cage felt tight with anxiety as he explained, “It's the brand from my vows.”

Jae frowned, and Tal said, “Lady Shirrad has one, too. But…”

“All Avowed do,” Elan explained. “They do it when you say your vows, and the vows protect you. It doesn't hurt at all, and it heals instantly. But…”

“But when you were disavowed, the magic left your body,” Jae said. “So the burn reappeared.”

“Oh,” Elan said. He hadn't thought about it in detail; all he'd known was that it hurt, so he'd imagined it was some sort of punishment for vow breaking. Jae's idea made more sense.

“So it'll heal,” Tal said.

“With time,” Jae confirmed.

“Then I'll clean it.” Tal reached for the damp rags again. “While I do that, Jae, I'd love to know if you can sense anyone coming from Aredann.”

Elan did his best to hold still as Tal carefully pressed the rag against his skin. It was cool and damp, but the pressure had Elan gritting his teeth against the pain. Tal gave him a sympathetic look, but he didn't say anything. Elan didn't, either, just waited for it to be done and for Tal to rewrap the bandages.

By the time Tal had finished, Jae had crossed her legs and shut her eyes, and her body was now perfectly still. She didn't respond when Tal pressed a water skin into Elan's hands, a silent order to drink. That would help the burn, and Elan
was
thirsty. As he finished drinking, Jae opened her eyes again.

“No one is in the desert between here and Aredann. I'm too far away to see much clearly, but the whole estate feels…frantic.”

“Can you sense the Well?” Elan asked. “Are you sure we're going in the right direction?”

“Questions,” Tal reminded him gently.

Elan almost winced. He'd forgotten already. “I'm sorry. I didn't—”

“I can follow the aqueduct toward the Well. I can sense the water easily enough,” Jae said, interrupting his apology. “But…”

The question—
But what?
—was on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it, waiting, and she finally continued.

“The barrier.” She shuddered, and her eyes blinked back to normal. She hunched over her knees again. “I still can't see beyond it, and it still feels…cursed.”

“Is it…” He caught himself this time. “I'd like to know how far it is. If you don't mind.”

“A few days, I think.”

“Nights. We'll want to travel at night,” he decided. “It's easier to move in the cold than the heat.”

“Don't tell us what to do,” Jae snapped.

“Jae, he's right,” Tal said, stretching forward toward his feet. He grimaced, but stretching probably wasn't a bad idea, after all the walking and running they'd done. Elan reached out to do the same, but the burn throbbed, and he gave up, relaxing his body instead.

“He doesn't get to give us orders anymore,” Jae said.

“He
can't
give me orders anymore,” Tal answered. “Nothing he's said has set off the Curse. He's not…” Tal shot him an apologetic look but continued. “Since he's not Avowed anymore, neither of you can order me to do anything.”

Tal grinned a little as he said it, but his hand drifted up toward the nape of his neck again. His fingers twitched for a moment, catching the loose end of a curl, and then he dropped his hand into his lap.

“I don't want to give you any orders,” Elan said, fighting an urge to brush his fingers against the brand, his throat aching as if it had gone dry again. No one had been disavowed in years, and Elan had
never
heard of a Highest being disowned. But of course not. He knew now that disavowal wasn't just about protecting the social order—it was about keeping the Highest's secrets, defending the lies at the foundation of their world.

Disavowal meant he'd lost everything. Not just his family, his status, and his power, but everything he'd known. It was as if the sun had changed directions in the sky. Nothing was as he'd thought, and now, as far as the world was concerned,
he
was nothing. No one at all.

“Let's rest,” Tal said, voice so soft that Elan could barely hear it. “We'll figure out travel when we wake.”

It was nearly impossible to sleep, even with the shelter of the tent. Though the coarse fabric blocked out the worst of the sun and the heat, it was still stifling inside, especially with the three of them in such close quarters. Elan rolled over and over, unable to get comfortable, constantly jostling his burn and setting off cascades of pain. Finally he just lay still on his back, one arm draped over his eyes to block out the light.