Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (25 page)

Whack
. Dillon slapped the male with his letter. “Keep your eyes to yourself.”

“I’m Church by the way.” The male addressed my feet. “Upchurch Moore.”

“She’s Isabeau.” Dillon scowled. “Now. You’ve been properly introduced. Happy?”

“He isn’t an agreeable male.” Lindsay frowned. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t mate him?”

Church coughed into his fist while Dillon scowled at Lindsay.

“Halflings,” he grumbled. “Can’t live with them…”

Lindsay tensed to stand. I put my hand on her knee. “He’s upset,” I said. “Let him be.”

“Let him be. Ignore him. Don’t hurt him.” She slumped. “You’re forever defending him.”

He glanced my way, and his lips twitched. My cheeks burned as I asked him, “What are we waiting on?”

“Russ.” Dillon went back to tapping his letter. “Mason’s been training him as a fill-in for the courier position. He’s made the trip into the city a couple of times now. He ought to be primed for a solo ride.” He chuckled. “I guess we’re about to learn how good his sense of direction is.”

“And I thought Uriah was harsh.” Church gave a mock shiver.

Dillon’s gaze narrowed. “Cute.”

Light spilled inside the tent as a leaner figure joined their small gathering.

The new arrival’s voice was low, cool. “You wanted to see me?”

“I’ve got a job for you, Russ.” Dillon handed over the letter. “Get that to the consulate.”

Russ grasped the rectangle of parchment and frowned. “Mason’s away at the moment.”

“You got a problem making this run?” Dillon waited. A minute ticked past.

“No.” Russ tucked the paper into his shirt pocket. “I’m certain I’ll manage.”

“You do that.” Ignoring Russ’s exit, Dillon gave Church his full attention. “Once he gets back, I want one of you two patrolling the border at all times. Double the number of legionaries in the field until I return. If something comes up you can’t handle, ask Uriah. Make his ass help.”

Church’s eyes sparkled. “You expecting trouble?”

“Don’t know yet.” He rubbed his nape. “We won’t until it gets here.”

“No problem, boss man.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he gave me a half wave. “It was nice meeting you, Isabeau.” With a wink at Lindsay, he said, “We’ll finish the tour later, doll.”

“The tour? Oh.” Red blossomed in her cheeks. “I think I would enjoy that.”

“I’ll make sure you do.” His chuckle followed him from the tent.

My concern collided with Dillon’s annoyance. Later. Our newest complication could wait.

“Okay, now that we’ve got a moment alone, what’s with the glamour? Or the lack thereof?”

“I think I have an idea for tracking the grimoire—and the salt.” I rubbed at my runes. “When Aldrich left you with me that night at the consulate, once you were stabilized, I approached him about a spell exchange.” When his jaw set, I rushed, “I was in the market for a tracking spell, for obvious reasons. He said he had such a spell, well, not a spell, but a sentient crafting I could use. So we made an exchange. He gave me Song’s runes and I traded him my memory serum recipe.”

“Okay, is it a song or a spell or a crafting?” He sighed. “Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Its name is Song, but it’s a powerful crafting.” I shrugged. “It must have once been a basic spell, but the incantation was recited so often, asked for by so many practitioners by name, that it became aware. Once achieving that level of power, it became able to decide who it would serve.”

“So it’s possible you’ll do your thing and nothing will happen?” He sounded relieved.

“Yes, but I’ve called it once before and it came.” I neglected to tell him how eerie I found it. “I had hoped it could find…but it couldn’t. Roland had samples of my blood. Even faded, they were powerful links between a mother and child. I believe he used them to shield her from me.”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” he finally said. “Anything to give us an edge and save time.” He pointed at my arms. “Why did you get the tattoo? That doesn’t give it power over you, does it?”

“No.” He must have sensed my hesitation. “It’s complicated. It can’t control me, but if it did decide I was interesting, it could stay. Inside me. Not influencing me exactly, but talking to me.”

The growl returned to his voice. “And if that happens?”

“Then there’s nothing to be done.” I shivered. “Let’s hope he finds me and his task boring.”

Lindsay scratched at my skin. “Are the others alive as well?”

The snap of Dillon’s teeth told me he hadn’t considered the possibility. “No. Song is the one sentient crafting I have. The others are larger spells, unwieldy spells, but nothing I want to lose.”

He inclined his head. “Why not write them in your grimoire?”

“Where do you think I found them?” I laughed. “You’ve seen what the book has done to me. Grimoires exhibit various levels of awareness as well. We feed them our blood or…other things in exchange for their knowledge. If we wrote the spells down, we would imbue yet another book with magic. So practical spells are committed fast to memory, but impractical ones are tattooed.”

Appearing to ponder the implications, he settled on asking, “Over time, wouldn’t it have the same cumulative effect on your skin?” Then he groaned. “That’s why Aldrich’s covered in runes. They’re not just a handy reference, but they imbue him with power. Remind me to warn Harper.”

I nodded, as if I were certain we’d survive our confrontation to have such mundane worries.

A throat cleared outside the tent, drawing my attention. Dillon’s gaze touched on his table, then locked on me. “That’s our ride. You’re ready?” He extended his hand for mine, but Lindsay knocked my arm aside before we touched. “What’s your problem now? We’re burning daylight.”

“I’m coming with you.” She stood, planting her feet wide. “I can help.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the offer but—”
Whump
.

Before I could yell a warning, Lindsay had turned his outstretched arm into a lever, flipping him over her shoulder, winding him as his spine hit the packed sand floor of his tent. I leapt to my feet as she dusted her hands together, Dillon sprawled in a mass of twisted limbs at her feet.

Leaning over him, Lindsay smirked. “See?”

“Snapping my spine,” he said on a groan, “is not…helpful.”

“Lindsay,” I chided. Kneeling at his hip, I examined him before he brushed my hands aside.

“Let’s go.” Bones popped as he sat upright and pushed to his feet. Rolling his shoulders, he measured Lindsay a moment. After taking my hand, he said to her, “Come on if you’re coming.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice.

Featureless scenery spread as far as the eye could see. Sweat made my palms slide where I’d grabbed the edges of the dune sled. Well, sled might be generous. This was more of a utility cart, outfitted with metal rails for gliding over the desert. Paint flakes stuck to my hands, and cramped quarters meant I felt every flex of Lindsay’s muscles as she sharpened a blade she’d chosen from the armory before our departure. Strokes from blade over stone were precise, even from practice.

Perhaps sensing my attention, she lowered her weapon. Its forward-curving blade gleamed.

Our gazes locked, and hers was somehow clearer, made sharper by the sword in her hand.

“Are we close enough for you to try?” Dillon’s voice shattered the moment.

She resumed her task while I clambered onto the driver’s seat beside him.

I cast another glance around and saw nothing but sand. “This should be fine.”

He pulled on the reins, and our ride coasted to a stop.

Calling Song was risky, and I wasn’t certain it would work for locating the grimoire. It was a specialized crafting meant to locate a person using, of course, blood. I had a hunch my grimoire held enough of my blood, and my mother’s blood, for the spell to take root and give me direction, but when dealing with a spell possessing a mind of its own… I’d heed all necessary precautions.

Starting with how I planned to make my attempt well outside the colony. Since Aldrich had summoned the crafting to locate the queen in the mines, I wanted distance from that connection.

Patting my pockets, I touched warm metal and withdrew a small knife. I followed it with his compass, taken from the desk in his tent, and a scrap of paper I’d wrapped around a clay marker.

“I’m tempted to ask but I won’t.” Dillon shook his head. “I’m afraid of what else you’ve got in your pockets considering what all you managed to cram down that skimpy top from before.”

I grinned. “I am a bit of a packrat.”

“
A bit
, says the female who shoved a quarter of a salt shipment, a knife and a horse—”

“A horse carving,” I clarified.

His laugh petered into a sigh. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’m stalling.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” I was too grateful for the reprieve.

Another soft press of his lips and he scooted aside, giving me room.

I positioned the knife. “Once I begin this chant, if Song answers, I can’t stop. The sound is what anchors him to me.” I sank the blade into my skin. Blood welled and I dabbed runes on the compass before I passed it to Dillon. “If the spell works, you can follow his directions with this.”

He avoided smearing the markings. “How will I know if it works?”

“The needle will spin south.” I unbuttoned my shirt, exposing my throat. “Watch for it.”

While reading the runes from my arm, I wrote them across my chest and onto my neck. The familiar sensation of magic glided over my skin. I was being tasted by the crafting I was about to call. Before the first note rose in my throat, pressure coiled about my chest and stifled my lungs.

A silken voice hissed through my mind.
Ssspeak the wordsss
.

I did. Pitch flat and notes falling shorter each repetition, I couldn’t breathe well enough to sing for it. After noticing my issue, the crafting eased its grip on me and fell into contented quiet. I blushed when Dillon shifted his focus onto me. His heated stare drew even Song’s attention. In my haste to divert the crafting’s interest, I fumbled a beat, and Song’s annoyance made me gasp.

Asssk what you will. Your favor isss granted. My price isss met.

Careful to keep my chant smooth, I replied in kind.
I have misplaced a family heirloom, my mother, Alisha’s, grimoire. Her blood and mine ink the pages. Can you locate the tome for me?

Thoughtful silence met my request.
I can. It isss far. I would hear my sssong while I work.

Gulping air, I renewed my efforts, pausing only to tap the compass.

“It’s moving.” He cracked the reins. “Here we go.”

The sled lurched, and I let it rock me against my seatback. Finding comfort was unlikely, but I did try. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I scanned the horizon for any clue as to our destination or the book’s whereabouts. Sand was the only landmark and dunes the only break in its contours.

Hours passed. Night fell. Still we traveled. Before long, the dawn’s rays burned my eyes.

Dillon’s gaze cut my way more often now, but I pretended not to see. Lindsay had inched up behind me, so her shoulder supported the rickety seatback, allowing me to recline as best I could.

Ah, yesss.
Song chortled.
Your book liesss here.

Tightness in my chest eased in slow increments. Song’s anticipation made my nerves thrum.

The wind shifted and the stench hit me. Retching sounds rose from behind me as Lindsay’s stomach emptied over the side of the cart. Our mare shied until Dillon positioned her upwind of whatever lay ahead. Palm treetops sagged in the fetid breeze, and mirages sprang to shaded life.

“The oasis.” Dillon twisted to check on Lindsay. He tried on a smile. “Maybe we got lucky.”

Bad luck perhaps. I shuddered. Something was very wrong here.

My tasssk has been fulfilled. A word of caution, your book is ssstarved.

Shock at its warning seared away as Song exited my body through its runes. Pain contorted my limbs and wrenched me sideways. I fell from the sled onto the sand. Curling onto my side, I spat blood and grit. Down here, the sense of unease was greater. Blood leaked from the corner of my mouth and mingled with the sand. A discordant sensation, sharp and dangerous, made my vision blank and stomach roll. I heaved, coughing and blind until strong hands set me on my feet.

“What the hell happened?” Dillon held me at arm’s length, no doubt examining me.

“It’s the book,” I said hoarsely, blinking hard to clear my sight. “It’s done something…”

And if the grimoire was at fault, then
I
was at fault.

I swallowed hard and regained my balance. It was time I learned what we had done.

Chapter Sixteen

Lindsay groused when Dillon ordered her to remain with the cart, but I was grateful for one less witness to what my carelessness had wrought. If I had doubted Song, my confirmation of the book’s nearness showed in the weight of my legs as I trudged through loose sand, slipping until a firm hand pressed me to a harder body for support. Spell-crafted roads were rarer than oases here.