Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (34 page)

“You sound like your lord,” I
retorted, pushing his forehead away from my own with one finger. I met his
cunning stare, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but I still
wouldn’t change a thing.”

He chuckled wryly, nudging my finger
away and lurching up to his feet. Before I could stop him, he grabbed me by the
shoulders and yanked me after him.

“Time to get up, isn’t it?” he asked.
I let out a groan, my fragile stomach and head not appreciating the sudden
enthusiasm, and latched on to Traken because my legs were still too numb to stand
on their own.

“That hurts,” I complained, gritting
my teeth. “I might not be able to do anything right now, but try dragging me
around one more time and I’ll make you regret it, Dogboy.”

His grip grew tighter on my shoulders,
and his words were suddenly playful and rough. “Make me regret, then. I live by
your rules now, kitten. Make me do anything.”

“Don’t act like I’m your lord,” I
said, panicked at his sudden mood. I shifted my unhappy legs, trying to pull
away as my cheeks grew warm again. “Do what you want, I’m no maniacal leader.”

“What I want?” Grinning lips were
suddenly against my ear, the words hot on my skin. “Now that you mention it…
isn’t there a punishment for blushing?”

My heart dropped. That tricky, tricky
bastard.

“Not when you’re taking advantage of
someone half-dead,” I growled, and jerked my head up to glare at him. Our bodies
both froze that way, noses barely an inch apart. His eyes were slits, a
tempting demon with a clever gaze, and I thought that this was exactly where
the joke was going to end. Instead, his breath shuddered, and those fingers on
my shoulders slid ever-so-imperceptibly up towards my neck… or was it my face?
His head cocked slightly, slyly, and a heated panic washed through my fascinated
stupor.

“Traken… you’re….” I faltered, trying
to find words again.

He stopped. His lips, almost too close
to be seen, formed a thin line and then a scowl, and he glowered at me.

“You should eat something. I’ll be
back.”

And just like that, for no particular
reason, he was gone. I yelped, suddenly alone in the silent cell with nothing
left to hold me up, and immediately swayed and collapsed on the floor in a
painful mess.

“Bad dog,” I grumbled at the empty
air, as if mocking him now would make me feel better. I rubbed my skinned
elbow, rattled. My body was warm, and my stomach muscles taut, but I strangled
down any perplexing thoughts. Traken liked his games, and the only way to win
against them was to not react the way he expected.

Derk’s words haunted the back of my
mind.

Respect does not even begin to define
his obsession.

Dear gods, what was I getting into?

Soon enough Traken appeared again,
finding me lying flat out on the grisly floor, my arms folded behind my head.
He seemed recovered, and I likewise had decided to let it go and pretend that
my senses weren’t tingling at his very presence. He had a small sack in one
hand, and when he spoke his voice was dripping with insincere scorn.

“Enjoying yourself, princess? I would
have imagined you with your swords and pack already strapped on, ready to go.”

“They’re over there,” I said with what
I hoped wasn’t truly a pout. I pointed one hand over my head to the corner of
the wall we had been leaning against. “They’re far away.”

Traken pursed his lips, eyes flicking
between me and the supplies. “That’s a terrifying distance of, oh, about three
feet.”

“Basically impossible,” I agreed,
waving one arm at him. “Come over here already.”

He did without question, wicked eyes
casting a bemused stare down at me. I grabbed the hand of his that was free and
pulled myself up using my own strength. Traken grunted humorously, almost
falling over, but I got all the way up and managed to sway, somewhat
unsteadily, on my own two feet.

“There, that’s better,” I said
cheerily, patting my used sorcerer on the shoulder. “Good job, Traken, that’s
exactly what I needed.”

“…you’re mocking me, aren’t you?” he
said, eyes narrowed. I shook a finger at him, mustering a glare that was at
least mostly for show.

“You just made me spend the last ten
minutes on the ground again. If you hadn’t noticed, it isn’t pretty down there.
If you are being mocked, I’d say it is well deserved.”

Ah, if only my legs were strong enough
to keep up my show of bravado. I turned quite eloquently, but then had to
stumble my way to the corner to grab my swords and bag, throwing one arm on the
wall for support. I noticed Phernado and Valentina’s complete lack of response
as I lifted them, and wondered if they were moody. Could swords be moody? They
hadn’t gotten to kill anyone yet, after all.

I turned, and Traken was holding the
small sack up in my face. I peeked around it to find amused eyes behind a mask
of indifference.

“Food? There was some left in the
dining hall. He must not have eaten today.”

I tried to snatch it from his hand
without a word, and he yanked it away.

“What color are your eyes if you’re
hungry, I wonder?” he asked, the smallest of smirks on his face. “Hmm… a deep
green. Fascinating.”

The playful emerald color in my eyes
had nothing to do with hunger, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’ll eat
your fingers instead, if you’d like.”

This time he really did laugh, and
there was no more dark desperation behind it. He motioned for me to follow him
with his chin, and I forced myself forward. I used the sheathed Phernado in the
way of support, leaning on the sword like an old man would with a cane. The
more I used my limbs, the more responsive they were becoming, but a dangerous
dizziness had still not subsided.

“It was truly empty up there?” I asked
as we finally,
finally
, exited that ugly little cell. Traken curled one
finger nonchalantly, and the old magi-globe hanging in the air warbled and
swept over our heads, following us as we walked. A puzzle of hallways and other
dingy cells crept out at us from the shadows. I imagined Derk’s bones weren’t
the only ones down here.

“Truly empty,” Traken agreed, watching
me out of the corner of his eye. The corners of his lips were twitching. “If
historians and legends-experts only knew what the Tragic Lovers were being used
for now.”

“Hey, these two understand,” I said,
secretly hoping they would. They still hadn’t stirred since I picked them up.
Maybe they were upset at being so dirty. They were covered in crusted blood,
mine and Derk’s.

“I’m sure they don’t,” Traken said with
a sigh, “seeing as swords don’t endeavor to understand much.”

He led me through the twisted maze of
doors and hallways, walking purposefully, as if he knew the way well. I
wondered what these dark dungeons meant to him, and how many times he had been
down here. Had it been for work, or for punishment?

At that thought, I frowned and stopped
walking. “Traken… you haven’t been attacked at all since the fight with Derk?”
I motioned towards the scars on his pale chest. He looked down as well.

“No, not once.”

“Why would he have stopped? He was so
close to getting what he wanted… after waiting such a long time, wouldn’t he
have sent more people? Even come himself?”

“…yes, I believe he would have,”
Traken said with a nod. “It was on my mind as well. His ambition is his air. He
would not have given up. Besides which, he rarely ever leaves. It would have
had to of been something of greater importance, which I can’t fathom, given the
situation.”

“Well, this bodes well,” I said
softly, following again as Traken started forward slowly. I swung my own pack
around and dug out the canteen as we went. “I’m sure he’s just decided it was
one huge mistake that’s not worth thinking about. He seems like the type.”

He laughed, finally opening the
promising sack of food. It was probably old and stale, but the smell that came
from it made my stomach jump with excitement. “I have some meat and bread here.
Not much, but that’s probably a good thing for now. Hopefully there really
isn’t too much danger ahead, because I doubt your body will be ready for it.”

“My body can complain later, it’s got
ridiculous glowing blood running through it, I’m sure it will endure.”

“I believe that was only the effects
of the Week of Colors,” Traken reminded. “You had a completely open mind for a
long time before those monks of yours, correct? Did your blood glow then?”

“…no,” I said, nonplussed.
“Nevertheless, I need to find that man and ask him some questions before I make
sure he dies a roach’s death.” I paused in my water sipping, glaring at Traken.
“For the love of all gods, what is your lord’s name? It has been driving me
insane.”

“He doesn’t have one that I know of,”
Traken said with a shrug, passing me the leg of some small fowl. The smoked
meat disappeared off the bone in seconds. “Some people give him names; the
people in this region call him Lord Sey, or Master Leeto, depending on whether
you’re from the north or south. He has gone under many other titles as well.
The people in Partchoo call him master, just like we do.” His eyes twinkled.
“You could call him Lord Partchoo, if it would make you feel better.”

I made a face. “That doesn’t sound as
evil as I would like.”

“Does he need to sound evil?” He handed
me some more food, a half-loaf of hard, stale bread, and I tore into it like it
was a feast worthy of the emperor.

“He needs to sound killable,” I said
through a full mouth. “Whether or not evil truly exists, that man isn’t right
and he doesn’t deserve to live peacefully.”

I said it darkly, but that mood
quickly disappeared when I felt Traken’s large hand land on my head. I thought
he was hitting me, but he just let it rest there.

“I dunno,” he said, licking salt off
his other thumb from whatever he had just devoured. “After hearing that song
coming from you last night I’ve started to rethink the idea of good, at least.
There isn’t another word to describe that sound. It was as if the sources
themselves had taken on a voice, and those voices were singing along with the
thundering heartbeats of every living thing. It felt like….” He tapped his nose.
“Strangely, it was similar to that scent of yours, but much more powerful.”

“Is that why you two were crying?” I
asked, and Traken’s hand twitched atop my head. He quickly snatched it back,
glaring sideways at me and clicking his tongue. I hadn’t meant to insult him,
though. I looked away, even as I snaked a hand across him and stole another
piece of bread from his sack.

“I wish I had been able to hear it as
well,” I murmured. Traken snorted.

“You must be able to hear it on some
level, all the time. When you fight, you move to that same rhythm. I recognized
it as soon as I heard it. Maybe you’re just so accustomed to it you can’t
tell.” He glanced at me suspiciously. “Maybe that’s why you can’t seem to act
like a proper person.”

“Rhythm? How can you… there’s no way
you can actually connect how I fight with a sound you only heard for a little
while. I’m not that predictable.”

“Believe what you want,” he said
lightheartedly. “It’s easy to determine someone’s rhythm of movement in
fighting when you’re looking for it. I wouldn’t say it makes you predictable,
though.”

We finished up what was left of
Traken’s findings… he managed to down more than half of it while I was busy
working things through my head, but I paid him back by keeping most of the
water for myself.

Finally we stopped at the bottom of
some dark and silent stairs. The stone staircase led up to a flat panel in the
ceiling which didn’t have a handle, and which I could only see by the bright
light of the magi-globe, since it blended so perfectly into the wall. Traken
swiped his hand gently to the left and the panel growled against other stones
as it fell in and scraped in the same direction. It was an opening only a
magic-user could possibly make use of.

I let out a determined breath and took
the stairs first, having enough strength now to at least not use my swords as
walking sticks. The stairs emerged into a small room of shiny black stone that
smelled like fresh forest air compared to the dungeon below it. Traken came up
behind me, the magi-globe hovering at his shoulder, and the room came alive
with glittering reflections. I saw myself as if I were looking into a
mirror—long, wild hair stretching down my back, bare skin covered in scars and
grime, two leather sword straps crossing my chest. On my stomach there was a
sickening, raw mound of wounded and pulled-together flesh that had been the
wound Derk gave me. That pain was still on my face, making my eyes that much
starker, my grim expression that much more desolate. I stared at myself a long
moment, entranced by the very thing I was without my knowing. It was close to
how I had looked when I had returned from the wilds, half beast with no idea
what humanity was.

I couldn’t see colors in the
reflective stone, but I saw the changes swirling through my eyes.

“Scared of your own reflection?”
Traken asked with a laugh, turning me by my shoulder in the correct direction.
There was an old, solid door in front of us, unused for a long time if the
layers of dirt and dust on it were any indication. I quirked a smile to myself;
those blasted sorcerers didn’t use doors often enough.

Traken took the lead now, opening the
creaky door himself and leading me out into the empty hall. It was the same
empty hallway that we had first arrived in, with black symbols crisscrossing
through the dark walls, but the magi-globes no longer hung above in the
ceiling. Besides our own hovering magic light, it was completely dark.

“This is depressing,” I said, skin
prickling. “It’s as if he abandoned this place.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Traken said, and I
didn’t miss just how troubled he sounded. This was the life he had lived for so
long; I doubted change was in either his nature or his lord’s.

“Let’s try the room we last saw him?”
I suggested lamely. If Traken couldn’t sense a presence, then there probably
wasn’t a presence there. From what I had learned of his master in this short
time, he didn’t sound the like the type of person who worried about masking it.
Then again, someone could be doing it for him. Traken would likely have been
able to listen to their minds as well, though. If they were there, why weren’t
they attacking?

Each possibility that ran through my
mind seemed as clouded and ridiculous as the one before it. We headed silently
over to the room that had marked the change of everything, the Room of Seeing,
and I for one felt a cold sweat. The door was slightly ajar this time, an
ominous sign in my mind, and Traken opened it further with a solemn look on his
face.

Inside, I almost expected to see a
young man sitting there again, in that body that was almost a child’s, staring
into the water. He was not. The room was completely dark, but the strange waters
of the pond gave off a glow in the very center of the room. The lord’s chair
was knocked over by its edge, and the silver birdcage was still trapped underneath
the surface. Our magi-globe followed me as I walked in, and I could make out
more. On the smooth stone floor there were still remnants from the battle that
had taken place. Splashes of blood, the drag marks from when the young lord had
pulled me to the spot I should have died. There were strange impressions in the
rock around that point, possibly from the spell. I wondered what, exactly,
Traken had done to free me from the water that had wanted my blood.

“He’s not here,” he commented simply,
breaking through my heavy thoughts, and made as if to turn. Perhaps he did not
like to dwell on events as much as I did. I grabbed his arm, and motioned
towards the cage.

“Wait. I know this might sound pointless,
but… can you lift that?”