The Girl of Fire and Thorns fat-1 Page 22

  I feel eyes boring into my back as I hurry into the cavern.

  The story of my escape has already spread by the time I finish bathing. Everyone pats me on the back, asking questions, offering congratulations. And everyone has their own story to tell. My Malficio was very busy while we were away.

  At night, Alentín sits cross-legged beside me in the sand of our half-cavern while we wait for dinner to be prepared. He tells me of a group of five older boys who quietly stumbled upon an enemy scouting party while hunting. They tracked the party for a day, waited for the right opportunity; then, early in the morning, they attacked with bows and arrows from the ridge above. The scouting party was much larger, easily fifteen men, so each of our hunters killed a single man and then retreated. Two days later, they did the same. They left the remaining handful to spread the word of their defeat. Since then, the village rallying cry has been, “Each one kill one.”

  Alentín tells me, “It is as you said. We sting, and then live to sting again.”

  “Each one kill one,” I echo. “That’s perfect.” I push away my discomfort at the thought that we are encouraging children even younger than me to kill.

  “We found another group northeast of here. Probably traveling between armies. They were camped next to a brook. One girl took an enormous batch of duerma leaf powder and poured it into the water a ways upstream. Half of them passed out. The rest panicked.” His face hardens when he says, “We slaughtered them in their sleep, then took their clothes and weapons. Burned the bodies.” He looks away.

  “You did well.” But my belly squirms.

  “This idea of yours. Inflicting harm with little loss of life. Terrorizing the enemy. It’s a good one, the best one, but it still hurts my heart.” He looks down and draws swirls in the dust with his fingertip. “I just hope His Majesty, may minstrels compose epics at the sound of his glorious name, will do as you say and give this land to its people.”

  I whisper, “I will do everything I can.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Father, I need to show you something.” I glance around to make sure no one is looking, then pull the animagus’s amulet from beneath my woolen blouse. I’m not sure how Alentín will react to seeing the cause of so much suffering, but I’m desperate to talk to someone about it. I lean forward, the caged Godstone cool and dead in my palm.

  Alentín’s eyes fly wide. “Did you take that from your animagus?” he whispers.

  “I did.”

  He starts to reach for it, then yanks his hand back. “Are you sure it was a good idea to bring it here, Elisa? This is an instrument of evil. What if it starts to burn—”

  “It won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It’s not evil. It’s a Godstone.”

  His face freezes. “That’s not possible. God would never allow such a thing.”

  “I don’t understand it either, Alentín. But I know a Godstone when I see one. This is the fourth one I’ve seen, besides my own. There is no doubt.”

  Alentín’s voice drops to a whisper. “How did he acquire such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Godstones detach from their bearers at the moment of death. So maybe the animagi steal them. Or maybe—”

  “Maybe what?”

  I lean in. “Maybe some bearers have been selected from Invierne.”

  His eyes narrow. “Inviernos are evil. They do not walk the path of God.”

  I shrug. “But they have Godstones, and they do sorcery with them. If I could learn how to use it the way they do . . .”

  His tone is dark and cutting when he says, “That would be a very dangerous game.”

  I smile humorlessly. “No more dangerous than what we already do. You were the one who said the bearer was to fight magic with magic.”

  He sighs. “Yes. It’s why we brought you here, after all, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Promise an old man you’ll be careful?”

  I reach forward on impulse and hug him. “I promise.”

  We’re interrupted by Mara, who bears steaming plates of spiced lamb shanks with buttered spinach. I breathe in through my nose, savoring the rich moistness. Not jerky, not dates. We take our plates, and Mara squeezes my shoulder before stepping away.

  I hold the first bite in my mouth, letting the juice from the meat burst across my tongue. I almost shudder. I remember our last loaf of bread the night before we found Invierne’s army, squashed from riding in Belén’s pack. Belén.

  “Father, I must tell you something else. Belén . . . has he returned?”

  He swallows a mouthful. “He has not. Jacián returned—he’s hunting now—but not Belén. Cosmé is worried for him.”

  I take a deep breath. “He may have betrayed us.”

  He leans forward, eyes sharp. “What do you mean?”

  I describe what happened, what I saw in the camp of our enemy.

  “You’re certain?”

  “I’ve asked myself every hour of every day if there is a way I could be wrong, Father. He was not being held against his will. He moved freely in the camp. I saw . . . camaraderie between him and the Inviernos. And there’s no other explanation for how they knew where to find us. My companions are all highly skilled. I’m certain we didn’t give our location away by accident.”

  He ponders, searching my eyes. “If we take this to the village, it will be your word against his.”

  “Yes.”

  “The village might listen to you, though Belén is one of their own. You are the bearer. And you have slain an animagus.”

  “I didn’t actually see the body—”

  “If you called for it, he would be executed.”

  I swallow. “I don’t want that. I want to give him an opportunity to help. To tell us what he knows.”

  Alentín nods. “Then I will spread the word, quietly, that Belén is to be held for questioning if he returns. And we will double our perimeter guard. We are prepared to flee this place at the earliest sign of attack.”

  It’s as good a plan as any. I turn my full attention to my plate.

  We all work hard during the next weeks, for we can’t be sure how much time we have before Invierne begins its march. Our “gossips” return from the villages with news that rumors of the Malficio are at full strength. Some of them bring trusted friends and family members with them. A village nearby is razed to the ground by animagi, and we rally to collect the survivors. Our number swells to more than eighty, and I am relieved to add a solid contingent of adults to our group.

  Then something happens that I hadn’t anticipated: Word trickles in of attacks upon the enemy that were not orchestrated by our group. Other villages, other hidden camps of refugees, have adopted our strategy. They harry the army all along its formidable length, striking and retreating only to strike again. The curse of the Malficio has fed on itself, become a living thing all its own.

  But there is no sign of Belén. Humberto finally confides that Belén and Cosmé had promised to marry, should they survive the war. My former maid is more distant than ever, and my heart aches for her.

  Then one day a shout rings out from the perimeter, and moments later a sentry hauls a blindfolded captive into our village. He’s a thin-boned, younger man wearing the same desert robes I’ve grown accustomed to. But a closer look reveals a fine weave, a brighter white, and a sash with embroidered gold threads. He claims to have a message for the leader of the Malficio.

  We drag him deep into the cavern where he cannot see the village and its surroundings. A small group of onlookers gathers around us, blocking any escape. While Jacián and the sentry hold him by the shoulders, I rip off the blindfold.

  “You have a message?” I ask. My voice has acquired a dangerous edge, born of responsibility and worry. It’s a voice I’m not sure I like.

  “I am to give it only to the leader of the Malficio,” he says, and I have to credit him for his unflinching gaze and a head held high.

  “You do not speak with the acce
nt of the desert people,” I say.

  “I am not from the desert.”

  “How did you come here?”

  He deflates just a little. I well understand that feeling of utter exhaustion barely held in check. “I have traveled for almost three weeks, asking for the Malficio. I heard in the villages that I should seek southward, nearer the desert. Please tell me I’ve finally arrived. I thought, maybe, with the blindfold—”

  “You have reached the Malficio.”

  “Oh, thank God. Are you their leader?” He peers at me in dismay.

  “I am.”

  Jacián growls in warning as the messenger reaches beneath his sash. “It’s not a weapon,” he says, smiling shakily. He retrieves a leather pouch, squashed flat, and fumbles with the ties. From inside, he pulls out a roll of parchment, also flattened but still sealed in bright red wax.

  The people around me gasp in recognition of the seal. My fingers shake as I slide my thumbnail through the wax and unroll the parchment. I read. Then I read it again to be sure. My heart pounds as I raise my eyes.

  “It’s from Conde Treviño,” I tell them. The traitor. Condesa Ariña’s father. “He wishes to discuss an alliance.”

  Chapter 24

  “IT’S a trap,” Humberto growls, staring at the earthen floor.

  “I have to agree,” Jacián says.

  We are gathered in my adobe hut with Cosmé and Father Alentín to discuss the conde’s mysterious summons. Mara has made my favorite dish tonight—lamb shanks roasted in coals and sliced thin, then rolled with a batter of bread and onions, garlic and pine nuts. I eat slowly.

  Father Alentín is nodding. “The conde has proven treacherous,” he says. “He gives the fruit of his people’s labor into the hands of Invierne. He refuses to defend the villages. He may have promised to deliver you to the enemy.”

  “Why?” I ask. “What does he have to gain?”

  “Who knows?” Humberto says, throwing up his hands. “Promise of amnesty. A place in the new government, perhaps.”

  I narrow my eyes, thinking. “But it is possible, just possible, that he truly wishes to discuss an alliance.” When I look around for confirmation, only Cosmé does not meet my gaze.

  Humberto’s face twitches. “Elisa, please don’t go.”

  “If there is a chance the conde is willing to aid us, don’t you think it worth the risk?” I’d like to go to Basajuan for other reasons too. A city that size would have news of Brisadulce and Alejandro, maybe even a reply from Ximena. But I keep that to myself.

  “The conde thinks he’s doing the right thing,” Cosmé whispers. She’s been silent most of the evening. “He thinks he is saving the lives of his people by treating with the enemy.” There is something depthless about her eyes in the candlelight. We stare at her collectively, but her delicate features remain frozen.

  Humberto reaches forward and clasps his sister’s hand. A pang of envy shoots through my chest and leaves me feeling empty. “Cosmé,” Humberto says gently. “Would the conde betray Elisa if he thought it would help his people?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Jacián rocks back on his heels, sighing. “It concerns me that his messenger found us so easily.”

  “The messenger says he is merely one of many who were sent,” Alentín points out. “Maybe he was luckier than the others.”

  “Or someone told him where to find us,” Jacián counters.

  “What do you mean, someone?” Cosmé asks, her voice dark and silvery.

  Jacián leans toward her, unintimidated. “I mean Belén. He’s still out there. He probably told the conde all about us. Two traitors working together.”

  “Belén would never—”

  “He already has.”

  They glare at each other a long while. I can’t begin to understand how they feel. Though his treachery nearly resulted in my death, Belén was not a child playmate of mine. Not a future husband. For the hundredth time, I hope I am wrong. I put my fingertips to the Godstone and pray that I was misled, and that Belén, wherever he is, remains loyal to his friends and to our cause.

  Father Alentín breaks the tense silence. “We need to add to our numbers. As it stands, we can only harass one army. To be successful, we must make our presence known on both fronts.”

  “Do you think the conde can help us? That he can be swayed?” I ask.

  He rubs the stump of his shoulder in thought, then shakes his head. “I don’t know, Elisa. But His Majesty, may his magnificent sword shatter the breasts of his enemies, must encounter two weakened armies to have a chance at victory.”

  I chew on a meat roll and ponder his words while Cosmé and Jacián continue their mutual glare.

  When the idea comes, I almost choke. “What if . . .” I hold up a hand to forestall talk while I chew and swallow as quickly as I can. “What if we force the conde into an alliance?” The meat roll is a lump in my chest. I hit my sternum with my fist.

  “What do you mean?” Humberto asks.

  “I mean we can force him to ally with us. If Invierne believes he has violated their agreement, he will have no choice.”

  Cosmé’s black eyes narrow as a huge smile lights Jacián’s face. “The supply train,” Cosmé says.

  I nod. “The supply train. If we go to Basajuan and figure out how and when Condé Treviño pays his tribute, we can interfere. We’ll poison the food, lace the water with duerma leaf, anything we can think of. Invierne will think themselves betrayed. When Conde Treviño is most desperate, the Malficio will offer to aid him.”

  “You’re mad,” Humberto says, but I see the resigned admiration in his face. “It just might work.”

  “I hear a lot of ‘if’ in that plan,” the priest says. “If you can find out the details of the supply train. If you can infiltrate it. If you are not caught. If Invierne even gives the conde a chance to seek your aid rather than destroying him utterly at the first sign of betrayal.”

  His words sober me. We no longer play games of war, and this is no small prank. Hundreds of Inviernos could die. Maybe more. And there is no way to anticipate the level of retaliation our people would face.

  “This is a war, Father,” Jacián says in that quiet voice, his face dark. I’m glad he is not my enemy. “The information we’ve gathered indicates Invierne will begin their march any day. When that happens, thousands will die. It is inevitable. Elisa’s plan gives us an opportunity to influence the course of this war.”

  He speaks the truth, but I feel no better. How do I trade one group of lives for another? How do I endorse a plan that only might work? These are the decisions my father and sister have been making for years, the decisions Alejandro has been avoiding. Maybe I should distance myself, think of everyone as game pieces on a board. It’s too hard to think of them as people.

  Father Alentín shakes his head and mutters, “This will be unbelievably dangerous. Cosmé, do you think the conde would welcome you back?”

  “Ah, you mean if we declare ourselves rather than traveling in stealth?” I ask.

  He nods. “As far as the conde knows, Cosmé disappeared from the palace at the same time you did.”

  “We have to assume the condesa contacted him regarding our disappearance,” Cosmé adds. “It would be very strange indeed for me to show up on his doorstep.” Her voice drops a register. “But he would welcome me back. He always does.” I peer into her conflicted face, trying to discern what it is I’m missing. For the first time since I’ve known her, she flinches away from my gaze.

  It’s not important for me to understand the history between Cosmé and the conde, so long as she can help us. “So you think you can get the information about the supply train that we’ll need?” I ask her.

  She looks up at me in surprise—or maybe gratitude—that I’ve chosen not to pry. “From the conde, no. But if my contacts are still in place, and if they’ll talk to me, then yes. The difficult part will be getting the information before the conde can spring his own trap.”

  “The
n we should arrive unannounced,” Humberto says. “Give ourselves a few days to ask around before presenting ourselves to Treviño.”

  I nod. “We’ll leave in two days. How much duerma leaf have we harvested?”

  Humberto grins, his face cheerful once again, and I find myself grinning right back. “Enough to poison an army,” he says.

  “If we travel along the desert border,” Jacián says, “we won’t need to move in stealth. We can take the camels.”

  I nod with false enthusiasm. It’s the best plan we have. But I dread the prospect of another painful journey with uncertain outcomes.

  We agree to a small contingent. If things go wrong, if it is a trap, the majority of the Malficio will remain behind to carry on. After much discussion, we settle on a group of ten. Twice the number of perfection.

  Father Alentín decides not to join us. “I fear the priests of the Monastery-at-Basajuan would be disinclined to welcome me back,” he tells me.

  “Why?” I ask, from curiosity rather than disappointment, for there is no other person I’d rather entrust the Malficio to in my absence.

  “We had some acute doctrinal differences. In regards to the bearer, mostly. They are pro-Godstone. I am pro-bearer. Had they found you, they would have ripped the stone from your navel.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re afraid to see them again because of a doctrinal difference?”

  “Well, there was the small matter of my absconding with their oldest copy of the Afflatus—”

  I laugh and clap him on the back. When I turn to leave the cavern in search of volunteers, a tall, thin figure blocks my path.

  “Take me with you,” Mara says, her voice soft but insistent. I peer up at her, noticing the soot stains on her cheek, the wisps of still-ragged black hair escaping the leather tie at her nape. Her face has healed nicely, though a shimmery scar from a much older injury weighs down her left eyelid. The drooped effect makes her appear perpetually sad. She has a faint scent about her, as always, of garlic and roasting meat. I imagine she’s weary of preparing food for eighty people. “I’ve always wanted to see a big city,” she continues hurriedly. “My family, they’re all . . . gone, so you see, I wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind anymore. . . .” Her voice shakes as her eyes plead with mine.