Married by Treachery Page 10

  But Jake only gave her a dismissive, “We’ll be fine,” walked over to Banon, and the two of them spoke in low voices while the rest of the group caught up.

  Beside her, Vizzi snorted, and his ears twitched.

  Raquel reached up and rubbed the breadth of his nose. “I know. I don’t much like it either.”

  “I thought we were staying in Drava,” Sienne said once she caught up. She did not sound pleased.

  “We don’t have time,” Jake answered, his tone clipped. He’d crouched at the edge of the clearing and was drawing in the dirt with his finger.

  “We make time,” Sienne replied.

  “Can you extend the day?” Jake cut back. The tension in his posture edged his voice too. “Can you hold back the night and give us time to pass through Drava’s gates?”

  Sienne’s lips thinned. A few in her company glanced sideways at her, but everyone looked resigned.

  Even Sienne.

  Jake stood fully and turned to face her. Gone was the mischievous, tricky prince. In his place stood an imperial and dangerous ruler. “No? Then perhaps you might make yourself of use and help me draw a perimeter so that the Depraved do not rip us to shreds as we sleep.”

  Sienne scowled, looked to the kith man beside her, nodded once, and dismounted. The rest of her company followed suit.

  Jake, however, turned back to his task and resumed drawing symbols upon the earth.

  Raquel leaned in to Vizzi and whispered, “Wait here.” Vizzi snorted his disapproval, but Raquel patted his nose and slowly approached Jake.

  He still crouched, his back to her as he drew symbols in the dry earth, clearing needles and leaves when necessary. He did not turn or look or verbally acknowledge her when she stopped behind him, but Raquel noted a slight hitch in his movement.

  “How effective are drawings compared to stone walls?” she asked.

  Jake finished a line, then scrutinized his work. “Effective enough.” A pause. “Though I might advise you keep low to the ground lest one of them rip off your head.”

  Raquel’s eyes widened.

  Jake glanced at her over his shoulder, and a mischievous grin twisted his lips.

  Raquel realized he was teasing and narrowed her eyes. “Scoundrel.”

  That grin spread, as if he proudly accepted the designation, and then he got back to work. Sienne had begun drawing symbols on the other side, the two of them working together to form a circle wide enough for all of their company and the horses. The others began unpacking and setting up camp, and Raquel felt suddenly useless.

  “Is there any way I can help?” she asked.

  Jake stood—still, with his back to her—took a few steps to the right, and crouched again. “Yes. Don’t run away.”

  “I have no desire to be eaten by a tree.”

  Jake grunted a laugh, though the sound lacked his former lightness.

  Then, “I’m sorry about the stag.”

  His motions snagged again, and it took him a second to cut them free. “Why? Did you set the curse upon him?”

  So it was a curse! Not simply a disease. “No, but I am to stop this curse, aren’t I?”

  Jake stopped drawing, and he looked back at her. Raquel couldn’t read the expression there. “Yes, my bride. Yes, you are.”

  He turned away and resumed drawing his symbols in the earth.

  Raquel felt a prick of unease, and she would have asked him to expound on this new admission, but then Rian was there, holding a small cloth pouch before her.

  “Eat,” he said.

  She peeled her gaze from Jake and glanced down at the pouch. Rian mistook her hesitation for mistrust, then withdrew a pale cracker and took an overlarge bite.

  “Thee?” he said, mouth full. “Ith not going to kill you.”

  “Swallow,” Raquel urged, to which Rian rolled his eyes and swallowed. Pleased, Raquel took a cracker from the pouch. “Thank you.”

  Rian grumbled, and he walked on to share with the others, while Raquel ambled away, still within the confines of the perimeter Jake and Sienne were drawing, and sat down upon the soft earth. She took a bite of the cracker and nearly spit it out. It tasted like sand, and actually, she would have spit it out, except that it had suddenly morphed into a thick paste, and she could not physically dispel it from her mouth.

  “Here,” Jake said with a chuckle and held his flask before her.

  She meant to reply, but then her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she could not pry it free. Resigned, she took the flask from Jake’s hand and washed the rest of the cracker down. Surprisingly, the wine burst with flavor. Like roses and berries and temptation.

  “I can suddenly understand why you’ve taken to drinking,” Raquel said as she pulled the flask away and dragged the back of her hand across her lips.

  Jake grinned, but it wasn’t easy like before, and then he snapped his fingers.

  Suddenly, an enormous and luxurious sky-blue blanket appeared on the ground beneath her, and Raquel gasped in surprise. “What…how…?”

  “I cannot have my bride sleeping directly upon the dirt, now can I?” Jake said.

  Raquel looked around at their camp, at everyone lying directly upon the ground. “Everyone else is.”

  “Everyone else is not my bride.” Jake stepped around her, onto the blanket, and sat down. “I may be a scoundrel, but I like to think I’m a mannerly one.”

  Raquel snorted.

  He leaned back upon his hands, his legs stretched before him, and his sun-gold eyes fixed on her. “Tell me you disagree.” There was a challenging glint in his gaze that had been gone since the stag, and Raquel was glad to see it’d returned. She didn’t quite know what to do with the silent and formidable forest prince.

  Because it made Dream Raquel want to comfort him.

  “No, but you’re still a scoundrel,” she teased.

  “And you still have my flask.” He held out a hand.

  She realized that she was, in fact, still holding on to his flask. She eyed him, then smirked, and took a long and deliberate sip. Jake’s hand remained outstretched, though his eyes darkened, and when she handed back the flask, his lips curled in a way that made her heart jump.

  Until he shook his flask and realized it was empty. “All of it? Really?”

  “No manners, remember?” She held two fingers at her heart as he had done.

  Jake’s smile turned vicious, and his eyes burned with something that nearly stopped her heart altogether. “Yes,” he said lowly. “I remember.” But then a crease formed between his brows, and he glanced to the trees and waved a hand over his flask before lifting it to his lips again.

  “How do you do that?” Raquel asked.

  Jake pulled the flask away and licked his lips. “Do what?”

  “Make things appear out of thin air?”

  He smirked. “Those are fiercely protected kith secrets, my bride.”

  “Like your curse?” She hadn’t meant to bring it back to this, but it was the question that had been brimming just below the surface ever since she’d entered this strange and rotting kingdom. A question he kept maneuvering around, but it would not be ignored.

  Not now.

  Especially not now.

  Her question settled between them, as thick and cold as the surrounding mist. Jake’s entire physiognomy changed, and Raquel suddenly regretted her words—regretted calling back that dark and dangerous forest prince.

  But she needed an answer; she needed to know. Unfortunately, she had been so distracted by him—by this, whatever it was—and confused by her dreams that she kept forgetting to persist. To get the answers she needed so that she could stop Canna’s curse from plaguing her people.

  “What happened to that stag, Jake?” Raquel asked quietly, though she realized the others were watching them now, listening. “Why are these trees dead but also alive? Where did your Depraved come from, and why is there no color?”

  The camp had fallen completely silent, all of them looking to their
prince to see how he would answer. To see what he would say.

  Worried about what he would say.

  Jake absently turned that flask in his hand, his gaze fixed ahead but unseeing. “You ask questions that I cannot answer.”

  “Again, I ask you: cannot or will not?”

  He looked sharply at her, his gaze predatory. “Life is a game, my bride. We win some. We lose some. And we drink”—he raised his flask in toast—“to endure it all.”

  Raquel frowned, and he lifted the flask to his lips.

  “That’s it?” Raquel snapped, irritated. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Jake tipped back the flask and drained it.

  The others still watched, though they tried not to appear like they were. A few uneasy glances were exchanged.

  “It’s not as simple as that, though, is it?” Raquel persisted. “I saw you with that stag. You felt that loss. You feel it now—you feel all of it—which is why you drink far more than you should—”

  “You can’t leave well enough alone, can you, my murderous, thieving virgin bride?” Jake cut her off, a smile on his lips, but his eyes were full of fire.

  Raquel might have been afraid, but she was mostly irritated by his last qualifier. “Leave it alone? It’s only what’s plagued my people for forty-two years!”

  Jake tipped his head, and that fire burned. “Plagued? You mean losing six young maidens?”

  His tone suggested her loss wasn’t loss at all, and it rankled her. She ground her teeth together. “One is too many, Your Grace. Just because you whittle your life away with your games and drink doesn’t mean that others are content to throw away theirs.”

  In retrospect, she might have pushed too far with that last comment. Banon twitched forward, ready to defend his prince’s honor, but Jake held up two fingers, his dark gaze fixed on hers.

  “I agree,” Jake said at last, his voice low and smooth and dangerous. “One is too many. Would you care to know how many we have lost?”

  “Your people are your responsibility, not mine. I am here because—”

  “Tens of thousands.”

  Raquel stopped. There was no humor in Jake’s gaze now, nothing bating. His words were a bleeding wound—a wound carried by every person in that camp. Raquel’s gaze settled on Sienne, and Sienne did not look away. Raquel had wondered why Sienne had brought her own daughter to Little Mignon, but perhaps Sienne had not had a choice.

  At last, Sienne looked away.

  “So forgive me if I seem callous and unfeeling concerning your six,” Jake continued quietly, but no less firmly. “I would easily triple that number if it meant I could save my own.”

  Raquel held his gaze. “But we are innocent.”

  “So are mine.”

  A beat. “I am innocent.”

  His lips twisted sardonically. “Are you now, my murderous, thieving…beloved bride?”

  Raquel scowled. “I think I am done with your little games.”

  He looked delighted by this profession, as if it were a challenge to be won, and he sat up straight. “I don’t think you are.”

  “I promise you I—”

  “Riddle me this, my bride,” Jake cut her off again, new fire in his eyes, as if her dismissal had simply thrown kindling on open flame. “If you can solve it, then you have won, and the game is over.”

  Silence.

  “You know what… I’ve had quiet enough of this—” Raquel started to push herself from the blanket.

  “‘A mortal heart, the heir must claim,’” Jake said, stopping her. “‘A babe wrought by harvest’s light—’”

  “Jake…” Sienne warned.

  “‘—and virgin be by immortal’s sight,’” Jake continued, his eyes never leaving her face, “‘who holds the only road to our salvation.’”

  Jake finished, and the camp was silent.

  “That is your riddle, my beloved bride,” Jake added. “Should you answer correctly, you will have won.” He leaned forward and winked. “And you’ll probably also forfeit your reason for drinking, unless one prefers to celebrate, which I do.”

  Raquel’s frown deepened, and she would have accused Jake of making up the verse, but based on the tension that had settled over their camp, she did not think he was misleading her. Also, she knew at least part of that was true for certain. It was how Harran’s elders had chosen brides: A babe wrought by harvest’s light, and virgin be by immortal’s sight. Everyone in Harran knew that part.

  But the rest…

  Jake watched her as if daring her to figure it out. Because this was their riddle. Their curse. He had not given her an answer—not exactly. He had given her a question instead.

  “A mortal heart…” she murmured, starting from the beginning, and his eyes gleamed, enthralled that she was playing along. “Well, that’s obvious.” She gestured at herself. So was the part about a virgin born at harvest, but she didn’t much feel like saying that aloud.

  “But you’re not the heir,” Raquel said instead.

  Jake’s eyes darkened. “Yet.”

  More glances were exchanged.

  Something else clicked into place, and she started thinking out loud. “That is why you need the coat. With it, you can pretend to be Edom, but you’re still not the heir unless you somehow manage to convince your father to transfer kingship…”

  Jake’s answering smile was slow and dangerous, confirming that she was on the right track.

  “Jake,” Sienne hissed.

  “And what else?” Jake prodded, his eyes only on Raquel.

  “Is your father old?” Raquel asked.

  Jake’s eyes shone with delight. “Very.”

  Raquel inhaled deeply, trying very hard not to be knocked off course by the intensity in his gaze. What was the rest of his riddle? Something about claiming a mortal heart and a road to salvation…

  “The heir must claim a mortal heart…” Raquel continued, then stopped. “That is your reason. You need to claim my affection to save your kingdom.”

  His amber eyes danced. “Bravo, my bride, so tell me: Are you in love with me yet?”

  His words were easy, but his posture was not, and every single person in that camp sat utterly still.

  Raquel felt a prick of unease. “I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”

  “No?” The word challenged. “Why else do you think I intervened? You’ve seen what my brother looks like. Who could possibly fall for that? He’s already failed to claim the hearts of the six mortal brides before you.”

  Raquel stared at him, unable to shake the feeling that she was missing something extremely important, which was compounded by the uneasy expressions all around them.

  Jake shoved himself to a seated position and leaned in close. His eyes were like two embers. “Edom has failed us. Look around you. My kingdom will not survive another seven years of this curse. They know this; that is why they have come.” He gestured at the others. “Each time Edom fails, we fall deeper into depravity. More of us are lost.”

  “The Depraved,” she whispered.

  The pervasive silence was answer enough.

  Almighty in heaven. And he had said tens of thousands.

  “You say you must claim my heart,” Raquel continued after a moment. “And what else?”

  Jake’s smile was slow and brilliant, and then he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Tell me you do not wish to give it.”

  Raquel suddenly found it difficult to focus. Especially with his thumb strumming her knuckles as they were. “You did not answer my last question.”

  “If you’ll recall, I’ve answered none of your questions. You did.” He kissed the back of her hand, but he did not pull away. His lips lingered there, spreading warmth through her chest and all the way to her feet, his eyes fixed on her. “It is late, my bride,” he said at last, releasing her hand. “And we’ve another long day of travel ahead of us. I should let you rest.”

  “But I’m not…”

  Jake lay upon
the blanket, on his side, his back to her.

  For a moment, Raquel simply sat there utterly confused as she stared at his profile, at the long lines and rounded muscle. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Rian’s gaze, but he turned away and lay down. The others slowly did the same, the camp settling in for the night, though Sienne sat watch by a small fire, studying her.

  She did not look happy.

  Raquel turned back to Jake, who lay completely still, his chest rising and falling with sleep.

  How was it possible that he’d fallen asleep already?

  She realized she was staring at him again, and she grumbled at herself as she lay down, her back to his, careful not to make any physical contact. And yet she felt him there, his space touching all of hers. She stared up at the mist, thinking on all Jake had said and all he had not.

  Wondering if it was really so terrible to let the heir of the forest claim her heart after all.

  Jake waited until her breathing was even, until their camp had fallen quiet, and then he glanced back.

  Sienne’s fire had dimmed, morphing their camp into a canvas of silhouettes. He could just see Banon seated by the fire, whittling something with his knife. A cry echoed through the forest, but it was too distant to be of any concern. So far, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d never planned to have his coat ruined.

  Jake looked at Raquel.

  She had turned toward him in her sleep. Her features were relaxed, and her dark lashes fluttered with dreams.

  Jake remembered his own.

  Of her.

  She sighed and adjusted her head, and a clump of hair slid over her face. Without thinking, Jake reached out and brushed it back, and when he tucked it behind her ear, she sighed again and leaned into his touch.

  Jake’s brow furrowed.

  And then he pulled his hand back and turned away from her. Ignoring that strange pain in his chest.

  But then her slender arm slipped around his waist, and she curled against his back.

  Jake froze and nearly magicked himself out of her grasp, but then he realized her hands were like ice and she was trembling.

  He could magik her another blanket. It would be easy enough. Instead, and against his better judgment, he rolled toward her, slipped his arm beneath her head, and drew her close. Something sharp jabbed into his arm, and he grinned, realizing she’d hidden another little claw within her braid. He plucked it free from her plait and set it safely aside, then he held her until the trembling stopped, until her breathing evened.