Blood of the Guardian Page 9

  “What does who say?”

  “For Brim’s sake, woman. What do they say?”

  She stopped and turned, her eyes raking over him before landing on his face. “They wonder how—for one so young—you can be so scarred. They call you Sun Warrior because of your wounds, and because your eyes glow like the light of the sun.” She shrugged. “I told them I had no idea why you are marred. I figured your scars were the result of whip lashes. Perhaps you’d been a slave.”

  Alec gawked. A slave? He exhaled slowly, doing his best not to explode. “And that’s what you tell them?”

  “Well, since you haven’t shared … ”

  Alec stepped up to her, his anger flaring. “I’ve fought in several battles. Since the age of eight, I’ve had a sword shoved into my hand daily. And each of those days, my father showed me, the hard way, how to fight.” He touched the scar on his wrist. “This was my first, at eight years old. This …” He touched his chest. “… is when I died. And this …” He touched his face. “ … is when I murdered a man.”

  She blinked, visibly surprised.

  “So the next time you flirt with the warriors, don’t make up stories, especially about me.” He turned, glancing at the girl serving the food as he headed toward the stairs. If the gossiping savages thought him to be a sun warrior, then “Sun Warrior” he would be.

  Ten minutes later, the Sun Warrior leaned over the rails of the boat, emptying his meal into the sea.

  Chapter Eleven

  ALEC DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG he sat there, wishing he’d chewed his food better. It was worse this time, if at all possible. His stomach twisted in knots even without the help of the waves. Memories of Taryn and the rumors of him being a slave gnawed at his insides.

  Not that he cared what the savages thought of him, but how could she call him a slave? Sometimes, when he worked with his dad, he felt like a slave. His father never whipped him; he got all his scars fairly—as if a child sparring with an adult was fair. His father never forced injuries on him. It was always up to Alec—even if mismatched—to protect himself.

  He rested his forehead against the railing, dangling his legs over the edge. Cold water splashed on his feet, leaving his toes numb and tingling. He closed his eyes, and images of Taryn came to mind. He tried to forget her, but the memories of his death crept in, no matter how hard he pushed them away.

  He saw brightness but felt no pain. The light drew him, and contentment washed over him. But before the peace took him completely, his pain returned, his chest burning. The unnatural light faded, replaced by the sun on his closed eyelids. He gasped, awakening to the view of a blue sky. His lungs burned, as if they’d forgotten how to work.

  He’d remembered fighting General Trividar; he sat up, alert and ready to continue the battle. It was then when he had noticed her, lying on the ground, hand open, arms limp and outstretched toward him. Mud-coated blond curls splayed around her, covering her upturned face. Deep crimson stained the front of her chest and pooled around her, fresh and soaking in the grass where she lay. She twitched twice and then lay still.

  Alec jerked his eyes open, gasping, wiping away fresh tears. Brim curse the stupid girl! Why did she have to have Healing Shay? Why had she traded her life for his useless one? The others spoke of how brave she’d been, praising her courage to do what was necessary. They’d said that because of her, Alec had gotten word to the others. She’d helped save them all. So why did Alec feel so guilty?

  A presence appeared next to him. He looked up, hoping to see Greer. He needed some relief from this nightforsaken illness. Instead, the girl from the serving line squatted next to him, her eyes studying his face. Alec gawked, his mouth open. How long had she watched him? He turned away, scrubbing away traitorous tears. He’d been sobbing like a little girl.

  She tapped his arm.

  He ignored her. She’d go away eventually.

  She tapped again.

  He stared at the sea, and his stomach rose and fell along with a wave.

  She yanked him around.

  He glared, intending to tell her off, but she shoved a cup into his hand. A pottery of sorts, with painted, tribal designs along the edge, rested in his palm. He stared at it and drew back to chuck it into the sea.

  She grabbed his arm. She was a lot stronger than she seemed.

  “Tukeenek!” she said.

  He stopped. “Tu … what?”

  She yanked the cup from his hand, brought it to her lips, and took a sip. “Tukeenek.” She handed it back to him.

  He eyed her suspiciously.

  She sighed. “Tukeenek.”

  “You want me to drink?”

  She studied him, and then said, “Trink?”

  Alec snorted a laugh, but he stopped as nausea came over him. He waved the offered cup away and assumed his most frequent position of leaning over the rails. But before the illness could take hold, the girl shoved the cup to his mouth and tipped it back. Warm, spicy liquid splashed down his face and over his chest. He swallowed and coughed, gagging on the drink.

  Alec clenched his fist. How dare she! His rage abruptly stopped as he realized his nausea passed. She held out the half-filled cup, her face smug. Could a Talasian be smug?

  “Trink,” she said.

  He stared at the cup … and then he chugged the remainder. Warm fluid spread down his throat, coating his stomach in sweet relief. It was an odd flavor, but not bad. Not bad at all.

  He relaxed his shoulders and smiled. “Oh! Thank Brim!”

  “Brrim,” she repeated. She touched his chest, pointing. “Brrim?”

  “Did you just call me a god?”

  “Brrim?” she asked again.

  “Darkness no.” He put his hand to his chest. “I’m Alec.”

  “Eleak.”

  He smiled. “Close enough.”

  ***

  The minutes crept by, and she quietly stood next to him at the rail. He expected the pleasant, non-sickness wouldn’t last; however, the longer he waited, the better he felt.

  His stomach rumbled, this time with hunger pains. He frowned. Even if he was hungry, the grain and meat dish had tasted a lot better going down than coming up. He didn’t want to rush down the stairs to eat it again.

  He glanced at his hands, realizing he still held the cup. He offered it back. “Thanks. Can’t tell you how much—”

  She reached up and touched his lips.

  He yanked back. Why did she keep touching him? Then she traced her own lips and pulled up the corners in a pathetic version of a smile.

  Alec grinned.

  She stared at him, her dark eyes combing his face, studying his smile.

  “Oh, you poor girl. If I am the most interesting thing you’ve seen, then you have had a sad life, indeed.”

  His smile quickly faded when her eyes dropped to his chest. He could see her studying him, examining his scars. He crossed his arms in a feeble attempt to hide them, but his arms were more scarred than his chest. He remembered when Taryn had examined him in a similar way. Although, when Taryn had looked at his scars, it had been brief. This girl studied him so intently, heat rose to his face.

  Her eyes shifted to his face. She touched his cheek, studying the blush most assuredly tinting his skin. This, of course, made him even more embarrassed, and the heat traveled down his neck.

  He turned away, his back to her, probably giving her a pretty good view of the scars there. By Brim, what was with this girl? What was she doing here, anyway? Why didn’t she leave him instead of standing around here silently examining him? How did he interest her? He stared at the sea, pretending she wasn’t there. After taking a few deep breaths, he turned around. The girl was gone.

  He scanned the deck. A few Talasian soldiers walked by, gawking. Where was she? Across the boat, the gypsy came toward him. Whatever good mood he’d started to gain plummeted. Oh, for Brim’s sake! What does she want?

  He considered flaring his Speed and taking off, but her usual flirtatious expression was gone.
She seemed annoyed even, enough to make him curious. As she closed the distance, she glared at him in disgust.

  “King Kamalin has requested your presence for dinner.”

  “When?” he asked. He was a bit hungry.

  “Soon,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Which means I need to go as well, I suppose.”

  “What?” he said. “You don’t have somewhere better to go? Some savage to visit in his room?”

  She smacked him across the face, and his ears rang. Pain never felt so good.

  She leaned in, pointing. “What I do in my time is none of your business, boy. Best you keep your comments to yourself.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  She drew back, but Alec flared his Speed, watching her hand as if moving in slow motion. He moved to the side as her momentum propelled her path to slap him again. However, with nothing there to stop her, she twirled quite spectacularly, losing her balance and nearly falling on the deck. She blinked, confused. When her eyes finally found him, she sneered.

  Alec smiled. “Don’t touch me.”

  Again, he brought forth Speed, disappeared from the deck, and headed to his room—faster than the gawking savages could see him. He did have one other problem he still didn’t know how to solve: What in the Darkness would he wear to dine with a king?

  ***

  When he arrived back at his quarters, Greer was in the process of laying clothes on Alec’s bed.

  “Sorry to intrude,” Greer said. “I took the liberty to make you a new outfit.”

  Alec stared at it. “Where did you … ? How did … ?”

  “I bought a few supplies before we left.”

  “You bought me clothes?”

  “No, Master Alec. I bought supplies.”

  “And you made me clothes.”

  “Correct.”

  Alec joined him at the bed, fingering the new outfit. He didn’t even know the Guardian could sew. He froze, a question forming in his mind. “Wait. If you could make clothes, why didn’t you do something for Nolan?”

  “I attempted to learn when you found the pair of breeches for him. I spent some time at the tailor’s, observing his skills.” He cocked his head. “Do they meet your satisfaction, Master Alec?”

  Even if it was only a white tunic and brown breeches, it was well made, better than Alec had before. “They’re great. Thanks.”

  Greer smiled, obviously pleased with Alec’s gratitude. He pointed to the short desk in the corner of the room where a bowl of water steamed. “I assumed you would appreciate these as well.”

  A washrag lay folded next to it, along with a chunk of soap. Soap? Praise Brim! Alec had been longing for soap.

  “I will wait outside while you prepare yourself. We do not have long until the meal with the king.”

  Greer moved to leave, but Alec caught his arm. “Wait. You know about that?”

  Greer smiled, his old eyes crinkling. “I have been listening, trying to learn the language. I have deciphered a good deal of it, although there are some words I do not yet understand. You see, they have a smaller alphabet than the people of Adamah, and there are far more consonants—”

  “Wait! You can translate?” Alec interrupted.

  “For the most part, I believe so, yes.”

  Alec grinned. “So when can we throw Jezebelle into the sea?”

  Greer shook his head. “Master Alec. I know you do not get along with her, but we must do our best to maintain some civility until we reach our destination. I have noticed, however, her interpretations are not as accurate as they should be.”

  “So she’s making things up?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Greer responded. “I am curious of her intentions. For now, let us pretend I do not understand the conversations.” He turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Do you need a Healing draft again, Master Alec?”

  “I’m fine, Greer. Thanks.”

  “So the tea worked well then?”

  Alec gawked. “So you had something to do with that?”

  “Of course not, Master Alec. I only witnessed the exchange.”

  Alec turned from Greer. What had he seen?

  “Let me know when you are ready, and we will make our way to the dining chamber.”

  Alec heard Greer open and close the door, leaving him alone for the first time all day.

  When Alec had first been assigned his room, he thought it was odd he had a bed. He figured that, because of the skins the Talasians wore, they would be primitive in all things. The small room consisted of a wood-framed bed adorned with warm furs, a short desk with a chair more like a pillow on the ground, and various pieces of artwork on the walls. Animals Alec didn’t recognize were on one of the images. On another, a mountain landscape, not too unlike Adamah, stretched the expanse of the canvas. The artist had painted with broad, abstract strokes. He stared at that one frequently, wondering about the differences between Talasi and Adamah.

  Alec squatted next to the obscenely short desk to wash. He undressed and threw the dirty breeches in the corner. As he scrubbed away the grime of his last week of illness, he glanced occasionally at the door, hoping nobody would randomly barge in. It had happened before, in less … revealing circumstances. Even Jezebelle had flung open his door on occasion. Privacy was not common here.

  Alec dressed quickly, relief flooding over him. The new clothes fit quite well. He glared at the soiled piece of clothing in the corner. After some consideration, he rubbed them with the soap and left them in the bowl to soak. He didn’t want to be that filthy again, especially if the girl brought him more tea …

  No. He didn’t want to see her. Not that he didn’t find her pleasant to look at, but she made him so self-conscious, almost like when he’d first met Taryn.

  He sucked in a breath, anger flooding him. How could he compare this little savage to Taryn? He couldn’t compare them. This Talasian didn’t even know how to smile. What kind of girl couldn’t smile?

  He strapped on his sword. Well, he would have to stay away from her, take food from one of the other servers. Maybe Greer could find out more about this tea; he hadn’t felt this good since he’d set sail on this Brim-forsaken ship. Yes, he would avoid the girl. He’d go the other direction if she came toward him again. He wouldn’t let her touch him anymore, wouldn’t let her study his face or try to learn his language. And hopefully, once they landed, he would never see her again.

  Chapter Twelve

  A PAIR OF TALASIAN WARRIORS STOOD outside the room, flanking either side of the door. Stone-tipped spears crossed over dark, muscled chests. Tattoos traveled over their torsos, spreading up their shoulders and snaking across their arms. The warrior on the right even had tattoos invading his emotionless face. From what Alec had learned of their culture, he assumed the tattoos represented rank. These two were decorated more than a bakery cake in Alton. They were likely two of the most powerful warriors of the tribe.

  Greer waited for him, standing near the pair of warriors. He’d dressed up more than usual; the wrinkles were missing from his typically crumpled shirt. He had combed his few remaining strands of gray hair and tacked it with water or oil. He smiled at Alec, giving him an encouraging nod as they headed toward the open door.

  They passed the warriors—who didn’t even seem to notice them—into an unexpectedly simple room. A long table, with cushions positioned around it, took up most of the space. Standing in the small perimeter were more Talasians, dressed in white. Waves of steam rose from wooden platters. The smell wasn’t even too bad.

  King Kamalin sat facing them at the end of the table, already helping himself to something resembling food. Next to him, Jezebelle sat, her leg propped up. She leaned toward the king, nearly falling out of her low-cut shirt. He spoke to her in hushed tones with no reaction. Seeing them, he motioned for Greer and Alec to take a place at the table.

  Alec sat, leaving one space between him and the king. He crossed his legs, trying to imitate the others. After only a few minutes,
his knees protested. He wondered if he’d be able to stand once they were done. A pain shot through his thigh as a cramp already started to form. What he wouldn’t do for a chair.

  There were no prayers. No formal serving. Alec remembered King Alcandor’s table and how the servants brought in food. Here, they’d spread it before them in a disorganized feast. Kamalin leaned in, reaching over their plates to grab some food. Alec’s mother would’ve smacked Kamalin’s hand for being so rude.

  Jezebelle tried to joke with the king, but she got no reaction. Finally, she caught Alec’s eyes and glared. He could almost tolerate the gypsy now that he wasn’t dependent on her to interpret.

  Almost.

  A moment passed, and a presence took the empty place between Kamalin and himself. Alec nearly choked when he saw it was the serving girl from earlier.

  She stared at him, her dark, unnerving eyes never leaving his. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore; he looked away.

  Kamalin motioned toward her. “Methees mit teuoteney, Rayen.”

  Alec’s eyes shot to Greer. “What did he say?”

  “He’s offering you this girl for your pleasure,” Jezebelle piped in.

  His mouth went dry. “For my—”

  “Master Alec,” Greer said with a sigh. “Remember how I told you not to mention my study of the language?”

  Alec nodded.

  “I have reconsidered.” He motioned toward the girl. “This is the king’s daughter, Rayen.”

  Alec’s jaw dropped. Her name was Rayen, the king’s … daughter? The king’s daughter had been touching him on the deck. The king’s daughter made him tea? And Jezebelle tried to trick him into … His stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the sea.

  The sneer on Jezebelle’s face faded, and she reddened with rage.

  “Jezebelle,” Greer said, “in case you haven’t surmised, I have been learning the language. And if you would like me not to share with the good king what you just tried to do with his daughter, I would hope you don’t put Master Alec in that position again.”