Piper Prince Read online

  Two pipers gripped Larkin’s arms. She struggled to pull her arm from the wet leather. Finally, she had it free, and the men helped her slosh through the water to the other side. When she was steady, she nodded her thanks, and they released her.

  “Talox?” She searched for him among gasping pipers.

  “What?” He lay panting on the rocky bank.

  She as she knelt beside him and parted his torn sleeve. The cut didn’t appear too deep.

  She sagged beside him. “My mother’s going to kill me.”

  “Not if Denan kills us first.”

  They locked gazes and laughed, the sudden release of tension making her giddy.

  She spotted Maisy being lifted from the raft by the handsome man who’d darted her. Larkin rushed to the girl’s side as she moaned, her head lolling to the side. Her skin was deathly pale—but then, it was always deathly pale.

  “Set her down.” Maisy would hate being in any man’s arms.

  The piper eased her onto the grassy slope above the embankment and pulled out the antidote.

  “No.” Talox heaved himself over to Maisy and held out his hand. The handsome piper glared and refused to give it up.

  “Captain,” Talox barked. A man hustled over to them. “This man put a girl in further danger by darting her. See that he has ten lashes and another fifty once we return to the Alamant.”

  The handsome man gestured wildly. “She’s mine.”

  He thought darting her gave him rights to be her husband! “The forest take you,” Larkin spat.

  Talox glared at the man. “You overstepped and you know it.”

  The handsome man glared. “You’ve had your chance, sir.”

  Wait, the two were fighting. Over Maisy? Larkin considered her. She’d always been the ratty, filthy, mad girl. But Larkin had to admit, washed clean by the river, the woman was striking—with her pale skin, blue eyes, and black hair.

  Now Larkin was shouting at both of them. “She’s not your slave!”

  Talox held out his palm toward Larkin, who bit back her cutting remarks and decided to trust Talox. For a minute.

  “Seventy-five lashes,” Talox said.

  The piper slapped the vial into Talox’s hand. Clapping his hand on the back of the handsome man’s neck, the captain marched the man away.

  “I get that you need children to keep back the mulgar horde,” Larkin said through clenched teeth, “but the pipers don’t take broken women.” She understood the necessity of that. Women needed to be strong of body and mind to survive the Forbidden Forest.

  Talox bit off the cork and motioned for Larkin to hold Maisy’s head. She lifted the woman’s head onto her lap and tugged Maisy’s stringy black hair away from her lips. He tried to pour the antidote into Maisy’s mouth, but she screwed her lips shut.

  Larkin took the vial from him. “It’s the antidote,” she said. “It will counteract the poison.”

  Maisy fixed Talox with a glare.

  “Take it or die,” Larkin said, sick to death of Maisy’s stubborn idiocy.

  Grudgingly, Maisy opened her mouth.

  Larkin poured the liquid down. “How is she even moving?”

  Talox started to pull up the hem of her trousers on the leg the piper had struck. Maisy made a sound of alarm.

  “She hates being touched by men,” Larkin said.

  “I need to see her dart wound,” Talox said.

  “My leg,” Maisy slurred.

  “I’ll do it.” Larkin found a welt with the smallest of scratches in the center on Maisy’s thigh. Sunken scars in the shape of forked lines marred Maisy’s legs, marking her as a former wraith slave.

  Talox nodded in understanding. “She wasn’t dosed with enough venom for it to take full effect.”

  A healer jogged over to them and knelt beside Talox. “You need a few stitches.”

  “Make it quick,” Talox said.

  The healer set to work. Maisy shot Larkin a pleading look.

  “The venom will wear off,” Larkin said to Maisy. “You won’t be like this forever.”

  “You didn’t stop him,” Maisy said.

  No, Larkin hadn’t stopped that man from darting her. She wasn’t all-powerful. “You’re welcome for saving your moronic life simply because you wouldn’t cross that blasted river.”

  Maisy had the gall to look hurt. Larkin growled in frustration and reeled in her temper. When Maisy looked at a person, she saw a monster waiting to be unleashed. Larkin couldn’t blame her. Rimoth’s corpse-pale skin had caressed Larkin once. To think of him touching his own daughter like that … She shuddered.

  Finished, the healer bandaged Talox’s arm. “Give it a week to heal, if you can.”

  Talox grunted—they all knew a week wasn’t something any of them had. He pushed to his feet and made to pick Maisy up. She writhed and scowled at him. “I will never marry you.”

  Even if Maisy wasn’t mad, rescuing a woman was no way to pick a wife. “Talox,” she said, a warning note in her voice.

  He wouldn’t look at her. “The law is clear. She’s my responsibility.”

  Larkin’s own twinning marriage thorns pulsed in sympathy.

  “Dead bed. You’ll be dead in your bed,” Maisy sang. Her singing usually precipitated her descent into utter madness.

  Larkin gripped his arm and pulled him out of earshot.

  “Ow,” he complained—she’d grabbed his injured arm by mistake.

  “Maisy is terrified of men. For good reason. And she’s mad as a headless chicken.”

  “I know the wraiths had her,” Talox said.

  “It’s worse than just that. Her own father … touched her.”

  His gaze shifted from stubbornness to pity. “I won’t let harm come to her, Larkin, especially not by me.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain. Forcing her to be yoked to any man in any way is harming her.”

  Maisy continued to slur lullabies with a morbid twist.

  “You think I want this—to yoke myself to a madwoman?” He choked. “My heartsong is dead.”

  Venna. Ancestors save her, Larkin hadn’t realized just how much she’d asked of him.

  He passed his hand over his shaved head. “Someone has to be responsible for her. She’s dangerous.”

  Larkin threw her hands into the air in frustration. “So you’re what? Her guardian?”

  “Yes!”

  “I have been to the wraith city,” Maisy interrupted in a dreamy voice. She stared at them with her vivid blue eyes. “I have seen things—things I will trade for my freedom.”

  “What kinds of things?” Talox breathed.

  Maisy sang.

  Blood of my heart, marrow my bone,

  Come hear the saddest story e’er known.

  A cursed queen and her lover lost,

  A forbidden magic and what it cost.

  With more words to remind her, Larkin recognized where she’d heard this song—it was an old lullaby. “That first line—the wraith said it to me only yesterday.” But why would a wraith repeat the line of a lullaby to her? It didn’t make any sense.

  Talox pointed to one of the pipers. “Wake Denan.”

  The man took off at a jog toward Denan’s tree.

  Denan’s eyes were bloodshot, but his sharp gaze caught on Larkin. “Why are you wet?” He looked at Talox, who was also wet and sporting a bloody bandage around his arm. Then he saw Maisy, also wet and clearly drugged. His expression hardened. His fists clenched. He shifted to Talox. “Tell me you didn’t let her save this girl?”

  Talox folded his arms. “She has to learn sometime.”

  Denan took a step toward him, violence in his gaze.

  Larkin stepped between them, her hands out. “What good are my weapons if I never use them?”

  His sharp glance cut her to the quick. “You learn to use them in the practice field, not surrounded by mulgars.” He pointed at Talox. “And you know the wraiths want her! You know she’s our best chance at defeating this curse!”r />
  “I—” Talox began.

  “No!” Denan shouted over him. “You think with your heart and not your head. It’s what got you demoted.” Demoted because he’d disobeyed Denan’s explicit orders to leave Venna behind, mortally wounded as she was by a wraith blade—something Talox would never do.

  “It was Larkin’s decision,” Talox said.

  Denan swore and took another step toward him. Larkin pushed him back. Pipers were gathering. One of the pages took off at a run. “Larkin’s decision? This isn’t about Larkin. It’s about breaking the curse—our best hope in nearly three centuries! You don’t put that at risk to save one fool girl!”

  More and more pipers were gathering, watching the exchange. Though Talox’s face remained stoic, he had to feel the humiliation of Denan berating him in public.

  “Stop it, Denan,” Larkin said. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who insisted we go.”

  “Ancestors, Larkin, you should know better!”

  Tears smarted in her eyes. She swallowed them back. “I couldn’t lose someone else.”

  “Stop being selfish,” he snapped.

  She flinched. But Denan was right. Saving Maisy had been selfish. Larkin’s life wasn’t a currency she could afford to spend—not when so much was at stake.

  “Don’t, Denan.” Talox’s voice rumbled with a hint of anger.

  “Don’t?” Denan said. “Don’t?”

  “We’re fine,” she said. “It turned out fine.”

  Tam ran up, looking between them and seeming to guess what had happened just as Denan had. “Easy, both of you. Everyone’s watching.”

  Denan paced, his furious gaze fixed on Talox. “Your orders were clear. You disobeyed them. Twenty lashings. Fifty when we reach the Alamant. And you’re demoted to a common foot soldier. Get out of my sight.”

  Expressionless, Talox bowed, turned on his heel, and strode away without looking back.

  Heart aching, Larkin watched him go. She rounded on Denan, her own fists clenched. “You didn’t need to do that. Especially not in front of everyone.”

  Denan turned his back to her and crouched beside Maisy.

  Her gaze locked on his. “I will never marry a piper.”

  “I heard.” His expression turned shrewd. “That will cost you.”

  Remaining single in a kingdom where every woman was a priceless commodity was a steep price, indeed. Bitterness flooded Larkin’s mouth.

  “The forest take you,” Maisy hissed.

  Denan didn’t react to the insult. “Our people fight the wraiths and mulgars, keeping both the Alamant and the Idelmarch safe. For that, we need sons. To have sons, we must first have wives. Because of the curse, our women never bear daughters. We must take them from elsewhere. Talox caught you. So you are his.”

  Maisy ground her teeth. “I know all about your curse, Alamantian. I lived with the wraiths.”

  “Denan,” Larkin warned. She knew Talox would never hurt anyone, even if Denan would allow it. But Maisy did not.

  “I would kill him in his bed first,” Maisy said.

  Denan ignored Larkin and fiddled with his flute. “We have ways of ensuring you do not.”

  Maisy bared her teeth at him.

  He leaned toward her. “If you wish to escape this fate, the information you give me must be of greater value than the sons you would bear.”

  Larkin wanted to rail against Denan for his mercilessness—this wasn’t fair or right or just. But then, neither was life. Denan was a hard man. He must be. She wouldn’t make his burden any heavier with childish protestations. But when they were alone, she was going to wring him dry.

  Maisy looked away. “What do you want?”

  “You are the only one to have escaped the wraiths, to break free of the mulgar curse. I want to know everything about the fallen city of Valynthia, how you escaped, and anything you remember about them.”

  “You were a mulgar?” Tam gasped.

  “I was their slave. They removed my curse so I could serve them.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Larkin was grateful Talox wasn’t present to hear this part. She couldn’t bear the thought of him hoping for something that would never be.

  Maisy nodded to Larkin. “Show him.”

  Larkin tugged up the hem of Maisy’s trousers, revealing the telltale fork-tine scars on her legs.

  Tam staggered back. “The mulgars could come back from that?”

  “Only if the wraiths remove their poison,” Maisy said.

  Tam’s mouth thinned. “Why would they do that?”

  Maisy turned to Denan. “And if you don’t like my answers?”

  “I am a hard man, Maisy, but a fair one.”

  She hesitated before nodding in agreement.

  Denan motioned to Tam, who played a melody that ensured only truths were spoken. It was inescapable and relentless as a migraine.

  “Where do the wraiths come from?” Denan asked.

  “The curse begot them,” Maisy said.

  “Why can they only come out at night?” Denan asked. “Why do the trees and water repel them?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Denan’s lips pursed in frustration. “What do they want?”

  “They want us dead,” she whispered. “Or like them.” Her gaze lingered on Larkin.

  A chill tiptoed across Larkin’s exposed skin.

  “How did they capture you?” Tam asked.

  Maisy screwed her eyes shut. Tam’s melody shifted, driving and hard.

  Sweat appeared on Maisy’s upper lip. “I went into the forest one night to escape my father … I knew it wasn’t safe. I knew the beast would hunt me. I hoped it would tear out my throat.” She paused, breathing fast. “Instead, something much worse found me.”

  Larkin’s eyes drifted shut. Wraiths.

  “Why did they choose you?” Denan asked. “Why not some other girl?”

  Larkin heard the question he wasn’t asking: Why had the wraiths taken an interest in Larkin? “Can you use magic?” Larkin asked.

  Maisy huffed. “Do you think my father would be alive if I could?”

  “What did they want with you?” Denan asked.

  “To hurt me for the pure joy of it. To make me their slave.”

  The flute lowered in Tam’s hand, the song silenced. “How did you escape?”

  Maisy chuckled bitterly. “No one escapes the wraiths. They let me go.”

  Denan motioned for Tam to begin playing again. The song started up again, the notes as precise as marching soldiers.

  “Why?” Denan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Maisy said.

  Denan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do they pursue specific girls so relentlessly? Why not just turn them into mulgars?”

  “They’re looking for someone they can turn into one of them.”

  All three of them stiffened. Dark foreboding shivered through Larkin. Tam’s playing skipped a beat.

  Denan worked his jaw. “Surely you remember something.”

  “After weeks of torture, the wraith cut me with his shadow blade.” Maisy’s eyes turned distant, empty. “Pain. Trees and forests and darkness. Always darkness. A ruined city. I lived there. Only, I didn’t. And always, the will and voice of the wraiths drove me, stealing my will. My body existed as an extension of theirs. I hated what they hated with an all-consuming need.”

  “And Valynthia?” Denan asked.

  “A city of ruin and shadow,” Maisy said. “That wicked, wicked tree in the center.”

  “I need a map of it,” Denan said.

  Maisy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You think you can—what? Invade? Kill them?” She laughed. “You can no sooner kill the night.”

  “The curse is already crumbling,” Denan said. “And this war won’t end unless we somehow manage to defeat the wraiths.”

  So much was at stake. They were relying on Larkin, and she had no idea where to even begin trying to break the curse.

&nbs
p; “You will draw a map of this city for us.” Denan said. It was not a question.

  Maisy shook her head in disbelief. “What I can recall.”

  “And you will tell us anything else you remember?”

  “Yes.” She regarded Denan. “Is it enough?”

  Denan closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the pain was well masked, but Larkin saw it in the set of his mouth. “I extend the protection of the Alamant to you, Maisy, daughter of druids. You will marry only if you wish.

  “But know this,” Denan went on. “If you break our laws or become a risk to anyone, including yourself, I will imprison you. Am I clear?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, Prince.”

  Ignoring her impudent tone, Denan motioned for Tam to stop playing, rose to his feet, and called to one of the pages who always followed him at a distance. “Fetch one of the healers’ stretchers.”

  The page started off.

  “Send my mother and sisters to me,” Larkin called after him.

  The boy’s eyes cut to Denan, who nodded his assent.

  Denan motioned for Tam and Larkin to follow him and took a few steps before pausing and looking back at Maisy. “One more thing: the wraiths—is there a way to kill them?”

  Tam began to play again. The song was giving Larkin a headache.

  Maisy’s expression turned inward, as if she were trying hard to remember—or perhaps fight off—a memory viler than the rest. “During the daylight”—she spoke as if the words were physically painful—“they are vulnerable, weak. I think you could kill them then.”

  Denan nodded for Tam to stop playing.

  Larkin followed Denan a few dozen steps away. “Is there a way to reach the wraiths during the day?”

  “In the heart of mulgar-infested lands?” Tam huffed. “It would be suicide to try.”

  “I don’t trust her,” Denan said.

  “She couldn’t lie,” Larkin reminded him.

  Denan shook his head. “The wraiths have a way of poisoning everything they touch.”

  Throughout the camp, pipers played a few short, shrill bursts. All at once, the trees came alive with soldiers groaning and pushing out of their pods.

  “So you don’t believe any of what she says?” Tam said.

  Denan pursed his lips. “I think we very, very carefully consider her words and try to find a way to use it to our advantage. In the meantime, I’ll order one of my pages to follow her and report to the nearest captain if she causes any trouble.”