Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

My Fate is no longer mine, not when it rests solely in the Bloodstone people’s hands. They’re happy for now. I healed Leah. I stayed up the first night, tending to her. After three days, she is healed enough to no longer need me.

Luc didn’t say thank you, not that I expected gratitude. Instead, he ordered me to the care of a young Bloodstone woman.

I jerk my gaze around, taking in the camp I could only see bathed in torchlight the night I arrived. This part of the Tarrobane territory doesn’t look much different from my village. It has the same grassy shores. The same tall, broad trees. The same blue sky. The same flowers dotting the landscape.

Except, it isn’t the same. The Bloodstone people inhabit this area of Tarrobane.

The woman leads me from the watchful stare of the Bloodstone warriors and to a secluded alcove along the bank of a wide river and points her chin toward the root-stained water. I have seen it before—water turned brown from the roots of the nearby trees.

“Luc wants you to bathe,” the woman says, her tone kind.

The young, petite woman wears her light brown hair in a thick braid down her back. No wrinkles mar her skin, and her blue eyes seem vibrant, like the scars of life haven’t touched her yet.

She wears a long black surcoat over dark pants, but unlike the rest of her tribe, she doesn’t have a serpent coat of arms. Instead, someone sewed a large red circle onto the center of the material.

From the satchel on her shoulder, she pulls free a clean surcoat, pants, chemise, and a bundle of herbs. “You will change into this surcoat and bathe with these.”

Automatically, my fingers brush against the gold tree stitched on my blue surcoat. If I shed my clothes, nobody will know I’m Kyanite. Well, except for the stone I still wear around my neck. Surely, they will not ask me to remove it too.

I accept the surcoat and bundle of herbs from the woman. “Thank you.”

She nods.

I lay the clothes on a grassy spot near the bank and place the herbs close to the water’s edge.

“What is your name?” I ask, hoping to compel kindness. If I’m going to succeed here, I must make friends.

“Kassandra.” Eyes the color of the sky meet mine and crinkle at the corners as she widens her smile. “What is your name?”

“Sol.”

She plays with the leather cord binding the end of her braid. “That’s a unique name.”

We often bathed in rivers like these back home. The women were always separate from the men, of course.

I always wore a linen surcoat when other people were around. Father demanded that I hid the serpent mark on the inside of my wrist. Today, I have no such luxury. There are no linen robes.

If I shy from this woman or try to hide my mark, she might see through me and she might see my purpose beyond healing Leah.

I strip off my worn clothes and hurry into the water. Water laps at my skin as I use the herbs. My nerves tighten in my throat as I think about the last few nights and everything that has transpired. Mostly, I cannot stop thinking about finally being among the Bloodstone people.

It was an out-of-reach fantasy for so long. Now, here I am, precisely where I have longed to be for ten summers. Ten summers of waiting, planning, training.

Everything that led me here was worth it. The army. The alehouse.

I never dreamed Katya would betray me, though. She put something in my ale. Then, she tricked me and sold me to Luc. How much was I worth to her? Probably not much.

Sunlight sieves through the trees as I walk out of the water and consider my next step. The man standing guard three nights ago wants to send me away. That cannot happen. Somehow, I must convince the Bloodstone people of my worth.

After I dress, Kassandra leads me back to the camp and into a small tent. Familiar smells and sights greet me. Frankincense burning in a brazier. A kettle with venison cooking over an open fire. Various bottles of herbs sitting in glass jars on the shelf.

Kassandra moves to the kettle, pulls off the lid, and stirs the soup inside.

She seems friendly enough. Maybe I can get her to answer some questions for me. Over the summers, I found out some things about Roland and the Bloodstone tribe but not enough.

And Luc. I was surprised when the other warrior called my abductor Luc.

If my information is correct, Luc is Roland’s nephew. If Luc is here, maybe he can lead me to Roland, the Bloodstone’s chieftain.

I’m close.

I know I am.

Inwardly, I dance with elation. I twirl until the moon rises high in the night sky. Outwardly, I remain calm.

From a nearby table, Kassandra grabs a jar and pours wine into a terracotta goblet. She offers it to me, and I happily accept. It has been a while since I drank anything more than warm water.

“Is Luc Roland’s nephew?” I ask, testing the validity of my information.

“He is.” Kassandra says.

“And Hector is Roland’s only son.” There’s a part of me that desperately wants to know the world Luc brought me to. If I understand the Bloodstone people, I can better infiltrate them.

Kassandra traces the rim of her goblet for several breaths before answering. “Yes, but he has been gone for many summers.”

That’s what I heard as I traveled around Tarrobane. Some people claimed that Hector was dead. Even more argued that he turned his back on his people and chose to live deep in the Bloodstone mountains. Some even said he wielded the blade of his ancestors, the one infused with the blood of a serpent.

Though, I doubted the validity of the blade. After all, the gods took the Bloodstone’s magic.

A memory from three nights ago races through my thoughts. “I’m close to finding the stone.”

Unease trembles down my back. If these people find any bloodstone, they may awaken their long-dead gifts. I shake the thought free. The high gods, the ones who don’t walk among us, will never allow them to cast magic again. There’s a reason they punished the Bloodstone. One stone will not revive their darkness.

It cannot.

The Bloodstone people once wielded dark magic, the kind capable of sending plagues into villages and destroying everything. Every crop. Every animal. Every human.

Thick, summer heat slips through the cracks in the tent, beading sweat on my brow. I wipe it away as Kassandra sits across from me and props her elbows against the table.

“Are you married, Sol?”

“Me?” A laugh spills out of me. “No.”

“Do you have a lover?”

Her question strikes at the part of me that wishes I did, or that I had never deserted Malachi. He was the person I hated to leave the most when I left Kyanite land.

“I do not,” I say after several moments.

“I don’t have one either.” Threads of wistfulness thicken her tone as she continues. “But I wish I did.”

“Then you should take one.”

She sighs and stares down at her wine. “For as long as I can remember, I have loved the same man.”

“Does he love you?”

“No.” She stands and returns to her pot. “He doesn’t see me that way.”

“Maybe if you spoke to him?”

Pink tinges her cheeks as she stirs the stew in a quick, jerky motion. “I couldn’t.”

“If you never speak, he may never see you the way you wish him to.”

Her fingers tighten on the ladle as she talks, her voice soft. “Or I could ruin everything by speaking.”

Maybe. I have never understood men.

She serves the venison stew in two terracotta bowls. A peaceful silence falls between us as we eat. With her, I can breathe a little easier. Especially, when she’s so open and friendly.

She waits until we’re both finished to collect our bowls. As she returns them to the washing stand, I reach for my leather pouch and suck in a breath. I left it by the river. It contains everything I own. More importantly, it has powerful healing herbs. I’ll need them to prove my worth.

“I left my bag near the river.”

“Oh.” Kassandra places the bowls in a basin. “You may fetch it.”

A light drizzle pelts my face when I walk outside. I pause, allowing the raindrops to slip down my cheeks. Each drop cools my skin and the heat churning in my belly.

I follow the muddy tracks trampled by horses, each step carrying me closer to the river’s edge. I take another step and gasp when I collide with something solid. No, someone solid.

My gaze jerks upward. Piercing silver-blue eyes meet mine, then narrow.

He’s the warrior from three nights ago, the one who disapproved of me being here. Luc called him Gabriel.

“Kyanite,” he grinds out between his teeth and grabs my arm. “I need to speak to you.”

“Sol.” I offer no resistance as he leads me inside a dimly lit tent.

“What?” He releases me the moment we enter but stands, blocking the entrance.

“My name is Sol. Not Kyanite.”

The warrior folds his arms and stares blankly.

All right, so he’s not friendly.

Not that I truly expected a Bloodstone barbarian to be friendly.

Torchlight weaves around his features, sharpening the angles and amplifying the Bloodstone marks. Like several nights before, the black paint slashes beneath his eyes and lower lip. The dark lines only add to his stern brow and midnight hair, making him look as fierce as every rumor spread about Bloodstone warriors.

He doesn’t wear an amulet or gaudy rings. Only a single gold band adorns his pinky. From his weapon belt, a sheathed broad sword rests against his hip. But it is his armor drawing my attention, that mixture of leather and mail.

He’s younger than the men in my nightmares, the ones who attacked my village. They were older, angrier.

This man is not yet thirty.

He’s still one of them. Still Bloodstone. Still wearing those battle marks even though he’s not at war.

Does he apply them every morning, hoping to intimidate everyone he meets?

Maybe he does. Maybe he likes looking intimidating.

“What did you want to speak about?” I ask after several moments of excruciating silence.

“When the council asks,” he says, his tone cool, “you will tell them you must return to your people.”

The council?

I copy his stance, folding my arms and squaring my shoulders. “I will stay.”

“You will not,” he grinds out as if he’s incapable of speaking in any other manner.

Calmly, I allow my eyes to slide over his rigid form, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the muscular planes of his chest, and his thick arms. Summers of fighting made him this, a man used to delivering killing blows. I have spent summers fortifying my walls.

He will not conquer me.

“I am an asset to your people.”

He scoffs. “A Kyanite belongs with other Kyanites.”

“True. Most do, but I don’t.” I keep my expression demure as I step closer to Gabriel. “I can help your people. I can help you too.” I’m not sure where the impulsive offer comes from. Probably from my desire to succeed. If I please him, he’ll not send me away.

A sneer pulls at his upper lip. “I have no need of a Kyanite.”

“None?” I attempt a silky tone like the women who worked in Father’s brothel. “Then you have never been with a Kyanite woman.”

The women in the brothel satisfied men with their bodies, and in return, they got what they wanted. Surely, I can do enough to convince this man to let me stay.

Shadows and bands of light mingle in his eyes, hindering me from reading his emotions. “Are you offering?”

Boldly, and no doubt foolishly, I lower my hand to his arm, feeling his muscles beneath my fingers. “Yes.”

Before I comprehend his intentions, he grips my jaw and brings me against a table. My heart lurches, and my skin prickles as I allow the contact instead of kicking him unmercifully between the legs.

The heat of his breath sears my cheek as he leans closer and speaks. “Ask nicely.”

Angry words claw at my throat, begging to be released. I stifle them the way one smothers a candle at night.

“What should I ask for that I have not already offered?” That’s probably not what he wanted to hear, but at least I spoke without allowing my hatred to show.

“Are all Kyanite women so free with their bodies?” he asks, his words bruising my pride. “Or are you just desperate?”

I open my mouth to speak, but for the first time since Luc kidnapped me, I have nothing.

Gabriel’s eyes slice over me in disapproval. “I thought so.”

I am desperate. Desperate to stay. Desperate enough to offer myself to a strange man.

“I sought only your warmth. It has been months since I have had a man in my bed.” Well, never, but he doesn’t have to know that. “And if I want to be free with my body, it’s mine. Not yours. So, I can do with it what I want.”

“Even offer yourself to a Bloodstone warrior?” Before I reply, he tilts my face upward, and my stomach quakes as his gaze lowers to my mouth. Alarm fires through every inch of my body; try as I might, I cannot contain the tremor or the way I stiffen. “I smell your lies, Kyanite.”

“Sol.”

His mouth thins as he releases me. “Go home.” Just two words, yet they lash my skin and pride as he steps back.

“I have no intention of leaving.”

“You’re not staying here.” He strides to the tent flap and lifts the material. “Come.”

Everything in me wants to deny him, to speak sharply. Instead, I quell my disdain, my anger, my powerful urge to shove him, and I follow him from the tent.

Rain pelts my face as I trail him through the murk and mire. We pass rows of tents and four Malachite men chained together inside an iron cage.

My stomach lurches as I force my focus away. The men still ingrain themselves into my thoughts. Their scared eyes. Their thin bodies. Their ragged hair. Their blue face paint. It covers their facial features, from forehead to chin. The very thing that sets them apart from other Tarrobane barbarians is probably what condemned them.

Gabriel stops near a small tent in the center of the camp. “In there.”

My brow rises as I cast a glance between the man and the tent. “Do you plan to murder me in there?”

Like earlier, his upper lip curls into a sneer, and even though he speaks plainly, a shiver slips down my back. “I have no such plans.”

“Will you at least tell me why you want me to go in there?”

He folds his arms, his body seeming relaxed, if not for the stiffness of his shoulders. “You will stay here until we decide what to do with you.”

“We?”

“The council,” Gabriel says, his voice terse.

Those four Malachite men chained together flash through my thoughts. If I’m not careful, I could end up like them—tethered like an animal in the rain.

Without another word, I step into the small tent. As the warrior’s footsteps fade, his words pierce my ears. “Go home, Kyanite.”

I will after I kill your chieftain!