Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)
Betrayer: Chapter 35

Dust kicks into the air as I step outside later that day to find a bustle of activity. Bloodstone warriors ride through the streets with battle marks slashed on their faces. The sun glares off those black lines as my lungs squeeze. Over the throng of men, I spot Gabriel riding next to Luc, Leah, and Hero.

I shade my eyes with my hand as Gabriel rides toward me and dismounts.

“Keep Praxis here and don’t allow anyone to see him,” he says in a low voice.

“What’s happening?”

Fierceness smolders behind his eyes as his gaze jerks to the warriors riding past. “Malachites attacked our southern villages last night.”

I clasp my hands together and fight the urge to protest him leaving. He could be injured. Or worse…

My stomach clenches at the thought of worse.

“I’ll watch over Praxis,” I say when I can think of nothing else.

“Sol.” Gabriel steps closer, catches the curve of my cheek, and lifts my face to his. “I haven’t properly thanked you.”

“You have.” Instead of the strong, convincing tone I hoped for, my words come out in a whisper.

Lightly, he traces my jaw with his thumb and smiles. “You have my sincerest gratitude.”

With another light trace, he frees me and steps back. I blink, willing away the tingles.

A fierce wind whips at the hem of my surcoat as I turn away, and he rejoins his men. Instead of preparing to avenge Mother so ardently, I should have taken a lover. Any lover. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t desire Gabriel.

Frustration brands me as I step back into the cottage and curse. One touch, and I’m willing to do anything he wants. Preposterous. No man should affect me this way. I scrub at my cheek, willing away the memory, the need.

He hadn’t felt the same. Nothing stirred behind his gaze but gratitude. He’s leaving, and I’m left tending to his friend.

I walk to the spare bedchamber and peek around the door to find Praxis sitting up in bed. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“May I have water?” he asks, his voice raspy from lack of use.

Quelling my frustration with Gabriel, I fetch clean water and bring it to Praxis. He takes the goblet and raises it to his lips, drinking greedily.

“Careful,” I say. “Sip it.”

He obeys, drinking the water slower. After he finishes, he rests against the headboard and exhales.

I take a seat near the bed and eye the lounging man. “You are fortunate to have such dedicated friends. They refused to give up on you.”

The warrior runs his hand through his blond hair. “Family takes care of one another.”

“Luc was so distraught.”

Praxis offers a tired smile. “My cousin.” Admiration hangs over his words as he continues. “He’s devoted to our people. Both are.”

“Gabriel?” I should know the answer by now, but my husband has been so evasive, and the longer I’m around him, the more I realize I don’t understand him.

Lines deepen across Praxis’ forehead as he studies me for several beats. “Gabriel is as devoted as anyone I have ever seen.”

“You admire him too.”

“How could I not?”

Praxis reaches for his chest, to the area now scarred. “Did you heal me?”

“I…”

A wide smile pulls at his mouth. “I have never been healed by magic.” He stares at the scars for several more breaths. “You have my gratitude and my devotion. My sword is yours.”

“I don’t nee—”

“—among the Bloodstone, if someone saves your life, you owe them your loyalty. Until I repay your gift, my sword is yours.”

Knowing it’s useless to argue, I nod.

“How were you injured?” I ask.

Automatically, his hand goes to his chest, to where the scars now mark his skin. “Hunting. Luc was determined to find the bear who killed one of his horses.”

“Oh.”

Praxis’ attention shifts to the window. “I heard horses earlier. Did the army leave?”

“Yes.”

Disappointment flares in Praxis’ eyes for only a beat before he banishes it with an even wider smile. “Good. I would never get to know you with Gabriel around. Do you have family, Sol?”

“A father.” I rise to refill Praxis’ goblet and return to catch his gaze on me.

“That’s all?”

“Yes.” I don’t bother telling him about the women at the brothel. He probably wouldn’t understand my closeness to them. Nor do I bother to tell him about the little sister we buried before she reached her eighth birthday. I never speak about her. It’s too painful.

“To have so little family must be lonely.” He studies the window as he continues. “I grew up with endless cousins. Uncles. Brothers.”

Aniah’s face slips into my vision again. I exhale, willing away the sharpness I get in the center of my chest when I remember her. She was so young. So cheerful. She always hummed. Always danced.

Then, one day, she didn’t.

Shadows pass over Praxis’ face as he rubs a hand across his jaw. “Then again, I have lost more than anyone should.”

“Haven’t we all?” I ask, my words low, bordered with sadness.

More shadows move over Praxis’ angular features. “Yes.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I stand and move to the door. “Would you like some potato soup?”

“Yes.”

Frustrating thoughts gnaw at my mind as I serve soup into a terracotta bowl. I didn’t come here to make friends, or to heal Bloodstone warriors. I did it anyway. First, I befriended Kassandra. Now, I have healed Praxis, and he’s offering me his sword.

Somehow, these Bloodstone people keep working their way into my heart, my feelings, my empathy. Before I came here, I hadn’t imagined such a thing was possible.

I rejoin Praxis and hand him the bowl. Gratitude shimmers in his eyes as he reaches for the soup, blows, and takes a sip.

“Thank you. It’s delicious.” After Praxis finishes, he straightens and speaks in a serious voice. “You’re the first.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as I take the terracotta bowl and set it on the table next to the bed.

“Nobody has cast magic in Astarobane since the gods took Bloodstone magic.”

My throat clenches as my conversation with Gabriel pierces my ears.

He lied to me.

The clenching increases, squeezing around my neck with spidery fingers. Why would Gabriel lie about this?

“Nobody?” I ask, needing confirmation.

“Nobody.” A lopsided grin pulls at his mouth as he speaks. “Olah must think I’m special for a Kyanite to heal me.”

For a breath, I stare down at my hands, wondering why everything changed. I came here to avenge Mother, not heal Bloodstone warriors.

“It’s ironic,” Praxis says, his words low, bordered with caution, as if he treads lightly. “Kyanites are responsible for taking our magic, yet a Kyanite woman sits among us and heals a Bloodstone warrior.”

I blink and glance up at him.

He raises his hand. “Please, I mean no offense. I am as baffled by the gods as you are.”

“Your people had dark gifts.” I am no longer willing to keep my mouth shut.

Praxis nods. “I know.” He studies the window as he continues. “Bloodstones ruled all Tarrobane before the gods curbed our magic. My ancestors didn’t achieve such victories without walking over the backs of innocent people. But that was forty summers ago. Why should we be punished for something we didn’t do?”

“Maybe they know giving your people magic again would cause a ricocheting effect.”

Instead of replying, Praxis keeps his focus locked on the window. The longer he remains silent, the more it gnaws at my chest, digging a well of dread.

“Do you believe your magic would be different?” I ask when I can no longer bear the quiet.

“We are different people.”

He didn’t answer my question. He merely skirted around it.

“What of your people’s cruelty toward the outsiders?”

“That’s Astarobane. Things are different here.”

My brow rises. “What do you mean?”

“Not every city is like Astarobane. Nor is every Bloodstone like the ones you see here.”

“Are you different Praxis?”

“I would like to believe I am.”

“What of Tarra?” I ask as I remember the city Gabriel mentioned.

“Tarra is different and full of a lot of former warriors.” Praxis runs his fingers through his hair as he speaks. “You will not encounter the same prejudices in Tarra.”

Something Gabriel said to me strikes at my thoughts. He said Astarobane was someone’s city. But whose? Who enflamed the prejudices here?

“Do you believe the Bloodstone tribe should rule Tarrobane?” It’s a fair question—one that has nagged at the back of my thoughts since Luc kidnapped me.

Taut lines appear near Praxis’ mouth. “We are the chosen bloodline.”

No!

His words curve a line of fear deep into my heart. The Bloodstones cannot revive what their ancestors did. They killed thousands. Burned many villages. Most of Tarrobane was charred black with their greed.

The high gods intervened and took away their magic. Then the other five tribes revolted. First, the Kyanites. Then the Malachites, followed by the Carnelians, Hematites, and Calcites.”

“Is that what your people want? To subject all the Tarrobane barbarian tribes to your authority again?” Somehow, I ask the questions without allowing my bitterness to show.

Praxis shifts, pulling his covers closer and shrugs. “I’m not privy to what the council wants.”

Olah, help us all. I cannot allow that to happen. I’ll kill Roland first, then their tribe will be left reeling.

The rising sun will rise. Kassandra’s grandmother’s voice hisses in my ears. I try to suppress it, but it repeats like a never-ending nightmare. Hector is the rising sun, and he’ll bring magic back.

No!

Hector must die too. I knew it weeks ago, and I know it now. He must die, or the other five Tarrobane tribes will feel the sting of my failure.

To save all Tarrobane, I must be a hawk—diligent and dedicated in finding my prey.

It’s the only way.

On the fourth morning after Gabriel left Astarobane, I wake early, tend to my garden, and see that Praxis is fed. He continues engrossing me in conversation, and the more he speaks, the more I understand their world.

Well, what little of it he reveals. He’s almost as evasive as Gabriel.

I try asking about Roland and Hector, but like the rest of his people, he skirts the truth. Instead, he tells me about the history behind Astarobane, and how the Bloodstone people built it after their fall from the gods’ grace. In the blink of an eye, they went from rulers to bottom feeders.

For decades, the other five tribes have retaliated by taking out the Bloodstones’ tribal leaders. In Praxis’ lifetime alone, he has lost his grandfather and uncle to assassinations.

I take in Praxis’ words with a placid expression and fire in my belly. It’s never going to leave until I carry out my duty and save the other tribes.

As much as my heart feels empathy for Praxis’ loss, I must keep to my mission. Before I leave this place, he’ll lose more family.

Maybe he and Luc will be better rulers than their predecessors. Maybe they won’t destroy entire villages. It’s my hope that a new sun will settle over the Bloodstone people, and they accept they will never rule Tarrobane again.

The thought has become my constant companion as I go about my duties in Gabriel’s absence. Soon, he’ll return, and I’ll have to engage him more.

It’s the only way. The only course.

Then, why does it make my chest ache? Why does it make that hollow sensation return?

It’s there every day. Every moment. Every night as I lie awake thinking about everything that has led me to this place.

Maybe it’s good that it’s there. Maybe it means I’m not callous. I care about taking the lives of people. Even Roland.

But it doesn’t mean I can stray from my course. Olah wills it. Mother deserves my faithfulness.

For her.

Always.

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