Stone Rose (19 page)

The man's eyes sharpened for a moment before he carefully smoothed out his expression. "Where did you hear such a ridiculous story?"

"Me," one of the soldiers said softly, and while the others all rounded on him, Midori struck, drawing his sword and immediately stabbing the one in charge. Jerking his sword free, he went for the next while his unexpected ally turned completely on his fellows.

Still, two against six—five by that point—was not easy.

Then a long, dark shadow joined the fight, and faster than Midori could reclaim his sword from his most recent victim, Ruisenor had the last two dead. Midori stared in wonder at the way their blood turned black, some sort of strange side effect of her venom. "Thank you, beauty," he said and petted her.

"I can't believe we ran into you," the remaining soldier said. "You must have been sent by Maria and Felipe."

Midori nodded. "I wanted to save Culebra anyway, but they did tell me of this group. I had thought I was still behind them, given they had so much of a head start."

"Drinking slows them down," the man said bitterly. "I am sorry about the havoc they caused at the tavern where you were staying. I will make further amends today since I will be stuck here while awaiting further soldiers." He smiled crookedly. "I'll delay everything as best I can, just find his highness."

"I will," Midori said. "Thank you. I am happy to know that Prince Culebra has real support when it seemed at first that he had so little."

The man shrugged. "He has more support than he realizes. His Majesty does a good job of keeping all the different groups divided. I think if ever given a chance, the country would unite more than people realize."

"Good to know," Midori murmured. "Farewell to you. Winds favor you."

"Friendly eyes," the man replied. "Farewell, Lord Midori."

Midori lifted a hand in farewell, then mounted his horse and rode off, Ruisenor already slithering impatiently onward in the distance.

Culebra was officially sick of traveling with Cortez. Well, traveling the way Cortez traveled. He was more than happy to go back to traveling like a spoiled prince. He was exhausted, sweaty, hungry, sore, and constantly afraid. What if something happened to Cortez? He was lucky that she had been able to get him back from the Order. If they had killed her instead of simply knocking her out ... What if something happened and he was lost forever in the wild? He had neither seen nor heard another person for days, and the only deaths he'd felt were the occasional animal, most of them killed by Cortez for food.

He was no longer certain what was worse:  the journey or the end of it. He supposed he'd know when they finally reached the end and he learned why he had been kidnapped. "How much longer do we have to travel?" he asked.

"Too far, you ask me," Cortez said with a sigh. "This is a good site easier when I don't have to do the work of two people."

Culebra tensed, guilt slamming down on him. Of course it would be worse for Cortez because he was helpless—but worrying about it would help nobody. He had more important matters to deal with. "How much further do we have to go? The waiting and the wondering are made exponentially worse by not knowing when it will end."

"We should be there within the hour, highness," Cortez said. "I did not tell you sooner because, believe me when I say, if I had you would be in a far worse state. I do not know what will happen or what they intend to do, as I have said before. But I only kill those whose deaths feel right, and you do not feel like you should die, highness. I will not let any real harm come to you. I only want Fidel back."

Culebra nodded. "I hope we are able to get him back safely."

"I will do my best to see we all come out of this safely, highness. Just be ready to do whatever I say because I have no idea what sort of situation we're walking into. Anything could happen."

"I'll listen," Culebra said. "Where are we going, exactly?" Not that it really made a difference to him, but he liked to know as much as he could. The smallest bits of information sometimes proved the most useful.

"We are going to a place called the Red Oak, a tavern with a reputation bad enough even I do not go there unless I absolutely must. Belmonte in general is not a good place to be."

Culebra replied, "I've heard of Belmonte. I suppose everyone has, but Dario and Granito never spoke much about it, and nobody else would speak of it at all. It's a bad area, a place for criminals, but that's all I know."

"That's all there really is to know, highness, unless you have business to conduct. Just remain alert. You cannot see, but I have noticed your other senses are not lacking. Be even more attentive than usual. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight, but be as careful as you can. That pretty white skin of yours will do you no favors."

"I don't think my skin has ever done me favors," Culebra replied, amused despite himself.

"Oh, you're pretty enough that I think perhaps it's done you a few," Cortez said.

Culebra laughed. "I concede your point. And do not worry, I remember how much trouble it was the last time we were in a town."

Cortez laughed with him. "I know. Just—

"Keep my hood up, hold on to it if that is what it takes to keep it in place. If someone tries to mess with me, scream for you."

"Yes, exactly," Cortez said. "Clearly I must say that too much."

Culebra laughed. "Maybe a touch."

Cortez playfully flicked his ear. "Well, at least I can trust you are listening. You can probably hear and smell it, but we are approaching the town of Belmonte now. We will be at the Red Oak in a matter of minutes. All the trouble will begin very soon. Be ready for anything, highness."

"Understood," Culebra murmured, and he reached up to tug his hood down further before pulling his pale hands out of sight as well. After so many days of quiet travel with nothing more than the occasional animal and the rustle of the trees for noise, the overwhelming bustle and racket of the city made him flinch. Too many sounds, too many smells, and underlying all of it he could taste death, bittersweet and heavy. Even in the capital he did not feel so many deaths, but then again, he seldom smelled blood so often either and that smell stood out the strongest.

He itched to ask, but kept his mouth shut.

Finally the horse came to a stop, and Culebra bit back his fear as Cortez dismounted, leaving him momentarily alone on the horse. Then she reached up and helped him down. "Steady," she murmured.

"Oi!"

Cortez tensed, but kept hold of him as a pair of heavy, stomping boots drew close. "So you're her, then? I thought you'd be prettier."

"Who are you?" Cortez asked curtly.

"That the one we asked you to bring? Follow me, your highnesses."

"Shut it," Cortez snapped, but obediently got them both back on the horse.

They stopped again in a place that was much quieter, though he could still hear the thrum of the city not too far off. He heard a door open, and then shivered, not liking the smell that wafted toward him. It was sweet and sickly, like a poor imitation of a flower. Whatever it was, it made him nauseous.

"So I see my prince and princesa have arrived," said a deep voice with a strange accent. Culebra didn't like it. "I'm very happy to see you, your highnesses. Our other guests were beginning to grow restless waiting for you." He felt silent a moment before he said, "Bring them inside."

"We can bring ourselves inside," Cortez said coldly right as fingers landed on Culebra's leg. He felt Cortez shift, heard the unseen person grunt, and the fingers vanished. Cortez dismounted, and then helped him down, keeping an arm firmly around his shoulders as she guided him into a house that smelled like nobody had ever bothered to clean it.

What did the stranger mean by other guests? Fidel, obviously, but he had spoken in the plural. Who else would they possibly kidnap that had anything to do with the matter?

But his question was answered as he stepped through the door and a familiar voice called out, "Culebra!"

The voice ripped through him, deep and husky and warm, and it nearly sent him to his knees. "D-Dario?" he asked, and without thinking, walked toward Dario's voice. He tripped over something and fell to his knees. He heard men laugh, but ignored them as he stood up continued walking toward the voice.

"Three more steps, move slightly to your left," Dario's voice called out. When Culebra had obeyed, Dario said softly, "Kneel, caro. I'm afraid they've got me bound to the wall so I cannot murder them."

Culebra smiled at the irritated tone because of course irritation was all Dario felt; he had the patience of a raptor waiting for his prey to break from cover. He knelt, reached out carefully, and if he could have cried he would have to feel the man he had missed for so long. Dario had a beard and smelled in sore need of a bath, but underneath Culebra could still smell the musk and earthy tones of the man he still loved so fiercely. "D-Dario—"

"Shh, caro. All will be well, I promise. I am glad to see that you have not come to any harm."

"I'm fine," Culebra said quietly, reaching out to touch Dario's face again, grimacing at the beard.

Dario chuckled. "Yes, I am sorry I could not shave properly for you. These men, they do not like me to have sharp things. I do not know why."

"I missed you," Culebra said.

"We will have to speak of it later, but if you were going to miss me you never should have sent me away."

"You didn't want to be there anymore."

Dario did not reply, but Culebra still knew him well enough to know it was because he was angry. "Later," he said softly, and he felt Dario nod in agreement.

"Sweet though this reunion is," the man with the odd accent said, "there are more important matters to address. Highness, if you please."

Culebra tried to jerk away as rough hands grabbed him and snatched his away from Dario, but all it got him was a hard shake that left him feeling as though his organs had been shaken free of their moorings. "Unhand me at once."

"Yes, highness," the man said and shoved him backwards, his captors all laughing when Culebra cried out in panic.

Dario snarled at them. "Leave him alone, you corpse-eaters!"

The sound of someone striking Dario was unmistakable, and Culebra flinched.

His captors made a few more remarks to Culebra, clearly just to rile Dario. Culebra ignored them the way only a lifetime of such moments had taught him to ignore them. "What do you want with me?"

"Death, of course," the man replied.

"Who are you?" Culebra asked, ignoring the fear that made his skin prickle.

Rough fingers touched his cheek, and Culebra smacked them away, skin stinging against skin. The man only laughed and touched him again. Culebra grabbed hold of his arm and yanked it closer, sinking his teeth in hard and fast, letting go only when the man used his free hand to smack Culebra's head.

Culebra wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve, and then said, "Do not touch me."

"Like the taste of blood, do you?" the man asked.

"You still have not told me your name."

"My name is Jorge, highness."

"Jorge who seeks Death," Culebra said. "Well, you have me so I suppose you are at least halfway to obtaining it."

Jorge laughed, the sound making Culebra shudder. "Bring the woman," he said, and Culebra heard Cortez swearing and cursing before she suddenly was next to him on the floor.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Cortez bit out. "They have me bound, and Fidel looks to be unconscious."

"We'll figure something out," Culebra said softly.

"Let me go!" Cortez snarled.

Culebra flinched when he heard someone hit her and Cortez's soft grunt of pain, the sharp smell of fresh blood mingling with the lingering scent of Jorge's blood. "What are you doing?" Cortez demanded. "Get that knife away from me!"

"Be quiet," Jorge said.

Cortez hissed in pain, and then suddenly what he realized was her wrist was pressed into Culebra's hand, wet and sticky with blood. "Drink it," Jorge ordered. "My men have a knife to your bodyguard's throat, and we are more than happy to take his life to make you cooperate."

"Dario?" Culebra asked softly, fear blooming when he did not reply.

"I'm afraid they're right," Cortez said grimly. "He can't speak because they've gagged him, and the knife has drawn some blood. But if I am reading that angry expression on his face, then he is telling you not to drink my blood. I tend to agree with him, highness. Whatever they are about—"

"What would you do if it was Fidel?"

Cortez sighed softly. It was all the answer Culebra needed. "Why do you want me to drink her blood?" he asked.

"Just do it," Jorge ordered.

Grimacing, Culebra obeyed, lifting Cortez's wrist and, after a moment of fumbling, wrapping his lips around the wound and sucking. It knocked the breath out of him, made the world go white hot before it all went suddenly black again. When his awareness returned, Culebra realized he was curled up on the floor. He felt dizzy and hot, as if his heart was going to burst at any moment. "What—" It hurt to speak, his throat raw and sore. "What did you do to me?"

"Patience, highness," Jorge said and roughly sat him back on the floor. He then grabbed Culebra's wrist, and Culebra felt a sharp sting followed by the feel of his blood pooling, spilling.

"Drink," Jorge ordered, and Culebra felt Cortez's fingers wrap around his arm, felt her lips close over his wound, and then the bizarre sensation of her drinking his blood.

It was something he hoped he would never feel again. Then that white hot pain struck again, and he realized he was screaming, that Cortez was screaming.

And then the earth began to shake.

Slowly at first, almost easy to miss, but then with more force, more violence, until all he heard were things falling, crashing, people crying and screaming. He and Cortez toppled over, unable to remain sitting up right, and wound up in a tangled hip huddled on the floor.

"Stop," Culebra whispered, not sure to whom he was speaking. But a minute or forever later, the shaking slowed, faded, and finally stopped.