Page 44 of Captive

But it’s impossible.

Centuries ago, all the barbarians in Tarrobane were a part of a single tribe. They were one people, and they worked together. The Bloodstone people broke free first, then the rest of the Tarrobane barbarians formed their own tribes. Their own ways. Their own traditions. They bred hatred into their children and bitterness into their hearts.

I cannot mend the tribes. Not when I cannot even pluck the weeds of bitterness from my own heart. Maybe I could if I didn’t still hate Roland for what he did to Mother. He took her from me and robbed me of a future with her.

As the headache builds, black specs dance along the edges of my vision. I gulp in more cool air and will it to ease.

It must be from using my magic again.

I bring Edvard closer and press a kiss against his forehead. Right now, I don’t have to think about any of that. I just have to thank the gods for sparing Edvard.

Even as I whisper words of gratitude, sorrow clutches at my chest for what the Bloodstone lost today. For what Tarrobane lost.

Everly glances at me, emotions brimming her dark blue eyes. I sniff and stare down at Edvard. He’s the hope we all needed.

ChapterEighteen

Iprepare a small sleeping space for Edvard using linen and a large basket. When his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, I move to sit on my side of the bed. Earlier, Everly and I found goat’s milk for him, but I know he needs more than that.

As my thoughts wander, so do my eyes. I take in Hector’s tent, looking for anything that might be useful for a baby. I find nothing. The tent resembles the man. Every item’s purpose is to aid the warrior. Everything except for maybe that black book in the satchel he dumped on the desk before rushing out when someone called for him. Suddenly, I’m curious. What in that book held his attention last night?

I go to the desk and look at the cover. It is black as pitch except for the roughed-up edges. I open the tome mid-way and let the pages flutter down, glancing through them as they pass. Sketches and ancient words comingle—words I didn’t understand until I cast Bloodstone magic. There are maps, sketches of animals, people, and something that looks like a well. A few words catch my attention. Bloodstone. Source. Life. Gifts. Spell.

Spell?

My breath hitches. These are Bloodstone spells.

I straighten and glance at the door, making sure I’m still alone.

Is this Mildred’s?

I only have time to read part of a page when I hear Hector’s voice. “Make it happen, Aston. Pull Gray in if you need to.”

My heart thumps wildly as I haphazardly shove the book in the satchel and scurry from the desk to Edvard’s makeshift bed.

The tent flap rustles, and Hector steps inside.

“Edvard needs a wet nurse.” My stomach trembles as I weave three sections of my hair into a braid and tie a ribbon at the end.

“I know.” Hector settles at his desk and stacks his hands together.

With an unsteady hand, I rub my temple. “Where will we find one?”

“We’re close to Karra.” He stares down at his satchel and book for so long I wonder if he knows what I did.

“Karra?”

“Yes, it’s the closest Bloodstone city.” Hector slides the book out and flips through the pages as he speaks. “I already sent a scout ahead to bring a wet nurse back with him.”

My heartbeat slows as I watch the sleeping baby for several moments. Edvard’s lashes lie against his plump cheeks, while one hand curls loosely around the blanket.

“That’s good.”

Hector’s gaze follows mine, landing on the baby. “Thank you for healing Edvard.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Yes, but you wanted to. I could tell.”

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