Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)
Betrayer: Chapter 20

Men like women who try to please them. The best way to please Gabriel, besides sharing his bed, of course, is becoming like the women in his tribe. It took me only a day in Astarobane to notice the women often wear flowers in their braids. I pick some and pin them in my hair. They also wear gray and black surcoats. I ask Kassandra for a new surcoat, and she obliges me.

My attempts seem pointless. Gabriel doesn’t notice.

So, I focus on what I can control. A clean house. Fresh-baked treats for when he’s at home. Tending the barn and all the animals every morning and night.

On my fourth morning after arriving in Astarobane, I decide to increase my efforts. I remove the items from my satchel and study the herbs. Each one differs from Bloodstone herbs. They’re more potent, magical, and they were all grown on Kyanite land.

These herbs can help the Bloodstone people. I have seen the people with painful looking boils. I have the seeds needed to cure their infliction, to give them relief. First, I’ll need to grow the long, narrow leaves, and then create a poultice with them.

I tuck away a tiny bundle of herbs beneath my nightdresses in the armoire. I’ll need those particular herbs if Gabriel ever beds me. They will keep me from conceiving.

A garden space sits idle next to the home I share with Gabriel. I’ll use it to grow Kyanite herbs. After all, it can’t hurt to try.

Gabriel probably won’t care. He rises with the sun, and I rarely see him before bed.

Outside, a brisk breeze beats against my back as I grab a spade and turn the dirt. Over and over, I dig into the soil, turning and blending.

Kassandra grabs a spade and joins me when the sun is high in the sky. She hums the entire time.

Everything seems calm, the way the birds chirp in the nearby olive trees, and the way swans float over the narrow stream next to Gabriel’s cottage.

“What are we planting?” Kassandra asks as she stops to take a drink from the terracotta jar she brought with her.

“Herbs.” I point my chin toward the pouch I left on a rock. “From Kyanite land.”

She swipes her hand across her sweaty brow. “Magical ones?”

“Yes.”

A frown pulls at her lips as she eyes my herbs for a second time. “They will not take here.”

“Why not?”

“Magic. Gifts.” She shrugs. “Don’t work here. They haven’t since the high gods took our magic.”

I reach for a pouch and open it to replace tiny black seeds inside. “What if they did?”

“I don’t mind trying. I only thought you should know.”

For several breaths, I stare down at the seeds in my hand, then meet her gaze. “These prevent infection.”

Sunlight flares across Kassandra’s face as she steps closer and smiles. “Let us plant them and see what Olah thinks.”

At her encouraging words, I bend down, making rows. She drops the enkantia seeds into the dirt. We bury them together, then move on to the next ones.

Dusk sets over Astarobane before we finish. The hems of our surcoats skim the ground as we walk to the stream and wash our hands.

“Shall you join me for dinner?” Kassandra asks after she finishes.

I lift my eyes to the sandstone street beyond my cottage. Nothing stirs. Not even the man I live with.

Kassandra smiles as if understanding what I didn’t say. “I’ll make sure Gabriel knows where to replace his dinner.”

“He doesn’t…” I frown and brush dirt from my surcoat. “He doesn’t eat here with me.”

“Do you not cook?”

“I do. But after the second night, I stopped making enough dinner for him.”

Laughter skips in Kassandra’s eyes as she speaks. “I would have done the same.” She tugs on my hand. “Come. I’ll share the bread I made yesterday and Grandmother’s leek soup.”

The wind accompanies us as I follow Kassandra. It laps at our heels as we fall into a silent comradery. Only after we pass by numerous cottages, do I break the silence.

“Where’s Gabriel’s family? I thought they may visit us, but nobody has.”

Kassandra skirts around a wagon before answering. “He has nobody.”

“Nobody?” I ask. “No father? Mother?”

She shakes her head. “They’re all dead.”

Empathy tugs at my chest as I think of him all alone. He must feel so lonely when he returns from battle.

As we walk through the center of the town, people turn their faces away as we pass. After the fourth group of people turn away, I frown.

“Why do they not meet our eyes?”

“Because I’m an outsider,” she says, her words forthright and not tainted by bitterness.

Warmth scours my skin, anger for the way they reject her simply because they deem her beneath them.

“Has it always been this way?”

She nods. “From the moment I was born.”

“Why?”

She waits until we pass the last of the people and are on the outskirts of the city to speak. “Because of my family.”

I raise my brow in question.

She smiles and speaks with candor. “Two centuries ago, there was a civil war among the Bloodstone people. Roland’s ancestors defeated the chieftain, bringing an end to his reign. The old leader and his family were shunned. I’m from his lineage.”

“Two centuries ago? And your lineage is still shunned?”

She nods. “The Bloodstone people cling to their prejudices.”

“It’s nonsensical to shun people simply for their blood.”

“I agree.” Her cloak slips over one shoulder as she shrugs. “But it changes nothing. I am what I am.”

With the warriors in the camp, it was different. They smiled and talked to her.

We pass a graveyard with ancient tombstones before Kassandra turns down a path leading to a long line of tiny cottages. Each one looks more decrepit than the last. Their front doors hang precariously, and their walls lean.

She keeps walking until she reaches the last cottage. As she pulls the door open, she calls out for her grandmother. The old woman turns from her place near a black kettle hanging over a fire, a bright smile lightening her wrinkled features.

“Come. Taste.” She dips her spoon in and lifts it to her granddaughter.

Kassandra crosses the small space and complies. She blows on the soup and takes a bite. “Oh, Grandmother. It’s perfect.”

A toothy smile widens the woman’s face as she returns to her cooking.

The door to one of the adjoining rooms opens, and a woman steps into the main area. Although older, she looks like Kassandra. She has the same brown hair, the same blue eyes, and like Kassandra, a red circle mars her surcoat.

Torchlight weaves over Kassandra’s face as she turns to me. “This is my mother, Averill.”

“Hello.” I dip my head in respect.

“You’re the woman who married Gabriel,” she says without scorn.

“I am.”

Sunlight streams through the window and weaves over her features as she nods toward her daughter. “Kassandra has told me a lot about you. You’re welcome here.”

“Thank you.” I shove loose strands of hair behind my ears.

The front door opens, and a young woman steps into the cottage. Like everyone else, she wears a surcoat with a big red circle. Dark brown curls frame her face and hang to mid back. Her long lashes complement her dark blue eyes.

“This is my older sister, Everly,” Kassandra says.

I smile at her, but all I receive in return is a quick frown. My stomach clenches, and I resist the urge to scowl.

“I believe you are the same age,” Kassandra says.

“You’re twenty?” I ask Everly, hoping she’ll warm up to me.

She offers a curt nod.

We sit at an unfinished table centered in the middle of the room, where Kassandra’s grandmother serves her leek soup.

“I forgot.” The hem of Kassandra’s surcoat snaps against her legs as she lurches to her feet and walks to a nearby shelf. She grabs a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth. She unwinds it and cuts us thick pieces.

“Thank you,” Everly says as her sister hands her a chunk.

The moment I take a bite, I realize I could never measure up to Kassandra’s baking abilities. I have a second, larger bite and sigh.

“That good?” Averill asks.

“It’s delicious.” I savor another piece and imagine a world where I have something this delicious every day.

“Kassandra has always been a fantastic cook.” A knowing smile pulls at Averill’s mouth. “Why do you think Luc takes her to cook for him and his men?”

Her grandmother waves a wooden spoon. “He take her to wife.”

“No.” Red sears Kassandra’s cheeks. “Luc doesn’t care for me in that way.”

“Luc take Kassandra to wife.” Her grandmother slams her spoon against the table. “He take her.”

“Darla,” Averill begins, her tone gentle. “Luc hasn’t married Kassandra.”

A fierce frown wrenches at Everly’s mouth as she finishes her soup and carries her terracotta bowl to the small washing stand.

Darla strikes her spoon against the table for a second time. “He will.”

Kassandra yanks off sections of bread and eats in quick bites. Her fingers shake as she continues ripping and eating.

“We planted seeds,” I say, recognizing Kassandra’s need for a change of subject.

“Oh.” Averill glances between us. “What type of seeds?”

Knowing she probably wouldn’t understand, I lie. “The usual kind.”

Kassandra doesn’t correct me as she places tiny pieces of wood in a nearby brazier. She lights it, and the sweet tangy smell of cedar fills the air. I inhale as nostalgia sweeps over me, the feeling of belonging, comfort, peace.

I blink, willing it away. It recedes like the tide as I take a sip of wine. If I’m going to succeed, I cannot allow thoughts of home.

Darla lowers her bony fingers to the table and exhales. “I go again.”

“No,” Kassandra says, her tone gentle, yet firm. “You cannot leave, Grandmother.”

“Kassandra’s right,” Averill says. “She may not be able to replace you a second time.”

The old woman tsks beneath her breath and rocks back and forth. “I go. I replace Estrid. Olah says.”

Estrid? It’s the second time, the old woman has mentioned that name.

Sadness pulls at Averill’s features as she leans forward, capturing the old woman’s wrinkled hands in hers. “I know you miss her. We all do, but you cannot run away again.”

When darkness fringes the lone window in the cottage, I return to the home I share with Gabriel. Firelight draws me to the man staring into the flames.

“I…” I swallow and continue. “I was with Kassandra.”

He doesn’t glance up from his fire gazing. “You don’t have to tell me where you go.”

I sit on a chair near him and study his stern jaw, his tight lips, as if he hasn’t smiled in days. He probably hasn’t. “What do you do while you’re away?”

“Train.” He rises to refill his goblet. Instead of wine, he pours mint tea into the terracotta pottery.

“Every day? That must get tiresome.”

Shadows dance across his face as he returns to his seat. “I enjoy it.”

My eyes trail over him, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, the expanse of his chest. It’s impossible to build strength like his by sitting idle all day.

“What else do you do?”

“I forge weapons.”

My brow rises. “You make weapons?”

He nods.

My conversation with Kassandra passes through my thoughts, the one where I asked about his family. “Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

The earlier empathy returns, that tugging of understanding and of mutual loneliness. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He takes a long drink of tea. “Plenty of people have no siblings.”

“Because it is lonely.” No words have felt truer. My world has been lonely since…

I pry the thought from my mind, locking it in that place where sadness and grief lives.

Think of something else to talk about.

Think, Sol. Think.

“Is the Bloodstone army large?”

“Large enough,” he says in the same curt manner.

I draw a circle pattern against my leg. “Kassandra says there are other cities. Will we visit them?”

“Eventually.”

I glance around the sparse room, the one containing no personal items of his. “Where did you live before?”

“Before here?” He sets his goblet on the table next to him.

“Yes.”

“Tarra.”

My brow wrinkles as I consider the name. “Is it farther in the mountains?”

“It is. Why do you ask?”

“I want to understand your people better.” It’s not a false statement. If I understand them, I can infiltrate them better, and when the end nears, I’ll know how to escape.

Gabriel scoffs and raises his goblet to his lips.

“Is that so impossible to believe?”

“Kyanite women are never interested in the inner workings of Bloodstone people unless they have an ulterior motive.”

“What would my motive be, Gabriel?” Frustration teems my words as I continue. “I’m here in Astarobane, and I’m married to you.”

Firelight weaves over his face as he shifts to stare at me. “You could be a spy.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Do I look like a spy?”

“No, but that means nothing. Those who don’t look the part make the best spies.”

Is that why Malachi is here, to spy for the Kyanites?

The thought reverberates through my being, turning and twisting until I will it away.

I don’t possess enough fortitude to worry about him, to dread the moment I see him face the executioner the way those Kyanites did.

“I’m wounded, Gabriel. All I want to be is your friend, and you keep vilifying me.”

“You’ll stay wounded, Kyanite.” He stands, drains his tea, and sets the goblet on the table. “I will never trust you. Therefore, I’ll always be suspicious.”

Frustration grips me. Why does he insist on not calling me by my name?

“My name is Sol.”

“I know.” He disappears into the bedroom we share.

Never trust.

Always suspicious.

My heart pounds as his words pierce my ears over and over. By all accounts, he’s winning this battle to not accept me. A normal man would have already bedded me.

I clutch my fingers together and frown. Gabriel is a dagger to the heart of my destiny.

Still, tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll try to be the kind of wife who pleases him. Otherwise…

Olah help me. I don’t want to think about otherwise.

Fire surges through the floorboards and licks at my feet. I jerk them away, but the flames keep building and building until they attack my legs. My chest. My face.

I scream and thrash.

The fire doesn’t relent. It burns brighter. Hotter.

“Mother!” I plead for her to hear me and rescue me.

But she doesn’t answer.

Nobody answers.

There’s only charred remains here.

“Wake up.”

A sob wrenches from my throat as that voice comes again, calling out to me.

“Wake up.”

I reach for that source, that sturdiness, that peace away from all those flames. Warmth slides beneath my hands. His warmth.

Gabriel brings his hands to my back, and instead of pushing me away, he brings me tighter. I bury my face against his chest and meld into that comfort.

“It was just a dream,” he says, his tone soothing my tattered nerves.

If only that were true.

It’s the same nightmare that has plagued me since Mother died.

The remnants of the nightmare fade into the far crevices of my mind as I focus on the things around me. The bed. The man who could have pushed me away. The heat of his body. The sound of his heart drumming against my ear.

How evenly it beats. How solid he is.

Outside these walls, there are shadows, plagues, death. In here, there doesn’t have to be any of those things. In here, there can be harmony.

He cradles the back of my neck. “You’re safe.”

Those are the same words he spoke the night the man with the bone necklace attacked me. That night it broke through my fear.

Tonight, it allows me to breathe evenly, and my eyes to drift shut.

I’m safe.