She felt that pain, so resonant with her own, and all her swirling thoughts suddenly clicked together like the gears of a clock, and she knew what she must do.
Moments later she and Arlen lay together in the mud, a frantic coupling born of mutual desperation, cut short when a wood demon attacked. The man who had been caressing her vanished, becoming the Painted Man again as he wrestled the coreling away from her. As the sun rose, both of them began to dissipate. She stared in terror as they began to sink into the ground.
But then the mist drifted back to the surface and they solidified, the demon burning away in the sun. Leesha reached for Arlen then, but the Painted Man turned away, and she cursed him for it. So caught in her own feelings, she had barely given thought to what he must have been going through.
Leesha shook her head, coming back to herself.
“I’m so sorry,” she told the Painted Man.
He waved a hand dismissively. “You didn’t make my choices for me.”
Rojer looked at her, then at him, then back to her. “Creator, your mum was right,” he realized. Leesha knew the news was a blow to him, but there was nothing to be done for it. In a way, she was glad to have the secret out.
“This can’t just be the tattoos,” she said, returning to the topic at hand. “It makes no sense.” She looked at the Painted Man. “I want your grimoires. All of them. Everything I learn from you is filtered by your understanding. I need the source material to understand what’s causing this.”
“I don’t have them here,” the Painted Man said.
“Then we’ll go to them,” Leesha said. “Where are they?”
“The nearest cache is in Angiers,” the Painted Man said, “though I have others in Lakton, and out on the Krasian Desert.”
“Angiers will do nicely,” Leesha said. “I have unfinished business with Mistress Jizell, and perhaps you can convince the duke you’re not after his crown while we ’re there.”
“I might be able to help there,” Rojer said. “I grew up in Rhinebeck’s court while Arrick was his herald. I’ll visit the Jongleurs’ Guild while we ’re there, maybe hire some proper teachers for my apprentices.”
“All right,” the Painted Man said. “we’ll go at first melt.”
The broad wings of the mimic ate the miles, but the coreling prince hated the brightness of the surface, and twice took shelter in the Core for all but the darkest hours of the night. It was now the night after new moon, and even the effects of that minute sliver were bright to the demon’s corespawned eyes. When it returned to the Core, it would not rise again until the cursed orb waxed and waned a full turn.
The greatward of Deliverer’s Hollow came into sight below, its stolen magic shining like a beacon. The mind demon hissed at the sight, and its forehead pulsed as it sent the image hundreds of miles to the south in an instant, resonating in the mind of its brother.
A reply came instantly, the demon’s cranium reverberating with its brother’s frustration.
The mimic landed silently, and the mind demon dismounted. Immediately the mimic shed its wings and became a nimble flame demon, darting ahead to ensure that the path of the coreling prince was clear as it made its way toward the village.
The greatward was too large to mar, and too powerful for even a coreling prince to overcome. The demon could see the accumulated magic shimmering around the village—a barrier more solid than stone. It reached out with its thoughts, the soft nodules on its cranium pulsing as it tried to touch the minds of those within, but the sheer concentration of magic blocked even mental intrusion.
The demon circled the town, noting the terrain around the twists and turns of the ward. A strong defense with few weaknesses, and those not easily exploited. Drones drifted out of the trees, drawn to the coreling prince’s presence, but a thought drove them off.
It found a place where two human females stood at the edge of the ward, armed with primitive weapons. The demon listened carefully to their grunts and yelps, waiting for a particular intonation that signaled address. It came soon, and the females clutched each other before dividing to walk the edge in different directions, their weapons at the ready.
The mind demon ran ahead of the elder of the two, waiting in an isolated spot until the woman reappeared. It signaled the mimic, and its servant swelled, scales melting away to be replaced by pink skin and the outer wrappings of the surface stock.
The mimic fell to the ground in the shadows just outside the forbidding as the elder female approached. It cried the elder female’s name, its voice as perfect a copy of the younger female as its form. “Mala!”
“Wonda?” its chosen victim cried. She looked about frantically, but seeing no demons, she ran to what she assumed was her friend. “I just left you! How did you get out here?”
The mind demon stepped from behind a tree, and the female gasped, raising her bow. The nodules on the coreling prince’s cranium throbbed softly, and the female stiffened, hands lowering her weapon against her will. The mind demon approached, and the female held out the projectile she had meant to launch for its inspection.
The wards on the projectile were powerfully shaped; the mind demon could feel them tugging at its own potent magic. It waved a taloned hand at them, marveling at how they began to glow even with its flesh still inches away.
The demon prince probed the mind of its victim deeply, sifting through images and memories as one might rummage in an old trunk. It learned much; too much to act upon without further consideration.
It was hours before dawn, but already the sky was brightening. Far to the south, it sensed its brother’s agreement. There was time to reflect upon the problem.
The mind demon regarded the female. It could steal the memory of this event from her—send her back into the forbidding never knowing what had happened—but the touch of the human’s mind, fat and largely unused, aroused its hunger.
Sensing its master’s desire, the mimic sent a sharp tentacle to sever the female’s head. It caught the prize and slithered over, peeling the skull open with a talon to present the meal.
The coreling prince tore at the sweet gray matter within, gorging itself. The meat was not as tender as the ignorant brains of its personal stock, but there was a satisfaction to hunting on the surface that added pleasure to the repast.
The demon looked to its mimic, standing vigilant as the coreling prince feasted. A throb of permission, and the mimic swelled, opening an enormous, many-toothed maw and slithering over to the female, swallowing the remainder of her body whole.
When master and servant alike were sated, they dissolved into mist, slipping back down to the Core as the sky continued to brighten.
CHAPTER 13
RENNA
RENNA’S STRONG ARMS BURNED, coated in a thin sheen of sweat as she worked the butter churn. It was early spring, but she was clad only in her shift. Her father would have a fit if he saw her, but he was around back cutting wardposts, and Lucik and the boys were out in the fields.
The farm had grown in the fourteen years since Lucik came to live with them, marrying Beni and putting children in her. There had been a hard season after Ilain ran off with Jeph Bales. Harl had raged and taken it out on them—mostly on Beni, since she was elder. But that had all stopped when Lucik, with his thick arms and broad shoulders, came to live with them. Harl hadn’t touched either of them since, and the fields, once little more than a large garden, had gotten bigger every year.
Thinking of that time made her think again of Arlen Bales, and what might have been. When they were promised, it was agreed that she was to be the one to go and live on Jeph’s farm, not Ilain. But Arlen had run off into the woods after his mother passed, and was never heard from again. Folk said he must be dead, especially
