Page 11 of The Unbroken Queen (The Bone Throne #1)

Chapter

Eleven

TAMAS

To find a nobleman out at night, one had to visit the seediest taverns hidden down forgotten, narrow streets in the darkest reaches of the city. Asking the right questions led me here, to a rowdy place frequented by those who traded in secrets and sex. I was here for neither. Instead, I stayed at the far end of the bar, where I had the best view of the raucous drunks and serving ladies doing their best to avoid wandering hands.

My deer stew was now cold, but I had eaten all the meat and didn’t fancy whatever was left floating in the thin gravy. The loaf left the taste of mold in my mouth, so I filled my belly with ale as I eyed the table in the far corner, close to the hearth.

Four men sat in varying stages of undress, three with ladies on their laps, also in varying stages of undress. The aristocracy was easy to pick. They were the foolish ones who flashed their leather coin pouches, alerting the three young boys employed by the tavern owner to the exact location of their wealth.

I took a swig of my ale and watched one lad skulk his way around the tables, seemingly keeping his gaze on the other side of the room when, in reality, his eyes wandered to the pockets of the men he passed. A quick slice of the small knife in his sleeve, and pockets and pouches were emptied of gold, or gold buttons on jackets disappeared.

I had traveled for three days to arrive in Tolum, reaching the sod-soaked streets of the barrios by early morning. Then, huddled in a dark alleyway next to a stack of crates with my back against the cold brick wall, I took some sleep.

The alley smelled of shit, piss, and the pungent stench of rotten vegetables. Traveling nonstop, the stench failed to disturb my few hours of sleep. When the sun broke, slanting its early morning glow across my toes, and the first of the street hawkers wheeled his carts through the sludge, I was ready with a plan.

The thieving lad who’d foolishly thought he could trick me out of my coin assured me the White Shale was the perfect hunting ground. The tavern was small, stank of tobacco, sour bodies, and ale, and was filled with half of Tolum’s male nobility, allowing me to be fussy about my choice. Already, my eyes stayed on the four noblemen, growing drunker and rowdier with each sip I took of my ale.

When one of the party lurched to his feet, I lowered my tankard and straightened. As he stumbled around the tavern, bouncing off tables and tumbling into passersby, I assessed his height, build, and clothing for a suitable fit. Once in a neat tie at the nape of his neck, some of his hair had come loose and hung limp against his sweat-drenched cheeks. His fair complexion contrasted against my own, as too the feel of his skin, I was sure.

A young woman, her breasts spilling over her bodice, swept into his path, grabbing his waist and pressing her curvaceous body against his. That was my cue to move. I slunk through the crowd, dodging the swaying drunks and a couple grinding against a large oak barrel, and slipped up beside the nobleman, whose face was now buried in the lady’s generous cleavage.

Her eyes darted to me, then widened. In a heartbeat, her face transformed as she worked her lips into a salacious smile. Fisting the nobleman’s hair, she yanked his head from between her breasts.

“Fuck off,” she growled at him and shoved him away before turning to me. “What may I do for you now?” Her eyes raked my body in one breath.

“I’ll be taking my friend,” I quipped and spun to haul the nobleman off the table from where he fell.

Jostled and yanked about, he staggered to his feet. Eyes hazy and unfocused, he slurred a jumble of words I had no ear for, then tumbled over his feet as I dragged him across the crowded tavern to the rear door.

Outside, the frosty night air tightened my skin. I let go of his arm, and the nobleman collapsed against the back wall of the tavern. We were in a narrow alleyway cloaked by the night. At the mouth of the alley, rowdy passersby failed to notice us hidden in the depths.

“I need a piss,” he mumbled before swaying across to the brick wall of the neighboring building.

With a sigh, I waited for him to finish and button himself up. On turning, he got lost in his feet and fell sideways into the wall, bracing himself against the brick as a means of keeping himself upright.

“What’s your name?”

He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his velvet jacket. “Lord Magnus Bloodwyn. And you—” He tripped over his feet crossing the alley toward me, and I dashed forward to catch him, not wanting his clothes to be drenched in mud and who knows what else rotting in this alley.

I straightened him and dusted off his jacket, then swatted his stale breath away from my face. “Lord Bloodwyn. I’ve heard you mentioned favorably in court gossip, but I can’t recall your demesne."

“Mush obligsh.” Once again, he attempted to tidy his hair. “My lands…are north.”

“Iredale, Celnaer, Burneside?”

“Raebershire.”

“Ah, close to the Ashenlands. You’re a braver man than I to hold title in those parts.”

“Ish a trouble, to be shure. The king gives ush no aid and demands more tax.”

A discontented nobleman was nothing new, and not why I chose him.

“There must be a good reason to travel this far into Tolum.”

He squinted his eyes as he looked at me, then raised an eyebrow. “The wedden.”

“Oh, yes. Crown Prince Juel has his bride. And you have an invitation. That’s fitting.”

I had thought she held a slim possibility of making it to shore and now felt a grim satisfaction in knowing she had survived. These feelings I would never dare share with Garrat and Osmud. I wanted to disown them myself, but she had grown more compelling in my head during my travel to Tolum.

Garrat and Osmud were right to question my weak heart in keeping her alive; I questioned myself. The princess was caught in a dangerous game, played over a millennium. Though I would struggle to call her innocent. Her precision with a blade was unquestionable; her links to the Sistern were concerning. The woman herself was persistently annoying in the amount of time she stayed in my head.

Why had I bitten her? My actions shocked me. It would have been better for all if I had slit her throat and finished what I had intended to do. Yet, in a moment of weakness, I spared her. Please don’t let it be the worst mistake of my life.

I shook my head, forcing her out of my mind yet again. She had reached Tolum. That was all I needed to know. If I acted swiftly, I could spare her the burden of carrying the Tannard heir, thereby saving her life from me, yet again.

I gritted my teeth, shedding the thought, and focused on my reason for standing in a stinking alley talking with a drunk who couldn’t hold himself upright. I eyed Bloodwyn as he swayed in front of me. It wasn’t his fault he was the perfect fit for what I needed, and I couldn’t help the smidgen of guilt I felt for what I was about to do. Some necessities were evil, but not always wrong.

“Where are you staying while in Tolum?”

“Letmesee.” He patted his pockets. “Daswood Manor.”

“And the burro.”

Bloodwyn rubbed his lips. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t reply. Which was no matter. I would have no trouble tracking down such a salubrious place.

“Ah, no, I ’aveit. Upper Heedlemain.”

I slipped the small deep red berries from my pocket as I clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve been most helpful. Here, why don’t you chew on one of these?”

“Whashtish?”

“It’ll clear your head. You can get back inside and drink some more.”

He leaned in close, squinting to look at the berry I held between thumb and forefinger.

“They’re an expensive treat.” I popped the one I held in my mouth, then rolled my eyes back and moaned. “Delicious.”

“’Ere.” And he held out his hand.

I dropped the malec berry into his palm and watched as he slipped it into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. Slowly introducing the berry into a northerner’s diet afforded us protection from its lethal effects, but unfortunately for Lord Bloodwyn, he had only moments left. I eased myself back against the wall and waited. Soon I would know more about Bloodwyn than I particularly wanted, so I felt little inclination to talk.

I caught him as he staggered to the left and pushed him up against the tavern wall. “Easy there. Can’t have you dirtying your clothes.”

Bloodwyn clutched at his throat, his eyes bulging, his cheeks flushing the same color as the malec berry.

“My sympathies, Bloodwyn. Just know you’re playing your part in the deposition of the cruel king. I’ll ensure they compose a ballad on your behalf.”

Bloodwyn opened his mouth to speak, but the malec berry’s poison was rapid. Gasping for air, he grappled with me, fisting my shirt front as his knees buckled. I took his arms and guided him to the alley floor, laying him on a narrow patch of dry ground.

It took only moments more before Bloodwyn took his last breath. I knelt beside him and held my hand over his mouth, checking for his warm breath. Satisfied he was dead, I placed my hands on his chest while I stilled my mind, searching for Bloodwyn’s soul.

As descendants of Sophila’s line, the Razohan inherited the Huungardred’s ability to shift form, but unlike the Huungardred, the Razohan were not limited to the form of a beast. We were true shape-shifters, and no Nazeen alive could explain how this phenomenon emerged.

My talent was both a boon and a curse, for the only way I could take the form of another was through their death. And so, with my hands upon his chest, I sought Bloodwyn’s essence deep within his soul. The surface of his body beneath my palms heated as I corralled my focus, searching for his life force. It wasn’t an easy task and required great concentration, but once I had found the thread of his essence, the flow poured into me, searing through my chest like an iron rod in a smithy’s forge, branding me with Bloodwyn's soul. All that he was in life entered me and found a home, and that was the curse of my ability. The hardest to accept were a person’s memories, followed by their desires, and lastly the burden on their souls. For this reason, we rarely killed to assume another’s body. The drag of their life’s sorrows was enough to drive any Razohan insane. When it was done, it was for a good reason and done with care.

Once his body turned cold under my hands, I began the task of stripping him to his undergarments. I had chosen him for his build and—to be honest—his handsome face, but now that I was wearing his clothes, I discovered the shirt buttons pulled tight across my chest and the legs of his breeches were short on my ankles. The jacket I wouldn’t bother to close. I jiggled his coin pouch hidden in an inside pocket and judged it ample. Finally, I redressed Bloodwyn in my clothes with the idea of burning his body: the most honorable burial I could give him.

Dressed in Bloodwyn’s clothes, I stilled, funneling my mind inward, searching for Bloodwyn’s soul. His life was new to me, so it took time to find it amongst the ethereal mass I held within. Following a trail of memories from our last moments together, I wrapped my mind around the amorphous essence and pulled it forth, releasing the binds of my mind and body so both merged with his, enabling me to take his form.

Once done, I glanced down at myself, then stretched my neck from side to side. While young, Bloodwyn felt half as fit, half as capable, and far less intelligent. Good thing his body was only the shell, and the man that I was remained inside.

I straightened my sleeves, then bent and shouldered Bloodwyn’s body as I planned how to leave the alley without calling attention to myself, or the body I carried.