The Wellspring by T. J. Carroll

Author:T. J. Carroll [Carroll, T. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0CJPV9T47
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-04-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Dashi expected retribution. Blood dripped in a steady rhythm from Zayaa’s calf, speckling the snow with crimson and matting the fur lining of her pants where it poked through the torn fabric. The skin across Zayaa’s cheekbone was lumpy and pinpricked with purple. Blood pooled in the corner of her right eye from a burst blood vessel.

As Zayaa lifted the golden chain from the khan’s neck, Dashi caught the scent of blood. Idree. Solongo. The moth touched down, silent as a snowflake with Idree held in her arms. Red furrows crisscrossed Solongo’s face, and her bottom lip was split. Idree had put up a fight. The thought pierced Dashi’s heart more than her sister’s compliance would have.

Idree, for her part, appeared unharmed, if Dashi discounted the finger missing from each hand. Her sister’s cheeks were pallid, like the wound on her hand had drained all the blood from her face. Blood covered one of her sleeves, but it wasn’t continuously seeping through the mitten so her hand must have been bandaged. Dashi glanced at Solongo, but the other herald wouldn’t meet her gaze. Her eyes moved to Idree’s, holding them in unspoken conversation.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be.

Your finger—

Don’t worry. Idree’s bloodless lips quirked. I still have eight more.

Dashi gave a slight shake of her head. Don’t, Idree. Her glance snagged on Idree’s mitten. Without the full scaffolding of fingers to hold it up, the material sagged. She looked back at her sister’s face. Don’t make light of it.

Are you telling me to wallow?

Dashi’s shoulder twitched upward. If you want to.

Now it was Idree’s turn to shake her head. No.

Zayaa gave Idree a suspicious glance and shoved her toward the horses. “Clean your wounds. Get something to eat.” She turned to the other heralds. “The same to you. The bridge is down. We leave soon.”

Solongo and the stag started toward the horses. The owl followed in their wake, shoulders hunched. Her beak dipped, nervously grooming a section of feathers she’d already worn thin.

Dashi got to her feet, but Zayaa stepped in front of her. “I’ve got you under control now,” she said, pleasant-voiced, “but as soon as I don’t need you, I will kill you. And before this is over, I’ll kill your sniveling sister too.”

“You’re angry?” Dashi scoffed. “Because your pretty face got smashed?”

She’d been leery when responding to the khan, but Zayaa was too familiar for her to hold her tongue. Her eyes flicked to Zayaa’s neck, where two chains—one for the amethyst necklace and one for the golden needle—were now visible.

“Will that face scare away the next man before you can seduce him? Altan, Baris and the khan: your bed doesn’t go cold, Zayaa, but the people in it do.” Anger was boiling over inside Dashi. Idree’s finger. Idree’s face. “Or maybe you’re angry because, even with the other heralds’ help, Idree and I almost beat you.”

“Almost counts for nothing, Dashi.”

“You—”

“Don’t speak to me unless I ask something directly.”

Dashi’s mouth snapped shut.

Zayaa smiled. “Get my horse.”

The urge to strike

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