"Even halfway toward my primary mission is progress for me," Samarin added lightly, but had enough sense not to sound as if he was enjoying himself half as much as usual.
"I’ll set a ward," Lieutenant Meniar said, still writing. "And try to remember a directional Sigillic I read once, so we can keep to our course. Sukata, can you arrange a fire that won’t set the entire forest floor alight?"
Darian Faille, very indistinct at the edge of Lieutenant Meniar’s light, seemed to be breaking off part of a fallen branch to create a rough staff. "We will secure the area," she said, and led Captain Faille off.
Kendall sighed, took off her jacket and folded it into a pad to stick under the Pest’s head. She wouldn’t want to be out in a forest in her night-clothes, without even shoes. At least the week had been dry, though there was damp enough if you dug down into these layers of leaves.
"Won’t he just wake up and choke again?" she asked, turning to help Sukata and Tesin find rocks for a camp fire.
"Probably," Lieutenant Meniar said, tersely. "I’ll put a Sleep casting on him, for now. Her Grace and I have been trying to divine the enchantment for days now, but I don’t yet understand it well enough to try to unpick it."
And didn’t want to try without Rennyn, he did not add, any more than any of them were talking about Rennyn, who was also in her nightclothes somewhere, and all too probably with a monster who had made very clear what he wanted to do with her.
They’d gone and delivered her right to him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Wake up, cousin."
Rennyn jerked violently, and found herself upright, arms spread to either side. Her skin stung as she struggled against restraint, as if the tiny hairs on her arms, shoulders and back were being pulled out. Sunlight stabbed at her eyes as she tried to gain some sense of her situation, twisting in the bindings, but she saw only greenery, and the occasional flash of orange.
Tumbling forward, Rennyn realised that she’d been roped quite loosely to a wall only as she fell from it, and then there was nothing but the knives in her feet.
She might have shrieked. She heard the sound as if it had come from someone else, rising above the jolt of white fire lancing up through her. She crumpled onto a soft, uneven surface, curling in on herself in an excess of hurt, and then forcing herself past the haze of pain to urgent examination of bare feet, finding blood and…glass? Blue-green glass among crusted cuts. One thick shard had been driven so deeply into her instep it was almost lost to view among the sudden flood of bright blood welling around it.
Lieutenant Meniar’s lessons had given her some useful medical techniques, but Rennyn had not spent a great deal of time on the structure of feet. It was a simple matter to block the pain, and removing the glass a mere flicker of Thought, but beyond that came less obvious territory. Not certain of her options, she clamped down on the flow of blood so she could spare another look for the room.
A ruin. Dazzling shafts of light descended from a stone grid of ceiling. The air was thick and warm, and everything festooned with vine, but there was no sign of movement, of any immediate threat. Besides, this much daylight would be protection enough against any Eferum-Get. That voice had been just another nightmare then, combined with the shock of whatever this place was, and however she had reached it.
Not in the least reassured, Rennyn turned back to the dilemma of her feet. Accelerated healing would sap her physical strength disastrously, and she could not afford to pass out. So, small repairs, using the least amount of power possible. A tiny divination, to identify what was leaking so much blood and then fusing together the largest vein. For the moment the rest of the damage would simply have to be held closed with a variation of a caulding. On top of this she added one of the infection-preventatives, though Lieutenant Meniar would surely shake his head at her failure to properly clean the wounds first. The pain suppression would make it possible to walk, at least until she had some idea of where and how and what next.
"You might want to move."
Rennyn flung herself backward, landing directly in the nearest beam of sunlight. But her Wicked Uncle didn’t appear. There was nothing moving, nothing but a room covered in vines.
"This is truly gratifying. Have I haunted your dreams, little cousin?"
She stared, orienting on the voice. The furthest wall, shadowed but still exposed to far more light than the Eferum-Get prince should be able to tolerate, was as covered in vines as all the rest, and dotted with a handful of orange flowers. But a fixed gaze revealed a figure beneath the vine’s heart-shaped leaves.
"You do not find me at my best, I fear."
Understatement. A creature of rags, of sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Helecho Montjuste-Surclere, monster, blood-drinker, cause of so many of her ills, strung up like some kind of fleshy trellis, with a brilliant orange-gold flower tucked over one ear. Rennyn’s galloping heart slowed, and she pushed nausea away with all the other dismay and upset she could not deal with just now.
"Shouldn’t you be shrivelling into a blackened lump or something?"
"Master your disappointment."
Rennyn straightened, not quite ready to trust even as she wondered whether he had been placed on a north-facing wall to prevent direct exposure to sunlight. Placed…
There were other people-shaped lumps. Picking her way on numb feet across the uneven ground, Rennyn approached the nearest. A woman, one with dark curling hair and a vivid scattering of freckles. Pressing fingers to a bare patch of neck, Rennyn found a slow but steady beat. The woman did not seem to be in nearly so bad a condition as Prince Helecho. The vines themselves…they thrummed with power, but she could not feel intent from them.
A room with four people suspended on the walls, and Rennyn to make a fifth. Dezart Samarin’s missing mages, without a doubt. There would be almost twenty others.
"Don’t stand in one place for too long, little cousin, or you’ll be useless to me."
Looking down, Rennyn saw tiny filaments of white reaching from the vines nearest to her feet. She stepped away, snapping one strand that had reached her ankle and attached itself firmly. No, dug its way in, she realised, stooping to pluck it out. Remembering stinging pain, she swept her hands over her arms and shoulders, dislodging a little shower of hair-fine tendrils. Roots? They had gone straight through the thin cloth of her lounging suit.
"Remarkable that you imagine I have any interest in being of use to you," she said, as calmly as she could manage.
"Few lack self-interest."
Still not looking back at him, Rennyn continued her examination of the sleeper. Beneath every vine the white filaments dug into the woman’s skin, but did not appear to penetrate deeply. Not wanting to spend more energy than strictly necessary, Rennyn did not leap to a divination, and instead shifted the woman minutely forward, craning to see…yes, two larger tendrils, thick as fingers, positioned just below the shoulder blades.
Rennyn turned from the woman to her prison. Solid walls, grey with the faintest traces of old paint. A door of heavy stone that did not respond to a tentative push. Nothing she could not cut, though it would be easier, perhaps, to break through the ceiling. She only need levitate a short way and she would be on the roof of wherever this was. She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of the place. All around her, a background hum pricked at her senses. That was possibly the vine, which undoubtedly was more than an ordinary plant, even if she still could not detect intent.