1
THE FIRST SPRING
Rea
“Come with me.” The warlord’s voice sliced through the prison cell.
Rea eyed him warily, her body shivering.
The prison cell was cold, damp, and dimly lit. Lanterns swayed outside, their light streaking over the oily stone walls of the corridor illuminating the blood and dirt crusted over her hands. How long had she spent in that dungeon?
All she recalled was the paralyzing fear she’d felt as rough hands had dragged her out of General Basa’s house and into the prison. She’d broken into his home to kill him, to avenge her father’s death. But she’d failed.
Click.
The cell’s door unlocked unexpectedly. The warlord strode in, his form powerful and intimidating, his shadow a dark snake curling over her body. Up close, he was overwhelming, a sculpture of sinewy muscle and chiseled angles with eyes as dark as a moonless night.
Rea shrunk back, spine pressing against the wall behind her.
He his advance. . “I’m not here to harm you.”
“You shouldn’t be here at all,” she replied.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t. But I am.”
“Why?”
“To save you.”
Rea couldn’t bite back her scoff. When you don’t want to be saved, that’s when someone decides to save you, she thought bitterly.
“That’s an interesting answer. Why would you rescue a stranger?”
He said nothing, only traced the line of tattoos imprinted over her arm with his gaze. That was answer enough.
The tattoos on her forearm were special, a signature of her tribe. They marked her as a Suveri, or a ‘divine artist’. Among her people, those markings were considered sacred, a gift from the gods. Creating tattoos was an art rooted in love and devotion. People of this land, however, reviled them, reduced them to ugly markings on skin. But even those ugly markings had their uses for they carried magic within them, endowing the one whose skin they were on with fantastical abilities.
And it was that power that the warlord sought.
“I refuse, my lord.” She fisted her fingers over her torn, dirty clothes. “I will not ink a tattoo on your skin.”
Not as long as the memory of her father lived on inside her. Not as long as she still remembered how he had died.
“Your Highness,” said the warlord. “I’m an archduke, not a lord. The correct way to address me is your highness. Though you may call me General Sebestyén if you wish.”
“General Sebestyén, then,” Rea spat. “I will not degrade my art by creating a tattoo for a feruli.”
Any other high-ranking man would have rankled at her insult, probably slapped her. Feruli was an insult in both her language and his, a synonym for a ‘lecherous rat’.
But the warlord cocked his head considering her argument.
“In that case, will you teach me how to create enchanted tattoos?” he asked. “As a reward for rescuing you and asking General Basa to grant you pardon.”
Rea bristled. “I did not ask you to rescue me. And I do not wish to be rescued.”
“You want to live in a dark dungeon for the rest of your life?”
“The rest of my life may not be as long as you think.”
Even her own heartbeat froze as she said those words. She’d known the truth, but she hadn’t admitted it to herself. Yet, it was undeniable. She was inching closer and closer to her grave.
She had barely any sense of purpose left after her plan to assassinate General Basa fell apart. Nothing to live for. With each passing hour, her heartbeat became weaker, her resolve shallower, her stomach emptier.
Even if she somehow escaped the dungeon, she wouldn’t survive long in the dilapidated shack her late father built for her. Her tribe had passed by that city long ago, and she couldn’t search for them on her own. She’d be all alone, whether she was in the dungeon or loose in the world outside.
The general sighed. “No,” he admitted softly. “You don’t look very healthy. But I don’t want to have your death on my conscience, so let me help you.”
Rea couldn’t believe his hypocrisy. “You’ve slayed thousands of men in wars. What is one more death to you?”
“They were my enemies. You are not.”
“I’m not your friend, either.”
He shook his head. “I have no friends.”
“What do you hope to gain from this?”
“Nothing.”
He had to be lying. He was like all the other generals who’d knocked on her door before, like the one who’d caused her father’s death. He wanted to take what he couldn’t earn. He sought fleeting glory at a ruthless price. And he wouldn’t leave until he had it.
“I don’t believe men like you can be kind,” she said.
“Then should I be cruel?”
The sudden shift in his voice sent a shiver through her spine. There. That was his true face. Something she was familiar with.
“If you’re planning to drag me out of here, I advise you to reconsider. I have powers beyond your knowledge.”
“I wonder why you’re so convinced I’m a villain when the rest of the country considers me a hero.” He knelt in front of her. He was close, his breath whispering over her face. “Besides, even if I’m a villain, I may still prove to be a good student.”
“I won’t just hand you the Suveri’s secrets for nothing.” Rea’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Demand your payment, then.”
“Three wishes.” The words surprised even her. “Grant me three wishes.”
It wasn’t a calculated move, but as soon as she said it, the idea wouldn’t let her go. She could ask him for anything. She could humiliate him, drive him to penury, to despair, just like his people had done to her father. She could bring him to his knees.
And then, maybe then, she’d finally be able to let go of her anger.
“All right. State your first wish.” There was no trace of resentment or surprise on the warlord’s face. In fact, his eyes glinted with amusement. General Sebestyén defied her expectations at every turn.
A dull ache crawled through Rea’s stomach. How long had it been since she last ate? “My first wish is to…eat the tastiest delicacy in the kingdom,” she said.
“Is that all? I was sure you were going to have me dance naked in the town square.” Was he mocking her?
“I could always ask you to do that for the second wish,” Rea said.
“All right. Then follow me out. I don’t think a dungeon’s a suitable place to eat the country’s most expensive dish in.” He led the way out of the dungeon.
When they made it to the street outside, the sunshine revealed the bedraggled condition of her own body. Rea felt heat creep up her cheeks.
Briefly, she wondered if she’d gotten in over her head. Making a deal with an archduke…what if he used his power to imprison her? What if his kindness was a farce?
The prison she left, a macabre, gray, stone tower, was the only building on that street. And the general was the only person other than her. Right then, she’d have settled for anyone else.