"Quickening - 02 - Blood And Memory" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntosh Fiona)

Blood and Memory


The Quickening Book Two



Fiona McIntosh
Perfectbound


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Prologue


He slid off the saddle to unsteady feet. Too flustered to tether the horse, Wyl trusted it to remain where he left it as he stumbled deeper into the copse and retched. The sickening need to be rid of the curse seemed to last an eternity as he desperately tried to yield it, rip the sorcery free from its sinister grip. At the rim of his addled mind Wyl acknowledged that this cold, moonlit night was too beautiful for deathЕonce again.

He believed he could taste the taint of the magic that had claimed his body hours earlier. Wyl did not want to remember it, but it was so fresh, so horrific, so ugly in his mind, he could not banish it. Commander Liryk of Briavel has smiled when the man called Romen Koreldy, newly banished from the realm, had suggested the Forbidden Fruit for their overnight stay before leaving for whichever border he chose. He had smiled in understanding, knowing that the mercenary had decided to drown his sorrows within the soft and welcoming embrace of a whore in the regionТs well-known brothel. And he had smiled more widely when Romen had accepted the offer of Hildyth. The Commander had sampled her on a previous occasion and had known there could be no better place for his grieving companion to lose himself for a few hours. Wyl Thirsk, trapped in KoreldyТs body, had felt the same until the stiletto had buried itself deep into his heart, trying to take his life. Except it had not. RomenТs body released its trapped guest so it could travelЕtravel into Hildyth and claim her life instead.

It was not a new experience for Wyl. He had felt that same wrenching sense of despair once before and even now could hardly believe it had happened once again. He was dry-retching now; knew he must force himself to stop. He looked to where his handsЧhis smooth womanТs handsЧgripped the tree he leaned against, concentrated on the feel of the rough bark beneath his tense fingers, and forced himself to ease his convulsions of fear.

DonТt think about who youТve become. Remember who you are, he reminded himself. Remember who you are!

УI am the son of Fergys Thirsk of Argorn,Ф he croaked through his new and strange voice.

УI am Wyl Thirsk. General of the Morgravian Legion.Ф He spoke it more loudly this time, hating the femininity of the pitch.

УI am alive,Ф he finally said, voice stronger and steadier, his mind accepting, his spirit resolute.

He repeated his mantra until the nausea finally subsided and his cramping muscles stopped answering the call to expel the enchantment. It was not possible anyway, he knew.

Wyl Thirsk raised his head to the starry skies and screamed his despair in the voice of the assassinЕthe woman he had become this night.

It was a cry without hope. He knew all too well that no shaking of fists or howling to the heavens could change the dark enchantment that doomed him to cheat death. He understood that his spirit was now destined to shift from one body to another, waiting for death to make another attempt to claim him.

A wave of sadness crashed against his thoughts as he remembered Romen, his first victimЧif he could call him that. Now RomenТs body was dead too.

Wyl felt gutted to have lost the comfort of that once-strangeЧnow-familiarЧvessel that had welcomed him, sheathed him, given succor and life. RomenТs essence had lived on with him while WylТs true body was mortifying in a tomb. The two of them were oneЕand now perhaps they must consider themselves three with this woman among them, part of themЕone with them.

She was now their shield; they were now her secret.

Wyl limped to the narrow brook that traveled languorously nearby. It glinted in the silvery light. He threw himself down at its edge and cleansed his mouth. Now he succumbed to the tears; deep, heartfelt sobs shuddered through the body of the woman, but the grief belonged only to Wyl Thirsk.

I live, he told himself again, fumbling in his pockets for the linen that held the key to his life. In it lay the bloodied ring finger of Romen Koreldy of Grenadyn: noble, mercenary, and beloved suitor of Queen Valentyna of Briavel. Wyl had retrieved it from the chamber at the Forbidden Fruit where he had hidden itЕand now he would use it. Use it to beguile Celimus, the treacherous King of Morgravia, into believing that Romen was dead and confirm that the mysterious assassin, known only as Hildyth and masquerading as a whore, had succeeded where others had failed.

Wyl calmed his panicked thoughts, drawing on his skills as a strategist, to think through what he must do. He would send KoreldyТs finger to Celimus, precisely as Faryl had been instructed through the KingТs scheming chancellor, Jessom, and in doing so he would allow MorgraviaТs sovereign, the betrayer, to live within a false cocoon of safety.

The neighboring realm of Briavel was CelimusТs main concern now and his plans to wed its queen, Valentyna, would be occupying his time. In his disguise as Romen, Wyl had aided Valentyna in hindering those marriage plans diplomatically, but Wyl knew she would not do so with ease again. He understood all too well what a tightrope of careful politics she was treading. Her own nobles and counselors were pressing for the marriage and the peace and prosperity it would bring; in fact both realms were clamoring for a royal wedding of such importance. Briavellians and Morgravians alike had become captivated by the romantic notion of their sovereigns bringing the neighbors into harmony. Both nations could almost hear the wails of an heir that would once and for all unite the realms under one sovereign.