Now, if only Lillian had given him some witch’s medicine, then he could have bartered for more than just one sack of grain. He could have even gotten some dried peaches or a jug of maple syrup. Witch’s medicine was just about the most valuable thing there was in the Outlands. Carrick would ask her for it next time he was back in Salem, which probably wouldn’t be for a while yet.
With Lillian’s help, he’d beaten all of Alaric’s messengers to the bombs, but he still had two to go and Lillian had made it clear that even one bomb was too many. She’d shared a brief glimpse of a cinder world with Carrick to motivate him, but he didn’t care much one way or the other. Cinder world, not cinder world, what was the difference? People had always killed each other, and Carrick couldn’t see that he’d be worse off if one of the bombs detonated, as long as it detonated far away from him. He might even do better, he figured. Cinder worlds were where men like Carrick—men who weren’t squeamish and knew how to take what they wanted—could run the whole place. One thing kept him motivated, though. He’d grown to crave the power his witch supplied him, and in the cinder worlds witches were done in first. Lillian wanted the bombs defused, and as long as he did what she said, he knew that she’d keep sending him those heady rushes of invincibility.
For as long as she lived, that is. The last time he’d seen her she looked worse. Her skin had a green tinge to it, and her eyes burned with fever. Carrick didn’t think she’d last longer than a few more months—maybe a year at best—but he took comfort in knowing that there was still Lily. She was fresh and healthy. Carrick spent many hours thinking of her and her three willstones. Lily had been his first taste of real power and it had been the sweetest. Someday, he promised himself. First, he had to deal with his half brother.
Carrick got swiftly back on Rowan’s trail after making his trade. Again, Rowan was moving away from the cities. The mountains would cause problems with his connection to his witch. Lillian was special, Carrick knew that, and she could keep the connection with her claimed over vast distances, but granite was granite, and not even she could penetrate that if there was enough of it. He didn’t like the thought of losing Lillian’s strength. He told Lillian in mindspeak that he didn’t think Rowan was leading him to the two unsecured bombs anymore, but she’d still wanted Rowan followed and Alaric’s plans for him discovered.
Carrick didn’t know what Alaric was using Rowan for anymore now that Lily was gone. If anything, with Lily’s possible control over his mind and body, Rowan was a security threat to the sachem. After watching them for over a week, he’d realized that Alaric and Rowan were stone kin, and as such their private discussions were beyond even his most cunning attempts at eavesdropping. That had come as a surprise. It was rumored that Alaric had no stone kin. Lillian had wondered how long that had been going on, and she doubted if anyone knew about it. Not even Lily.
Something had happened between Rowan and Alaric—maybe it had been a fight, or maybe it had been an order—and then Rowan had left Alaric’s tribe unimpeded and in the middle of the day. Lillian sent out other spies to find either Chenoa, Keme, or the bombs, and she sent out Carrick to follow his half brother. Carrick was the only one of her spies suited for that task. He could still feel his brother, even though Rowan had buried their connection so deep even Carrick couldn’t sense it anymore. That didn’t matter. Their blood bond wasn’t what Carrick followed now.
Carrick knew everything there was to know about suffering. It was his one true gift. After a childhood spent sending off wounded animals to drag themselves panting and whimpering with pain into the darkness, he even knew how to track suffering.
Rowan had no idea he left a trail of sorrow behind him as bright and clear as painted stones.
*