The Malmillard Codex by K.G. McAbee Read Free Book Online

when
Madryn had suggested that he give Daemon a rest by walking. Amazed,
not at her suggestion—after all, it was a logical one—but at the
fact that she took turns with him in the walking.
    Daemon was her horse. The very clothes on
Val's back had been bought by her and given him by her, asking for
nothing in return. And she seemed to forget, willfully ignore, the
fact that he was an escaped slave—an escaped slave on the run for
murdering his mistress.
    Her forgetting made Val's part easier to
play, and he realized at last that that was why she did it. He
looked up at the long, black-clad expanse of Madryn on the back of
the golden-maned horse. He had wondered for days whether or not he
should explain more about how the murder of his mistress had come
about. Anyone else…any other person in all the wide world…would
have insisted on knowing all the details, every bit of information
that he could supply.
    Everyone else but Madryn, it was clear.
    As he stretched his long legs to keep up
with the swiftly walking horse, Val let himself remember that final
scene with Lady Alysa. The spilled goblet of wine in a bloody pool
on the polished wooden floor. The murdered slave boy, his face
wearing that surprised look that sudden death sometimes brings. The
laughing, sneering noblewoman, a dripping knife in one flabby hand,
telling the others cowering before her that this clumsy slave would
spill no more wine on her new boots.
    Then the shocked look that had replaced the
laughing sneer on Lady Alysa's evil face, twin expression to the
one on the dead boy's, as Valerik's anger grew inside him and his
hands encircled her dirty bejeweled neck…
    No. Madryn had not asked him any questions.
She did not seem interested in his past or his story…although there
did seem to be something about him that she found fascinating. Val
had surprised an odd expression on her face, time and time
again…but she never asked him questions. He had spent a great deal
of time pondering that expression and what it might entail, during
the days and nights while they'd made their slow way towards
Karleon, the nights in shabby inns or open fields.
    It was curiosity, he was sure, that look he
intercepted from time to time in her violet-gray eyes. Madryn was
curious about him, though no question ever passed her lips.
Curious…but it was more than that. She was expecting something from
him, something he didn't have—or didn't know he had.
    Val shook his head, unconsciously mimicking
the quick shake that Daemon had just given.
    At the top of a small rise, before the
straight road sank down toward the gate, Madryn pulled back on the
reins. In one fluid motion, she kicked her boots free of the
stirrups and slid down to the dusty road beside Val. Daemon stopped
at once, steady and still as a horse carved from obsidian—then
shattered that image as he snatched a mouthful of the short,
browning grass that grew in a damp ditch beside the road.
    Val stepped back, squinted up and down the
causeway from under one broad palm. They were alone. Behind them
stretched the road they had followed so long, a snake twisting
through farmland towards the forest he'd run through, misty in the
dim distance. Ahead were the walls of the town, gap toothed with
gates and towers. Even at this distance, he could tell that the
gates were not in the best of repair.
    Madryn took down the leather water bottle
that hung from the pommel, and downed a hearty gulp before offering
it to Val. He reached for it, his scarred hand brushing against her
long brown fingers.
    That instant of nearness, of touch, raced up
his arm and across his shoulders; it was almost a pain, as if he'd
laid his finger on a burning ember.
    Ridiculous. He drank down the warm
water in thirsty haste, feeling the blood that suffused his face,
raced through his body, and pounded in his veins. He tried to
ignore it, but he could almost hear the water hiss and sizzle as it
spilled across his burning face.
    This is becoming more