Free Blood Curse (Branded Trilogy Book 2) by Kat Flannery Page A

night breeze carried the stale scent toward Pril.
    “He is not here.”
    “Where is he?”
    The other woman shrugged.
    “Tell me where he is, Magda.”
    “Why should I?”
    “Because I ask it of you.” She stepped toward her. “Please, I beg you.”
    “Pril, sister to the mighty Vadoma, begs?”
    She glanced around them, mindful of the others.
    “You have kept this secret far too long,” Magda said.
    “Vadoma is passed. I am not what she was.”
    “You are worse.”
    “Please, Magda, this is important.”
    “Important you say? Well, dear sister, isn’t that a horrible dilemma? Vadoma would’ve admitted her wrongdoings. She would’ve dared us to judge her. But you have not come to my vardo since the death of my only child to offer condolences.” She choked up, her voice wavering. “To offer your love. Instead you stayed away. You fooled our clan into pitying you. Poor Pril. You never cared about our dear Alexandra. All you cared about was Tsura.”
    “No, that is not true. Oh, I feel horrible.” She blinked the wetness from her lashes. “I cannot sleep for the anguish I have caused you and Milosh. I am sorry…so very, very sorry.”
    The edges of Magda’s eyes softened for a brief moment before contempt, betrayal, and pure raw hatred filled the black depths. “Sorry you will be, Sister .” She smiled and let the curtain fall between them.
    Pril knew without a doubt that Milosh had taken Tsura. The Renoldis had come in hopes of finding her daughter, but Milosh had already vanished with her. What did Milosh want to accomplish by having the Renoldis attack their camp, especially with his wife still here? Something was amiss. Milosh adored Magda. Why hadn’t she gone with him? An uneasy feeling settled at the back of her neck, and the urgent need to find her daughter grabbed hold of her soul and squeezed.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Kade was tired. He’d worked for hours helping the Peddlers clean up their camp, and he didn’t think he could stay awake much longer. He kicked at a mug covered in soot; the tin clinked as it knocked into a cracked jar of honey. He’d picked up unbroken ornaments, jars and dishes stacking them into a pile most of the night.
    Once Galius had been mended the clan went about picking up the wreckage and building shelter for those who’d lost their wagons. They hadn’t begun to build anything yet. Charred wood, arrows, clothing and buckets still littered the ground.
    The sun crested the east hills giving light to the once ashen land. The warmth from the sun’s rays pushed out the shadows and cold the night had brought. He shivered into the woolen sweater he’d been given to keep warm. It’d been a long night, and he hadn’t slept in more than two days. His mood was sour, and he was famished.
    His last meal was yesterday while locked in the wagon. The gypsy girl had given him some sort of root soup with bread. He’d been so hungry he hadn’t thought, much less cared, if there was any drug or poison within the delicious fare. After he’d eaten the soup, he could not keep his eyes open and fell asleep. The fact that he was poisoned did not sit too well with him.
    He brushed away a long lock of hair that clung to his whiskers. He’d lost the rope he used to tie back the wild mane. He didn’t like wearing it down. The hair got in the way, but he wasn’t about to cut it either. The mane was a symbol of what he’d become—what he’d worked hard to achieve. He thought of his father, Samuel Walker. The tall, brawny, rough around the edges captain had taught him everything he knew about the sea. He’d shown Kade the business of a merchant, taught him how to fight and most importantly to never trust anyone.
    He smiled. The old man had gotten him into a few tussles over the years too, but he always came out the victor. He wondered if Sam’s motives were deliberate, and the gleam in his eye when Kade finished a fight told him so. Old Sam was a codger. An educated man with a giving