No Reprieve Read Online Free

trust Prokief’s word or Ejnar’s magic to assure his survival. The cold, not his wounds, was the biggest threat. He resolved to keep moving as long as he could.
    Blaine struggled to his feet and forced himself to pace the oubliette, then reverse course and pace again. He rested, leaning against the icy wall, and traced the path once more. The pit was cold, dark, and silent except for the scrape of his boots against the ice. Blaine felt jumpy, as if energy tingled through the darkness and the ice, catching him in its flow . Just my imagination, he thought. But he had heard whispered rumors, back in the barracks, that magic coursed beneath Edgeland’s snow and rock, out through the bay to Estendall, the volcano that sometimes rumbled and sent plumes of steam into the cold air. Rivers of magic flowed through certain places, some of the hedge witches said, things they called ‘meridians.’ Legends and wives’ tales, Blaine thought. But in the darkness, he wondered.
    Most people in Donderath had at least a flicker of small magic, and they used their talent for everyday tasks—healing a sick cow, making crops grow faster, finding out where to drill a well. Blaine found his own talent of limited usefulness. In a fight, he had a second of forewarning of where his opponent would strike, sensed even earlier than signaled by the movements or expression of the other fighter. It was a secret Blaine had long guarded, since it gave him his only edge against his father. Here, it had enabled him to best other convicts who had tried to put him in his place. But against the ice and cold, it was useless.
    As he remained alone in the darkness, memories returned, vivid and unavoidable. For the first time since the awful days aboard the convict ship, he let himself think about Carensa. The anguish in her eyes when King Merrill passed sentence had been almost too much for Blaine to bear. He remembered the touch of her skin and the scent of her hair, and her last, desperate visit to him when he awaited exile in the dungeon. Despite his pleas, she had been there on the dock when the Cutlass sailed from Castle Reach, a silent witness. We would have married just a few months from now , he thought. If I hadn’t ruined everything.
    To stay awake, and to blunt the pain of his injuries, Blaine counted his steps as he walked. Even so, his mind wandered. He thought about Glenreith, and realized that the only truly happy times he could remember were when Ian McFadden was gone at court, sometimes for months. Only then had Blaine and the rest of the family been certain that they would not bear the brunt of one of Ian’s rages. A few golden moments were crystalized in memory. His mother Liana, before the awful night Ian’s temper had taken her life. Carr, his brother, when he was young enough to escape Ian’s fists, when Blaine had been able to draw off Ian’s anger and protect Carr and their sister, Mari. It had been worth every bruise to see them safe. Then Blaine had grown too tall and strong for Ian to beat, and he had turned his attention to the others. Blaine had not always been able to protect them. Carr turned sullen and angry. Mari grew quiet and hid. When Blaine finally discovered why Mari tried so intently to vanish from her father’s gaze, when the depths of Ian’s debauchery had finally been exposed, Blaine had taken the matter into his own hands and run Ian through.
    Five hundred steps. Walking keeps me warm, but eventually I’ll tire. No food to replenish my energy. Sooner or later, exhaustion and cold will overwhelm even the pain. And then it will be over.
    It was cold enough that the blood on his back froze to his shirt. Every movement ripped his shirt free from the ice-scabbed lacerations. Fever melted the ice, and blood trickled down his back, only to repeat the cycle again and again. For now, Blaine welcomed the pain. It proved he was still alive. When it dulled, his life dimmed with it. He focused on the pain like a