Roots of Blood: The Nymph Keepers, #1

Elise Volkman

Roots of Blood

Book I of the Nymph Keepers

First published by MME Publishing 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Elise Volkman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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First edition

ISBN: 978-1-77-771440-6

Cover art by Maja Hampson

Proofreading by Jonathan Oliver

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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e, you let me believe in myself;

this one’s for you

Contents

1. The Master’s Will

2. Nymph Hunter

3. We’re Not Alone

4. Robbing the Robber

5. The Butcher

6. Traitor

7. Eye of the Beholder

8. Lesser Evils

9. Told You So

10. The Cat’s Away

11. Mice

12. Prison Break

13. Going Home

14. Aleah

15. A Name

16. Hide

17. Leaving Town

18. The Mountain Pass

19. Selfish

20. Forest

21. Being Human

22. Aleah’s Negligence

23. Blueberry Scones

24. She Knows

25. A Royal Welcome

26. Conspiracy to Trust

27. Disillusioned

28. A Fair Fight

29. Free

30. Second Chance

31. Back in the Dark

32. Winter Tracks

33. Mountain Kin

34. An Unlikely Ally

35. Revenge

36. Give Me a Chance

37. Save Jay

38. Another Exile

39. It’s Only Right

40. Friends

41. Edwin’s Usefulness

42. The Prayer

43. The Better Man

44. Welcoming Committee

45. Lord Faell

46. The Servant

47. One More Act of Disobedience

48. It’ll All Turn Out

49. Silic’s Plan

50. Miscalculations

51. Graphology

52. The Prince’s Patience

53. Change of Plans

54. Unwavering Loyalty

55. Prove It

56. Hellfire

57. The Spark

58. A Likely Story

59. Two Out of Three

60. Death Sentence

61. An Opportunity

62. King’s Knight

63. Forestborn

Acknowledgements

Heart of the Forest

The Captain

About the Author

1

The Master’s Will

Blood dripped down the nymph’s hand. She sucked it away and held out her thumb to watch. The cut scabbed over, scarred, and then vanished. She’d dropped the knife she was cleaning when it cut her. As she reached into the river for it, she watched the red stain of her blood swirl away.

The Master’s voice hissed in her mind. Wasteful.

She shook her head. Wiped the knife dry on her grey, dirt-stained skirt. The arms of a willow tree cascaded down around her like waterfalls, its leaves drifting over the surface of the river like fingertips. The hanging vines parted like curtains in a breeze, rustling with the forest’s whispered secrets, giving the nymph a clear view of the opposite bank.

She leapt to her feet with a strangled gasp and clutched the knife to her chest. River water dripped down the front of her dress. She didn’t notice. There was a face in the trees on the other side, staring back at her.

She swallowed. Her throat felt dry, and she held her breath. She’d never seen anyone so up close before. Despite the Master’s warning echoing in her head to stay out of sight, she stared back.

He had dark hair and broad shoulders. He looked strong as he knelt down among the tall grasses and leaned in, as if to get a closer look.

The willow vines drifted shut, separating the nymph from the spell. As though she’d come back into her own body from far away, she noticed her limbs had started to shiver. To shake. She’d broken the Master’s second rule by letting herself be seen. She would have to tell him. He might punish her, but he had to know. She couldn’t break another rule. There were only three.

She turned and ran, heading deep into the trees. Her long, brown curls bounced against her back. The forest floor clung between her damp toes. She reached their small house, breathing even, steady breaths, though her body still shook. The house was little more than a collection of wooden boards held together by a thick, muddy paste. It was just tall enough to feel the sun, and just low enough to hide below the forest’s branches.

She stepped through the open doorway, stopping just inside to call birdsong back to the trees. A beam of sunlight warmed the backs of her legs. The stranger might not have seen her. He was far away on the other bank. She could keep it a secret and see.

A cough hacked through the curtain at the back of the room. She perked at the sound like a deer. She didn’t want to imagine the coughing fit that must have sent Master back into that dark corner on such a perfect day.

Nym? His groggy, strained voice called to her, muffled by the curtain. He was struggling to breathe more and more. Nym…

His voice was weak. She couldn’t lie to him. Not today. She was calm, but concern threatened to rise up her throat and choke her with tears.

Master didn’t take kindly to tears.

She drifted across the room and through the curtain, barely brushing the fabric with her fingers. A balding, frail old man lay on a mattress of straw and grass, under blankets of animal hide. He latched onto her with whitening eyes and raised a bony hand to beckon her closer.

Nym quickly knelt at the Master’s side. She was still holding the knife. She set it by his pillow and took his hand in both of hers.

You always come when I call, he rasped. She placed a kiss on his knuckles, her forehead knotted in a frown. I have…a request. The smell of his breath was sour. He struggled to force the words from his mouth, as though they were trapped somewhere between his throat and his lips. He had to use deep, strangled breaths to coax them out. The sound of his pain made her chest hurt.

He had never told her what to do if he died.

Anything for you, she whispered, her forehead pinching as she fought her rising tears.

He nodded his balding head, closing misty eyes and jerking his narrow chin up and down. Each movement looked painful.

Sit here. He gasped for air as he patted the bed beside him with his bony, shriveled hand. I want to get … one last look at you … my dear Nym.

She sat on the bed. He held onto one of her hands and locked gazes with her. His eyes seemed to swallow her in their blindness. She shivered. His other hand reached for her cheek with cold and calloused fingers. His breaths were rapid and shallow. He’d pulled the leather cord around his neck out from under his grey tunic, damp with sweat, and at the end of the cord was an orange pouch. It rested against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths.

Nym— He dropped his hand to his chest and then reached for the small, jagged hunting knife she’d placed by his head. He pressed it back into her hand. My dear Nym … one last thing.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his gaunt face.

Your heart … now. The words seemed to rip through his throat with another cough.

She couldn’t have heard him right. Did he know what he was asking? He wanted her heart? Her lips parted. She took a breath to ask him what he meant.

Any longer and it will be too late! Quickly! A gasp rattled in his chest. Your heart, Nym! One last service to your Master! His features were wild and desperate, like an animal caught in one of his traps.

He grabbed the knife and stabbed it deep into her flesh between her right hip and her ribcage. Nym’s breath left her in a cough. Master spluttered and fell back, breathless. His eyes were a wide, soulless gaze.

Nym pulled the knife from her flesh with a small cry. How could he do this? After everything he had said, how could he?

Blood stained through the front of her tunic. The smell of copper stung her nose. She pressed both hands to her wound and staggered away from the bed, blinking tears from her eyes. The crimson stain seeped between her fingers and dripped down her hands.

She shuddered. It hurt to breathe — to move. She made it to the other room and collapsed against the tabletop. A cloth hung on the back of the chair, just out of reach. She surrendered a moan to the air. After all he’d done to keep her safe, how could he do this?

A figure stepped into the doorway, dressed in dark clothes and dripping river water. His appearance made Nym jump. Her side flared with pain. He watched her from the other side of the small table and a pair of rickety chairs. She couldn’t make out his face, but he was tall. Broad shouldered.

She inched her way around the table, choking on a cry. He took a step inside just as she grabbed one of the chairs. She planted her feet and swung the chair at him with a yell — for effort, for courage, but mostly for the piercing pain in her side. The old chair shattered against the stranger. He hardly seemed to notice. He stepped towards her. She swung the last piece of the chair at him. His fingers found her bleeding wound and dug in. She screamed, writhing from the agony. She fell. She clawed, kicked at him, trying to cause him pain. Her movements felt so slow. Her vision was blurry.

He pinned her against his chest and she choked on her cries. He didn’t release her — he barely even moved. Her heart pounded in her ears and the strain of it made it harder and harder to breathe.

Sight, sound, smell — everything vanished, in a single blink, to black.

2

Nymph Hunter

Jay dumped the nymph’s body at the base of a tree. He raised his arms above his head and stretched out the kinks in his back. She was willowy thin and no great weight to him, but he’d been carrying her for almost two days. He stepped away from her, as far as the rope tying them together would allow, and relieved himself in the nearby bushes.

What a wretched creature. She’d tried to disappear into the abandoned parts of the province, but he’d found her — as was his right. He didn’t even have to test her to see if she was a real nymph. The old dead man in the hovel had saved him the trouble. All that remained of the damage was the blood staining her dress and a gash in the fabric. Her body had already healed. He’d checked, twice, to be sure.

He did up his belt and sniffed, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. He knew the evening would be cool under the trees and near the marshes, but under his heavy cloak and black fighting-leathers he was losing half his weight in sweat. And there was still half a day’s walk before he reached the outpost where he’d tied his horse.

He swatted aside a buzzing mayfly and knelt before the nymph. She was pale, maybe still recovering from the loss of blood. When he reached out to pick her up again, she stirred — twitched, like a bitch in a fever dream — and then shuddered and jerked away from his touch. Her vivid green eyes snapped open. He’d never seen eyes so green before.

She sucked a breath in through her nose. Her lips trembled and the rest of her soon followed. She was so terrified he almost started to laugh. A stab wound to her crucial organs didn’t kill her, but the mere sight of him had her petrified.

You gonna walk now, or do I have to knock you out again? he said.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Wh—where am I? When she noticed the rope tying her wrists together she flinched. Where is Master?

A laugh finally forced its way through Jay’s lips. "The old dead man? You call him Master? This really was too good to be true. Jay slumped back onto his haunches on the forest floor and scoffed at her. He tried to kill you!"

Somehow, she seemed to go still. The blood drained from her already sallow face. You … you left him to die?

Her voice was small and fragile like a bird. He almost wanted to crush it out of her. He couldn’t have heard her right. The old bat had tried to kill her, and she was afraid for him?

Pathetic.

Shouldn’t you be thanking me? he growled. This was worse than dealing with his sister when she was in a mood. She was petulant and whiny, but not skewed like this. This creature was wrong in so many ways.

Thanking you for what?

Jay stood before he could grab her arms and shake some sense into her. Rattling her brain might do more harm to an already damaged mind.

He tried to kill you, he reminded her, as though she could have forgotten. He stared at the gash in her dress until she looked down at herself. Stabbed you with a knife. Besides, he was already dead when I got there. Now move. You’re wasting daylight.

He grabbed the rope that tied them together and yanked the creature towards him, away from the tree. Her eyes widened in pain. She scrambled closer to avoid the bite of the rope and then crawled to her feet. Their toes almost touched. He could smell the fading dampness of river water on her, and the faint scent of earth and herbs. Her hair was a matted tangle of knots and leaves. Her dress, little more than a rag full of stains, smears, and holes. Jay towered over her by a full head. She was the same height as his sister and equally as thin.

He shook his head, dismissing the comparison. This creature might look just as human as Aleah, but nymphs were little more than animals, caring for nothing but their own survival. They hoarded healing power — the very healing power his sister needed to be well.

Finally, he would be the one to bring it to her, just like he’d promised.

3

We’re Not Alone

Nym found she could keep up with the strange, horrible man once she exhausted her efforts of resisting him. She’d tried to cut the rope off with the sharp edge of a rock. The rock may as well have been dull. And when the man saw what she was doing and lurched towards her, she thought he’d bludgeon her with it. There was darkness — a heat of anger — in his eyes. It reminded her of the Master’s most damaging rages.

The man only took the rock and hurled it away from her. Then he marched on again. Southward.

She tripped after him, struggling against sobs that choked her throat, until she grew used to his pace. She wouldn’t let herself cry anymore, no matter how much her eyes burned and her throat hurt. She would only be more hurt if she cried.

She trudged after the man, step by step, over the soft forest floor. He brushed at bugs flying around his ears and eyes. They were near water — a river or a stream somewhere. Master had taught her how the damp drew insects and insects drew bats. She searched the dark spaces between the trees for the rapid flap of wings.

The man said Master was dead. She didn’t want to believe him, but she knew he was right. She’d seen Master’s face after he tried … after he did the unthinkable. Unseeing, milky-white eyes; breath frozen in his rattly throat. But she still couldn’t bring herself to believe that he was really gone. If he was, she had nothing to go back to.

Her feet sank deep into the ground and she almost fell. She looked down to find herself up to her ankles in a thick forest swamp. She looked at the stranger. They were both soaked past their knees in mire, and every step forward took double the effort, but he didn’t look back. He pressed on and she had no choice but to follow.

Halfway to the opposite shore, he stopped and tugged on the rope. Nym stumbled. Her feet sloshed and sank in the bog. She opened her mouth to protest, but he slapped his hand over her lips and shot her a steely glare in the fading light. His fingers smelled of metal. His dark eyes shouted at her with unspoken words: Quiet. Danger. Keep close.

The leaves rustled out of rhythm — so quiet, so brief, like a whisper — and the slow crack of a twig snapped through the air. He clutched Nym’s jaw between his fingers, his grip tight enough to hurt. She didn’t dare move lest her feet disturb the water. Something — someone — was out there. And not far off.

He warned her with his stare to hold her tongue. Pulled his hand away. Lowered it to his side.

Something burst out from the bushes not far from them. A man — shorter than her captor, but broader, too. Before he could reach them, Nym’s captor grabbed her by the back of her head and threw her face-first to the ground.

The swampy, water-logged, mulch-filled ground.

She struggled her way up out of the bog, spluttering and coughing bile and mud. The rope burned the skin at her wrists. She struggled to find a way to her knees, then her feet, up from the marsh so that she could breathe. Other feet and bodies sloshed water and mud on her from all sides and the rope snapped her back and forth with no warning.

Down! The command came from the only voice she now knew. She obeyed.

Spluttering. Coughing. Sloshing. A wild howl of pain, followed by a heavy splash. Nym floundered, trying to right herself. A hand gripped her forearm and dragged her to her feet, ushering her forwards before she could understand what was happening.

Run! The man had her still. Was that relief she felt?

They splashed to shore. His grip threatened to rip her arm from her shoulder. Her feet flailed in an effort to keep up with him. She could make out nothing but shadows and dark obstacles that could be trees or something more sinister. She hacked water from her lungs, drowning as she ran, soaked from head to toe. Tree branches and leaves lashed at her face and arms. Roots crawled up to trip her and branches clawed at her back.

What—?

He shushed her and dragged her on. She could hardly breathe from the exertion, and she kept falling behind until the snap of the rope would drag her on with the threat of snapping her wrists. Then he stopped. She almost ran into him, before he grabbed her again. She had no time to think of resisting. He swung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, held her down with an arm, and fled through the trees from the sounds of pursuit.

4

Robbing the Robber

Jay’s horse was gone.

He’d left it at the outpost with a stiff promise and a solid bribe for the guard, but he couldn’t see it anywhere from the shelter of the trees where he hid with the nymph.

It wouldn’t do for the guard to see her. He might decide to make things difficult, bribe or not. But apparently it didn’t matter. Either the bribe wasn’t enough, or the guard got bored, or lazy. Maybe the horse ran off. Jay didn’t have time to deliberate the details. They needed to move before the other mercenaries caught up with them.

He waved the nymph forward. They’d go around the outpost in the glade and continue on foot. One good thing about hauling the nymph around was that she was silent. He didn’t have to tell her to shut up all the time, like Aleah. His sister could talk forever if you let her.

He heard something that sounded strangely like a horse’s nicker and stopped. The nymph almost walked into him. He heard her pull in a breath to demand something, but when he held up his hand she obeyed the order for silence.

The trough under the outpost stilts was bone-dry. There wasn’t even a lead-rope to indicate where his horse used to be. But he’d heard something. He was sure of it.

There was a small square of crooked boards held together like a hut at the far side of the clearing. Jay crouched down and skirted through the trees towards it, keeping the outpost and its lookout windows to his right. He rested his calloused palm on the hilt his sword. Even if he was stealing back what was rightfully his, there could be trouble. He wasn’t about to let his hard work just walk away from him on the legs of some lowly outpost lookout.

He glided across the ground, avoiding dry leaves and twigs, glancing over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure the nymph was still there. He was lucky she was so thin and weak. She could have snuck up on him at any time, she was so silent. But she wouldn’t have the strength to take him out even if she worked up the courage to try.

He walked until the wooden hut was between them and the outpost tower. The crooked boards of the hut were far enough apart that Jay could see between them. He would have bet his own head that he saw a coat of fur twitching and moving on the other side. Jay drew his sword slowly from its sheath, trying to keep the metallic ring quiet. The nymph stumbled back, crunching a leaf with her heel — the first sound she’d made since the ambush. Her too-green eyes watched the blade with sickened fascination.

Jay stepped towards the hut and used the blade to pry a few of the upper boards loose. He quickly confirmed his suspicions, only it wasn’t his horse behind the wall. There were three rounceys locked up inside, all thin and built for speed: one with a sand-coloured coat, a chestnut-brown, and a sleek black thing that looked like it might like to bite Jay’s head off if he got too close. It was gnawing at the middle hinge of the closed door on the other side of the hut.

Saddles and leather bridles lay in one corner of the room. A pile of hay lay in the other. Not for the first time since coming to this backcountry province, Jay thanked Darkwater for his training. He sheathed his sword and clambered over the lowest boards, dragging the nymph inside behind him.

He soothed the sand-coloured steed nearest to him with a low murmur and gentle stroke of its neck. It seemed the friendliest of the three. When he thought it was calm enough, Jay grabbed a bridle from the corner. The animal let him fit it over its nose, and he lifted the nymph onto its back without any trouble. She glared at him but still said nothing, seeming more nervous about the animal than anything else.

Jay used the wall to boost himself up onto the horse’s back behind the nymph. He took command of the animal beneath them with his legs. He grabbed the reins and dug his heels into the beast’s sides.

The nymph flinched. The horse leapt through the gap in the boards, catching its left shoulder on a loose one and ripping through it with a snort. It would have been enough for Jay to ride off into the trees with this one small victory, but his new horse must have startled the other two. They both bolted after them, darting through the trees faster than Jay could push his own mount. A low chuckle bubbled up from his throat, and before he could stop himself, he was laughing like a madman.

A holler followed them from the outpost tower, but he may as well have robbed the guard blind. How nice it was for a plan to finally come together.

5

The Butcher

Before this madman found her, Nym had only ever broken one of Master’s rules on purpose. The first rule: always tell him everything.

She’d ridden a deer and hadn’t told him. Animals seemed to be drawn to her, somehow. Especially when Master wasn’t around. The deer had approached her when she was near the river alone. It was the only thing she had ever kept from Master. He would