Nym is the last living nymph in the province of Galia, and Jay is out for her blood.
Her people have been hunted to near-extinction for the healing properties in their bodies. She’s supposed to be Jay’s solution to everything. Instead, Jay’s convictions war with his loyalties and he saves her from certain death, becoming a mercenary on the run in the process.
Nym knows she can’t trust him — she has the scars to prove it — but she has no other choice. Jay is her only option, and his only option is to return home from banishment, risking imprisonment and even death, if he wants to keep them both safe.
Nym is the last living nymph in the province of Galia, and Jay is out for her blood.
Her people have been hunted to near-extinction for the healing properties in their bodies. She’s supposed to be Jay’s solution to everything. Instead, Jay’s convictions war with his loyalties and he saves her from certain death, becoming a mercenary on the run in the process.
Nym knows she can’t trust him — she has the scars to prove it — but she has no other choice. Jay is her only option, and his only option is to return home from banishment, risking imprisonment and even death, if he wants to keep them both safe.
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.
Nym lives with her Master on a sheltered, isolated island in the province of Galia. He keeps her safe from the vile men who hunt her for her blood, which has healing properties and shields her from the world. She has no idea that she's the last Nymph in the province, and she has no idea that the Master only wants her so he can have her precious blood all to himself; until the day he tries to cut her heart out. Jay is in exile from his home of Ireece, after the Crown Prince outlawed Nymph Hunting. But he needs the blood of a Nymph so that his little sister can have some sort of life. When he saves Nym from the knife of her Master, is he only extending her life for an even worse death? Or will his conscience save her from the torture chamber of the Galian Nymph-Keeper?
With Roots of Blood, you're immediately pulled into the vivid world of Nym, her love of nature and all living things ensure she captures your heart. She may be naïve, but she's strong and pure of heart. Although she intensely dislikes Jay from the very start (with fairly good reason), again, he is a strangely likeable character. His inner warring within shows that he's not everything Nym believes him to be. From the off, Volkman has created two brilliantly complex and entirely opposite leading characters.
The world that the provinces Galia and Ireece inhabit are incredibly well built, with a rich history that as a reader, you seem to immediately understand. Volkman has, without dumping the entire backstory of the provinces on you within the first few chapters, ensured that you know enough to understand Jay's and Nym's motivations. Just enough is left unsaid for you to want to continue reading; and enough is revealed without leaving you questioning what has happened.
In all, a masterful fantasy novel.
S. A