Felling Kingdoms (Book 5) (4 page)

Chapter 5

The afternoon sun beat on Robyn’s back as she chased the coastline to her right.

Virgil rode a few strides ahead on I’aya. His tawny hair blew about his head. He wore tight riding gear that accentuated his lines: snug tan trousers, tall boots, a white lace-up shirt, and a light gray tunic stitched with his family crest of a blossoming branch crossed over a sword. He looked alive and free on his beautiful mount.

Robyn had forgotten how much she hated horses. She insisted on wearing leggings but settled for a long green tunic over her white blouse, belted in leather. She let Virgil ride ahead, hoping he would not notice her ineptitude with her dapple gray mare.

They rode for hours. Pausing now and again to survey the land while he told her stories of battles. Arconia had not always been peaceful, and ties were still tense with two provinces. He pointed out battlegrounds and retold their tales with exuberance.

“How much farther?” she called. At this rate they would
have
to stay on the estate or ride through the night.

He slowed his canter. “Just over the next hill.”

Minutes later a spire poked from the hill, slowly giving way to a slender mansion built on the Black Cliffs overlooking the western sea. Smoke rose from a chimney, and sheep milled about its grounds tended by a slender youth.

“They are expecting us,” he smiled and kicked the mare for a longer stride. Robyn had no choice but to keep up, clinging with her legs. It did not escape her notice that last time she rode a horse, she nearly drowned.

The soft beats of hooves on turf gave way to crunching pebbles as they slowed their canters into the welcoming arms of the mansion. Men in green and yellow livery rushed to take the reins while a plump man opened the great doors bowing to Virgil and Robyn.

“Your Highnesses, I hope you had a pleasant journey,” the man said in Arconia. Robyn understood most of it though her Arconian was rusty. “A late lunch will be served on the balcony. Shall I have rooms turned down?”

“No, I do not think we are staying, but it is up to the Queen.” Virgil looked to Robyn. She had not brought many supplies let alone clothing.

“We will not be staying.”

Virgil seemed pleased and gave the man a nod of approval. Offering Robyn his arm, he led her inside.

The mansion was dark and cool, fresh with the ocean breeze and new flowers. Virgil showed her around the main floor and led her straight outside onto a round veranda built over the cliff. The way it was built gave the illusion that she was suspended, and she gasped as the ocean spread out before her with no coast to hug. He pulled her without alarm and brought her to the edge with a grin.

“This mansion has stood for two hundred years, and it will not fall because a little thing like you steps on it.”

She peered out over the edge cautiously, listening to the waves crashing on the rocks beneath, and feeling the salt waft over her delicately. Virgil stepped away and returned with two slender glass goblets filled with cool pale wine.

“I love the ocean,” he whispered and sipped the dry drink. “The waves do not crash in Rabier like they do here.”

“You must have missed it while in Anatoly City.”

He turned to her. “Hardly. I had you.”

She blushed and averted her eyes. She knew he still wanted her for his own, and no manner of her disinterest would sway him. He probably read into every word and action she gave him. Blessedly, a servant arrived with a tray of steamed oysters and gave her mouth something to do other than speak.

Lunch followed in courses after that, forcing them to their seats. Robyn spoke of trade, commerce, and economics while Virgil parried with history, agriculture, and allegory. It was the most in-depth conversation she had with him yet, and she finished thinking she had underestimated his intelligence. Hours seemed to pass before he finally looked to the skies.

“If we want to make Rabier before midnight, we should ride soon.”

She finished her drink. “I am ready.”

He nodded admirably and signaled a servant at the door. “Have our horses saddled.” Virgil stood and offered his hand. “Are you sure you do not wish to stay. The mansion would be ours.”

She smiled through her cringe.
‘I led him on too long. I should have known.’
“No, I am ready to ride.”

He lifted her onto her horse as if she weighed nothing, and they headed out onto the main road. “How fast can you ride?”

“Not so fast after a meal like that. Take it easy for a bit.”

He nodded and took them into a smooth trot. Robyn did not know how to ask the horse for its paces, but it kept speed with I’aya and lengthened its jerking stride. Virgil took them at a gentle pace while keeping an eye on the skies, but he finally asked I’aya for a canter. Robyn kept pace as best as her steed could, letting the animal do what it wished, for she had little idea how to command it in Arconian.
‘Horses are dumb
.
’
It made her yearn for Gabriel.

Night fell as they rode, and her backside ached from the jarring. She tried to emulate Virgil in the perfect way he sat without rising from the saddle, but she realized she stared at his bottom and blushed.

“Almost a dead moon,” he remarked at the sliver of light above them. “We are a few hours out, but I do not want to chance a broken leg and push it too hard.”

“Very well,” Robyn agreed as they slowed to a trot. “Tell me more of your trade with Desuldane.”

He launched into an explanation of the kingdom’s fine wood and master carvers. She enjoyed listening to his deep voice in the quiet night more than anything. He had a faint accent, and every now and then pronounced a word differently or structured his sentences in Arconian style.

They walked a while, talking of anything from childhood memories, to palace life, until a flicker of light caught her attention. A fire blazed far off the road, but it was not from a village as she hoped. Virgil paid it no mind, kicking his feet from the stirrups to stretch his legs.

They came without warning.

A man suddenly jumped from the brush and grabbed Robyn’s reins. Her horse reeled, and Robyn almost lost her seat as she scrabbled with all limbs to stay on. Someone else grabbed I’aya who remained still until Virgil barked an order. She rose up on her hindquarters straight into the air, wrenching the man’s grip on the reins. With a shout more men appeared brandishing steel and torches, flooding the road and grabbing for Robyn and Virgil.

Robyn kicked her panicked horse, but the animal danced a circle and ran nowhere as two men fumbled for her. Someone grabbed the fabric of her tunic and jerked her from her mount. She fell into the arms of two men with a scream as the mare bolted.

Virgil stayed on I’aya slashing and cutting with his curved sword. Two men already lay beside the road in a heap as he drew his sword through the gut of a man with his back to Robyn. The man staggered to the side and fell on his stomach off the road. A man holding a torch waved it in the mare’s face, causing her to shy back, and someone jerked Virgil’s leg with both hands.

The mare sidestepped into the vagrant, and he fell back with a cry. Two more men grabbed Virgil from the other side, and he finally fell while the mare did all she could to keep him aloft.

“What do you want with this one?” one of them men holding Robyn asked a bearded man in a hooded tunic. The man looked at her with a leery smile that said one thing.

Virgil still fought, his white shirt red at the shoulder. He spun and thrust at a man with a sword. Someone raked at him from behind, and he rotated driving his hilt into the man’s neck. He moved so confidently, for a moment Robyn did not fear for her freedom.

Someone raised a sword to I’aya who was rearing and kicking. “Not the horse!” Virgil shouted in Arconian and threw his sword when the man did not react immediately. It clocked the man in the back of the head and sent him to the ground. Rushing to his sword, a man barreled into Virgil, throwing him to the ground. He rolled to a knee, but the man descended on him with a flashing knife, and Virgil let out a grunt.

Robyn, held between two men, swung a knee and drove it into the crotch of the one on her left so hard, she was sure his children would come out dizzy. He fell with a muffled scream, and she reached into her boot. Drawing out a slender blade, she slashed the man on her right.

“Not so fast,” the hooded ruffian said and grabbed a handful of her hair with one hand while disarming her with the other. He held her straight and turned to watch Virgil. He and the man still fought for the blade, but now he bled from his chest and cheek. Her heart raced with his.

The opponent suddenly cried out and fell to his side. Virgil stood, brandishing the knife and raising it against a new man. Robyn felt useless, all her combat training melted away. She was meant for long-distance fighting with archery, not this.

The man staggered away screaming with his hands on his face while Virgil stood victorious. The torchlight glowing behind him seemed to slow time as three men flanked Virgil at once. They tackled him to his back while Robyn yelled a protest.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a Prince?” the hooded man asked. “Fetch a price like his, will you?”

The men pulled Virgil to his feet. All three men held his arms held him while one gripped a handful of his hair. They pushed him towards the hooded man who raised a sword and pressed the tip against the inside of Virgil’s left hip.

“Prince,” the man smiled a gap-toothed grin. “What’s a man like you doing out here without an escort? There’s bad men out here. You should be more careful.” He slowly pushed on the sword.

“That is uncalled for,” Virgil snapped.

“Nonsense. Ladies always need a good wound to tend to.”

Virgil gasped as the sword broke cloth and skin, giving way like only flesh could.

“You got enough silver to ransom the two of you?”

“Let the lady go. Keep me.”

“I will certainly keep you. You’ve killed my men. But this one?” he rotated his hand in Robyn’s hair. “She will fetch a hefty price.”

“Take all I have and let her go.” He suppressed a cry as the blade drove deeper into his hip.

“Search his horse.”

One of the few men left standing went to the mare’s saddle bags and pulled out a purse of clanking coins. “Silver,” he called to the hooded man and hefted it. “Forty or so.”

“I am not sure that is enough, Princeling.”

Virgil gasped and clenched his eyes. The man twisted the blade.

Robyn took matters into her own hands and pulled back with all her strength, throwing herself to the ground. The hooded man’s sword broke free as he tumbled back and released her hair.

“RUN!” Virgil shouted. She jumped to her feet in time to see him break a hand free, and she tore into the night before anyone could grab her.

Chapter 6

Virgil put his hands on his hips and spat at the ground, breathing heavily and staring the hooded man down. “That was a bit much, Danyl.”

Danyl pulled his hood back and shrugged with a gap-toothed grin. “You wanted authentic.” Virgil knew Danyl since they were children. They trained together in the army before Danyl left for a more
lucrative
business. The sell-sword was loyal for the right price.

Virgil put a hand over his throbbing hip and drew slick blood away. “Not too deep.”

“I know the body’s limits. She’ll have to stitch it up, you know.”

Virgil grinned. “Oh, I am aware.”

“Hold still, she will need something to kiss,” Danyl grinned and raised his fist to Virgil’s face.

Virgil blocked the punch. “No, no. This was enough.” He stepped up to I’aya and calmed her. He pulled another three purses from his saddlebags. “For your troubles.”

Danyl took them up and swiped his fist over Virgil’s chest. He held a slender blade, and it cut a tight line across the center with a hot sear of fleeting pain. “Authentic.”

“Uncalled for.” Virgil winced grabbing his chest. The fallen men began to rise, all undamaged but for a few scrapes and bruises. “Who has my sword?”

Someone appeared with his
real
sword, and Virgil handed over the blunted one he had been using. He sheathed it in his saddle.

“Better catch her before she runs too far.”

Virgil took his time swinging into the saddle, feeling the hot blood seeping into his trousers and down his back. “Keep her horse. She can ride with me.”

“I bet she can.” Danyl sneered.

Virgil clasped the man’s arm. “Thank you, my friend.”

“I’ve never seen someone go to so much trouble over a dame. Go get your reward.”

“Clear out southward. I will skirt you from the east.”

“As my Prince commands,” Danyl mock bowed.

Virgil fished through his saddle bags and pulled out a small bag. “For your silence.” He tossed it to the sell-sword. Danyl opened it and grinned at the glimmering cut jewels within.

“We were never here.”

Virgil nodded and pressed his heels into the mare. She trotted, so he could slowly follow Robyn’s path. It did not matter how softly a person moved or how light they were, everyone left a trail he could follow.

He trailed her for twenty minutes, reading the torn leaves and compressed grasses. It led him to a section of protruding black monolithic stones large enough to hide a caravan of people. He walked it slowly, searching for signs of recently moved debris.

“Virgil!” he heard suddenly, and Robyn emerged from the shadows, her face painted with relief.

“You are alright,” he breathed and slowly dismounted, feeling the ache from the wounds he had taken. The sell-swords had blunt instruments with just the tips sharpened, but they still cut and bruised. She ran and embraced him tightly, but in search for comfort, judging by the way she looped her arms underneath his, so he could envelop her. He welcomed the embrace.

“They are gone. We are safe, but I cannot ride on this tonight,” he said as they broke apart.

“Stars!” she cursed and put a hand on his hip. The tan fabric washed in brown blood. “Let me start a fire.” She looped an arm around his waist and pulled him into a section of rocks protected on three sides. He watched her with amusement as she collected firewood and set the sticks just right.

“There is a flint in my saddlebags. Bring them here, I have other supplies.” He had prepared for just such an incident and packed a cloak, foodstuffs, and anything else he thought might be of use.

She clicked the fire to life and nursed it until it blazed. He had never seen a woman start her own fire before. By the light of the flames, she knelt beside him and gave him a sympathetic look. “You fought wonderfully,” she said and brushed dust from his shoulder. “Where were you wounded?”

He pointed to various areas as she rifled through the bags, pulling out cloth and leather flasks. She popped open one and sniffed it. The acrid smell of liquor filled the air. She set it against his leg and uncorking the second pouring into her hands.

“You better take your shirt off.”

He suppressed his amusement with soldier efficiency and unlaced the sides of the tunic. He feigned stiffness, so she helped pull them off him. She sat them behind him and pushed him to his back while her eyes contemplated the wound in his hip. It was only an inch or two wide, but Danyl had stuck muscle, and it bled terribly. He could see the reluctance in her compassionate face. Before she could impinge on his privacy, he unbuckled his belt and unlaced the front of his trousers. She gave him a thankful gaze as he pressed down the hem.

He did his best to keep his smile back, but one slipped into the curves of his face. Robyn gasped and smacked him before descending into fits of giggles. Fighting took different tolls on people. He chuckled with her.

She tugged down the hem of his trousers until the wound revealed itself.

“Have you stitched a wound before?” Virgil said looking down on her, “Or, have you ever stitched
anything
before?”

She gave him a sarcastic look. “I can cross-stitch, does that count?” She picked up the bottle of liquor and dabbed some on a cloth. “I spent two years with a man who could heal anything but himself. I’ve stitched more than one wound before.” She pressed the cloth to the slit, and he sucked a breath through his teeth. It burned right through him. “You bled a lot.”

She found needles and thread. Dipping them in the liquor and tying a knot in the end, she stopped to meet his eyes. He could no longer focus on the pain, rather he fixated on her hand touching his hip. “Ready?”

She perched her face over his hip and stitched, holding the wound closed with her free hand. He kept his discomfort to himself, watching her work and relishing her touch. His skin was on fire with something far greater than pain, and it did not help that the insides of his hipbones were terribly sensitive.

She hung up on his skin with the thread, and his muscles tensed as he winced. “Oh, sorry,” she exclaimed and dabbed the wound that instantly bled.

She worked quickly and closed the lesion, stemming the bleeding almost entirely. She patted it dry and blew on it. Virgil clenched the belt in his hand and swallowed the sensation. He thought very hard of burning buildings and mangles limbs,
anything
other than her. When she leaned down to sever the thread with her teeth, he almost lost his control. It took her
way
too long to cut it.

“Not so bad,” she said and straightened. She looked at the wound across his chest and traced it with a finger. “This will need a few stitches.” She repeated her techniques, her eyes running up and down his torso.

‘Stars, I hope you see something you like.’

“You’ve taken so many wounds,” she said softly, touching faint scars on his stomach.

“I am a soldier,” he replied as if stating water was wet.

“My brother never took wounds like this.”

“Your brother only fought against Shalaban twice. I fought them my whole life.”

She leaned over him and pierced the flesh. “How many battles have you been in?”

“More than I can count.”

She drew a stitch closed. “We will get you to a Spirit Mage as soon as we arrive tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, I wear all my scars proudly, and these will always remind me of you.”

She smiled in gratitude, and he swore she blushed under the firelight. It had not escaped his attention that she was able to summon the Head Mage. Either he had not come, or she did not try. With her dependence on him, he was certain she had. That put him at a huge advantage.

“Someone clocked your head,” she murmured as she tied off the edge of the stitch and leaned down to sever it.

He reached up and felt a spot that throbbed. Robyn grabbed his hand and put it back, clutching his head and angling it in the firelight. Holding it in one hand, she dabbed it with the cloth. He met her eyes for a moment of breath-holding tension, but he averted first, hoping she would think him a gentleman.

He had a long scratch on his left shoulder and several other welts on his forearms where he had blocked the blunted knives. She carefully cleaned each one with the expertise of a woman who had done it before. Virgil envied Gabriel. He wanted to know how the man had taken wounds that needed stitching, especially since the man controlled most things, but he dared not bring the Head Mage to the forefront of her mind. That was where
he
was supposed to be now.

“Roll over, watch the hip.” She had wisely left it uncovered. He pushed himself over to reveal the cut that ran from one shoulder blade to the other. He could feel bruises and welts forming. “Not too bad. It won’t need a stitch.” She took her time washing the dirt from it. All he could think of were her hands on his skin, even where it ached.

“All done,” she said, and he rolled to his back, leaning back to stare at the stars overhead.

“Will I live?” he asked.

“Probably not.”

He grinned. “Well, it has been a pleasure.”

She chuckled and rose to add fuel to the fire. “Thank you for fighting so hard.” She returned to her seat beside him and braced herself on an arm.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “I could not let them take you. You were not wounded, were you?”

She rubbed the inside of a thigh. “They pulled me off the saddle pretty hard.”

He frowned. They were supposed to be forceful but gentle with her. “I wish I had ice for you.”

She uncorked the flask of alcohol and took a swig. It screwed her face as it went down, and she handed it to him. “I feel better already.”

He swished the flask and wished he brought more. “You are not like other women.”

She sighed and gave him a sympathetic smile.
‘Do not push her.’

“You light fires, stitch wounds, sip the hard stuff,” he shook the flask, and she took it up. “What else do you do I am not aware of?”

“Hunt, skin, cook,” she sipped the drink.

“You? Cook?”

“I make a mean stew,” she grinned and handed him the flask. “You should finish it.”

He obliged. “Can you untack I’aya? She will not wander off.” She nodded and went to the horse munching methodically around her bit. “Bring the saddle blanket with you.”

The air was chill against his exposed skin, but he ignored it. Robyn pulled his cloak out of the bag and laid it beside him. She brought him the blanket, and he put it by his head.

Robyn raised a brow.

“I am a gentleman, Robyn.”

She stepped over him to his unwounded hip and eyed the makeshift bed. “I’m more concerned of you freezing.”

“I will be fine.”

She knelt down and laid beside him, putting her head back on the blanket. “We should have picked a better spot than a rock shelf.”

He chuckled and sat up, wincing as the stitches in his hip pulled, and wrapped the cloak around her. “It is not so bad.”

She reached a hand over his chest and draped the cloak around him as far as it would go, scooching closer to push it farther. “Please wake me if you get too cold.”

He stared between his boots at the fire. With that source of heat and her beside him boiling his blood, being too cold was the least of his concerns.

“Sleep well,” he whispered. “Thank you for mending me.”

“Of course,” she replied and turned her head away, closing her eyes.

He had spent countless hours sleeping on battlefields to know how to fall asleep quickly and wake at the right time. He let himself drift, waking a few hours later to a smoldering fire. Robyn had rolled to her side into him. With expert precision, he slipped his arm under her head, tucking her into him. Her hand clutched in the cloak was cold, but his body was warm. As he lay relishing her beside him, her hand released and laid flat on his chest.
‘Stars, I could die now and be happy.’

Nolen threw his shirt on and tucked it in. “You can go,” he said to the woman in his bed who looked less than thrilled to be there. She quickly raised herself and slipped out quietly without a second glance. The women in Atrox Manor were broken creatures. He preferred a woman with spunk and fight, but Maxine had been taking her aggressions out on fair-haired Gaelsins lately.

He pulled on boots and a buttoned a vest, winding his way out to the great room. He summoned a servant for a mug of ale and a platter of cheese. Pike occupied the great room as usual. He sat fiddling with a dozen things on a table by the window, constantly running white and green patterns through them.

Today a young woman in a pale blue dress sat before him looking terrified, her fingers twined in her lap. Nolen took a seat to watch as Pike held out a tiny ball of gray material to her.

“Swallow this,” he commanded with a steely gaze. Nolen could never quite figure Pike out. Sometimes the man was terribly gentle and considerate, but he could switch in a blink to be as fierce as a wounded hound.