The Bloodbound (26 page)

A
lix knocked on the heavy wooden door, her gaze drifting absently over its elegant carved panels. It felt strange to be in a castle again, after so many weeks on the road. It felt stranger still to be in the royal palace, and strangest of all to be knocking on the door of a prince who had once been her lover.

A prince.
The irony of it was almost too bitter to bear. Liam, a nameless bastard all his life, finally had a name, and it was
White
. He could choose any bride he wanted, any position at court, any grand estate. Everything that had once made Liam an impossible prospect for her had changed. His birth, her duty, the long miles between the Blacklands and the Greenlands . . . None of it stood between them anymore. And it was too late.

The door swung open to reveal Liam, looking surprised—and surprisingly frilly.

“What are you wearing?” The words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

He scowled. “Yes, thanks for noticing. Because what I really needed was someone pointing out how ridiculous I look.” He was dressed in a silk shirt and soft leather breeches, with a red velvet vest elaborately embroidered in blue and gold thread. Alix wouldn't have batted an eye to see Rig or Erik in such garb, but Liam looked so miserable that she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Very princely,” she said.

“That's just great, Allie.” He stood aside for her to enter. “You really know how to make a fellow feel comfortable.”

“It's fetching.”

“No, no. Too late for that. It's already settled—I look like a cockerel.”

She laughed. “You do not.”

“A velvet pincushion, then. Or a particularly handsome bit of upholstery.”

“You can't be in armour all the time.”

“Why not? Women love armour. It's dashing and dangerous. The only thing dangerous about this outfit is that I might be mistaken for a traveling acrobat, and that can only end badly.”

“Women love princes too.”

“Do they? I'll have to remember that.”

“Anyway, it can't be that bad. You're smiling.”

“Only because your laugh is contagious. Stop it at once.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

He made a face. “I should have seen that coming. Did you come here to torment me, or is there something I can do for you?”

Alix's smile faded. She did indeed have a purpose, and not one she relished. But there was no help for it; she'd put it off long enough. “I thought I should give this back to you,” she said.

Liam gave her a quizzical look. “Oh,” he said when she dropped the ring in his hand. “Right.”

“I should have given it back a long time ago. I'm sorry.”

He nodded, his gaze on the golden twist of ivy in his hand. Silence settled between them.

Alix cleared her throat. “Do you still have the chain?”
Gods, what a stupid question.

He didn't seem to hear. He toyed with the ring, lost in his own thoughts. “So,” he said eventually, “when will you be married?”

She winced. “I'm not sure. I mean, it's not even decided. It was Highmount's idea, and I don't really know what Erik wants to do.”
I guess I'll find out tonight
, she realised with a flutter of nervousness. Erik had been avoiding the issue, but putting it off any longer would squander the political advantage. He needed to decide before the parley.

Liam started to say something, thought better of it. He slipped the ring into his pocket.

“Liam . . .”

“It's all right, Allie,” he said quietly. “It's not your fault.”

To her horror, her eyes started to fill. She turned away, feigning interest in the sumptuous interior of his apartments. The sitting room alone was three times the size of her own bedchamber, every inch of it trimmed in velvets and satins and rich, dark wood. The accent pieces were all in crimson—Harrami tribal masks studded with beads, coral figurines carved in the shapes of fantastic beasts, even a collection of lacquered ceramics from ancient Alawar. “They certainly didn't waste any time turning you into a prince, did they?”

“No.”

“You don't sound very excited about it.”

“I don't know. There was a time when I thought I wanted all this, but now . . .”

“What's changed?”

She turned to find him looking at her with a resigned expression. It was the only answer she got.

“I'd better go,” she said. “I need to work out the security arrangements for the oratorium. That room is a nightmare. Too many ways in and out.”

“You'll manage. You always do.”

“If I don't see you before the parley . . . Good luck.” She hesitated, wondering if she should hug him. He made the choice for her, pulling her close and putting his arms around her. The relief that washed through her was chased with heat, like a sip of warm wine. He was so close, and she fit so neatly against him . . . She thought of the last time they'd embraced without armour between them, and a flush crept over her.

She pulled away before she forgot herself. “See you later,” she said, her voice thick in her throat.

As she closed the door behind her, Alix let out a long breath, her thumb brushing the empty space where Liam's ring had been. She'd almost come undone with him—again. She understood why he avoided her. Things between them were still too raw. It wasn't fair to keep coming back to him like this. He was trying to move on, and she needed to let him.

She made a vow then. If she and Erik didn't marry, she would find somewhere else to be, someplace far enough away that Liam could heal in peace, and Erik could find someone worthy of his affections. It would tear her heart out, but she owed them that much at least.
When all this is done, I'll disappear, and Erik and Liam can learn to be brothers.

Assuming any of them lived that long.

*   *   *

Erik paused outside
Liam's door. He hadn't spoken to his brother since yesterday, a conversation that had not gone well. He had no desire to repeat the tone of that exchange, and if he could have, he would have given Liam more time before broaching the subject again. But time was a luxury they did not have, so Erik knocked.

“Come in.”

Gesturing for his guards to remain outside, Erik entered. Liam was seated at a small writing desk near the window, his head bowed in thought. When he saw who entered, he started to rise, but Erik waved a hand and dropped into a chair. “You don't have to do that. In fact, you should probably get out of the habit. It will look a little strange if the prince leaps to his feet every time a lord enters the room.”

Liam nodded, slumping back into his seat. “It'll take some getting used to.” As he spoke, he flicked a small gold coin between his thumb and forefinger, sending it spinning across the surface of the desk.

“I wanted to discuss our plans for the parley. There are some things you should know.”

“All right.” Liam didn't look up.

He's angry with me again.
Or was it still? Perhaps he had been angry all along. Erik sighed and pressed on. “I presume you have questions as well.”

Liam didn't reply; he was too busy watching the bit of spinning gold. As it slowed, Erik realised that it was not a coin after all, but before he could make out what it was, Liam slapped it down under his palm.

“The laws of parley forbid me from arresting Tom, or raising weapons against him. In theory, he is bound by the same laws, but I have seen too much of my brother's treachery to doubt that he will do as he pleases. I suppose what I'm saying is that it could be dangerous, especially for you.”

Liam picked up the bit of gold and sent it spinning again.

Is he even listening to me?
“What is that, anyway?” Erik asked irritably.

“What, this?” Liam arrested its momentum long enough for Erik to get a good look.
Alix's ring. What's he doing with that?
“It's nothing,” Liam said, turning the ring over in his fingers. “Just something of my mother's from a long time ago.”

Erik closed his eyes. He had convinced himself that his suspicions were unfounded, that a nickname meant nothing. But deep down, he had known better.

He swept to his feet. “Perhaps we had better do this another time.” Liam looked up, confused. He started to reply, but Erik was already at the door. “I'm sorry, I just remembered there's something urgent I must do.” That was a lie, but he had to get out of there. He strode down the corridor as briskly as dignity would allow, though he had no clear idea where he was going. Behind him, his ridiculous retinue of guards clattered to keep up.

He felt numb. He had thought himself prepared, but he had never imagined that fate's designs could be so sublimely cruel. He had long suspected that Alix's heart was spoken for. That day in his tent, when he had agreed to let her go with Arran Green, he had tested her one last time. He hadn't kissed her, instead waiting for her to take the final step, to come to him on her own. But she had not, and he knew then that she never would, not truly, not until the hold on her heart was released. She might kiss him, even take him to her bed, but she would not
give
herself to him. However much they shared, some part of her would remain locked away, beyond his reach. It would never be enough. So he had resolved to put it out of his mind, to focus on Tom and the war. He might even have managed it, had he not heard Liam in the anteroom the day before.

Allie
, he called her. The nickname no one but Rig used. The word Erik had whispered in her ear all those months ago, that had caused her to go rigid in his arms. He should have recognised the ring. He should have put it together. It explained so much.
No wonder he resents me.
How could he not? There was such a twisted poetry to it that Erik almost laughed. The two things he wanted most in this world could never co-exist. To have one was to renounce the other forever. Worse still, he had blundered on in ignorance for so long, it seemed all but certain he would have neither.

Erik paused. His path had brought him to the oratorium. He was not surprised; this place had been the site of many of the most important days of his life. Tomorrow, it would play that role again. Tomorrow, he would stand here with his brothers and his lords and fight the final battle for his crown, though whether with words or swords, he could not say.

He was not afraid. He would be surrounded by friends and allies. He had always been surrounded by people who loved him, ever since he was a child. Strange, then, that he should feel so utterly alone.

*   *   *

“I'll want crossbows
on the balcony,” Alix said, pointing, “and I've asked that all the anterooms be sealed off.”

Rig grunted approval. “Don't overdo it, though. Erik won't violate the laws of parley, and besides, too much security will make him look weak.”

“You're starting to sound like Highmount.”

Her brother gave her a sour look. “Don't ever say that again.”

Alix scanned the room. “He would be crazy to try anything. Wouldn't he?”

“The Raven?” Rig shrugged. “I think so, but I'm not the tactician he is. Then again, planning battles isn't the same as setting a trap.”

“He doesn't even need to set a trap. If it comes to steel, he'll just call his most trusted Kingswords and round us up. We'll all die by the gallows.”

“Treason traditionally calls for beheading,” Rig pointed out, helpfully.

“Captain. My lord.” An unfamiliar knight approached them. “Pardon me for disturbing, but there is a man outside the gates requesting to speak with the captain.”

“Who is he?” Alix asked.

“He wouldn't give his name.”

She frowned. “What does he look like?”

“A commoner, by his dress. His face . . . it was . . . Well, he had . . .” The knight paused, his brow furrowing. “I'm sorry, Captain, I couldn't describe him to you. I guess I didn't look very closely. I'll go back . . .”

Alix smiled. “No need, Commander, that's description enough. Take me to him.” Ignoring her brother's puzzled look, she followed the knight.

They found him on the far side of the gate, leaning casually against a wall. He straightened when he saw Alix. “A very pleasant morning to you, Lady Black,” he said in his voice like dark slate. The spy had traded his customary black garb for a dun-coloured tunic and breeches, but otherwise looked the same as the last time Alix had seen him—which was to say, completely unremarkable. Only the hood he wore seemed out of place on a warm spring day such as this. Even so, it was not enough to draw attention, for it had a stiff brim, as though he merely meant to shade his face from the sun.

It was good to see him, Alix had to admit—though she didn't have to admit it aloud. “You know, technically it's
Lady Alix
, not
Lady Black
. My brother holds the banner, not me.”

“An exception can be made for a hero such as yourself, surely.” Somehow, everything Saxon said sounded vaguely mocking. “Besides, I hear it will be
Your Majesty
soon enough.”

Alix made a face. “Half the realm has heard that. Anyway, I don't pay you to dredge up gossip on me.”

“No indeed, but you do pay me handsomely, and my clients always get what they pay for.” Alix could just glimpse his smile under the hood as he held out a sheet of parchment.

She took the page. As she scanned it, her eyes widened. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I have turned a lie into truth. A cunning bit of alchemy, if I do say so myself.”

Alix couldn't disagree. She had charged Saxon with disseminating false information—namely, that the king had a list naming every family that had gone over to the White Ravens. The spy had done his work; Highmount himself had confirmed it. But it seemed Saxon had done even better than that. “Is this confirmed? All these families are for Tom?”