The Bloodbound (4 page)

Green looked the captive over. “Bring him here.”

“He had this on him, General,” one of the watchmen said, handing Green a scrap of parchment.

Green scanned it, his face darkening. “Take this wretch to the prisoners' wagon!”

The watchmen hurried to obey. Green turned on his heel and stomped back through the undergrowth; all Alix could do was follow.

The king himself awaited them in the clearing. “I heard shouting. What's happened?”

“Black apprehended a spy, Your Majesty,” Green said, handing over the parchment.

The king looked it over, but he only shook his head. “I can make nothing of it.”

“It is in cipher, sire. That is how I know the man was a spy, though for whom, I cannot say.”

The king gave an uneasy little laugh. “Why, it must be the Oridians. Who else?”

“Your brother comes to mind,” Green said with only a hint of dryness.

A flash of emotion lit the king's eyes before he hid it by looking down at the parchment. “Tom never had much use for spies. He prefers to be more . . . direct.”

“Agreed,” said Green, “but these are strange times.”

Strange times.
That was putting it mildly. Half the continent at war, and Tomald White plotting to steal his brother's crown.
Plotting, but with whom? Could the Raven be working with the enemy?
It wouldn't do to ask the question aloud, not yet. The king was already struggling to accept what was happening. Conspiracy theories were unlikely to appeal to him just now.

“There may be other spies among us,” Green said. “I suggest we take additional precautions.”

“Such as?”

“You should assign yourself a personal guard, Your Majesty.”

“I have a personal guard. You just appointed them yourself.”

“Every one of them new and untested,” Green said. “In any case, I do not speak of your knights. I refer to someone closer, someone who will accompany you night and day.”

The king frowned. “A bodyguard? Is that really necessary?”

“Until we know more about your brother's plans, we cannot rule out assassination attempts. And with your injuries, you are especially vulnerable.”

The king's blue eyes turned to ice. “Are you suggesting that Tom would try to have me murdered? Stabbed in the back like some brigand in a bar brawl?”

Green returned his gaze evenly. “I do not know what to think anymore, sire, but we cannot afford to take chances.”

The king shook his head, cursing quietly. “Very well. From henceforth, Alix Black will be captain of my knights, and my personal bodyguard.”

Alix's mouth fell open. She had no words. She did not even have breath.

Arran Green had breath enough for both of them; he blew it out indignantly. “Your Majesty, she is a scout, not a knight. With due respect to her station, she—”

“She is quick-witted, observant, and skilled with a sword. Ideal qualifications in a bodyguard, wouldn't you say? She has already saved my life once, and rooted out a spy. Moreover, I can be sure of her loyalty, since her brother is a friend. Come now, Green, you have scouts enough. Surely you can spare this one.”

“She is barely a fledgling, and wilful as an old mule.”

Alix's face burned with shame, but the king only laughed. “So it is often said of me.”

“Your Majesty, I strongly—”

“Your point is made,” the king said coldly, “as is my choice. All that remains is to hear whether Lady Alix will accept the appointment.” He turned to Alix, arching a red-gold eyebrow.

Alix's mind whirred, and for a moment she feared she wouldn't be able to string anything sensible together. Thankfully, her breeding took over. “It will be my great honour, Your Majesty,” she heard herself saying.

The king smiled. “Good. Come to my tent when you're ready, Captain. You will ride beside me.”

Alix could only nod numbly, watching the king's receding back.

A
lix glowered her way between the tents, earning uncomfortable glances and a refreshingly wide berth from everyone she passed. She could practically hear her mother's voice scolding her for looking the gargoyle, but she didn't care. She'd had a
day
. Again.

“Ho there, sunshine,” Liam called, with remarkable indifference to his health. Maybe he counted on safety in numbers. Gwylim and Kerta and Ide were all sitting by the fire, though from the worn look of them, they wouldn't last long.

“Did you bring us any wine?” Ide asked. That made three nights in a row. Ide seemed to be under the impression that attending the king gave Alix the right to pilfer his comforts.

“No.” Alix plopped down near the fire. “But feel free to ask me again tomorrow.”

If Ide noticed the sarcasm, she didn't let on; she merely sighed in disappointment. Alix had never met anyone who enjoyed her drink more than Ide. She had complained regularly about the Kingswords' paltry mug-a-day ration, and that was before the flight from Boswyck. Now, there was nothing at all. Ide considered it an incomprehensible failure of military planning that no one had thought to prioritise the wine barrels.

Alix shuffled closer to the fire, grateful for its warmth. “How are your new duties suiting you, Alix?” Kerta asked.

Like satin suits a sow.
Alix felt constantly in the way, stumbled over by squires and healers and attendants and knights and sundry others who demanded their king's attention. She was trying to learn their faces, but they came and went like waves lapping the shore, and she couldn't keep them straight from one day to the next. Nor could she decide which of them she should trust and which to be wary of, for the king greeted them all with the same breezy warmth, clapping shoulders and trading jibes as though they were all the closest of confidants. How in the Nine Domains was she supposed to protect him when his tent was bloody
teeming
with strangers?

Aloud, she simply said, “I'm exhausted. I have no idea what I'm doing. Just the stress of not making a fool of myself is enough to do me in. And the king certainly doesn't make it easy. He's too busy being charming to be careful. He meets with anyone who asks for an audience, and if I try to impose a little distance, he just laughs and accuses me of being paranoid. What's the point of having a bodyguard if you won't let her do her job?” She shook her head in exasperation. “At least Green has stopped glaring at me all day, though I'm not naïve enough to think he's forgiven me yet.”

Liam snorted. “As though it's your fault you were appointed. So much for not questioning one's betters.”

“And the king?” Kerta asked, diplomatically brushing Liam's remark aside. “How are his spirits?”

“I wish I knew. For the most part he's as sunny as a summer day, but I can't tell how much of that is putting on a brave face. And every now and then he falls to brooding.”

“Maybe he doesn't fancy bumping along in the back of a supply wagon like a sack of royal turnips,” Liam said.

Kerta looked positively scandalised. “You oughtn't jest, Liam. The king has suffered a heavy blow.” She laid a hand over her breast, mournfully. Alix resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You should try to cheer him, Alix,” Kerta suggested.

“No, she shouldn't,” Liam said. “It's not her job, and anyway, the last thing she needs is to encourage him.”

Alix frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Liam picked up a stick and poked at the fire.

Kerta smiled knowingly and shook her head. “Now, Liam, you needn't worry about Alix. She can handle herself. Besides, you can't really believe those tawdry little whispers.”

“I can't?”

“For pity's sake, Liam, the king is betrothed, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. He's been betrothed for how many years? If
that
doesn't tell you something . . .”

The scandalised look returned. Kerta sat up a little straighter. “Are you implying that the king is deliberately putting off his marriage?”

“Of course not. I'm sure he's eager to be rid of the dozens of beautiful women who follow him about.”

A tiny line of disapproval appeared between Kerta's perfectly arched eyebrows. “If His Majesty hasn't found the right time, I'm sure there's a good reason.”

“Maybe Sirin Grey is hatchet-faced,” Ide said.

The king's intended was anything but hatchet-faced, but before Alix had a chance to say so, Gwylim yawned widely and got to his feet. “Fascinating as this subject is, it's late, and I'm tired.”

“Me too,” said Ide, rising.

They left behind an awkward silence. Liam continued to stir the embers, sending sparks swirling in the dark.

“It doesn't sound as though you're enjoying yourself much, Alix,” Kerta said, trying to breathe some life back into the conversation.

“Not really.”

“Then why do it?” Liam's gaze was still fixed on the fire.

“Because the king asked me to, Liam. It's my duty. If I'd said no, I would have brought shame on my family.” Most of them might be dead, but that was all the more reason to conduct herself in a manner befitting their memory. She'd come late to that notion, as had Rig, but they embraced it now, and passionately.
Wayward children
, they'd been called, and maybe that was true, but they had time to set it right, and what better way to start than in the King's Service?

“I understand,” said Kerta. She wasn't just being polite, Alix knew. Kerta had a name too. She was a Middlemarch. A lesser lord's name, to be sure, but a name nonetheless. Liam, though, had no family name. He wasn't nobility, lesser or otherwise. Like Gwylim, like Ide, like all commoners, he inherited nothing; he had only the name he was given at birth. He had only
Liam
, only himself to honour and do right by. He couldn't understand what it meant to have a legacy to live up to.

Liam scratched around with his stick and said nothing. Kerta glanced from him to Alix and back. Then she brought a hand to her lips to cover an imaginary yawn. “I think I'll turn in too,” she announced.

If her retreat was not exactly subtle, at least it was swift. Alix and Liam were left alone.

More silence. Alix waited in vain for Liam to break it. Eventually, she said, “If you're just going to sit there and sulk, I'm going to bed.”

He looked up with a frown. “I'm not sulking.”

“No?”

“I'm thinking. Hard to believe, I know, but it happens occasionally.”

She sighed. There was no point in tiptoeing around it anymore. “You don't like it, do you? My being his bodyguard?”

“Don't be ridiculous. Why wouldn't I? Aside from the fact that I don't have to see you all day, I get to listen to Kerta go on and on and sodding
on
about how handsome and dashing His Majesty is, which I can assure you is a real treat.”

Alix laughed. “That's aiming a little high, even for her.” She shuffled over to sit beside Liam, bumping him with her shoulder. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous.”

“Of course I am. I used to have you all to myself, and now I barely see you.” The firelight played over his features, etching his profile in moving shadow. It gave him a strangely haunted look.

“That's not it, is it? Not all of it, anyway.”

Liam sighed and tossed his stick into the flames. “Not really, no.” He looked over at her. “I don't like the idea of you being his shield, Allie. There's no telling who might be out for his blood, and now it's your job to stand between him and his enemies. It makes me nervous.”

Alix smiled. “That's sweet.”

“I was going for gallant.” He tried to muster a grin, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead he raked his fingers through his dark hair, a nervous habit that left it in a near-constant state of dishevelment.

“You're really worried, aren't you?”

“Of course I am. The gods only know who that spy was, or how many messages he sent before you caught him. We could be marching straight into an ambush. Or there could be assassins, or brigands, or, you know . . .” He gestured vaguely at the trees.

“Bears?” she offered wryly.

He flicked her a look, the glint returning to his eye. “Not to mention wolves and badgers and beavers.”

“Beavers?”

“You laugh, but have you seen the fangs on those things?”

“Beavers don't have fangs.”

“I know a few trees that would beg to differ. Keep your chain mail on, is all I'm saying.”

She dropped her head on his shoulder, and they fell silent for a while, watching the fire rustle and snap. “None of us is safe,” she said eventually.

“No.”

“Things are going to get worse before they get better, too.”

“You really are a ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“You started it.”

Alix could feel his eyes on her. She twisted her head to look up at him, bringing her face within inches of his. His breath ghosted across her lips.

“Allie . . .”

She swallowed hard. Liam gazed at her with . . .
something
 . . . in his eyes, something fragile and shifting. It was like watching a die tumble over itself, waiting for it to settle.

The die came up scratch. Liam looked away. “It's late.”

Alix straightened, a little too quickly. “We'll reach the outskirts of the Greenlands tomorrow. Hopefully we can catch up on some rest once we get there.”

“That would be nice.” He gave her a thin smile. “Good night, Alix.”

As she walked away, Alix looked back to find Liam staring into the fire, shaking his head.

*   *   *

“Where is everyone?”
King Erik raised the visor of his helm to reveal a worried frown.

Good question
, Alix thought. The village was completely deserted, save for a few stray dogs that snuffled hopefully around empty livestock pens and the closed doorways of stone-and-thatch hovels. No smoke curled from the chimneys, in spite of the morning chill. “It looks abandoned, sire, and recently.”

“How can you tell?”

Alix inclined her head toward one of the huts as they passed. “The straw piled up at the side of that house is still fresh, and look at the animal pen.”

“Muddy,” the king said, “though the road is dry. You're right, it can't have been long.” As he spoke, the wagon hit a rut, and he winced, his hand going to his thigh. Alix bit her lip in sympathy. They had done everything they could to make King Erik comfortable in the supply cart, but the wagon was of simple construction, designed for nothing more fragile than fresh apples. Even a thick layer of blankets under his leg wasn't enough to shield him from the painful jostling.

“Shall I fetch the healer, Your Majesty?”

“So he can dull my senses with his potions? I think not, Captain. I'm afraid there's nothing for it but to endure.”

Arran Green appeared on the opposite side of the cart. “I do not like the look of this place, Your Majesty. I have sent riders ahead to scout the way, and to announce us at the castle.”

The king frowned. “To announce
you
, I trust.”

Green's countenance remained impassive, but his eyes hardened, as if to say,
Do you think me a fool?
“Indeed, sire. The men have all been informed of the need for secrecy. No man in this army will speak of you without my leave. Liam travels with word from Arran Green to his cousin, seeking shelter for himself and his men.”

“Good.” The king lowered his visor, and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled. “No one but Raibert himself must know. That includes his knights and servants.”

Green nodded curtly. Then he squeezed his horse's flanks and rode back to the point. The king watched him go, his expression unreadable beneath the visor. “So dour,” he said. “Even worse than Tom.”

Alix wasn't sure whether the remark was meant for her, but it seemed safest to hold her tongue. As little as she cared for Arran Green's disposition, at least he was predictable. The Raven was anything but. One moment he was all smiles and jests, and the next he was sullen and waspish, or worse. Alix had seen him reduce grown men to quivering, stammering fools. How many times had she thanked the silent Nine that she had not chosen to join the White Wolves, as her rank entitled her? Not a day went by that she didn't congratulate herself for that decision, not least because it allowed her to avoid Tomald White.

He and his brother are night and day.
Or maybe, sunshine and darkness.

“A crown for your thoughts, Captain.”

Alix smiled nervously. “I think you will have overpaid, sire.”

Thankfully, he didn't press her. Instead, he asked, “What do you suppose could have cleared out these villagers?”

“It must be the Oridians, or the rumour of them. Maybe we'll find the people within the walls of Greenhold.”

“My thoughts also. Still, I'm surprised—the scouts say the Oridians are holding their position. We grow farther from them by the day.”

“Fear spreads faster than a brushfire, my father used to say.”

“Gossip.”

“Sorry?”

“
Gossip spreads faster than a brushfire.
That's the saying.” The king laughed, adding, “But it sounds very well with
fear
.”

“Oh.” Alix felt the telltale beginnings of a blush, and she brought a hand to her face, pretending to brush away a stray lock of hair.

“Don't worry, Captain, the colour becomes you.” Through the slat of his visor, Alix could see his wink.

Of course, that only set the blush aflame.
Gods, he's as bad as Liam
, she thought irritably. But she regretted herself moments later, when the king looked back over the empty village with a sigh. Who was she to begrudge him a few moments of humour amid all his troubles, even if it came at her expense?