The Bloodbound (7 page)

His arms tightened around her. Alix kissed his forehead again, lingeringly this time.

His lips caught hers on the way down, glancing off her so gently that she barely felt the whisper of his skin. He hesitated, then brushed her lips again, fleetingly, like a question. She answered, fastening her mouth against his and grazing her tongue along his lip. She sensed his surprise. And then he was sighing into her, cradling her head as he leaned into the kiss. Alix drew him in in a rush of heat and raw nerves, and for a blissful moment she lost track of everything but the feel of his mouth, soft and warm and searching. When finally he broke off, she nearly whimpered in disappointment. Her skin was hot, and her breath came in short, shaky gulps.

Liam traced his thumb over her mouth. “Gods, I've wanted to do that for weeks.”

“Only weeks?”

“I didn't say how many weeks.” His gaze wandered slowly over her face, as if memorising every feature. “Do you have any notion of how beautiful you are?”

She couldn't think of anything sensible to say, so she turned her face into his hand and kissed his wrist.

“Allie . . .” He hesitated. “I'm not taking advantage of you, am I?”

“No more than I'm taking advantage of you.”

He hummed sceptically, one eyebrow quirked. “I'm going to pretend that makes sense, but only because it's impolite to contradict a lady.”

Alix laughed, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, her smile vanished, and her arms coiled around his neck. This time, his kiss was not a question, but a statement—an emphatic one. His confidence was new and intoxicating, and Alix surrendered to it eagerly. The thrill of her blood chased everything else from her mind. She could do this all night. She could do this for the rest of her life.

He pulled away eventually. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I have to be on the road at dawn. If Green catches me falling out of my saddle, it'll be my hide.”

She groaned; she'd almost managed to forget about Arran Green and his search party. The anxiety came rushing back, along with something new—a pang of loss. “How long will you be gone?”

“About ten days, to be thorough. Green plans to split us up once we reach the marshlands.” Liam stood and extended his hand, helping her to stand. “We'll find him, Allie.” He squeezed her fingers.

“Please be careful.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and they went their separate ways, leaving the fire to slump into ashes.

A
lix trailed after King Erik as he limped along the inner wall of the bailey. She carried his crutch in her hand, watching his ragged stride with growing unease. He was making his second pass of the barracks, but still he pushed on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that his leg was giving out beneath him. Alix had tried to return the crutch back at the stables, but he'd waved her off, claiming he felt fine. He seemed to think his pain was hidden beneath his helm, instead of written in every line of his body.

They were approaching the gatehouse. Alix scanned the battlements of the southwest tower, as she had on their first pass. The same pair of guards leaned against the parapet, looking bored. They took no interest in the anonymous knight passing below, though one of them waved to Alix in greeting. Satisfied that they were doing their jobs, if unenthusiastically, she returned her attention to the compound. The castle was surprisingly quiet, considering that its servants and tradesmen were stretched to the limit providing for the army camped outside their walls. The forge rang out constantly, and the cistern drew a continuous stream of pilgrims from every corner of the bailey. A heady mix of lye, wood smoke, and horse dung brought water to Alix's eyes. Yet there was something subdued about it all, like a servant tiptoeing around a master he fears to wake.

As they reached the corner of the gatehouse, the king stopped and leaned against the wall, his hand going to his thigh. Alix cursed under her breath. He'd worn himself out, as she knew he would, and now they were on the far side of the bailey.

“Your crutch, Commander.” She was careful to use the generic honorific of a knight. For now, the king's identity remained secret from most of the castle. There was still some sand left in their timeglass, though it was impossible to know how much.

Erik eyed the crutch balefully before tucking it under his arm with a sigh.

“Will you be able to make it back to the keep?” she asked him.

“I suppose I'll have to, unless you mean to carry me again.” They started back toward the motte. “I don't do this for amusement, you know,” the king said. “If I don't keep up my strength, it will never heal.”

“But you overdo it.”

She hadn't meant to say it aloud. She half expected a rebuke, but he only sighed again and said, “Perhaps.”

Alix worried about how he would mount the steps to the keep, but he managed it, and soon enough they arrived at the solar. Her gaze drifted up, as it always did, to the massive beams crisscrossing the distant ceiling. She liked this room. Though windowless and dark, it was finely adorned, with carved wood panels and sumptuous tapestries lining the walls. The hearth stood ten feet tall, the mantelpiece flanked with hunting dogs sculpted of marble. A rich emerald-green banner hung in a billowing arc above the table, its colour wild and mysterious in the wavering light of the torches. Rough-spun silk, Alix thought, though it was hung too high to be sure. She wondered if it was the original banner conferred on Lord Green's ancestors when they were honoured with their name all those centuries ago, as reward for helping Aldrich the White stake his claim on what remained of a shattered empire. Its colour was echoed elsewhere in the décor, notably in the emerald-studded tableware. The only accent Alix didn't care for was the stuffed bear looming in the corner, which, in addition to being macabre and out of place, gave off a mildly unpleasant odour. There was a story there too, she felt sure, though she doubted it was quite as glorious as the founding of the Banner Houses.

The solar was empty as usual, cleared out for the king's use at the midday meal. A pair of royal guardsmen stood at the door, and as soon as the king crossed the threshold, he removed his helm and dropped it on the table with a heavy
clunk
.

“Gods, I hate that thing.” He ran his hands through his red-gold hair before plunging them into a washbasin in the corner. He looked pale, even after he washed; he really had overdone it. He eased himself into a chair. “Will you eat with me?”

Alix's gaze dropped involuntarily to the food at the table. She was more tempted than she cared to admit. “I don't think I can stand guard and eat at the same time, Your Majesty.”

“I appreciate the diligence, but we are safely ensconced in the keep of Greenhold, with two of my knights at the door.” When she still hesitated, his mouth quirked. “Shall I command you?”

“Very well.” She moved around the table to sit across from him. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Alix . . .”

She winced. “Sorry. I'm trying. It just . . . doesn't come naturally. Erik.”

“Fair enough.” He broke off a chunk of bread, then took up an emerald-encrusted knife and sawed off half a chicken. Alix waited until he'd loaded his plate before diving in, and she made sure to take only a little, just as her mother would have done.

“Strange, isn't it,” Erik said, pouring some wine, “to sit here eating and drinking while the Oridians gnaw away at our lands. While your brother and Green and the others are out there, facing gods-know-what.”

“It is.”

“I feel like an ornamental fish, swimming around contentedly in a glass bowl, oblivious to the world beyond. I feel . . .
frivolous
.”

Alix didn't feel like a fish. She felt like a sapling at the bottom of a hill, rooted helplessly to the spot as an avalanche thundered down the slope toward her. Aloud, she said, “There's nothing we can do right now. You need to recover, and we need General Green to return.”

“I know. But I still feel frivolous.” He took a long sip of his wine, and Alix sensed the royal mask snapping back into place. “So tell me, what's it like having Arran Green as a commander?”

Alix nearly choked on her water. What in the Domains was she supposed to say to
that
? “Sorry?” she spluttered, just to buy herself time.

The king laughed. “An intriguing start. Don't worry, it's just between us. You have my word. Besides, he won't be back for a few days yet. Chances are I will have forgotten by then.”

Alix didn't believe that for a moment. “I only served under him for a few months,” she said evasively.

“Come now, surely you have some sense of the man. Is he as hard as he seems?”

She considered. “He's certainly stern. He doesn't tolerate anyone questioning his orders.”

“Even to save the king's life,” he said dryly. “Yes, I'd noticed.”

“But he applies the same standards to himself. It isn't his vanity that demands obedience, it's his principles.”

Erik nodded thoughtfully. “I can respect that, I suppose.”

“And he's fair-minded. He gives credit where it's due.”
Mostly
, she amended inwardly. His treatment of Liam was still a mystery to her. How he could fail to make his squire a knight after so many years of faithful service . . . It just wasn't fair. Liam was a commoner, and a bastard at that, but he was the best sword Alix had ever seen, and he'd always conducted himself with honour. He'd
earned
knighthood, unlike the spoiled noblemen and women who were named Commander simply because of an accident of birth, as though blood alone could make a leader. And then, to add insult to injury, to banish Liam to the scouts, a service normally reserved for women, or men deemed unfit for the infantry . . . She would never understand it. Liam must have offended Green terribly to deserve such shaming.

“My father thought him the best of men,” Erik said. “
You can trust Arran Green with anything
, he told me. I took that advice to heart.” His gaze grew abstracted, as though clouded with memories. “But an honourable man is not necessarily an easy man to serve. It must be hard on . . . all of you.”

“Sometimes.” She wondered what it could possibly matter to him.

Erik sliced himself off a generous hunk of cheese. “And what of your fellow scouts, how are they to serve with? Your friend—Liam, is it? What's he like?”

Alix froze.
Don't blush. Don't you dare blush.
Fortunately, the king's gaze had dropped to his plate. “He's good,” she said, stupidly.

Erik looked up, one eyebrow arched.

“Good with a sword, that is. And he's funny. It's nice to have someone funny around, you know, when things get difficult . . .” Merciful Nine, she was babbling. She fantasised briefly about crawling under the table. “I like all the scouts, really,” she flailed.

“That's good, I suppose.” He paused, his knife hovering over his plate. “I have to ask, Alix, why join the scouts? You're the daughter of a Banner House. You could have had a command of your own.”

Only moments ago, this question would have embarrassed her. Now, it was a blessed relief. “Honestly, it's where I thought I could do the most good. I have a talent for”—
sneaking
, said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Rig's—“stealth.”

Erik's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a grin. “Is that so?”

“When I was a girl, I used to make a game of getting about without being seen. In the castle, in the woods, in the market . . .” She shrugged shyly. “I was good at it.”

“A born thief,” Erik said—quoting one of her brother's favourite jests. Alix's jaw dropped open, to the king's visible amusement. “Rig mentioned it once or twice. He appears to have had his hands full raising you. It seemed like every time he came to court, he would get at least one letter from home complaining of wild behaviour.”

Alix's face burned. The fantasy about crawling under the table was rapidly transforming into a fantasy about death by mysterious falling object. She scrutinised the grain of the oak table. “Are you torturing me on purpose, Your Majesty?”

“Perhaps.” He buttered a piece of bread.

So glad we cleared that up.

The conversation wandered into safer territory after that, but the damage was done; Alix felt awkward for the rest of the afternoon. She fell asleep that night with thoughts of her brother. She couldn't wait for the triumphant return of the scouting party. She would fly across the yard and into Rig's arms.

And then she would kill him.

*   *   *

Alix was accompanying
the king on his daily circuit round the bailey when the shouts went up from the ramparts: Arran Green had returned. She paused, her whole body tensing.
Please, gods, let Rig be with them.

Erik glanced at her, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “Quickly, to the keep. I want this blasted helm off when we receive them.”

They awaited Arran Green in the study. Raibert arrived first, still buttoning his doublet, and Alix caught a glimpse of the marriage chain at his throat: three gold links signifying man, woman, and child. It was only then she remembered that Raibert had been married almost a decade ago, before losing his wife and infant daughter in childbirth. He'd never remarried, and the fact that he still wore the chain hinted at why. He caught Alix looking, but offered no comment. Instead, he said, “I pray it's good news, my lady.” Pray it he might, but Alix could tell from his eyes that he didn't believe it.

His doubt proved well founded: Arran Green entered the study alone. It was all Alix could do not to sag against the desk in disappointment.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” the commander general said, bowing.

Erik sighed. “You didn't find him.”

“We did not.” Arran Green's pale gaze shifted to Alix. “I am sorry, Captain.”

“Did you find anything?” the king asked.

“Yes. I am convinced beyond any doubt that a host of Blackswords passed through the marshlands, and the fact that they remain together and in the field suggests that Lord Black is among them.”

“That's wonderful news,” Raibert said, mustering a smile for Alix's benefit. Bless the man, Farika was truly his sign.

“If you found evidence of their passing, why could you not track them?”

“We had not time, Your Majesty. As it was, we had to ride well out of our way to avoid the enemy. The host that attacked Blackhold is moving east, burning and pillaging along the way.”

Alix fought down a wave of nausea. Those were Rig's people. Her people.
Gods-cursed Oridian swine.

Erik swore quietly. “Meaning they're headed straight for the Brownlands. Did you send word, as I asked?”

“We did, sire,” Raibert said, “but no matter how well prepared they are, the garrison at Brownhold will not be enough.”

His cousin shook his head. “Not unless Lord Brown withheld more swords than the other Banner Houses, but that is unlikely. At best, they can survive a siege.”

“And what of the main host, the army we faced at Boswyck?”

“Our scouts report they're still holding along the border,” Raibert said, “and they have been reinforced.”

“What are they waiting for?”

Alix wondered the same. With fifty thousand soldiers, they could smash Greenhold and Brownhold both, or at least besiege them into irrelevance.

“It is hard to say, Your Majesty,” Raibert said. “My guess is they will wait until Brownhold falls, then regroup with the rest and make for the Greylands. The Greys have not yet mustered, so they'll be stronger than the rest of us.”

“But not strong enough,” said Arran Green. “The Greyswords number around ten thousand, but that is nothing compared to the host we faced at Boswyck. They will be little more than a nuisance, and once they are defeated, the enemy will be free to attack Erroman itself.”

“Tom will never let the Greylands fall,” Erik said with surprising conviction.

“Gods willing, Your Majesty,” Arran Green said.

The king took up his customary pacing, this time without his crutch. “We cannot simply give the Brownlands over without a fight. That would allow the enemy free passage.”