The Bloodbound (8 page)

“I agree, Your Majesty,” the commander general said.

“The force that took Blackhold—how many are they?”

“From what we saw, we judged them at five thousand. They appear to have picked up the remnants of the host we defeated here a fortnight ago.”

“Very well. Then we will take five of ours, and keep them busy before they reach the Brownlands. The remaining two are more than enough to defend Greenhold in the event of a siege.”

“As you command, Your Majesty. I can have the men re-equipped and ready by morning.”

Erik paused in his pacing, his gaze dropping to his injured leg. Alix could read his thoughts as surely as if he'd spoken them. “Not yet, sire,” she dared quietly.

His eyes iced over, and his mouth pressed into a thin line, but he did not argue.

“I will stay here with you, sire,” Raibert said. “When you're well enough, we'll join my cousin and your men in the Blacklands.”

“I believe I'll rest now.” Erik's voice was tinged with bitterness. “I must build up my strength, after all.”

The Greens bowed their heads as Erik turned and headed out of the study, Alix trailing behind.

“Your Majesty,” she said as they neared his chambers, “if you would sleep, perhaps I might beg leave to say farewell to my comrades?” The idea of Liam going off to fight without her sat like a cold weight in her stomach, but somehow she'd known it would come to this. She wasn't a Kingsword anymore. She and Liam would never again be joined at the elbow. That hurt more than she cared to admit.

“Of course you must see your friends off,” Erik said. “I admire your sense of solidarity, Alix.”

She walked away from him wondering why those words should make her feel so guilty.

*   *   *

Alix found her
friends sitting down to a meal of roast fowl and fresh bread—a luxury they'd earned for their service in searching for Lord Black. She felt a bizarre wave of shyness as she approached, and she couldn't quite decide where to rest her gaze. Inevitably, she fixed it on Liam, and was equal parts pleased and dismayed by the obvious hunger that crept into his eyes when he saw her. Fortunately, everyone else had turned to greet her; Liam's hungry look, and his crooked smile, were hers alone.

“Oh, Alix,” Kerta said, “I'm so sorry we didn't find your brother. It was not for lack of trying.”

Gwylim scooted over to make room for Alix on the log he was sitting on. “I don't know if Green told you, but I found clear signs of a small army crossing the marsh near Edin. Horses, riding in formation. Your brother rides at the head of that column, or I'm a fishmonger.”

“You'd make a terrible fishmonger,” Liam said.

“I do hate fish,” Gwylim agreed.

Kerta ignored the banter. “We begged the general to keep looking. Liam especially.”

“Pushed and pushed,” Ide said. “Thought he was going to earn himself the whip for sure.”

“Green doesn't believe in flogging,” Liam said, his grey eyes still pinned on Alix.

Ide shrugged and bit into an apple. “Figure of speech.” She'd cut her hair again, Alix noticed; it looped about her ears in ragged, boyish curls. Doubtless she'd done it herself, with or without a mirror. Ide didn't like “leaving 'em something to grab on to.” She openly mocked Kerta for letting her hair flow about her face (“like blinders on a horse”) and was only slightly less scathing of Alix's customary braid (“Give 'em a rope, why don't you?”). When Kerta had pointed out that Ide looked like a man, Ide had only shrugged and said, “Fight like one too.” Judging by the scars crisscrossing her arms, that was Destan's own truth.

“Thank you all for trying,” Alix said. “I know Rig is out there, and that's what counts. I'm just glad no one was hurt. Green says the enemy is deep in the Blacklands.”

“Bold as you please,” Ide said, “considering how few they are. The Raven will wallop 'em soon enough.”

Liam's expression darkened. “Then what's he waiting for? The Oridians have put five villages to the torch. They've looted every pig and goat and bushel of grain, and left the farms in ashes. There'll be famine in the Blacklands if this keeps up.”

“He must have a plan,” Kerta said. “I'm
sure
he has a plan.”

Gwylim nodded in agreement. “Traitor he may be, but Tomald White is no fool.”

No one could deny that the Raven had a keen military mind, but Alix failed to see the strategy in letting the enemy weaken the Banner Houses. Unless . . . The familiar doubt surged back into her mind. “What if he's in league with the enemy?”

For a moment, no one spoke. They just looked at each other uncomfortably, wondering who would be the first to speak.
They've talked about this before
, Alix realised.

“I can't believe that,” Kerta said.

“Why not?” Liam's exasperated tone left little doubt that they were going over familiar ground. “He left his own brother to die. On top of that, the Oridians are hanging around at the border, when they could have invaded in earnest weeks ago. How do you explain that, unless the Raven made a deal with them?”

“Maybe they don't really want to conquer us,” Ide said.

“Just a bit of flirting?” Liam asked dryly.

Ide shrugged. “They're fighting us, sure, but we're the ones declared war on them.”

“Because they annexed Andithyri!” Kerta said in her earnest, wide-eyed way. “King Erik was treaty-bound. We had no choice but to defend our ally.”

“Not everyone feels that way,” Gwylim said. “The Raven and Arran Green argued about it more than once in my hearing.”

“The Treaty of Imran clearly states—”

“I know what it states,” Gwylim said mildly. Kerta had the good grace to look embarrassed, caught giving a history lesson to an almost-priest. “I also know that scholars everywhere are still puzzled about what old King Osrik was thinking. It doesn't make sense to risk Alden's security for Andithyri, especially when the Trionate was already showing signs of expansionism. Andithyri could never protect us if the situation were reversed, so what did we get out of the deal? King Osrik should never have signed it.”

“But he did sign it,” Liam said. “Kerta's right—the king had no choice.”

“Harram and Onnan are our allies,” Gwylim said. “They don't seem to feel quite so obliged.”

Kerta
tsk
ed. “Harram has always been aloof. They might be allies, but there is no treaty compelling them to come to our aid. We can't count on them. Besides, they haven't fought a real war for centuries. They wouldn't be much help.”

“Onnan neither,” Ide said.

Liam gave her an incredulous look. “They brought down the whole Erromanian Empire!”

Ide shrugged, unimpressed. “Fishmen might know how to be rebels, but that doesn't mean they know how to be soldiers.”

Alix was only half listening, still stuck on the original question. The Raven
might
be in league with the enemy, but it wasn't a given. There could be a simpler explanation for his inaction. “The Raven would have to spend some time in the capital to secure his accession,” she said, thinking aloud. “Maybe that's all it is. Maybe he's waiting to be crowned before riding out again.”

“Better get on with it, then,” Ide said. “Word of the king's survival will get out soon, especially now that the Kingswords are back to the road.”

The image of a haemorrhaging timeglass flashed into Alix's mind. They might have a little sand left, or none at all. Her thoughts returned, as they had so often, to the spy they'd caught weeks ago. It seemed safe to assume he worked for the Raven. Had he managed to leak word of Erik's fate before they caught him? And if so, what would the traitorous prince do with that information?
Questions and more questions, but no answers.
She cursed and rubbed her eyes. “I just wish there were some way of knowing what he plans.”

“Maybe you should hire a spy.” Oddly, the suggestion came from Gwylim. Alix would not have thought an almost-priest would approve of such tactics.

As though reading her thoughts, the small man smirked. “The clergy make more use of spies than anyone. They keep close tabs on anyone with influence, including each other.”

She regarded him sceptically. “Where would I find a spy?”

“If we were in Erroman, I could help. Out here . . .” He shook his head.

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I won't send some stable boy to spy on the Raven. That's as good as a death sentence.” She rose, sighing. “I'd better go. The king will look for me when he wakes. I just wanted to bid you all farewell and . . . let Destan be your sign.” Her throat tightened around the words. She should have invoked Rahl. Honour was well and good, but the Virtue that mattered most in warfare was strength.

Alix embraced each of them. When she came to Liam, he said, “Walk you back to the castle?”

“All right.” She turned away, doing her best to ignore the knowing looks around the fire.

“I missed you,” Liam said as they walked. “It's lonely out there on the road without you. I had Green, of course, but he's not nearly as cuddly as you, and he snores.”

Alix laughed. “That's a mental picture I could have done without.”

When they were out of sight of the camp, Liam put his hand on her back and started to steer her into the trees.

“The castle is that way,” she said lamely, her blood already rushing in her ears.

“I'm aware. This way, please, watch your step . . . That's right. Here. That should do.” He gathered her in and kissed her. Alix was vaguely appalled at how thoroughly she buckled in his arms—but she didn't let it dampen her enthusiasm. “You didn't think I was going to let you go with a simple fare-thee-well, did you?” he murmured in her ear. His breath on her neck made her shiver with gooseflesh.

“You're the one who's leaving.”

“I don't want to, Allie. You know I don't.”

“I know.” She buried her face in his shoulder, seized with a wave of dread. The gods only knew what might befall Liam out there. The idea that she might never see him again was enough to make her feel physically ill. Even so, she didn't dare speak her fears aloud. Liam had enough to worry about.

He understood anyway. “One good thing about being a scout, it's easier to stay out of trouble. Unless Green is cross with me again, obviously, in which case he might just put me in the vanguard. Come to think of it, you'd better kiss me like you mean it, just in case.”

She scowled up at him. “How can you joke about something like that?”

“I don't understand the question. Have we been properly introduced?” He pointed at his chest. “Liam.”

She pushed him away. “You're impossible.”

“Allie.” He grabbed her hand.

She waited, but he didn't say anything; he just stared down at her, his thumb drifting over her knuckles. “When all this is over . . .” she started to say, but found she had no idea how to finish the sentence.
When all this is over, what then? Even if you both survive the war, you'll still be the king's bodyguard, and he'll still be a soldier. And a bastard.

He read it all in her eyes. He didn't try to reassure her; there was no point. He just drew her in and kissed her.

They met Arran Green on the path back to the castle. “There you are, Captain,” he said, his dark brows drawn into their customary frown. “The king is looking for you.”

“Yes, General.” She started to hurry her step, but Green held up a hand.

“Wait a moment. Liam, the captain can make it the rest of the way on her own. I would have a word with her in private.”

Liam ducked his head. “As you say, General.” With a last look at Alix, he turned and headed back down the path toward camp.

When he was out of earshot, Green said, “It is time you and I had a discussion. About Liam.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.

“The two of you have become . . . close.” It was not a question. “It has to stop. You know as well as I do that it cannot possibly go anywhere, and he is more vulnerable than you might imagine.”

Alix couldn't believe she was having this conversation, and with Arran Green of all people. “I don't understand,” she said, unable to prevent a shade of anger from tinting her voice.

“Of course you do. You are far more experienced than he is. You should know better.”

Her whole body went rigid. “I beg your pardon, my lord?” Her discipline fled as the noblewoman reared up inside her. “Exactly what are you implying?”

He sighed impatiently. “You mistake my meaning,
my lady
. I refer to your experience of the world, and the way in which it works. A woman of your station knows only too well what is possible, and what is not.”

“And what business is it of yours?”

Arran Green leaned in close enough for her to see the flecks of jade in his pale eyes. “Do not test me, Alix. You may be a Black, but you are still a whelp, and you understand very little of what you meddle in. Whether you choose to believe it or not, what I say is as much for your benefit as his.” With that, he shouldered past her and headed down the path, leaving her shaking with fury.

Alix stood there long enough for the shimmer of tears to drain from her eyes. Then she drew a deep, wavering breath and headed back to the castle.

T
hat night, Alix turned in early, as the king had done, but sleep eluded her. She stirred restlessly in bed, her conversation with Arran Green playing and replaying in her head. Swells of emotion rose and fell like waves crashing against the shore: rising anger, cresting outrage, waning guilt, quiet resignation. As much as she resented Green—his harshness, his condescension, and most of all, his bloody
presumption
—there was more than enough truth in his words.

I knew this was going to happen. Too late, but I knew.

No one would begrudge her a casual dalliance. It was common enough in the king's army—hells, it was practically obligatory. The two years of King's Service was a time for youthful adventure, for the hunting of prey and the sowing of seeds. Even Rig would half expect her to end up in the arms of some handsome soldier or another. As long as she was careful to avoid unwanted complications, she needn't worry about names or politics or rank. But Liam wasn't just some handsome soldier. Apart from Rig, he was her best friend.

And he was a bastard. A nobleman's bastard, if she were to guess. His accent might be common, but his features were anything but: the strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the long, graceful fingers. A no-name he might be, but his father had a name, Alix was almost sure of it.

She frowned in the dark. Might his father's name be Green?

It would explain everything—how a bastard came to be squired to a banner knight, and why Arran Green would see fit to meddle in Liam's personal affairs . . .

Alix sat up suddenly, all pretence of sleep vanishing. If Arran Green was Liam's father, it would even explain why he'd banished Liam to the scouts the moment war was declared. “He's protecting his son,” she whispered to the shadows.
That's
why he was so angry with us at Boswyck! He feared for Liam's safety . . .

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. Liam the bastard was actually Liam Green. Or at least he would have been, had his mother been Arran Green's wife.
I wonder if Melicent Green knows.

Alix sighed loudly. Even if she was right, it didn't matter. A bastard was a bastard, however noble the sire. If she herself had been a lesser noble—a Middlemarch, say—she might have entertained some hope that she and Liam could be something more than a dalliance. But being the blood of a Banner House had obligations. When her King's Service was through, Alix would be expected to marry, and marry well.
That
was what Arran Green meant;
that
was why he interfered.
He's afraid I'll break his son's heart.
Maybe Liam feared the same. Maybe that was why he'd hesitated for so long.

Alix growled and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was no use; she was never going to sleep. She needed to speak to Liam, tonight, now, or she would go mad.

She pulled a cloak on over the top of her nightgown and slipped down the corridor, nodding curtly to the guards. She felt silly, stealing away in nothing but a nightgown and a pair of boots, but fortunately the cloak covered enough that her scanty attire would not be apparent to anyone. She hurried through the bailey and under the portcullis, ignoring the curious glances of the Greenswords manning the gate. They knew her now, and she had every right to come and go, but it was an odd hour to be paying a visit to the Kingsword camp.

She met no one on the road, and as she neared the camp, she veered off into the trees. The scouts' fire always stood a little apart from the others. Scouts were obliged to rise earlier than their comrades, so they preferred to avoid the noise of the camp. That suited Alix's purpose well; she hoped to draw Liam away without anyone noticing.

The soft glow of firelight seeped through the trees. Alix picked her way through the undergrowth as silently as she knew how. She was far enough from the light that it didn't interfere with her night vision, and she moved patiently, in spite of the anxiety churning inside her.

He was still awake, thank the Virtues. Unsurprisingly, Kerta and Gwylim were there too. Alix had no idea how she was going to separate Liam from the others without being seen. He was too far to whisper, and anyway the others would hear. She thought about throwing something, but she wasn't confident enough of her aim. So she waited, shivering in her nightgown, cursing herself for an impulsive fool.

Liam was joking around, as usual. His crooked grin gave way to laughter, Gwylim and Kerta joining in. Alix watched him talking, laughing, ruffling his hair so that it stood even more of a mess than usual. Somehow, the careless look only made him more appealing. Her thoughts drifted back to the afternoon, to the warmth of his arms and the rich tones of his voice in her ear. Something like hunger stirred her insides.

She was nearly numb with cold when her opportunity finally came. Kerta rose to go to bed, and Gwylim followed soon after. Liam sat by himself on the log, looking thoughtful. It was now or never.

“Liam!”

He looked up with a frown. She called again, a harsh whisper that cut through the trees, and he stood hesitantly, making his way toward the sound. When he was close enough, she whispered, “In here!”

“Alix? What in the Domains are you doing?”

“Shh! Come away. Follow me.”

She withdrew deeper into the wood, Liam blundering through the trees behind her. Under other circumstances, it would have been comical. She waited for him to catch up, with no clear idea what she was going to say. She'd made no decisions. She was totally unprepared, making it up as she went along. Her heart beat faster.

“Alix, what—”

She stopped his mouth with a kiss. Green's words burned in her mind, inspiring only defiance. She took Liam's face in her hands and kissed him with a determination she hadn't known she felt. He tensed, caught flat-footed by this sneak attack. Alix knew she should explain, but she couldn't stop herself. She slid her fingers inside his tunic.

He jumped, giving a little cry of surprise. “Allie, your hands are
freezing
! What are you wearing?”

In answer, she shrugged off her cloak.

Liam froze, staring at her in nothing but her thin, clinging nightgown. She let him look her over. The heat of his gaze banished her chill; she could have stood there all night but for the storm of impatience building inside her. She stepped into him, slipping her hands back under his shirt. He started slightly, and for a moment she thought he would pull away. But instead he bent his head into her kiss and pulled her against him, his hand pressed into the curve of her back so that she could feel every firm line of him. The cold receded into memory. Instead she was consumed with a flush so intense that it made her dizzy.

She pulled him down into the leaves. He hesitated, holding himself off her. “Allie . . .”

“Shut up, Liam. Please.”

She saw indecision in his eyes, but then fire burned through, consuming everything else, and his mouth was on her neck, his hands roaming over her curves. The weight of him on top of her felt like craving.

Alix couldn't think straight. There was a roaring in her ears that drowned out even the sound of her own ragged breathing. Her hands were moving of their own accord, her mind overthrown by a longing so powerful she thought she might burst. She reached inside his clothing, down past his stomach, and grabbed him.

His whole body jerked. He pulled his head back, staring down at her. His eyes were molten glass. Alix shimmied beneath him, moving her nightgown above her waist.

He hovered over her for a moment, chest heaving, desire and doubt warring openly on his face. Alix pulled at the laces of his breeches. And then he was inside her, and she arched into him, and everything else dissolved.

*   *   *

Alix's hair was
matted with sweat, even as she shivered. Liam trembled too. “Are you cold?” she whispered.

The dark pools of his eyes were fixed on her. “I don't know.”

“Are you angry?” She forced herself not to look away, to take the coward's way out.

“I don't know.”

Alix couldn't read his expression, and it scared her.
He's more vulnerable than you might imagine.
Green's words came back to her in a rush of guilt. “I didn't plan this,” she said. “This wasn't an ambush.”

He snorted softly. “I know that. You're the most impulsive person I've ever met, Allie. Ardin is definitely your sign.”

“So . . . you're not angry?” Gods, she was being pathetic, but she couldn't seem to help it.

“If I am, it's not with you.” They were still tangled together, and Alix could feel his heartbeat, still fast. “I thought I was more disciplined than that. But you . . .” He played with a lock of her hair. “Well. As you see.”

“I feel like I should apologise, but I'm not sorry. I hope you're not sorry.”

In reply, he kissed her.

When she'd caught her breath, Alix said, “I have to tell you something. About Green.”

Liam made a face. “Well that's a mood-kill, Allie.”

“I'm serious. Green knows about us. Well . . . not this, obviously. But he knows there's something between us, and he doesn't approve.”

“I'll make a note of it.”

If only it were that simple. “Liam . . . is Green . . . is he your father?”

It was a mistake. Liam stiffened, and a shutter came down over his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Her hands flew instinctively to his face. “I'm sorry, Liam, it doesn't matter. Please forget I said anything. It's just . . . Green worries me. He—”

“Stop.” Liam's arms tightened around her. “Allie, I'm leaving in a few hours, and I'm going to be gone for a long time. I don't know when I'll see you again. I don't know
if
I'll see you again. I don't want to talk about Arran Green.”

She nodded, biting her lip to prevent any further stupidity from tumbling out.

Liam reached behind his neck and drew forth a chain with a ring around it. Wordlessly, he slid the ring off the chain and dropped it into her palm. Alix peered at it through the darkness. It was an elegant wisp of gold wrought in the shape of ivy leaves. She had never seen anything so delicate; it was obviously the work of a master goldsmith. She looked up at Liam, speechless for a dozen reasons at once.

He gave her a wry look. “Don't panic, it's not like that. I just . . . I want you to think of me when I'm gone.”

Still not trusting herself to speak, Alix tried it on. It fit around her baby finger—barely. She felt like an ox.

Liam grinned, reading her thoughts. “Mighty warrior woman.” He twisted the ring on her finger. “It belonged to my mother. I'm not sure, but I think my father must have given it to her—my real father, I mean. My stepfather hated the thing. He made some nasty comment every time she wore it, and when she died, he wanted to sell it. Naturally, that meant I had to keep it, and wear it around my neck so that he could see it every single day.”

Alix curled into him, lacing her fingers through his. She liked the way the ring felt, even if it was a little small. It seemed only fitting that it should hurt a little. “I will think of you,” she vowed. It was the easiest promise she'd ever made.

She left him just before dawn, hurrying as fast as her weak knees would carry her. The world grew heavy as she walked. Her throat seemed to tighten a little more with every step. She fought with herself the whole way home, trying to gather some scrap of dignity about her as she shouldered past the guards at the gatehouse, and the guards at the door of the keep, and the guards at the entrance to the guest chambers. There would be gossip, certainly. Alix didn't care, so long as it never reached the ears of Arran Green or the king.

When at last she reached her room, she leaned against the inside of her door and blinked furiously, forbidding tears, now or ever. Liam was gone. From this day forward, all that mattered was her duty.