The Bloodsworn (11 page)

She found Wraith sitting in a relatively quiet corner of the common room, as far removed from the drunken carousing as it was possible to get. Asvin was with him, all traces of amusement gone from his pretty features. Over near the bar, Ide looked to be having a grand evening, and even Dain seemed to be enjoying himself. Vel was nowhere to be seen.

“You want to leave at dawn, Asvin tells me,” Wraith said as Alix took a seat across from him.

“I'd leave now if I thought it was practical. Time is slipping through our fingers, and I can't emphasise enough how precious it is.”

“So I hear. But if you want to get out of the city tomorrow, we'll have to leave well before dawn. The guards will be out in force after what happened at the palace tonight.”

“Will we have trouble getting out?”

“Shouldn't, not if we make use of the same road we took in.”

She sighed. “Wonderful.”

“It's not a glamorous business we're in.” Wraith stitched his
meaty fingers before him on the table. “Now, why don't you tell me what we're in for?”

“I'm not sure I follow.”

“I think you do. I think there's more than a little you're holding back.” Alix started to protest, but he held up a hand. “You did your bit back there. Now it's my turn. If you don't want to tell us the whole truth, there's not much I can do about it.” He leaned in, and once again Alix had to fight the urge not to recoil. “But I will insist, my lady, that you tell me what we're walking into, and whether it's like to get me and my men killed.”

“I . . .” She wet her lips. “I'm not sure. I think Indrask should be fine, being such a small place, but everything depends on where Rodrik went after that.” She hesitated. Made a decision. “Where he was taken.”

She owed them that much, and besides, they wouldn't be much good to her if they weren't expecting trouble.

“Taken.” Wraith's eyes bored into her.

“We believe the enemy has him. You know how valuable bloodbinders are.”

“Aye. If the enemy has him, they won't part with him lightly.” He scratched his beard. “So it's to be a fight, then.”

It was going to be a gods-sight more than that, but Alix had already told them more than she'd planned. So she just said, “Most likely.”

“Well, all right then.” He rose, stretched. “I'm off for a bit of a kip. You should do the same, if you can. We leave in three hours.”

*   *   *

He pours her another glass, ignoring her protests. “If you're going to be my bodyguard, Alix, you're going to have to learn to hold your wine. Courtly occasions and so on.” He's smiling—he knows he's talking rubbish. She would never drink on duty.

“We're going to regret this in the morning,” she says, but that doesn't stop her from taking a sip.

“Actually,” Erik says, “I seem to be curiously immune.”

She snorts, a little indelicately. She's several drinks past delicacy. “Why doesn't that surprise me?” She eyes him closely, grinning. “Not immune to the drink, though, Your Majesty.”

His smile is radiant, blue eyes dancing. “No, I daresay I'm not. And I'm sure the hangover part will catch up with me one day too. But until then.” He hoists his glass, winks.

The room is spinning a little. She can't tear her eyes away from him. She's never seen him like this, so relaxed and unrestrained. The effortless charm flowing from him—this is who he truly is, she thinks, beneath the royal mask. Or at least who he once was, before the war. Small wonder he's broken every heart at court. Such a pity this part of him is so rarely glimpsed.

She's been staring. He raises his eyebrows, laughing. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about what you said earlier, about how things were different before the war. How you were different. I'll bet you were like this all the time.”

“Drunk?”

She laughs. “No. Just . . . free, I guess.”

“Free . . .” His smile fades. “I wouldn't go that far. I don't think I've been truly free since I was a child. Perhaps I haven't always been the stern creature I am these days, but that's not quite the same as being free, is it?”

“No,” she says, “I suppose it isn't.”

His gaze takes on a faraway look, glassy with liquor. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you weren't you? If instead, you were . . .
 
?” He gestures vaguely.

“Whom?”

“Nobody.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Absolutely no one at all. I think it might be quite wonderful.”

“Hmm. You could be on to something there. No arranged marriages, no stuffy courtly events . . .”

“None of those horrid little fish the Onnani ambassador insists on serving . . .”

She's laughing now too, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

He sighs, still smiling, swirling the wine in his glass. “Still, being king isn't so terrible. Not when I have you to protect me.” He holds out a hand. “I can't tell you what a comfort it is to have you here. Promise me it will never change.”

She takes his hand, squeezes it. “I'll always be there to protect you. I swear it.”

“I'm grateful. But I didn't only mean that, Alix. I meant . . .
us. Supporting each other. Confiding in each other. After everything that's happened, having someone I know I can rely on . . . You can't know what it means to me. Promise me we'll stay true to each other, whatever comes.”

She opens her mouth to say the words, but no sound emerges. Her throat is too dry to talk. She takes a sip of wine and tries again, but still the words won't come. He's looking at her expectantly. She goes to take another sip, but she's clumsy and clutching; the glass shatters in her hand, scattering crimson droplets everywhere. It's all over his face, his doublet, flowing down her hand, and she can't tell how much of it is wine and how much blood . . .

*   *   *

A knock roused her from sleep. Ide's voice sounded on the far side of the door; it was time to leave. Alix rolled out of bed and pulled on her boots, pausing only to wipe the tears from her face.

“W
e understand your dilemma, my lord,” Albern Highmount said patiently, “but I fear there is nothing to be done.”

“Nothing to be—” Osmond Swiftcurrent pounded the table, startling the beast sleeping beneath. Rudi growled, then flashed a bit of teeth for good measure. It was a more effective rebuke than Highmount could ever hope to deliver; Swiftcurrent shot an uneasy look at the wolfhound and lowered his voice. “How can that be, Chancellor? I'm offering twice what that flour is worth.”

“It is not a question of gold,” Highmount said. “The summer harvest is still two months away and the city is critically low on grain. We have none to sell, not at any price.”

“I'd give it to you for free if we had it,” Liam put in. “But the chancellor is right, we just don't. We still haven't recovered from the shortages last year. We lost most of the spring planting season in the Brownlands, and—”

“I know what the problem is,” Swiftcurrent snapped. “What I don't know is how I'm meant to deal with it. My people are starving, my lords.”

Liam cursed inwardly. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing
the crown was supposed to fix? But Liam couldn't see how. He couldn't see how to fix
any
of the problems that had been put before the council that day. He felt so helpless. Even more so than he'd felt in Onnan, and that was saying a lot. Not so long ago the only thing he'd been accountable for was staying alive, maybe jabbing his sword into an enemy soldier every now and then if he could manage it. He'd been good at that. Effective. But now . . . it seemed like the more authority he had, the more powerless he felt.
Probably a profound bit of wisdom hiding in that observation
, he thought wryly. Aloud, he said, “What about the rest of you? Anyone have grain to spare? Even just a little?”

The lords and ladies around the table stirred uncomfortably.

Oh, for the love of . . .
“What about you, Lord Gold?” Liam raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Your lands haven't been touched by the fighting.”

Norvin Gold picked at an invisible speck on his clothing. “My lands are not nearly as fertile as some. That being said”—he smoothed his jerkin—“I can perhaps spare a few bushels.”

“Excellent,” Highmount said. “That is resolved, then.”

“I would hardly call a bandage over a mortal wound
resolved
,” Swiftcurrent growled. Grudgingly, he added, “Still, I am grateful for the assistance.”

“Moving on,” Highmount said. “I trust you have all reviewed the missive from Newmarket.” The grim looks around the table confirmed that they had.

“Horrific,” said Lady Stonegate. “Truly horrific.”

Raibert Green shook his head. “It wounds me to the core that Aldenians would prey upon each other this way. Opportunistic banditry is bad enough, but to take over a whole town, butchering anyone who stands in your way . . .”

“War brings out the worst in people,” Sirin Grey said.

“Perhaps,” said Green, “but I would not have thought our worst was so base as this.”

“We can all agree that the reports are harrowing,” Highmount said. “The question is, how shall we respond?” He spread his hands. “Proposals, my lords?”

“Seems pretty simple to me,” Liam said. “Those people need help.”

“Agreed,” said Rona Brown. “We should dispatch a battalion as soon as possible.”

“Dispatch them from where?” Green asked. “It's not as though we have a reserve loitering about.”

“Such a grave misfortune that His Majesty was unable to persuade the Harrami to aid our cause,” said Lady Stonegate, setting Liam's teeth on edge. Her Ladyship seemed to think it her duty to remind them daily of the White brothers' failure to secure help from abroad: Erik from the Harrami legions, Liam from the Onnani fleet. As though anyone could forget.

“That trip was just full of
grave misfortunes
, wasn't it?” Liam said coldly. “My brother and my wife being held prisoner by the mountain tribes, for example. I'm guessing His Majesty found that a bit
distracting
.”

Lady Stonegate was unmoved. “Nevertheless, without reinforcements, our hands are all but tied.”

“We cannot divert resources from the capital, that is certain,” Highmount said. “Even if we could spare the men, it would take them nearly a week to reach Newmarket. We dare not place them so far out of range, where they cannot return immediately in case of need.”

“From Pir, then,” Liam said. “It's only a few days' march from Newmarket.”

“Surely not, Your Highness!” exclaimed Norvin Gold, aghast.

“The citadel is our greatest defence at the border,” said Sirin Grey.

“Well, sure, but—”

“That seems altogether too risky,” Lord Swiftcurrent said. “We dare not weaken the citadel's defences, not with an attack on our borders imminent.”

“I concur,” Highmount said gravely. “Lord Black would not thank us, I am certain.”

“Respectfully,” said Rona Brown, “I'm not sure I agree . . .”

She might as well not have spoken. The mutterings around the table grew in volume, circling around two inescapable conclusions: One, they couldn't possibly deplete the citadel's forces, and two, Prince Liam was an irredeemable twit for even suggesting it. (They didn't say that last part aloud, obviously; it was more of an
atmosphere
.)

“Is there nowhere else we could draw from?” Sirin Grey asked.

Liam started to answer, but Osmond Swiftcurrent spoke over him.

“None of the nearby garrisons is large enough to do any good, not if the reports from Newmarket are accurate. Though for the life of me, I can't imagine how there could be fifty such unspeakable villains in the entire kingdom, let alone gathered in a single band of brigands.”

Green's brow furrowed. “So we do nothing? This cannot be allowed to stand, my lords. Not only would we be turning our backs on innocents, it would only embolden other criminals.”

“Exactly,” Liam said, “and—”

“From Canterwick, then,” said Highmount. “It is four days away, and guarding an iron mine of middling importance.”

“There are only a handful of men at Canterwick,” Green said. “What good would they do?”

“You said it yourself, my lord,” said Lady Stonegate. “We must do
something
. Alas, it would seem this is all that is within our power to do.”

“So we are decided, then?” Highmount arched a bushy eyebrow.

Liam opened his mouth. Closed it with a snap. No one gave a damn what he thought.

“Good,” said Highmount. “Next on our agenda . . .”

*   *   *

Rona Brown found him in the rose garden, throwing sticks for Rudi. (Well . . . throwing sticks, anyway. Rudi just sat on his haunches and watched, casting the occasional dubious glance up at his master.)

“I thought you might be here,” Rona said.

“It isn't as if I've anything better to do. Highmount's got things well under control, obviously.” Liam threw another stick, sending it spinning into the duck pond. Any day now, the ducks would be back, and taking Rudi for a walk would become a lot more interesting. Liam had eaten rather a lot of duck last summer.

Rona sighed. “You let them bully you.”

“Nonsense. I let them ignore me. Hardly the same thing. Say, do you think I could slip away without Highmount noticing? Head down to the front and do something
useful
for a change?”

“Commander . . .”

“We'd have to find a replacement to take my seat on the council, of course. I'd suggest Rudi, but he's a bit too opinionated. A potted plant, perhaps. Yes, I think that would do admirably.”

Rona ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. “You mustn't say things like that.”

“Surely you've realised by now that I'll say anything for a laugh.” His smirk turned sour. “Especially when it's not far from the truth.”

“But that's not so and you know it. Tell me, what were you going to suggest earlier, about Newmarket?”

“You heard what I suggested. Redeploy a battalion from Pir. Apparently that was blithering idiocy. Not my first blither of the day, either, if Highmount is anything to go by. Seems I blither a lot.”

“I meant after that. You didn't need Sirin Grey to tell you the citadel is our most important defence at the border. You'd already taken that into account.”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And I thought . . . oh, what difference does it make?” He tossed another stick.

Rona folded her arms stubbornly. “Shall I tell you what you thought, Commander? You thought that the citadel was not only our most important defence, it was our strongest, and therefore the last place the Warlord would strike when there are so many other weaker, more tempting points along the border. You thought that even if the enemy did attack, a single battalion wouldn't make much difference if the citadel were besieged by a force of twenty thousand. Is that more or less it?”

“Er . . . more or less.” More or less
exactly
. It was a little unsettling, actually.

“And you were right.”

He scowled. “If you thought so, then why didn't you say anything?”

“Do you honestly think they would have listened to me if they weren't listening to you?”

“Fine, so we agree. They wouldn't have listened to me.”

“They would have, if you made them. You're the prince. That's
your
council in there.”

“But it's not, is it? It's
Erik's
council in there.”

Rona sighed. “And that, right there, is your problem.”

“Sorry?”

Her glance dropped to her boots. “I know it's impertinent, Commander, and I apologise, but I feel it's my duty to tell you the truth. On top of which, I hate to see you treat yourself this way.”

“What way?”

“As
less than
. Less than Highmount, or any other member of the council. Less than King Erik. I thought, in Onnan . . .” She shook her head, still not meeting Liam's gaze. “It seemed to be going better. You seemed . . .” She trailed off. Silence stretched between them.

“I seemed what?”

“I'm sorry. It isn't my place. Please forget I said anything.”

“A bit late for that.”

“I spoke rashly. It was inappropriate.”

He gave her a wry look. “Have I ever told you how much you remind me of my wife?”

“You have, actually,” she murmured, a furious blush flashing over her skin. She was like Allie in that way too.

“It's good to know I'll never want for someone to tell me when I'm acting like a prat.”

She knew he was teasing, but she rose to the bait anyway. “I never said that. I just think it will be difficult to convince a man like Albern Highmount to believe in you if you don't believe in yourself.”

Liam sighed. Alix was constantly saying things like that too. But they were wrong, both of them. “I do believe in myself. Or at least I used to, before all this . . .” He gestured at the palace grounds.

“I know you feel out of your element, but—”

“You don't understand. It's more than that. It was bad enough standing in Erik's shadow. Now I'm trying to fill his boots. When those lords and ladies look at me, they don't see Liam White. They see not-Erik White. And it's not just them.
Sometimes, I think even my . . .” He trailed off. That wasn't a thought he cared to finish, especially not in front of Rona.

Apparently, though, he didn't need to—he could tell by the flicker of hurt in her eyes that she understood him well enough. She started to say something, but changed her mind, biting her lip and glancing away. She looked so troubled, as if the wound were her own. Liam was touched by her empathy.

Touched, but also annoyed with himself. It was unprofessional of him to be whinging to someone under his command. (He winced inwardly to think what Arran Green would say.) Yet he couldn't deny that it felt good to have someone to confide in, and Rona was just so . . . understanding.
She gets me
, he thought. Alix was gone, and the way things stood between them . . . Could anyone really blame him for needing to talk?

Still, he'd let himself get carried away.
That's quite enough out of you, Commander Crybaby.
“We should head back,” he said, gesturing at the path. Rona nodded and fell in step beside him, Rudi trotting along ahead.

When they reached Erik's study, they found a messenger waiting for them. One look at the man was enough to send Liam's heart to the floor and back, for it was clear from the state of him—weary, crusted with dirt and sweat—that he'd ridden hard to get here. Urgent news was bad news, in Liam's experience. “Message from General Black, Your Highness,” the man said with a swift bow.