Bride by Midnight (20 page)

Without even a whisper of warning, four large men wearing sentinels’ uniforms stepped out of the woods. Lyssa was frozen on the path, shocked into stillness, but Blade reacted instantly. He threw himself toward her, protecting her from the first attacker, a stocky man who moved on her in complete and unnatural silence. The attackers’ boots made no noise on the forest floor; she did not hear any of the men breathe, didn’t hear even a rustle of clothing. It was like a bad dream, so much so that for a second she wondered if maybe she’d fallen asleep and none of this was real.

No, this was far too real.

Blade had a knife; she had a newfound magic she did not understand and could not control. The four men who surrounded them had swords, shining blades that did not belong in the quiet safety of the forest, and at this moment the power of their weapons seemed to be stronger, more real, than any magic she might muster.

Blade’s much-too-short dagger should have been all but worthless against the sword that swung in their direction, but it was not. He moved with an almost unnatural quickness and grace. As he fought, feinting and stabbing and trying to draw blood and drive the silent man back, another moved toward her. But Blade was fast, and he was strong. He defended her against two simultaneous attackers surprisingly well, drawing blood and keeping the attackers’ blades away from her.

But then the other two moved in, and the balance of power changed. Blade could fight against two, but four... He had no chance against four men with swords. Trained fighters who made no sound as they moved...

Until Lyssa touched them. One soldier grabbed her from behind while Blade pushed another back, and suddenly she heard a boot among fallen leaves, heavy breathing. Her healing power had lifted whatever dark magic gave the swordsman the gift of silence.

Once she realized that her touch robbed them of their magical silence, she attempted to lay her hands on them all to ensure that Blade could hear when one of them moved behind him. But that knowledge and her actions came too late, and the ability to hear them was not enough to outweigh their advantage in number and in weaponry. Blade drew blood, but so did they. His arm, his thigh, and finally his torso, very near his heart.

She watched as a sentinel’s blade pierced his chest. Blood bloomed on his shirt, quick and dark. He fell, and Lyssa heard herself scream as one of the attackers grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her away.

She managed to wrench herself from his grasp and fall to the ground, her hands splaying on Blade’s chest. There was so much blood, and he was so still... was he already dead? No, no, his chest rose and fell. His heart beat beneath her hands; it had not been pierced by an attacker’s sword.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing both hands to his chest. She’d never tried to heal before, not like this. Madam Azar’s knee had been entirely accidental. The healing of Edine’s hand had been instinctive. In both cases the healing had been quick, almost instantaneous, but neither of those wounds had been like this one. Deep. A killing wound. She searched for the green light and had almost found it when one of the attackers grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. She was dragged away from Blade, her bloody hands ripped from his chest.

He needed her. At last she could help him with the magic she’d found. She could save him if only she could touch him. One more time.

“Please, let me say goodbye to my husband,” she pleaded as she stumbled back, falling clumsily into the man who held onto her tightly, too tightly. “He’s dying!” She had barely touched him. Was it enough?

“No,” the man who dragged her away said. “We have our orders.”

“From who? What kind of orders?” Her heart thudded dangerously hard and her breath would barely come. “I’m no one. I’m nothing!” Blade was getting farther and farther away. She could no longer tell if he was breathing or not. He didn’t move, not even a twitch of a finger. “Why are you doing this?”

No one answered her. The stocky man dragged her away from the path, away from Blade. She tried to fight, but the man who had captured her was strong, solid. Her struggles were useless. She screamed. Once, twice. At first the sentinels seemed not to care, and then one of them—she could not see his face—said in a passionless voice that if her screams drew anyone to them, if anyone tried to help her, the would-be rescuers would be killed as her husband had been killed.

Lyssa believed the threat. She had no doubt about their potential for violence, so she went silent. She tried to walk, as they led her toward the road she and Blade had been avoiding, but her steps were too short and the solid man continued to drag her along. She was panting by the time they reached a clearing where five horses waited. One for her and one for each of them, she noted. Had they intended for Blade to share a horse with her or walk? No, they had never intended for him to survive to this point. They had intended all along to kill him.

She breathed deeply when she was finally allowed to stop. Her head spun, tears trailed down her cheeks and still her heart pounded too hard. But she didn’t have very long to mourn Blade or feel sorry for herself. Her hands were bound, a rough gag was fashioned over her mouth, and she was unceremoniously and roughly thrown over a horse’s saddle. She had not begged for mercy for herself, and it was too late to beg for Blade. But as she landed on the saddle, hard and rough, a new thought flashed through her head.

Don’t hurt my baby.

***

Blade could feel the ground beneath him, but he could not move. He was dead, had realized he was dead as soon as the sentinel’s sword had sliced into him that last time and torn his insides apart.

Was there pain in the Land of the Dead? Was this searing hurt to be his eternal punishment for the wrongs he’d done in his living years?

A soft voice whispered in his ear. No, in his
head
.
Find me
. Runa beyond death or Lyssa in the Land of the Living? He was in between lives, he knew, in between the two women he loved. His sister and his wife. He had failed them both. It took great effort, but he opened his eyes. There, standing over him, was a girl dressed all in white. She was not quite solid, not quite... there. It took him a moment to recognize her, it had been so long. Runa. Runa as she would have been if she’d lived. Fifteen years old. As pretty as their mother had been, before time and war and soldiers had taken her beauty from her. So, he was dead after all.

“Not yet,” she whispered, as if she had read his mind. “Not for a very long time.”

“Runa...”

“Find her, Blade. Save her and your daughter....”

“I don’t have a daughter.”

Runa smiled. “You will.”

With that his little sister was gone, and the pain returned with a vengeance. He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. “Come back,” he whispered. He had so many questions for her, so much to say.

Again he opened his eyes. The hazy world spun and in response he pressed his hands into the dirt to make it stop. He was on his back in the forest. Sitting up was an effort, but he managed. He looked around for Lyssa, for the attackers. All he saw were the signs of a bloody struggle. He glanced down at his torn and bloody clothes, lifted a scrap of blood-stained fabric to look at the place on his chest where a blade had sliced through his flesh. He had to wipe away drying blood—how long had be been lying here? How long since he’d dreamed of Runa?—but there was no wound. There was not even a scar, other than the one Volker had given him four years ago. He checked the cuts on his arm, the gash on his leg, and found the same. Blood and torn clothing, but no actual wounds.

Lyssa. Lyssa had healed him. His wife, his witch, the woman who had made him more from the moment she’d looked into his eyes.

Blade placed a hand over his heart. Dammit, she had healed him there, too, though he had fought against it with all he possessed. The need for vengeance that had given him purpose was gone. It was as if there was a hole where a part of him had been, as if she had not healed him so much as ripped away a piece of his soul.

But a new need had taken the place of that once-nurtured hatred. Blade now had a burning need to save the woman he loved and the daughter they had made, or would make. Even if his vision of Runa had been a fever dream, he knew that he and Lyssa would have babies. Daughters, like her. Sons... again, more like her than like him, he could hope, though they would be his to teach. To train.

He had not come back from the dead to walk away from his wife.

Blade couldn’t say if what he felt for her was real or if it was created by magic. Until he saw her safe, it did not matter.

He searched the forest floor around him. His dagger was gone. He didn’t want to move forward without a weapon of any kind, but he would if he had to. Maybe one of the attackers had dropped a sword and he would finally have the weapon Lyssa had assured him he would use to kill Volker.

But no. No sword.

Blade crawled forward, brushing aside fallen leaves, continuing to search. His dagger was nearby, he knew it. Felt it. All he had to do was find the damn thing! Finally a sliver of afternoon light glinted on silver, catching his eye. There it was, half hidden underneath a pile of leaves against the base of an old tree. Still without strength, he crawled to the dagger, grabbed the hilt in his bloodied hand, and stood. His vision dimmed, his head swam, but he did not fall. Instead he rested against the tree for a few short seconds, and then he pushed himself away and started walking slowly back toward Arthes, back toward the very place Lyssa had warned him to avoid. He did not return the dagger to its sheath but gripped it in his hand.

Perhaps he was a fool to take on the emperor’s army with no other weapon than this, but for now, it would have to suffice.

***

Lyssa woke in a dark, cold room, lying awkwardly on a stone floor. There were no windows, and she was almost positive that she was underground. She felt as if she were suffocating, as if she were alone and falling endlessly, just as she had in her dreams. Dreams she hadn’t had since marrying Blade.

But she was not falling. Nor was she truly alone. She rested her hand on her flat stomach. She’d heard her friends talk about knowing they were with child long before there was any physical indication of their condition. Edine had claimed to know the very night she conceived her first child, and a couple of other friends had told similar tales. Lyssa had never said so, since it would have been rude, but she’d thought those tales to be, well, hooey.

Until she’d been thrown onto a horse and her first thought had been
Don’t hurt my baby
. Was it a real knowing or just wishful thinking on her part? Given her current situation, it was possible she would never find out. The baby seemed so real to her. So wonderfully true.

A baby. A part of her, the part that wanted to escape from this harsh reality, wondered when—where—the baby had been conceived. On that first night, in an alleyway? In a soft bed in the home she and Blade had shared for such a short time? On a forest floor, as thoughts of true love teased her?

She could not afford to lose herself in such wonderings. Reality could not be denied for long.

The only light in the room crept around the edges of a door. Her head ached; her entire body was sore. She could not help but groan as she mentally surveyed the soreness. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she hurt.

Was Blade dead, or had she been quick enough—and powerful enough—to heal him? She would probably never know. If he did wake and find her gone, he would surely take the opportunity to escape from her and the chaos she had brought to his life. In spite of what he’d said, in spite of the kiss... any sane man would run. With a distance between them the magic would fade away and he would be free to go on without her. At least, she hoped that was true. She wanted him to survive, to live.

“You are awake at last,” a man whispered hoarsely. He was in the room with her, too close. Lyssa scurried away from that voice, stood, and placed her back against the wall. Her muscles ached from the struggle and the awkward ride, but fear made her forget the pain for a moment. She heard the snick of a match, watched the flame flare to life, saw it catch the wick of a fat candle. The opposite corner of the small room was lit, illuminating a man in a dark cloak. His face was turned away from her, lost in deep shadow.

“What do you want with me?”

He took a step toward her. She had no place to go, nowhere to run, but she pressed her back more firmly against the wall as if she might be able to move through it if she tried hard enough.

“You should be grateful to me and my men for saving you.” When she saw his face she caught her breath and held it. In her mind, she had seen Blade kill this man with a sword. It would probably not be wise to share that information.

Volker.

“Grateful?” She choked on the word. “Your men killed my husband, hit me over the head, and now I am prisoner in this dank, windowless room.
Grateful
?”

“Yes,
grateful
, witch. My girls very much want you dead, but with your husband gone, I don’t see how you’ll be much of a threat to our plans. I should like the opportunity to study you before I see to your disposal. If you are useful to me, perhaps I will let you live.”

Lyssa had been afraid before. First of a witch’s prophecy, then of being truly alone. For weeks now she had feared herself, feared what she had become—or was becoming. Then there was her terror of losing Blade—to his need for vengeance and a sword, or to the indifference he had shown her in early days. Loss was loss. But she had never before suffered this kind of fear. This man meant to
study
her. While she did not know exactly what that might entail, she doubted it would be pleasant. And since she had no intention of helping him in any way, she would soon be dead.

All that blood she’d seen in her mind as she’d thought of Arthes... it was hers.

Blade had suffered from fear himself, and now she understood in a way she had not before. He had feared her ability to change him, to take away the pain in his heart. If she could heal him deep inside, could she heal others? Her touch had removed the dark magic that gifted the sentinels who’d killed Blade with unnatural silence. Would a touch shift this man’s soul from evil to good? She took a step forward, raising her hand slowly as she approached him. She attempted to harness the power that until now had come and gone with little control on her part. If it was hers, then she should—must—learn control. Just a few steps; that was all it would take to reach him.