The Bloodbound (13 page)

He could not recall ever being so muddled over a woman, not even as an adolescent. Romance had always come easy to him; too easy, if he was honest with himself. Even after his betrothal, he had never wanted for female attention. Sirin could not very well deny him what she did not deny herself, and so she turned a blind eye to the occasional dalliance, so long as he was discreet. As for the women, they did not seem to mind the secrecy. On the contrary, most of them found it exciting. And if his court was not exactly fooled by his pretensions of faithfulness, well . . . he was hardly the first king to indulge in such recreation. All in all, relationships had never troubled him overmuch. But this was different.
She
was different. Alix Black rattled his confidence in a way that was profoundly disturbing—and intoxicating.

The letter, Erik. Focus.

They number slightly more than we estimated
, he read.
However, that in itself does not concern me. The Kingswords are better trained by far, and a man defending crown and hearth is ten times as fierce as a man whose only aim is conquest.

That was surely Destan's own truth. Erik had seen it for himself at Boswyck, when Alix had charged to his defence. That memory haunted his dreams. Even now, wide awake, he had only to close his eyes to see it: Alix descending on his attackers in a storm of wrath. Frenzied, undisciplined, magnificent. He would remember that image for the rest of his days. Even so, he could have made it easier on himself. He could have left her to her King's Service. She would be gone now, off in the Blacklands with Arran Green and the others. Instead, fool that he was, he had appointed her to be his shadow. How was he to stop thinking about her when she was
right there
, all day, every day?

If only we had met years ago.
Before the war, before his betrothal. She was a Black, the daughter of a Banner House. They could have . . .

No. Don't do that.
He was restive enough without tormenting himself with what could have been.

Erik growled under his breath. He'd read the same paragraph three times over. This self-indulgence was unacceptable, a distraction he could ill afford.
Frivolous
, Tom would have called it, and he would have been right.
But how am I to make a decision, when I can't even concentrate?
He needed a second opinion.

“Alix.” He didn't have to turn around to know where she was.

“Sire?”

“Would you please send for Lord Green?”

“Certainly.”

She returned a moment later, and Erik waved her over. The very least he owed her, and himself, was to keep things from becoming awkward between them. “Take a look at this,” he said, angling the letter to the light, “and tell me what you think.”

He watched her read, those warm hazel eyes scanning the parchment, shapely eyebrows drawn together in thought. When his gaze strayed to her lips, he looked away.
Frivolous
, Tom's voice grated in his head.

“Hmm,” Alix said.

Erik forced a smile. “Care to elaborate?”

“I see your dilemma. General Green can't defend the Blacklands and the Brownlands at the same time. If the enemy splits his host, as Green fears, you'll have to choose.”

“Unless we take our two thousand from here.”

“Leaving the Greenlands defenceless with the bulk of the Oridian army to the south.”

“But if I do nothing, and the Brownlands are ravaged . . .”

She nodded grimly. “You could lose the loyalty of the Browns, and others besides.”

He stared at the letter, scratched out in Arran Green's blocky script. “Tom might bestir himself to defend the Brownlands.”

Alix grimaced. “In which case the Browns would throw in with him for sure.”

She's right.
Each scenario was gloomier than the last. Erik pounded the table in frustration. “Damn! Why do our allies sit idle? Surely the Onnani know they're next, or if not Onnan, then Harram!”

“They're afraid,” she said, and Erik knew she was right about that too.

“Never have I regretted being landlocked more than I do now. If we had access to the old imperial ports . . .”

“Even if the Onnani let us use them, we'd still need a fleet. Our river craft won't be much good at sea.”

“No.” Erik's eyes drifted to the map of Gedona spread out beside the letter. The Trionate of Oridia, painted in crimson, sprawled like a bloodstain over half the continent. Even tiny Andithyri was red; someone had updated the map, inking over the Trionate's latest conquest so that the crimson came right up to Alden's southern border.

How long until my kingdom is red too?

To the west, the Broken Mountains formed a hard, impenetrable line. To the east, Onnan stood between Alden and the sea.

We're trapped.

Erik turned the map upside down, so that north was south, but that only made it worse. Now, Oridia seemed to crush Alden beneath its massive weight. It was no use—any way he looked at it, his kingdom was small, weak, and besieged. “Have I made a terrible mistake, Alix?” he asked softly. “Should I have left Andithyri to its fate, as Tom counselled me? Perhaps we could have avoided this war, if only I had not been so stubborn.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don't do that. You were honour-bound and treaty-bound.”

“Honour-bound, yes. But what good are principles if they come at the expense of everything we hold dear?” The question seemed to come from someone else, someone with Tom's voice.

“It's not just about principles. It's as you said—after Andithyri, it would have been us, and then our neighbours, and so on and so on. The Oridian gods demand conquest. They'll never stop until someone stops them. If it helps, I would have made the same choice.”

Erik started to put his hand over hers, but footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Alix pulled away, retreating to her corner.

Her words did help, a little. But Erik couldn't shake the feeling that one day soon, he would regret his choice, and by then, it would be too late. It was already too late.

“Your Majesty,” Raibert Green said as he entered the study.

“Lord Green.” Erik stood and gestured at the desk. Then, glancing over his shoulder at Alix, he made an abrupt decision. “Would you give us a moment, please, Captain?” She looked taken aback, but she obeyed, withdrawing and closing the door behind her. Raibert eyed his king curiously, waiting for Erik to speak.

“I had hoped for your counsel,” Erik said.

“It is yours whenever you wish it, sire, for whatever it is worth.”

“It is worth a great deal, especially now. I have always relied on the wisdom of my counsellors, but now they're gone—at the front, or in the capital, or dead, and I . . .” He paused, swallowing. “I fear I am lost.” He could never have admitted that with Alix in the room. It was hard enough admitting it to a gentle soul like Raibert Green.

“You are not lost, sire,” Green said.

“No? What else would you call it when a man does not know which course to choose?”

“Wisdom.” Green's pale eyes, so like his cousin's, met Erik's steadily. “Only a fool is certain of every step he takes. A wise man questions his decisions—before he makes them, and after. So long as he does not allow himself to become paralysed by doubt, questioning is healthy and necessary.”

“Yet I am no closer to making a decision.” Erik sighed and rubbed his stinging eyes yet again. “I've worn the crown for almost seven years, yet I never truly felt the weight of it until now. It's as though I've been playacting all along.”

“You're too hard on yourself, sire. Generations of kings come and go without having to face what you're facing now. Your father never had to deal with such a crisis.”

“True enough, and nothing he ever taught me prepared me for something like this.”
Especially since we barely spoke to each other.
In truth, most of what Erik knew of kingcraft he had learned from Albern Highmount. His former first counsel had never shied away from giving advice, solicited or otherwise.
What would Highmount say if he were here now? He would lecture me, as Tom did. That much is certain.
“Tell me the truth, Green—is Tom right about me? Am I frivolous?”

Green did not respond right away. When he did, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “You and your brother are very different people. That has been so since you were children. For you, everything has always come easily. People are drawn to you. They instinctively want to please you. That breeds a certain style of leader, one who inspires his men to greatness. Tomald is a different animal. He lacks your easy way with people, so he has to rely on himself. That has made him strong, and strong-willed. Men like that don't seek to inspire greatness in others, they seek to embody it in themselves.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Green sighed. “You are not frivolous, Erik. But we are at war, both within and without, and the world is not as simple as it used to be. You will have to dig deeper. I know you want to be a good man, and you are. But your duty is to be a good king, and from time to time, it may not be possible for you to be both.”

Erik nodded, stiff and silent.

“Forgive me, sire,” Green said, lowering his gaze. “I speak out of turn.”

“No. I asked for your views, and you gave them. I thank you for it.”

A wry smile flitted across Green's face, as if to say,
I doubt that.
“Will that be all, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Lord Green, thank you.”

Erik's gaze dropped back to the letter as Raibert Green quit the study.
You may have to choose, Your Majesty
, the letter told him,
and soon
. Arran Green was referring to the deployment of the Kingswords, but the words applied equally to what his cousin had just said, about being a good man, or a good king.

You may have to choose, Your Majesty, and soon.

“S
ire.” Raibert Green appeared at the entrance to the solar. “My apologies for interrupting your meal, but a supply party has just arrived from the front.”

Erik stood, his food instantly forgotten. “I trust they have a report for me?”

“Indeed. A scout called Liam awaits you in the oratorium.”

Alix's breath caught in her throat.
Finally!
Three supply missions had come and gone from the front since the Kingswords left Greenhold, all of them accompanied by scouts Alix barely knew. She'd begun to suspect that Arran Green was deliberately keeping her friends away from her. But now a fourth had come, and Liam with it.
The gods are good
, she thought, twisting the golden ivy around her little finger.

“Liam, is it?” Surprisingly, Erik seemed to remember him. “Let's be off, then.”

They followed Raibert Green to the oratorium. A fire was just beginning to flare in the hearth behind the lord's table. The second hearth at the foot of the room sat dark, leaving the gallery cloaked in shadow. Standing at the edge of the firelight, at a respectful distance from the lord's table, was Liam. Alix's step faltered a little at the sight of him, but luckily, both the king and Lord Green had their backs to her. As for Liam, his eyes flicked to her only momentarily; he didn't dare seem more interested in the king's bodyguard than in the king himself. Instead, he did the safe thing and bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty.” Liam's voice echoed under the high ceiling.

“Hello, Liam. Are you well?”

Alix felt a shy sort of pride at the king's solicitude. Liam, though, seemed to find it uncomfortable. He wrung out a nervous smile and said, “Very well, sire, I thank you.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Your leg. It, er, seems better.”

“Much better.” Erik didn't sit; instead, he leaned casually against the lord's table, smiling. Alix and Raibert Green exchanged a bemused look.

“Um,” said Liam. As ever, being in the presence of the king left him awkward and tongue-tied.

“You have news?” Erik prompted gently.

Liam nodded enthusiastically, as though grateful for the reminder. “The commander general sends his regards, sire, and bids me begin by saying that things are going as well as can be expected. We've managed to stop the enemy from further pillaging. They're too busy trying to keep ahead of us. Since we deployed, only a single village has fallen prey to their attacks.”

Alix found it difficult to divide her attention between the sound of Liam's voice and the news of her homeland. She tried to focus, but his nearness stirred her insides like embers, kindling a warm glow—and an ashen wisp of dread.

“So we have them on the run, then,” Erik said.

“We did, until they reached the Scions. Now they've hunkered down inside the fork of the river.”

“The Scions . . .” Erik shook his head. “It's been years since I've been to the Blacklands. I don't remember . . .” He looked over at Alix, inviting comment.

The conversation had her full attention now. “The Scions is the place where the Tyrant splits.” She spread three fingers, demonstrating. “It creates two wedges of land, both of them hemmed in by water. The only way to reach them is by fording the north fork a few miles downstream.” She pointed at the middle knuckle of her index finger. “All the enemy has to do is hold the ford, and they're virtually unassailable.”

“Unless we go around,” said Liam, “but the nearest bridge is over two hundred miles downstream, and if we made a move toward it, the enemy would have plenty of time to bring it down.”

Erik frowned. “Attacking the ford sounds risky.”

“Like laying siege to a castle,” Alix said. “They can hold the ford with a fraction of their number.”

“And that's exactly what they're doing,” Liam said. “Did Your Majesty receive General Green's last letter?”

“I did. I take it the enemy has split its host?”

“Yes, sire. They've left about a thousand to hold the ford. The rest are making their way east, to the Brownlands. If we try to intercept them, we'll be leaving the Blacklands defenceless.”

“But if you don't, the Brownlands will be virtually defenceless,” Raibert said, stating the obvious.

Liam nodded. “I'm afraid so, my lord. General Green requests His Majesty's instructions.”

Erik swore quietly and pushed away from the table. He started to pace. “Lord Green, how many men do you need to hold the castle against a siege?”

Raibert sighed. He knew where this was going. “Five hundred, I suppose. It depends on what the enemy has for siege engines.”

“Meaning we could ride out with fifteen hundred. Liam, how many of the enemy march on the Brownlands?”

“Four thousand, sire.”

Alix already knew what Erik's decision would be. It was written in the set of his eyebrows, the tension of his jaw. She knew that look.

Raibert knew it too. “They would outnumber us almost three to one,” he said, as though Erik couldn't count. “We could not hope to defeat them.”

“But we can slow them down, and that is exactly what we'll do. Send word to Adelbard Brown immediately. He must gather his garrison and whatever ragtag band of peasants he has managed to muster and meet us on the field. Together, we will buy time for your cousin to dislodge the enemy from the Scions.”

Raibert frowned. “A costly purchase.”

“That depends on how you calculate the terms. I don't dare leave the Browns to their fate, Lord Green. I must consider the fights we face in the future, as well as those we face now. I need Lord Brown's allegiance. We've discussed this already, you and I.”

“We have indeed,” Raibert said coolly, “and you know my views, but it seems you are decided. Apparently, those whose loyalties are beyond question must sacrifice for those whose loyalties are in doubt.”

Alix winced, and Liam studied his boots. As for the king, he only sighed. “I do not ask you to leave your lands defenceless, Lord Green. If the host at the border so much as glances north, we will return with all haste. But I must remind you, if that happens, every Kingsword at my command will not be enough to drive the enemy from our lands. That power will remain beyond us until I return to Erroman and the armies of Alden reunite under me. For that I must have the Browns.”

The anger bled from Raibert's eyes, and he nodded resignedly. “You have the right of it, Your Majesty, but it is a bitter draught to swallow.”

Erik put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. And I will make it up to you, I promise.” He glanced back at Liam. “You understand what you're to tell General Green?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good. Thank you, Liam, and let Olan be your sign.” To Alix, he said, “Feel free to accompany Liam back to the camp. I'm sure you're eager for news of your comrades.”

The delight that washed over Alix carried a distinct aftertaste of anxiety. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Liam bowed again and headed for the double doors behind the gallery. He paused until Alix caught up, holding the door for her. A subtle grin played at his mouth, but he wiped it off as they made their way out into the crowded bailey. They walked in impatient silence, not even daring to look at each other until they were well down the path to camp. Then Liam put his hand on the small of her back and steered her into the trees, just as he had done all those weeks ago.

He crushed her to him the moment they were alone. “Allie,” he murmured into her neck, “it's so good to see you.” He hoisted her off the ground, extracting a squeal of surprise. Then he bent his forehead to hers and let out a long sigh, as though relieved of an ache.

Taking his face in her hands, Alix said a silent prayer of thanks. “You look well.” She brushed the thick stubble lining his jaw. “If a little shaggy.”

Liam had several days' growth of beard, and a harder look about him than Alix remembered, but his crooked grin was as mischievous as ever. “Do you like it? I think it makes a very manly impression.”

“It certainly made a manly impression on my neck.” She rubbed a tender spot where his beard had chafed her.

“Completely intentional. Gives me an excuse to do this.” He leaned in and kissed her throat.

Brutally overruling her instincts, Alix forced herself to step back. “So, who else came with you?” She was postponing the inevitable, but they'd had only a few moments together. She wasn't ready. It was like lingering in bed after the morning wake-up call, wringing out just a few more moments of peace before facing the day.

“Just Ide,” Liam said. “Green wouldn't spare any more. The scouts are stretched thinner than ever, with so many fronts to watch. I've been crisscrossing the Blacklands for weeks, but I guess Green finally took pity on me.”

“I'm surprised he sent you at all, considering how he feels about me.”

“I don't think he had much of a choice. Like I said, we're stretched pretty thin.”

“How's it going out there?”

Liam's smile grew taut. “It's not easy. The scouts have it okay, but the rest . . . We're losing a lot of men.”

“But Green knows the terrain, and the Kingswords are so much better trained . . .” It sounded like wilful denial, even to her own ears.

“They have more cavalry, and there's some kind of consumption running through our ranks. Gwylim had it, but only for a couple of weeks, thank the gods. I think we've lost more to that damn cough than to the enemy, actually. And it's cold as hell up there in the highlands. Hard to sleep.”

“How often do you meet in battle?”

“Less and less. It's like . . . have you ever seen a fistfight? A professional one, I mean?”

“Oh, sure. Every time I go down to the local tavern for a quaff with the lads.”

“Well, excuse me, Lady Highborn. Anyway, you can imagine what it's like if the fight goes on too long. If neither fighter lands a knockout punch, they just keep going at it, swinging and swinging, bleeding and sweating, until they're so tired they can't even really fight anymore, and all they're doing is grappling, sort of like a big messy hug. We've kind of reached that stage.”

“You must be exhausted.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here. You're here.” He wrapped his arms around her again, and she couldn't bear to pull away, not yet.

Just a little longer.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you. About that night.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “It kept me warm on many a cold night, I can tell you.”

Gods, it was agony. And when he leaned in to kiss her, it took every scrap of her strength to back away. This was the moment she'd been dreading. “Wait. I have to tell you something.”

“Uh-oh. This doesn't sound promising.” His tone was light, but Alix saw the apprehension in his eyes.

She struggled to find the words. A confusing tangle of emotions battled for dominance, dread and guilt and longing. They were familiar to her now, a constant companion ever since that night in the study. “Something happened that I think you should know about. With Erik.”

He nodded. “An assassin on the walls, I know. Green told me. You weren't hurt, were you?”

His trust cut Alix to the quick. That trust had allowed him to surrender to her before he was ready. And now it lay broken in her hands, fragments of something precious she couldn't put back together.

“No, not that. He . . . Erik, he . . .” Dread was winning the emotional war. She just wanted to get it over with. “He kissed me, Liam. And . . . I kissed him back.”

There was a long, torturous pause. Liam just looked at her, as though unsure whether he'd heard correctly. “I see,” he said eventually.

“I didn't mean for it to happen,” she heard herself saying, sickened by the triteness of her own words.

He swallowed, shifted from foot to foot. “Did you . . . Are you . . . ?” He couldn't bring himself to finish. Pain was blooming in his eyes like a drop of ink in clear water.

“No! Nothing like that!” She thanked the gods it was the truth. “It was only a moment, but it just happened so fast . . . I don't know how to explain it. It was like . . .”

“You don't have to explain.” Liam's voice was heartbreakingly flat. “I understand.”

“No, you don't! You couldn't possibly, because I don't understand it myself! I've gone over it a thousand times in my head, and I know what I felt, but it doesn't make sense!”

“What did you feel?” He looked at the ground, unable to face her answer.

Damn.
She shouldn't have said that. Now she was going to have to explain, and that could well make things worse. She bit her lip. “When he touched me . . . this is going to sound strange, but . . . well, he reminded me of you.”

Liam stared.

“I know how crazy that is, and it's no excuse. But there was something about the way he looked at me, the way he . . .” She paused, grasping. “I don't know how to describe it, Liam, but in that moment, it was like I was kissing you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “This isn't happening. This is a bad dream.”

A stream of defensive drivel started falling from her lips. “You actually look a bit alike, you know, once you get past the hair colour. You have the same jaw, and practically the same nose, and you even have the same expressions sometimes, especially when . . .”

Alix paused. She looked carefully at Liam.

Liam looked back at her grimly. It was that expression, one she had seen so often on the face of her king, that drove it home.

“Liam . . .”

“Don't.” A command, a warning, but most of all, a plea.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You . . . you and Erik . . . you're—”

“I think it would be best if you didn't finish that thought,” Liam said firmly.