The Bloodbound (17 page)

S
tupid. So stupid. So gods-damned stupid.
Alix stomped through the undergrowth toward the river, willing the flash of heat in her skin to subside. Why had she done that? Why? What could possibly be gained by it? Testing herself, indeed. As if there could be any true test. Liam wasn't here; she hadn't seen him in weeks. All that remained was the piece of him wedged deep inside her, and when she reached down into that place, all she felt was hurt, like a shard of glass buried in her belly. How could she weigh her desire for Erik against the pain of Liam's loss? She might as well weigh water against wind.

Discussing Liam with Erik had been delicious, in a frightening and forbidden sort of way. If she could have drawn it out even further without arousing Erik's suspicion, she would have. It was the closest she could come to Liam right now, and she was greedy for any excuse to think of him. And yet she had kissed Erik, passionately, and very nearly done more than that.
Again.
How could she reconcile those two things?

A tremendous weariness came over her. She would drive herself crazy with this. And yet her mind was already whirring with ideas, treacherously plotting new ways to broach the subject of Liam again. It didn't help that Erik had been so forthcoming, as though part of him had needed it too. It had almost felt like a confession. Probably he had no one else to confide in, at least not on a matter so delicate as this. No one except . . .

Alix paused. Tom must know about his half brother. If he wanted Erik dead, might he want Liam dead too?
I wonder if Erik's thought of that?
She would have to mention it to him when he woke up. She could not have invented a better reason to bring it up again . . .

She sighed. Thinking about Liam was like worrying a loose tooth, an irresistible compulsion that was somehow satisfying even as it made her bleed. Unlike a loose tooth, however, Liam refused to be dislodged.

She resumed her stride, uncorking her empty water skin as she neared the riverbank. She had almost reached the water's edge when an uneasy feeling prickled under her skin. She sensed something, a cue too subtle for her conscious mind to identify. She was being watched. Slowly, deliberately, she scanned the trees. Sunshine lanced through the branches, piercing the undergrowth with shafts of light and shadow that played tricks on the eye. Leaves shuddered and stirred all around her. The birds continued to trill, oblivious to anything amiss.

Alix felt the air move on her skin, as gentle as the breath of a lover. She spun, leading with her elbow, and was rewarded with a sharp impact and a grunt. Before she had even completed her turn, she threw herself into the hooded figure, tackling him to the ground. Her dagger flashed, pressed against warm flesh. She looked into dark eyes wide with shock, even as they glinted with amusement.

“I believe this is about where we left off, Lady Black, albeit with a slightly smaller blade.”

“You.”
She started to pull back, but thought better of it and stayed where she was. “State your purpose!”

The spy raised an eyebrow. “I've returned with information, as we agreed. Please don't say you've forgotten me already. My pride might never recover.”

She relaxed a little, but she didn't put her blade away. “You're an idiot. I almost killed you.”

“So it would seem.”

“Why are you sneaking around in the woods? You should have announced yourself to one of the knights.”

“What an excellent idea. ‘Good morning, Commander Valiant, what a cosy little war camp you have here. Could you kindly inform the king's bodyguard that I would like to see her? No, she doesn't know my name. No, I'm afraid I can't tell you why I'm here. Now be a good knight and fetch her, will you?'”

“Point taken,” she said wryly. “What are you doing here?”

“I believe we just went over that.”

“We agreed that you would send a message. By
pigeon
.” She pointed her dagger at the sky.

“Indeed, yet my missives to Greenhold went unanswered. A problem with the quality of my birds, perhaps. They seem to have difficulty finding an army in the field.”

Alix paused. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“So I surmised.”

She clambered off him and extended a hand. “How did you find us?”

Only after he'd brushed the leaves from his cloak and drawn the hood back up over his face did he answer. “How did I find two thousand metal-clad men in an open field?”

“Are you always this sarcastic?”

“Alas, I lack the wit for subtler humour.”

Alix doubted that, but she wouldn't flatter him by saying so. “Our enemies don't seem to find it so easy to locate us.”

“Your enemies might have a harder time than I do plying the locals for information. People are surprisingly uncooperative with foreigners who just left off burning their fields. Besides”—he cocked his head back over his shoulder—“you can't be that difficult to find. Unless my eyes deceive me, that is a band of sellswords encamped at your flank.”

Alix made a sour face. “Yes, well . . . desperate times, and all that.”

“Who are they?”

She shrugged. “They call themselves the Fist. They showed up last week, claiming a burning desire to defend the realm. This in spite of the fact that at least half of them are foreigners, as far as I can tell.”

“Alden inspires love far and wide.”

“Especially its gold.”

“I'm sure I don't need to tell you that mercenaries cannot be trusted.”

“You're right,” Alix said, “you don't. So why don't you tell me something else, starting with what I'm paying you for?”

Though his features were largely obscured in the depths of his cowl, Alix could hear the smile in his rasping voice. “I really must thank you, Lady Black. I always enjoy my work, but this contract is something special. His Highness makes for gripping drama. The peaks and valleys of his humours, especially. Maybe I should be taking notes. Then one day, when I'm old and tired, I can write an epic play about it. A tragedy, naturally, in which the hero has only himself to blame for his downfall.”

She clucked her tongue impatiently. “Get on with it.”

“Very well. First, I can confirm that the Raven does not act alone.”

“How do you know?”

“I came upon a letter, written in his own hand, addressed to our Oridian friends.”

So there it is.
Alix felt ill. “What did it say?”

“His Highness pronounced himself exceedingly vexed by the continued presence of foreign forces on his soil. He demanded to know why the Oridian army was not turning back as agreed, and reiterated his commitment to declare neutrality in the wider war as soon as the last Oridian soldier quits Aldenian territory.”

Every muscle in Alix's body went taut; for a moment, she couldn't speak through the knot of rage in her throat. “Tom offered Erik's head in exchange for peace.”

“Peace, and a crown.”

“But the enemy reneged.” It was all she could do to hold herself together against the fury rattling inside her.

The spy merely shrugged. “Perhaps the Oridians believe it was the Raven who reneged. After all, King Erik lives. Or perhaps the Raven was simply treating with the wrong Trion.”

“What do you mean?”

“The letter was addressed to Varad, the King. By all accounts, he is the least powerful of the Trions. It's the Priest whose gods demand conquest, and the Warlord is said to lust for battle above all things. Even if Varad wanted to withdraw, it's possible the other two overruled him.”

“You seem to know a lot about Oridian politics.”

If the spy noticed the suspicion in her voice, it didn't trouble him. “More than the Raven, apparently.”

“How did you come by this letter? It seems awfully convenient that you should find it.”

“It was far from convenient, Lady Black, and that's all I'll say. Men who reveal their sources don't last very long in my trade.”

Alix paused. Something uncomfortable had just occurred to her. “Did you kill anyone? For the letter, or anything else?”

He cocked his head, considering her. Though she could see little of his features, Alix felt the weight of his gaze upon her. “Perhaps it is better to avoid seeking details that might offend your delicate sensibilities,” he said.

It wasn't often that someone accused a Black of having delicate sensibilities, but then again, the spy presumably moved in different social circles. Clearing her throat, Alix said, “All right, so his plans aren't unfolding exactly the way he'd hoped. What's his next move?”

“Since his allies abroad seem to have abandoned him, he looks closer to home. He would turn the nobility against King Erik.”

“That's absurd,” Alix scoffed.

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is. All the Banner Houses support Erik. Only the Golds are uncertain, and the Goldswords are too few to make any difference to either side.”

“All the Banner Houses, you say.” There was something unmistakably smug in the spy's tone. “Are you sure?”

She narrowed her eyes. “The Blacks, Greens, and Browns are all here with the Kingswords, and the Greys are tied by marriage.”

“Ah, but that's not quite so, is it? The Greys are not tied by marriage. They are tied by a
promise
of marriage, a promise that seems certain to be broken.”

Alix feigned indifference. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Come, Lady Black, you cannot think so little of my skill, or you would not have hired me. However discreet the Raven and his lover may be, there are no secrets at court, at least not among my kind. And King Erik has made it clear that he would like nothing more than to wriggle out of his betrothal. Lady Grey may have concluded that her daughter's only chance at the crown lies with Prince Tomald. If that's so . . . well, you certainly don't need me to tell you how powerful the Greys are, especially with the other Banner Houses brought low by the war.”

By the Virtues, he's right. The Greys have every incentive to back Tom. And if they do . . .
“It's not even their swords that matter,” she said grimly. “The Raven has more than enough of those already. It's their influence.”

“Many a lesser lord is beholden to the Greys,” the spy agreed. “And an ambitious nobleman might smell an opportunity in all this. The venerable old Banner Houses are humbled, too weak to defend their positions, but many of the lesser houses are as yet untouched by the war. Perhaps a new king might bestow new banners.”

Alix shivered. “Would people truly be so disloyal?”

“Someone thinks so. A group calling itself the White Ravens has started posting notices all over the city, denouncing King Erik and his vainglorious war and praising Prince Tomald's steadfast leadership.”

“A propaganda campaign? Surely people will see through that?”

“Some no doubt will, but the White Ravens have marshalled more than a few sheets of parchment to their cause. Rumour has it they are disposed of a handsome coin purse, and they will loosen its strings for any noble family willing to declare for them when the time comes. I think we can guess who is master of those purse strings.”

“The Greys.”

“Or perhaps the Raven himself, if he has wrested control of the royal treasury. It doesn't really matter in the end.”

Alix found herself pacing, the undergrowth crackling beneath her boots as she traced a short, restless path in front of the spy. “If these White Ravens can paper Erroman with their cant, so can we. Recruit as many helpers as you need. I want every tavern and market stall covered in notices. The people will know of the Raven's treachery.”

“That may persuade the common man, but what of the nobility? The more ambitious of your peers won't give a boar's backside about what really happened at Boswyck, if you will pardon me for saying so. They will smell the winds changing, and ready their sails for whatever tack will carry them to wealth and power.”

“In that case, we'd better convince them that tacking toward Erik will be to their profit, and Tomald their ruin.”

“What do you propose?”

“Put it about that King Erik has a spy among the White Ravens, someone keeping track of every lord who promises himself to Prince Tomald. The king knows who they are, and what they've been offered, and when he returns to Erroman, there will be a reckoning.”

“Interesting.” The spy sounded amused. “I've never been asked to disseminate misinformation before.”

“But you can do it?”

He shrugged. “Easily, but to what end? Will it be enough to deter these opportunists?”

“Maybe not, but it should give a few of them pause, at least. And it will sow mistrust among them. All we really need is to keep them guessing until Erik is ready to return to the capital.”

“Well, well, Lady Black.” Once again, she could hear the smile in the spy's dark voice. “Perhaps I misjudged your affinity for espionage. You seem to have rather a knack for it.”

“I'm flattered.”

“I'll set to work immediately.”

“Good.” Alix reached for her belt and unhooked her coin purse. “Another instalment,” she said, tossing it at him.

He caught it with a deft swipe of his hand. “Thank you. And now let me offer you one last thing in return, as a token of our continued partnership.”

Alix raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Saxon,” the spy said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name, though I'd thank you not to spread it about.”

“Saxon.” It was probably a false name, but even so, she found herself oddly pleased at the gesture.

Saxon bowed, his movements as graceful as the shadows of the leaves. Then he turned and melted into the forest, leaving Alix blinking after him.