The Bloodbound (3 page)

“Such a terrible day,” Kerta said. “Each friend spared is a gift from above.”

And just like that, Alix felt like a cretin. It was petty to indulge in ungenerous thoughts, especially now. Kerta had never been anything but amiable, and if her overtures were slightly overwrought, there were surely worse sins. Alix mustered something appropriate to say. “It must have been awful, being up there with the Wolves.”

Kerta nodded sadly. “Bad enough to watch our comrades falling to the enemy, but to see Prince Tomald betray his own brother . . .” Her voice wavered, and she looked away. After a pause, she added, “At least King Erik survived, thanks to you. You're a true hero, Alix.”

Alix squirmed even more. She cast about for a suitably gracious reply, but fortunately, Gwylim spared her the trouble. “Tell Alix what you told me—about the Trion.”

“It's only a rumour,” Kerta said.

That didn't bother Alix. Rumour fed an army as surely as dried meat and hardtack. “Tell me.”

“Apparently, one of the Trions was spotted on the battlefield.”

Alix's eyebrows flew up. “Which one?”

“The Priest.”

Alix swore quietly. Of the three lords of Oridia, the Priest was the most feared. It was the Priest whose fervour drove the Trionate to conquer and convert. It was he who kept their army equipped with bloodforged weapons, who called down the favour of his gods before every battle. Rumour had it that he commanded other, darker magicks as well. Every child in Alden knew the name of Madan “the Madman,” dark witch of the Trionate, haunter of shadows and nightmares.

Infamous as he was, however, Alix had never heard of the Priest being spied on a battlefield. “Who saw him?”

“One of the knights.”

“How would an Aldenian knight know what the Priest looks like?”

Kerta shrugged. “As I said, it's only a rumour.”

Alix started to ask another question, but that moment, Liam appeared, looking uncharacteristically serious. “Good,” he said, “you're here. Green sent me to look for you. He wants to speak with us right away.”

Alix winced. She'd been dreading this. “Just the two of us?”

“I'm afraid so. He's been saving it up until you were well enough.”

“How considerate of him.” Alix sighed and rolled her stiff shoulders, as though preparing for battle—which was not far off. “Oh, well. Better get it over with.”

“Good luck,” Gwylim called after them.

They would need it. A lecture from Arran Green was enough to make even the hardest man quail. From the moment she had stepped over the edge of that bluff and into battle, Alix had known she would be made to answer for it. Arran Green was not a man to take disobedience lightly, no matter how well intentioned.

They found Green near his tent, issuing orders to his squire. Alix and Liam paused at a respectful distance while they waited for him to finish. Alix watched Liam watching the squire. There was no resentment in his gaze, only interest. She hoped that meant Liam was finally getting over his anger at being replaced. More than once, she'd thought to ask him how he came to be banished to the scouts, but it was such a sore point that she didn't dare.

At length, Green sent the squire off and turned to his scouts, folding his hands behind his back as he looked them over. He held himself straight and proud as always, but Alix noticed that one shoulder hung slightly lower than the other. Dislocated, maybe. But if Green was in pain, he gave no sign; his expression was inscrutable as always, pale eyes sharp beneath the thick brows, angular features hewn from granite, bearded jaw set in hard, unyielding lines.

“I am pleased to see you are feeling better,” he told Alix. If he felt any real pleasure, his voice gave no hint of it.

“Thank you,” she said with an awkward dip of her head. “And I was relieved to hear you were all right.”

He grunted. “I should not be. Had I been at my king's side where I belonged, I would no doubt have perished along with the rest of his knights. Being assigned to lead the eastern charge was both a boon and a curse, it seems.”

Alix and Liam nodded mutely.

“A hard-fought battle,” Green continued. “It is a blessing that King Erik survived. You showed extraordinary courage, Alix.”

But . . .
She could feel the word bearing down on her.

“The fact remains, however, that you disobeyed a direct order. Both of you.” His gaze shifted to Liam. “I explicitly told you to stay behind on the bluff. In defying me, you dishonoured yourselves and your commander. The king's army demands discipline above all else. Insubordination cannot be tolerated. I do not have to tell you that it is customarily punishable by death.”

Alix felt the blood drain from her face. She had anticipated stern words, but this? Surely even Arran Green could not expect them to stand idle as their comrades were slaughtered, when even the White Wolves had deserted in droves? But a moment's glance was all it took to answer that question; Green's gaze was cold and unforgiving, his mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

“I might have expected as much from a Black, but I am especially disappointed in you, Liam. You were my squire for almost seven years. You know better than to defy me.”

Liam faced the rebuke with admirable composure. “I have no excuse, General,” he said, raising his chin, “but surely Alix did right? She saved the king.”

“She disobeyed a direct order.”

“I'm rather glad she did, actually,” came a voice over Alix's shoulder, and she turned to find King Erik hobbling toward them, leaning on a crutch. He winked at her discreetly as he passed. “Don't be too hard on them, Green. They have done their kingdom a great service.”

Alix fought to suppress the blush spreading over her cheeks. Fortunately, all eyes were on the king.

Green's countenance betrayed no annoyance, but Alix knew it was there. “Of course, Your Majesty. Nevertheless, I wish to make certain that insubordination does not become a habit. We have just seen what becomes of an army when men take it into their heads to defy their orders.”

Alix caught her breath, astounded by his lack of tact. Her gaze snapped instinctively to the king. A shadow of anger flickered through Erik's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Indeed,” he said, “and I don't wish to interfere, but I did want to thank my rescuer in person.” He turned to Alix, smiling warmly. “The crown owes you a great debt, Lady Alix, and I owe you my life. You have my eternal gratitude. And may I add that you cut a very impressive figure on the battlefield.”

“I . . . Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“If only I had a hundred like you, we should have defeated the enemy even without the Wolves.” The light drained from his eyes at these words, and he turned back to the commander general. “I would have a word, Green. We are at a safe distance from the Oridians now. It's time to talk strategy.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

The king started to shuffle away on his crutch. “Bring your scouts. One can never have too many sensible voices.”

Green's thick eyebrows gathered like a storm cloud, but he didn't protest. “As you say, sire.”

Liam looked uncomfortable. “Why does he want us to come? It's not our place to—”

“Have you learned nothing today, boy?” Green snapped. “One does not question one's betters.”

“Yes, General.”

Exchanging a look, Alix and Liam trailed after Arran Green and the king.

E
rik White perched on a field chair, trying his best to look dignified in spite of it. His leg hurt like a bastard, and though he had not admitted it to anyone, standing for too long made him dizzy. Not that he would be able to sit comfortably on this blasted chair. The thing was little more than a tripod of sticks saddled with canvas, and the edge pressed uncomfortably into the back of his thigh. Still, he ought to be grateful for it. Good men had died protecting the supply wagons during the flight from Boswyck Valley. Every spade, every blanket, every stick of furniture and wheel of cheese was a prize snatched from the Oridian horde.
You insisted you would have no trouble living like a soldier, Your Majesty
, he reminded himself ruefully.
Here is your chance to prove it.
He propped his left boot on a crate and waved for some water.

He watched Green making his way over, his charges in tow. Erik knew the old knight was irritated with him for inviting the scouts along, but so be it. Green deserved a little rankling after that outrageous lecture. To think he was actually
angry
with his men for their heroics. Absurd. The old knight had grown overprotective lately, and Erik meant to put a stop to it. Besides, he was curious about his fair young saviour. He had met Alix Black once before, when she had been about fourteen, and he five years her senior. He did not recall much about that meeting, except how painfully awkward she had been. He could see even then that she would be a beauty, but Alix had been utterly oblivious to her own charms, blushing and fidgeting and avoiding the prince's eye. Erik could not recall for certain, but he did not think she had uttered a single word.

Watching her now, Erik decided that the years had been kind. Her features were more defined, and her copper hair was as beautiful as he remembered, falling past her shoulders in lazy waves. She had grown tall and strong—strong enough, apparently, to bear a grown man off the battlefield. Remarkable. Yet she was no ox; she moved with all the grace of her sex, and her figure, though fit, was unmistakably feminine. As for her fellow scout, he trailed behind her with obvious reluctance. A man of his size, good looks, and reputed skill with a blade ought to have carried himself with confidence. Instead he walked with his head down, and when they came to stand before Erik, he tucked himself behind Green, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. As though Erik might not notice him, and both of them would be happier for it.

Erik sipped his water, letting it clear his head. He needed to focus on the matter at hand. “Tell me, Green, what do you think my brother intends?” He kept his voice as neutral as possible, trying to disguise the hint of disbelief that still lingered foolishly in his breast. He could not doubt the testimony of his own eyes, and yet it was still so hard to fathom.
My brother. My own flesh and blood. How can it be true?

“I cannot say, Your Majesty, though we can presume Prince Tomald means to claim the crown.”

“That's absurd,” Erik snapped.

Green gazed at him coolly. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

He thinks you a fool.
Erik could see it in the old knight's eyes. Perhaps he was not wrong. Erik cleared his throat. “Very well, suppose he does mean to take the crown. What then?”

“Most likely he will head for Erroman. He will need to gather more swords before he is ready to confront the Oridians again.”

“But how will he explain himself to my court?”

“I doubt he will try. He will simply proclaim himself king.”

Erik felt his whole body tense. “He would not dare, if he knew I was alive.”

“But he does not,” Green said, “and I recommend we keep it that way.”

Erik pressed his lips together, momentarily at a loss. Rage was building inside him, the same rage that had overwhelmed him earlier, had caused him to lose his composure in front of the men. He could not let that happen again. He looked to Alix Black. “You agree?” he asked her, buying himself a moment to recover.

She started; she had apparently not realised she was nodding. Her eyes darted uncertainly to Green. The commander general took one look at his king and wisely decided to let her speak. He nodded stiffly.

“I do, Your Majesty,” Black said.

“Why?”

She spared another glance at Green before replying. “We are weak right now, and vulnerable.”

Erik scowled. “I'll not cower in the shadows. Besides, am I to allow my brother to entrench himself in the royal palace, telling the nobility any story he wishes?”

“Exactly.” She flushed as soon as she had spoken, but Erik encouraged her with a brief incline of his head. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Let him play his hand, sire. Bide your time while he explains what happened at Boswyck Valley. He'll spin so many lies that when the truth is finally revealed, he'll be hanged with his own rope.”

“A risky strategy,” Green said. “It will give him time to build alliances.”

“I respectfully disagree, General,” Black said, her eyes on her boots. “He won't trouble to build alliances if he believes himself unchallenged. Whereas if he knows King Erik lives, he'll scramble to fortify himself.”

Green grunted and scratched the closely cropped fringe of his beard.

She had a point. No one would challenge Tom's right to the crown if they believed Erik dead, and Tom would not waste his time currying favour if there was no need. He had never had much taste for it, and he still had a war to contend with. All Tom needed to do was convince the nobility that he had no choice but to retreat. The mutterings of common soldiers would not be enough to gainsay him. “I see the wisdom in this,” Erik said.
The wisdom in letting my brother think me dead.
He felt dizzy, as though it were all a dream.

“Strike your colours, Your Majesty,” Black said, “and the royal pavilion as well.”

“Prudent,” Green agreed. “If the Raven sends scouts, he will find no evidence that the king lives.”

Erik rose unsteadily. “Very well. I will do as you say. Put away anything that bears the royal crest.” He took a deep breath, reaching inside himself and fetching his most charming smile. “And since Lady Alix helpfully relieved me of my armour, that's one less thing to worry about.”

His words had the desired effect: a comely blush rose to her cheeks, diverting attention from his own discomfiture. “We make for Greenhold,” he said. “I hope your cousin can lend us strength, General.”

Green nodded. “I have no doubt of it, Your Majesty.”

“Good. And now if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with the healers. They are most irritable when I'm late.”

*   *   *

“You have a
head for strategy, Alix,” Arran Green said after the king had gone. “Perhaps I undervalued your input. The king has few left to advise him, and your family has ever been steady counsel to the Whites.”

That might have been true when Alix's parents were alive, but she doubted many would say so now. Still, she accepted the compliment as graciously as she was able. “Thank you, General.”

“Now pack your things, both of you. We break camp soon.”

They started back for their tents. Alix could feel Liam's gaze on her, and when she glanced over, he was smirking. With the king well out of sight, Liam had relaxed, and the mischief returned to his eyes. “A head for strategy, huh? Is that just a nice way of saying you're sneaky?”

“Jealous?”

“I can be sneaky.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh, I can. Believe me, I'm incredibly subtle. So subtle that you don't even see it. It's that subtle.”

She laughed. “That
is
subtle.”

He gave her an arch look. “For example, only yesterday I tricked you into my arms. You thought that was an accident, but it was actually a cunning trap.”

Alix started to reply, but one glimpse of that crooked grin of his, and her wit deserted her. Again. When had
that
become a pattern? Flirting was a stock colour in any noblewoman's palette, and Alix had mastered it as well as any—or so she'd thought, until she met Liam. That she should find herself so discomposed by a no-name scout was an irony she could have lived without.

Mistaking her silence for annoyance, Liam touched her elbow, bringing her up short. “Allie, wait. I'm sorry, I shouldn't make light. What you said yesterday, about not expecting to see me again . . .”

The mischief was gone from his eyes, replaced by an earnest warmth. Alix tried to ignore the sudden flutter in her throat.

“I know exactly what you meant,” Liam said. “When I lost you in the battle . . . I looked everywhere, but you'd just vanished. I thought . . .” He trailed off, his gaze roaming over her features, his hand tightening at her elbow. Alix found herself staring into his slate-grey eyes, pinned like a stunned rabbit. Slowly, his mouth curled back into a grin. “Are you blushing?”

She broke off from his gaze. “I'm always blushing. Don't get any ideas.”

“Never had an idea in my life,” he said solemnly.

Alix laughed, pushing her hair back from her face to hide her deepening colour.

“All right,” he said with a mock bow, “I'm going to quit while I'm ahead. I'll see you in a while.” He headed off to pack up his gear, looking well pleased with himself.

Alix kept walking until she reached the river's edge. A sharp wind swept over the water, bracingly cool against the warmth of her face. Not for the first time, she cursed her fair complexion for revealing her every emotion to the world.

Liam was going to be a problem.

She'd never become so close with anyone so quickly. In the few short months since she'd joined the Kingswords, Liam had become a central feature of her life—her scouting partner, her sparring mate, her closest confidant. And now he was becoming something else—something much, much more complicated.

She hadn't seen it coming. In the beginning, she'd simply clung to him out of necessity. She'd been alone and away from home for the first time, and she'd needed a friend. Liam had been there. He wasn't Rig, but he'd been there. He took care of her, and she let him, and it worked.

And then something changed. It seemed to happen overnight; she'd woken up one morning feeling more like a Kingsword than a lost little girl. She didn't
need
Liam anymore. But by then it was too late. By the time she noticed those beautiful grey eyes, that roguish grin, he had long since earned her trust. He'd slipped past her defences completely unnoticed. It was going to be a problem.

Because what I really need is another problem.

The sound of the rushing stream gradually pushed its way into her consciousness, bringing to mind an urgent need. Alix headed deeper into the trees to find a discreet place to relieve herself. She had just started back when a loud cooing drew her attention. Peering through the trees, she spied the king's messenger fussing with his bird, trying to stuff a scroll into the tiny leather case strapped to its leg. The pigeon fidgeted and pecked at him, frustrating his efforts and provoking a string of hot curses.

Alix paused.

She knew Berton, the king's messenger. All the scouts did; he often accompanied them on long-range patrols, using his pigeons to send reports back to their commanders. He was a gentle soul and loved his birds, and they seemed to love him. The man struggling inexpertly with his pigeon was definitely
not
Berton, she realised. It was possible that Berton had been slain in the battle, but what would the king's messenger be doing out here in the trees?

“Ho there.”

The man started at the sound of her voice, sending the pigeon flapping and trilling. “Ho yourself. Be gone with you, girl, I'm busy.”

“Mind your tongue. You address a lady.”

The man blanched a little. He glanced nervously behind her, as though checking to see if she was alone, and his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. His discomfiture left Alix little doubt she had stumbled across something he didn't want her to see. “Who are you?” She pitched her voice to carry through the trees. “What business do you have with that bird?”

“Who are you to demand my business?”

“I am a lady of a Banner House. I outrank you, and I have every right to demand your business. By whose authority do you send missives from the king's army?”

By now, her raised voice had summoned a pair of soldiers on watch. They picked their way through the trees cautiously, their swords unsheathed. Alix drew her own blade and pointed it at the stranger. “Take this man in hand. He is not the king's messenger, and I want to know who he reports to.”

The watchmen exchanged a glance, unsure who Alix was and whether they should follow her orders. They must not have liked the look of the messenger, though, for they started in on him. The man tensed, his gaze snapping back and forth between Alix and the advancing soldiers. After a moment's hesitation, he bolted.

The watchmen gave chase. The pigeon burst into the air, its scroll case empty, its destination unknown. Alix started after the fleeing messenger, but she was in no condition to run anyone down; pain tugged sharply at her back, and she felt instantly dizzy. Fortunately, she didn't need to go far. The watchmen quickly overtook their prey, disarming him and wrenching his hands behind his back. Alix stopped to catch her breath as they dragged the messenger between them.

By now, the commotion had drawn even more attention. Someone had summoned Arran Green, and he stalked through the trees toward Alix, a forbidding scowl on his face. “What is the meaning of this? Speak quickly, Black, I've had my fill of you already today!”

The feeling is mutual, General.
Aloud, she said, “I came upon this man in the woods, behaving suspiciously. He was attempting to send a message by pigeon. As you can see, he is not the king's messenger.”