The Bloodforged (12 page)

Another hand appeared. Alix grabbed them both and pulled. She fell back; Kerta tumbled into her arms, gasping.

“I can't find Erik.” Alix's throat closed on the words.

Kerta lurched unsteadily to her feet, shaking her head to clear it. “We will.”

“He was right in front of me.” Alix started back toward her tree, weaving like a drunkard. “Right there . . .”

Farther down the slope, the screaming horse had managed to struggle free. It lay on its side, thrashing, broken. Alix recognised it as Godwin's. Of the man himself, there was no sign.

“There!” Kerta pointed. The ground moved just below Alix's tree—another horse kicking its way out from under the snow. Alix recognised the glorious silver coat, and her heart leapt.

“Erik!”

They threw themselves down the hill, half swimming, half leaping, until they came to Erik's horse. The stallion had almost freed himself now. He watched them, white-eyed, ears pinned, grunting and heaving. His right flank was exposed, the stirrup empty.

They started digging just above the flailing stallion. They tore bodily at the snow, nearly burying themselves in the process, pausing only to kick loose powder out of the way so they could keep moving. Their progress was achingly slow, and Alix despaired a little more with each hard-won step. How long had it been since Erik went under, since he'd been without air? Even if they found him . . . Cold tears blurred her vision; she ploughed on, carving a trench in the snow.

They came to a stand of trees, three young pines clustered together, and there, amid a wreckage of boughs, Alix found a scrap of fur—black, like the lining of Erik's cloak. She dove at it, and after what seemed like forever, she found herself clawing snow away from leather. A few more inches, and a patch of red-gold hair appeared. Erik shook his head free, revealing a pocket of air between the boughs of a tree. The left side of his face was badly scored; a trickle of blood ran from his temple to his jaw.

They dragged him out by the shoulders. Alix threw her arms around him, sobbing. His skin was cold as ice and he trembled like a newborn calf, but he had strength enough to clutch her to him. “Thank the gods you're safe,” he whispered.

“Look, up there!” Kerta started up the slope. Alix glanced after her, then back at Erik uncertainly.

“Go,” he said. “I'll be fine, just give me a moment.” Still she hesitated. “
Go
, Alix. There are others to think of.”

Reluctantly, she did as her king commanded.

They dug six more bodies out of the snow that day, none of them alive. The rest, including Godwin, were lost to the mountain. Of the fifteen men who'd left Blackhold, six remained, including the three who'd been scouting ahead when the avalanche hit. They had one horse, few supplies, and a long, treacherous journey ahead.

They had, in other words, no chance.

“W
ell?” Liam said, holding out his arms and presenting himself for inspection.

Rona smiled warmly. “You clean up very nicely, Commander.”

Liam wasn't convinced; turning back to the mirror, he eyed his reflection unenthusiastically. “You're sure the leather one is a
no
.”

“The hunting jerkin? Yes, I'm quite sure.”

“Don't know what you're complaining about,” Ide put in from her perch on the window seat. “Fine wine, good food . . .”

“And a room full of politicians,” Liam said. “Yes, it promises to be a delightful evening.”

“Do you suppose they'll have those little snails?” Ide asked wistfully.

Liam made a face. “I certainly hope not.”

“Whatever they serve,” Rona said, “you'll have to eat it. You wouldn't want to give offence.”

“This reception is supposedly in my honour. Shouldn't I get to decide what I want to eat?”

“It doesn't work that way, I'm afraid.”

Liam knew that, of course, but the thought of sucking steamed snails out of their shells wasn't doing wonders for his already unsettled stomach. He hated these kinds of events, especially when they revolved around him. There hadn't been many formal occasions since he'd come to Erik's court, but it hadn't taken him long to realise that they weren't his idea of a good time. In fact, he'd reached that conclusion after the very first banquet, the one Erik had thrown to welcome him to court. Liam would rather streak through the oratorium in his smallclothes than be forced to endure another evening like
that
, watching Alix and Erik tripping over each other to cover his gaffes. On the plus side, he'd built up an impressive repertoire of excuses for why he couldn't
possibly
dance just now, thanks anyway, but perhaps another time. He reckoned those were going to come in handy tonight.

“Stay away from the lillet, if you can,” Dain said. “I've never met a westerner who could stomach it.”

“I don't even know what that is,” Liam said with growing alarm.

Dain held his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. “Black fish, about this long. Dark and oily and strong enough to start hair growing out your ears.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Does to me,” Ide said. “See if you can bring us back some nibbles to try.”

Liam gave her a flat look in the mirror. “I'll just stuff my pockets with steamed snails and oily black fish, shall I?”

“We should go,” Rona said, all business now. She smoothed the folds of her gown, skimmed her fingers over the slender braids of her upswept hair. Unnecessary gestures both; she looked immaculate. Beautiful, even, as poised and self-assured as Alix. Once again, Liam found himself thanking the gods she'd come along. Her rank made it impossible to exclude her from such an event, and that meant Liam wouldn't have to face this ordeal alone. “After you, Commander,” she said, gesturing at the door.

Dain and Ide accompanied them to the courtyard, where a carriage waited. Liam froze a moment on the steps as he took
in the contraption. The body of the carriage was bad enough, draped with velvet and tassels and crusted in gold leaf. But the horses . . . “Dear gods,” Liam said under his breath, feeling a stab of pity for the animals. The poor sods were positively
festooned
in lace. They stood with their heads bowed in shame, flanks shuddering in disgust. They almost seemed to hide behind their blinders, as though avoiding embarrassing eye contact. “That should be illegal,” Liam said.

Rona stifled a laugh. “Well, we put war paint on our horses.”

“Yeah, but that's different. It's just a bit of paint, for tradition's sake.
That
 . . .” He shook his head emphatically. “No.”

“You should be flattered, Commander. It's probably the finest carriage in Onnan.”

“I've half a mind to cut the poor chaps loose and ride them all the way to Erroman.” He grinned at Rona. “What do you say? Just you and me?”

Her smile turned shy. “If only.”

“All right, let's get this over with.”

The first speaker's residence wasn't far. Everyone who was anyone in Onnan City, it seemed, lived in the Ambassador District. The carriage juddered along the cobbled streets for less than a quarter of an hour before coming to a halt, the thick velvet curtains drawn aside to reveal a handsome gravel drive edged with cedars. A gloved hand reached inside; Liam watched in amusement as Rona took it, lifting the hem of her dress and letting herself be led gingerly from the carriage as if she were some fragile debutante. It would have been hard to reconcile this version of Rona with the knight he'd seen slashing her way through enemy ranks if he hadn't seen his wife undergo a similar transformation on more than one occasion.

They were ushered into an elegant courtyard of arched alcoves and carved wood doors, a theme that was echoed on the second and third levels by ribbed butterfly windows that gave onto vine-draped terraces. Roses climbed the pillars, and a trio of pear trees thrust up between the flagstones, white petals shivering in the breeze. In the centre of it all, moonlight sparkled off the watery plumes of a fountain in the shape of a leaping fish. People were scattered about the courtyard in close-knit clusters, laughing softly and sipping at something that glittered like the fountain. Thus far, no one had noticed the newcomers.

“Beautiful,” Rona murmured. When Liam didn't reply, she glanced over. “Commander? Something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no thanks, I'm fine. It's just that this reminds me a little of a dream I had recently.” More than a little, actually, but he had no desire to recount his nightmares to Rona Brown. “So”—he glanced around—“what do we do now?”

“We mingle.” Rona paused, gazing up at him expectantly.

“Oh, right.” Liam offered an arm. “Sorry. A bit flustered, is all.”

“Don't be. Or at least, don't look it.”

“Right,” Liam said again, feeling foolish. He took a deep breath and escorted Rona into the courtyard.

Heads started turning straightaway. This, too, was like the dream, and Liam couldn't help squirming a little.
You're being stupid
, he told himself. For one thing, this wasn't Erik's court. Nobody here cared that he was a bastard; if anything, it was a point in his favour, at least according to Alix. On top of which, the looks he was getting weren't hostile. On the contrary, the beautiful people in the courtyard were smiling at him diffidently, as though hoping he might bestow a little attention on them.

“Your Highness. Lady Brown.” Liam turned to find First Speaker Kar standing with a striking woman of middle age. “It is an honour to welcome you both to my home. May I present my wife, Lyn.” The woman inclined her head, showing off a thick rope of braid coiled at the crown of her head. She was tall for an Onnani, standing at nearly Rona's height, and when she spoke, her voice was low and smoky.

“A great pleasure to meet you both.”

“And you, my lady,” Rona said. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Thank you.” Lyn wore a gown of silver silk with pearl buttons, its unusually high collar serving to emphasise her height. Or maybe not so unusual, Liam realised; a quick scan of the courtyard revealed that all the frocks had modest necklines. Most had sleeves, too. Liam wasn't exactly an expert on fashion, but he couldn't recall Alix ever having worn a gown with sleeves. But wait, wasn't Rona wearing . . . ? He cut a discreet glance at Rona's gown, and sure enough, it had a high collar and cap sleeves. She'd taken care to choose something that wouldn't offend the conservative Onnani. Of course she
had. He beamed at her in silent thanks; she smiled back, a little bemusedly.

“You look absolutely radiant, Lady Brown,” Kar said, gesturing at her as though she were something miraculous.

“You're too kind.”

“I must admit, it is difficult to imagine you wielding a sword. If I had not seen you in full armour with my own two eyes, I might not have believed it.”

“Our traditions are a little different,” Rona said.

“I daresay that is an understatement,” Lyn remarked dryly.

“I should be very interested to hear of your exploits,” Kar went on with an oily smile. “Perhaps you will indulge me later.”

Rona inclined her head demurely. “If you like, First Speaker.”

Motioning for a servant, Kar said, “Let me get you something to drink.” A young man hurried over with a selection of drinks on a gleaming silver platter. Kar chose a pair of cut crystal glasses filled with a golden, sweet-smelling liquid that Liam assumed was wine. “One of our local varietals,” he explained as he handed it over. “I think you will find it pleasantly fruity.”

“Is this your first visit to Onnan, Your Highness?” Lyn asked.

Liam resisted the urge to sniff at the wine. “First time abroad, actually.”

“Really?” Sculpted eyebrows climbed Lyn's forehead. “I would have thought a prince had many opportunities for travel.”

Was that a gibe? Surely she knew of his background, that he'd been a prince for all of six months? Liam had no idea how to respond without making his hostess look ignorant, or rude, or both.

“All things being equal, perhaps,” Rona cut in smoothly, “but His Highness is also Commander of the White Wolves, and in these times of war, he is sorely needed at home.”

“Indeed,” Kar said. “I know it was not easy for you to come here, Your Highness. We are so grateful that you managed it.”

I'll bet.
Liam smiled and sipped his wine. It was fruity, all right, and sweet. Like swallowing liquid jam. It was all he could do not to grimace.

“And how are you finding our city so far?” Lyn asked, smiling politely.

A potentially tricky question, but one he'd been prepared for. “I haven't had a chance to see much of it yet, but I did get down
to the seaside with your good husband a couple of days ago, and that's something I'll never forget. I'm sure it seems like stale bread to you, but if you come from a landlocked country . . . well, there's nothing like it back home, that's for sure.”

“We must get you out on a ship, Your Highness,” Kar said.

“I'd like that.”
Especially if it was a war galley bound for Oridia.

Kar glanced over his shoulder. “Please excuse me for a moment, Your Highness. I must welcome some more of my guests, but I'll be back in a moment to make introductions.” He held out an arm to his wife. “Come, my dear.”

Liam took another sip of his wine, just to calm his nerves.

“You're doing well,” Rona said in an undertone, as though reading his thoughts.

“You think? The question about travel caught me off guard.”

She hummed a low note of agreement. “I'm not sure what she was getting at. It's hard to imagine that she isn't aware of your background, but I can't think of any reason why she'd want to insult you.” Sighing, Rona shook her head. “There are so many agendas here, it's difficult to keep track.”

“Glad to hear you say so. Makes me feel less of an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot, Commander. It's as I said before: Anyone would feel overwhelmed by this. I mean, look around.” She made a discreet gesture encompassing the courtyard. “See how people are standing? How tight the clusters, how little they mix?”

It was true, Liam realised; though everyone seemed relaxed and jovial, there was remarkably little intermingling of the groups. “What's that about?”

“Politics. Each of those groups must represent a bloc of some kind. League lines, maybe, or secret societies. I've seen a similar phenomenon at court from time to time, especially when there's a major decision looming, but never quite this rigid. I thought the Aldenian aristocracy was divided, but this . . .”

Liam looked more closely. He didn't know many people here, but there were a few he recognised. Defence Consul Welin stood in the largest group, and he appeared to be the ranking member, judging from the way others had positioned themselves around him. He was doing most of the talking, his discourse punctuated by the occasional bark of sycophantic laughter. The second
largest group, meanwhile, was presided over by Chairman Irtok. The Sons and the Shield, Liam wondered, or some other configuration of power as yet undocumented by Saxon and his spy friends? The whole thing gave him a headache.

He heard Rona murmuring behind him, and he turned to find her consulting a servant about something. “I thought so,” she said as the servant walked away.

“Thought what?”

“Don't look too suddenly, but there's a man over by the fountain who's been staring at us since we got here. Speaker Syril, apparently.”

“The priest of Eldora?” As casually as he could, Liam turned.

He needn't have bothered with the subterfuge; Syril was looking right at him. Without the mask, he revealed himself to be a distinguished figure with silver-flecked hair and serious, intelligent eyes. Those eyes fixed on Liam from halfway across the courtyard; by the time he looked away, Liam felt as if he'd been leafed through like a book.

“I can tell we're going to be the best of friends,” he said, tossing another mouthful of jammy wine down his throat.

A few moments later, Kar returned to collect them, and they began making the rounds. Liam kept his smile tacked on the whole time, repeating the same banalities about lovely homes and how enchanting he found the sea. He fantasised about slashing his wrists with the cut crystal glass.

Eventually, they came to Speaker Syril. Walking up to him was like getting a bucket of cold water in the face; Liam drew himself up, tense and alert.

“And this is Speaker Syril, whom you've already met.” Kar's smile was bland and unreadable.

“Speaker,” Liam said with a stiff nod.