The Bloodsworn (10 page)

“I'll work it out. The main corridor will be guarded, but if we manage to stick to the anterooms, we should make it most of the way without being spotted.”

Wraith nodded. “I'll keep an eye on this door. You and Asvin do your thing.”

“This isn't
my thing
,” Alix said between clenched teeth, but it was a waste of venom and she knew it.

They slipped into the first anteroom, a small chamber littered with shadows in the vague shapes of furniture. Opposite them stood a plain-looking door; Asvin started toward it, but Alix grabbed his arm and shook her head. He paused, only now realising there were two more doors to choose from. “Which one?” he whispered helplessly. Unfamiliar with the elaborate protocols of court, he had no idea how to interpret the scene before him.

To Alix, though, it was as simple as reading a sign that said,
Dignitaries this way, servants that way
. The grandest of the doors would lead to the first stateroom, while the humblest would give onto the corridor—and the guards. She chose neither of these, instead taking the door on the left. As expected, it led to another, slightly more distinguished anteroom. And another after that, on and on through a series of anterooms,
each one adjoining a stateroom of increasing prestige. The grandest of them all, the final room in the chain, would be the king's own chambers—now the bedchamber of Arkenn, Governor of Occupied Andithyri.

They had gone a little more than halfway when Alix reached for a door and found it locked. The door to the stateroom was barred too. She swore under her breath.

Asvin put his lips to her ear. “Guess we make our way on open ground from here.” With that, he winked and reached for the last door, spilling them out into the corridor.

They'd gone only a few steps before Alix grabbed Asvin's elbow and dragged him down behind a sideboard, mouthing,
Guards
.

A pair of them stood at the far end of the corridor, flanking what must have been the governor's door. In the low light, Alix could make out the glint of plate and mail, the jutting shapes of swords at their hips.

Asvin narrowed his eyes, assessing. Putting his lips to her ear once more, he said, “How are you at throwing that knife?”

She showed it to him, tilting it so the muted glow of the lamplight glinted off the bloodred jewel in the hilt. Asvin grinned; he'd forgotten it was bloodforged.

She hadn't owned it long—less than two weeks—but after the ambush in Harram, Alix swore she'd never be caught unprepared again. She'd set Nevyn the task of crafting the weapon barely twenty-four hours after her return to Erroman, and he'd been only too happy to oblige, having recommended it many times before. A bloodforged dagger couldn't miss.

But there were two guards between them and the governor's bedchamber, and Alix had only one knife. She cocked her chin at Asvin, eyebrows raised.
What about you?

He rolled his eyes.
Please.

Alix peered around the sideboard. About one hundred paces, she judged. Too far to throw, and not enough cover to sneak up on them, even in the relative gloom of the low lamplight.

Lamplight.

One lamp on the sideboard beside her, another on what looked to be a matching piece of furniture at the far end of the corridor. Alix reached up, grasped the lantern, and twisted—
slowly, slowly
—letting the flame flicker as though the oil were
about to run out. After a pause, she shut it altogether, plunging their side of the corridor into darkness.

A muttered oath from the far end. One of the guards quit his post, stomping down the hall to relight the offending lamp. Alix glanced at Asvin. She could barely make him out in the sudden dark, but the tip of his dagger flashed as he rested it meaningfully against his chest.
I'll do it.
Alix nodded her understanding. They coiled, ready.

The guard reached the lamp, barely a handspan away from Alix's hiding place. There was a squeal of hinges as he fumbled in the dark. Asvin sprang from his crouch and rammed his dagger under the guard's jaw, clamping his other hand over the Oridian's mouth. But the guard's weight proved too much for him, and the dead man slumped to the floor in a rustle of armour. In the silence of the sleeping hallway, it might as well have been a shout.

The other guard called out softly; when he was met with silence, he started down the corridor to investigate.

Alix moved.

She'd never been so swift, so silent, hurtling through the shadows like death on wings. She got close enough to see the whites of the man's eyes as they widened, his lips parting as he prepared to shout. She whipped the dagger, blade flashing in the light of the remaining lamp. It took him in the throat before he could call out. But there was no one there to break his fall; his knees buckled, and he toppled straight into the wall.

For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then a door opened, a figure emerging drowsily from one of the staterooms. Too young to be their target, but an enemy nonetheless: Asvin was on him before Alix even had time to react, driving the Oridian bodily back into his room and opening his throat before he could give the alarm. Alix ducked in behind them, ready to meet another foe, but the shadows were still. The dead man had been the room's only occupant.

She started to turn, only to feel a blade against her own throat.

“Back up,” a voice growled. Alix took a step, but an arm snaked around her chest, pinning her. “Not you. The white-hair.”

Asvin had gone very still. He stood there, blade half raised, tunic soaked with another man's blood, a look of such cold
hatred in his eyes that Alix would have shuddered had she dared. “What a coincidence,” Asvin said. “Just the man we're here to see.”

“Here to kill, you mean,” said the voice in her ear.

Arkenn.
It was the governor himself who held her, who pressed the tip of his knife against her neck at precisely the point where her pulse thrummed.

“Slowly, if I had my way,” Asvin said, “but it doesn't look like we've got that kind of time.”

“Perhaps you might have considered making a little less noise,” Arkenn sneered.

“Sorry,” Asvin said. “We're new at this.”

How can he be so cavalier?
Maybe because it wasn't his throat the governor's knife was pressed against.

“Drop your weapon,” Arkenn commanded.

“Why should I?”

The governor brandished his dagger. “Because I'll kill her, that's why!”

Asvin raised his eyebrows. Hitched his shoulders indifferently.

Alix's blood turned to ice.

She should have seen it coming. She knew where this man's priorities lay. Where Wraith's priorities lay.

“You're bluffing.” The blade, warm and sticky, dug into Alix's flesh.

“Afraid not. Her job was to lead me through this maze, and she's done it. Now it's time for me to do mine.”

The arm around Alix tightened. “Stay back . . .” Arkenn's voice climbed, shrill with fear.
“You stay back!”

Asvin smiled.

“
S
top!”
the governor warned a final time. Alix could feel her pulse against the unyielding edge of the blade. Asvin advanced, bloodied knife raised.

Arkenn's hand made a slashing motion—and the dagger sprang from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

Calmly, Asvin moved Alix aside and drove his knife into Arkenn's belly—
again
and
again
and
again
, a brutal, wet sound Alix would remember for the rest of her days. By the time she turned and saw the governor's face, he was already half dead: eyes bulged, mouth gaping, hand clutching at his killer's shoulder as he slipped to the floor. Alix didn't know what she'd expected a monster to look like, but it wasn't this—a terrified old man dying in his nightshirt with a bubble of blood on his lips.

Asvin knelt and wiped his blade on the governor's shirt, a violent smear of crimson against white. He whispered something Alix couldn't hear, for which she was profoundly grateful. Then he picked up the dagger, the one Arkenn had held at her throat. “Your knife, my lady.”

Alix took the dagger with numb fingers. Her dagger. Her
bloodforged
dagger. Arkenn must have pulled it out of the
dead guard outside his door. He'd grabbed the nearest weapon to hand—of course he wouldn't have noticed the garnet that marked it as enchanted. Not in the dark, in the frenzy of the moment. He wouldn't have realised that the dagger would never obey him, forged of someone else's blood.

“You . . .” Alix whispered tremulously. “You knew?”

Asvin's eyebrows went up. “You didn't? Poor thing, you must have had a fright.” He grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You were brilliant. Couldn't have done it without you. Now let's get the fuck out of here.”

They darted out of the stateroom and back up the corridor, leaping over the body of the first guard they'd killed. Back through the maze of anterooms to the foot of the Imperial Gallery where Wraith was waiting, eyes burning with anticipation. Asvin nodded, and Wraith permitted himself a brief, toxic smile.

They had just met up with Tag when the screaming started.

From the staterooms, Alix judged, a woman wailing out the window. The layout of the palace was not in their favour; the labyrinth of anterooms twisted about such that they emerged only a few hundred feet from the screaming. By the time they found Ide in the orange grove, the shadows were swarming with guards.

“Way out's been blocked,” Ide snapped. “Have to fight our way through.” She had an arrow nocked and ready. Alix and the others drew their swords.

Bells clamoured; beacon fires blossomed all over the grounds. A dozen or more guards scurried along the wall walk toward the servants' entrance, swords flashing in the orange glow. Already, half a dozen heavily armoured guards blocked the narrow doorway.

Ide's bow twanged. A guard cried out and went down. And then the night was full of arrows, from the door, from the wall walk, from somewhere behind them. Alix found a new speed, crashing into the thicket of bodies in the doorway and taking out a guard who hadn't dropped his bow in time. After that it was chaos, shoulders and limbs and the clash of steel, too frenzied to follow. For Alix, it was more of a shoving match than a battle, and somehow she managed to squeeze through the doorway. But that left her alone and exposed on the far side of
the wall, and she paid the price: An arrow slammed into her shoulder, dropping her to her knees.

Ide barrelled through the door, spun, and loosed a shaft at the wall walk; a guard pitched forward and hit the pavement with a sickening
crack
. “Come on,” she said, helping Alix to her feet.

Wraith and the others managed to fight their way out while Ide peppered the wall walk with arrows. They started up the street—only to find the intersection ahead blocked with guards. Then a voice called, “This way!” and a familiar figure waved frantically from a branching alley.

“What in the hells is
she
doing here?” Ide growled, half dragging, half carrying Alix.

“The way is clear,” Vel said. “Hurry!”

Dain was waiting for them in the alley, and he slipped his shoulder under Alix's other arm. They made it back to the main street, where more of Wraith's men stood ready to cover their escape. What happened after that Alix never knew; a triumphant battle cry propelled Wraith's men forward, and then she was clear, fleeing into the night, stumbling along with the taste of metal on her tongue and blood pounding in her ears.

*   *   *

Alix sucked in a breath as the needle pierced her shoulder.

“Almost done,” Vel said, tugging at the thread. “Are you sure you wouldn't like some spirits?”

“I'm sure.” In the common room downstairs, the ale was flowing freely, but Alix didn't feel like celebrating, or even taking a drink to dull the pain. She deserved that pain and worse.

“There is a poultice I use,” Vel said. “It will help the wound heal more quickly.”

Alix glanced over her shoulder. “Does it smell horrid, by any chance?”

“It sounds as if you know it.”

In spite of everything, a smile found its way onto Alix's face. “I think so. A friend of mine used to make it. He was almost a priest.”

“Almost?”

Alix flinched again as Vel pulled another stitch through. “He quit just before being ordained.”

“Which order?”

“Eldora, like you.”

“That explains it.” Vel snipped the thread. “The secret of that poultice is jealously guarded by our order.”

“The way Gwylim told it, everything in the priesthood is jealously guarded. It was part of the reason he quit—all that politicking among the orders, jockeying for position.”

Vel laughed. “That sounds familiar. My brother nearly . . .” She trailed off.

“Your brother?”

“It doesn't matter. Give me a moment, I'll fetch the poultice.” She slipped out of the room.

Alix perched on the edge of the bed, listening to the muted sounds of singing from below. She recognised the song—they sang it in Alden as well, a shared piece of history from the glorious days of the empire. Dain would know it too. Alix wondered how he felt about the white-hairs singing an imperial song. He didn't seem as sensitive as some—as Vel, say—but he had taken a second name, Cooper, still a relatively unusual step in Alden. That said a lot about his politics.

“Here we are,” Vel said, returning with the poultice.

“Sounds as if they're having a grand time down there.”

“Doesn't it. As though death is anything to celebrate.” Something cool touched Alix's back, and the familiar stench of Gwylim's miracle poultice filled her nose. It was every bit as vile as she remembered, yet it still brought a sad smile to her face, reminding her vividly of the friend she'd lost.

“Do you think I was wrong to be part of it?” she found herself asking, as though it were Gwylim tending to her instead of a woman she barely knew.

Vel was silent for a moment as she dabbed at the wound. “It's a difficult question, even for a priestess. Many would call what you did justice. I might even be among them. But I would not have guessed justice would feel so . . .”

“Wrong?” Alix sensed the other woman's nod.

“Though perhaps it should. Perhaps that is the toll we are meant to pay.” Vel sighed. “I just wish we knew what will happen to the people here. How the Oridians will react.”

“If they're smart, they won't react at all. Having their governor assassinated where he sleeps makes them look weak. In
Sadik's place, I'd keep it quiet, replace Arkenn without any fanfare.”

“You would not seek vengeance?”

“Eventually. In the meantime, I would find ways of clamping down without admitting weakness.”

Vel hummed thoughtfully. “That has more of Eldora than Ardin, I think. I'm not sure Sadik will see it that way. Nor am I sure it would be better if he did. Your method sounds more patient, but no less chilling.” With a final dab of poultice, she added, “Done. It's just the bandage now.”

“Thank you. And for earlier too, helping us get away.” Alix glanced over her shoulder. “What were you and Dain doing there, anyway?”

“I had . . . thought to reconnoitre the dungeons.”

Alix twisted abruptly, prompting a sharp tug at her stitches. “You followed us?”

“It wasn't Dain's fault,” Vel said coolly, sensing rebuke. “I told him I was going and he felt obliged to help me.”

“I'm sure he did! What did you think you were going to accomplish, anyway?”

“I don't know,” Vel said, ramming the stopper back in the jar. “Free some innocent people, perhaps? Regardless, I don't have to account to you for my actions.”

“Maybe not, but I would dearly like to know why you would let my husband's second put his life at risk for the sake of something so patently unrealistic.”

“There is no point in trying to explain. You made up your mind about me a long time ago, and I have neither the will nor the energy to try to change it.”

“Not even for Rig's sake?” A cheap shot, and she knew it; Alix kicked herself inwardly.

An icy calm descended over Vel. She sat up a little straighter, held her head a little higher. “Not even for his sake. It would be foolish indeed to exert myself over something so
patently unrealistic
.”

Alix sighed. “I'm sorry, that was unfair.”

“Do not concern yourself,
Your Highness
.” Vel rose and began clearing up her things. “You have more important things to worry about than an Onnani priestess.”

“Vel.” Alix put a hand on her arm, then withdrew it
awkwardly. It seemed too possessive a gesture, too entitled. “I really am sorry. It was a reflex, nothing more.”

“I am quite accustomed to the reflexes of persons such as yourself.”

“Steady on. No need to get nasty.” But it had already gotten nasty, and it was her own fault. Alix drew a breath, tried again. “The fact is, I'm being a hypocrite anyway—”

“About acting rashly, or about taking a lover beneath your station?”

Alix was too stunned to reply; she just stared, openmouthed, as Vel finished packing up her things and swept out of the room.

A moment later, Asvin entered. “Now that,” he said, “is one pissed-off priestess. What did you say to her?”

“Nothing she deserved,” Alix muttered, angry with herself. “But she's not in a mood to hear an apology.”

“Is this about your brother?” He smiled wickedly, dropping down onto the bed. “She's his lover, isn't she? I
knew
it!”

“I am not gossiping with you, Asvin. Is there something you need?”

“He could do worse. She's got fire, that one. Bet she's a tempest between the sheets.”

“Asvin.”

His smile turned wry. “Just having a little fun with you, my lady. In case you haven't noticed, we're in something of a celebratory mood down there.”

“In case
you
haven't noticed, I'm not.”

“Not feeling bad about it, are you? That roach got better than he deserved, I promise you.”

“I'm not, actually, and that's part of the problem. But what really worries me is what comes next. I need to get out of here, Asvin. I need to find Rodrik. Right away, before . . .” She stopped herself in time.

“Ah, yes.” The slight man leaned back against the headboard, hands folded behind his head. “The bloodbinder.”

Alix pretended not to hear the note of scepticism in his voice. “Wraith promised me that if I helped with Arkenn, the Resistance would help with Rodrik. But if we're to have any chance of finding him, we have to leave immediately. At dawn.”

He considered her with a shrewd eye. “Why don't you tell
me what's really going on? I've seen your expression when you think no one is watching. You're on the brink of panic half the time and a towering rage the rest of it. Nobody gets that worked up over a stray bloodbinder.”

Alix looked away, avoiding the scrutiny of that unsettling gaze. “There's a lot at stake.”

“We're not fools, my lady. Leastways, I'm not. King Erik could have sent anyone after this bloodbinder. White Wolves, or any of a dozen handpicked knights. Do you expect me to believe he sent his personal bodyguard, his
sister-in-law
, behind enemy lines for a sodding bloodbinder?”

“I don't give a fraction of a damn what you believe. We made a deal. I expect you to honour it.”

Asvin rose and gave a mocking bow. “Wraith respectfully requests Your Ladyship's presence downstairs. I believe he'd like to go over the plans for tomorrow. Those parts of it you care to trust us with, at any rate.”

Alix plucked moodily at the bedsheet. “Trust is death, you told me.”

“I forgot to tell you the rest of it. Which is that mistrust is death too.” So saying, he left her.