The Bloodsworn (4 page)

“I don't know any such thing.”

Saxon sighed impatiently. “Really, this is going to take far too long if we continue this pointless shadowfencing. I am a spy, Your Highness. Knowing secrets is my business. Lady Black rode out before dawn this morning, accompanied by two of your own White Wolves. I know your lady wife, and she would never leave the king's side were she not compelled by the utmost urgency. That, combined with earlier rumours about His Majesty's erratic behaviour . . .”

“There are rumours about Erik's behaviour?”
This just keeps getting better.

“King Erik White is above all things a charmer, a gracious young man known for his charisma and political acumen. Yet he offends the King of Harram so badly that our allies turn him away without so much as a single legion to aid our cause. Not only that, His Majesty returns to us peevish and paranoid, suddenly the sort of king who upbraids his own chancellor in full view of the entire palace.”

“Erik nearly died on that mission. The mountain tribes took him captive, and Alix too. He was barely able to talk his way out of being executed. Naturally he was rattled by the time he got to Ost, the more so when King Omaïd turned him away.”

Saxon wasn't fooled. “Something happened to His Majesty in those mountains. Something dire. And now Lady Alix is trying to fix it.” He paused, shrugging. “I am likely to put this together faster than most. But others will work it through eventually, and when they do, your neck will be on the block. Yours, and my lord chancellor's.”

Liam's throat felt suddenly tight, as though his neck were already on the block. But he forced his voice to remain steady as he said, “I don't know what you think you've worked through, but you're wrong. Erik is ill. End of story. Alix rode out this morning, it's true, but there's nothing remarkable in that. She's going to see her brother, that's all.”

“And yet you troubled to lie to the council about it.”

Liam tensed again.

“Did Lady Black not tell you I had a tick on the council?” The spy laughed. “Really, do the two of you not speak?”

It was a little too close to the mark. “I'd go gently, if I were you,” Liam growled. “It'd be a shame for the gardeners to have to scrub your blood off the king's nice white gravel.” He was bluffing, of course. Probably.

“I am here to help, Your Highness. The sword is already balanced above your neck, whether you realise it or not. Certain facts are out in the open, which, though not terribly damning in isolation, are going to be woven together all too soon. And while the picture that emerges may not reveal the whole truth—I doubt even I have guessed that—it will be enough to land you in the Red Tower, or worse. Most of the council has not yet heard the rumours of His Majesty's erratic behaviour, but when they do—as they are certain to, for gossip is the very air the court breathes—they will begin to suspect. Should they discover Lady Black is gone, it will only deepen their suspicions. Your time is limited, Your Highness, so whatever you and your lady wife are about, I strongly suggest you
take care of it quickly
.”

Liam turned his back on the spy, rubbing his jaw roughly. Saxon was right. He might not have guessed the whole truth,
but he knew enough, and it had taken him less than a day to work it out. How long did they really think they could keep something like this from getting out? And when it did . . .

Blood on the flagstones.

When the spy spoke again, the mocking tone was gone. “Let me help, Your Highness. I daresay you need it.”

Liam glanced over his shoulder. “How?”

“My tick on the council will feed me information. That will help us keep an eye on their mood.”

Liam nodded resignedly. He felt dirty.

“Not all of them are your friends, Your Highness.”

“You don't say. Most of them see me as a bastard or a fool or both. I don't care about that right now. What I am worried about”—he dropped his voice—“is Sirin Grey.”

A pause. The spy considered him from the shadowed depths of his hood. “It is true, Your Highness, you do have something of a reputation for being glib. The assumption is that your political instincts are not strong.”

“That's not an assumption, it's a fact.”

“Hmm. I am inclined to doubt that.”

“Because you know me so well.”

“A man does not last long in my trade if he is not a good judge of character. You give yourself too little credit, I think. As do many others, and you can use that to your advantage. Let them underestimate you while you play the Hew-tongued fool. Meanwhile, I will feed you whatever I get from my tick on the council. That way, we will hopefully be forewarned when they begin to suspect.”

When
, not
if
.

“I should not linger here,” Saxon said. “It would not help matters if you were seen with a spy. If you need me, leave a rose on your windowsill. I will find you.”

“How romantic.”

A smile drifted across the spy's face. “You are terribly well suited, I think, you and Lady Black.”

The words were like a knife in Liam's belly. “That's really none of your business,” he said coldly.

“As you like. Take care, Your Highness. You are being watched, and I am not the only spy at court. Even a single ill-considered word could get you killed. From now on, treat
everything you say, everything you do, as a matter of life and death.”

So saying, the spy headed up the path and turned, cloak flapping, to disappear behind the roses.

“T
hat's it?” Ide said, looking up at the scarred timber façade of the Kingsword fort. “How in the name of Rahl did we hold off the Warlord with
this
?”

Good question
, Alix thought, fighting her horse as it danced restlessly before the gate. The fort had probably never been impressive, but it looked positively crippled now, half-razed in the enemy onslaught three weeks before. Builders dotted its surfaces like insects, armed with hammers and saws and buckets of pitch, effecting hasty repairs in anticipation of another assault. It wouldn't be long, Alix knew.

Dain Cooper threw a friendly wave up at the ramparts; a pair of archers waved back. “That's General Black for you,” Dain said. “Man's a genius.”

Alix was momentarily surprised, but then she remembered: Before Dain had joined the White Wolves as Liam's second, he'd been a soldier here in the fort. He knew Rig—and respected him, obviously. She couldn't help smiling. “My brother is many things, but I'm not sure genius is among them. I think he'd be the first to admit that the secret to his success is less wit than luck.”

“The secret to his success,” Ide said, “is
balls
. Begging your pardon.”

Alix laughed. In spite of her fatigue, in spite of the hurt brooding in the pit of her stomach, she found herself enjoying the company of her companions. Though it was impossible not to think of Liam while spending day after day with his men, Ide had been a friend since their days scouting together, and Dain was easy to like. Alix hadn't realised just how much she missed the scouts; having something like that fellowship again was a comfort, especially now.

A final scrape and judder heralded the opening of the gate, and Alix and the others rode into a cramped courtyard smelling of straw and smoke. The ring of a forge sounded somewhere nearby, and of swordplay too, soldiers practicing lunges and parries with spears and dulled blades. For all its crude lines and hasty construction, the scene reminded Alix a little of the bailey at Blackhold, as it had been in her youth.

More so when she heard a familiar voice call out from clear across the yard. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing here?”

Alix turned to find her brother making his way over in great strides, his expression a mix of concern and delight. After everything that had happened, the sight of him nearly brought her to tears; she was grateful when he enveloped her in a bear hug, shielding her face from prying eyes.

“Seriously, Allie,” Rig's deep voice rumbled in her ear, “how worried do I need to be right now?” They hadn't dared send word ahead for fear of it falling into the wrong hands, but Rig was no fool. If she'd left Erik's side, it couldn't be good news.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Someplace safe.”

“Gods' balls.” He drew back and gave her a long, appraising look. Brushing her cheek with a rough hand, he said, “Give us a smile, love, and a laugh if you can manage it. Can't have you standing there looking like you're about to cry. Bad for morale.” His own features broke into a smile, dark eyes flicking meaningfully to the ramparts, where a handful of soldiers stood gawking at their commander general and his sister.

Alix did her best to laugh, though she doubted it was very convincing.

“Dain Cooper!” Rig clasped arms with the Onnani knight. “Didn't I throw you to the Wolves?”

Dain laughed. “You did, General. I'm still nominally Prince Liam's second-in-command, though by rights that duty belongs to Ide here.”

Gracious of him
, Alix thought. And true. Ide deserved better than to have been replaced for political reasons and Dain knew it. Though it was no fault of his, he must have felt terribly awkward about it.

Ide, though, was phlegmatic as always. “Rights got nothing to do with it, leastways not mine. Commander appoints who he will.”

“He appointed you,” Dain said. “They
made
him replace you, just to appease the Onnani.”

Ide shrugged. “It's done. No use whinging about it.” Saluting, she added, “Honour to see you again, General Black.”

“I guess we'd better head inside,” Rig said. “Not sure where we'll put you, but in the meantime, I can see that you get some food and hot water.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Ide said. “Got any wine?”

Alix rolled her eyes. Being knighted had obviously done nothing to change Ide's priorities in life.

Rig just laughed. “A woman after my own heart. It so happens I have a small private stash. I'll see to it you get some.”

They followed him inside, to a room that looked remarkably like the common room of an inn. “Home,” he said. “Now, about that food and water . . .”

Alix left Ide and Dain to wash up. What she had to say couldn't wait, so Rig took her up to his quarters, which looked to double as a war room judging from the table strewn with maps. She started to speak almost the moment he closed the door, but he held up a hand. “Washbasin. Wine. Then we talk.”

Alix nodded wearily, allowing herself to be shown to a washstand in the corner. With the dust of the road gone and a cup of warmed wine in her hand, she certainly felt better. But that didn't make what she had to say any easier. “I don't even know where to begin.”

Rig's eyes, as coal black as his hair, took her in carefully. “They usually say you should start at the beginning, but in this case, I think it might be best if you skipped to the end.”

Alix took a sip of warmed wine. Swallowed. “Erik has been bloodbound.”

A flicker of dark eyebrows, like lightning before the storm. “Explain.”

“We were wrong. The Priest's cursed magicks didn't die with him. At least one bloodbinder in Oridia still knows how to pervert the bloodbond, and he's using it on Erik.”

Rig paled. “Are you telling me Erik is a
thrall
?” Alix couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her brother whisper, but he was doing it now, throwing a nervous glance at the door.

“Not exactly, not yet. I think the bloodbinder must be too far away to control him completely. But he's . . . not Erik, either. He's erratic. Volatile, even. It's as if he's completely unable to keep his emotions in check. And then there's what happened in Harram . . .” She did her best to explain, pausing every few moments to take another sip of wine, as though its warmth could banish the chill inside her.

When she'd done, Rig launched himself away from the table, cursing a streak so foul that Alix winced. He looked like he wanted to snap someone in half. More than that, he looked like he actually
could
. “How is that even possible? Where did they get his blood?”

“Erik has a twin. Identical. It was kept secret, obviously—even Erik doesn't know. Rodrik—that's his name—was exiled to Andithyri as a baby so no one would ever know he existed.”

Rig's mouth fell open. “You have
got
to be . . . First Liam and now this? How many secret children did King Osrik
have
?”

Alix couldn't help it; she burst out laughing—a hollow, bitter thing, perilously close to tears. “He did have his intrigues, didn't he?”

“So the enemy has this Rodrik and they're using his blood to control our king.” Rig laughed too, both of them edging on hysteria. “It couldn't possibly be worse! Bloody Alerran himself couldn't have penned a finer tragedy!” He shook his head in awe. “Who else knows about this?

“Highmount, Liam, Rona Brown. Dain and Ide. A handful of my guardsmen.”
Too many.
She saw the thought reflected in her brother's eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

The question tore something open inside her. Alix told him what they'd done, how they'd locked Erik away, barring his doors and guarding his windows . . . And now the tears finally broke free, sliding down her face, cold as betrayal.

More cursing. Rig sagged against the table. “Everything we've been through. The Onnani fleet burned, the Harrami refusing to help. Battle after battle, grinding us down by attrition. We barely survived that last fight, Allie. I've been tearing my hair out ever since, waiting for the Warlord to ram the rest of his army down our throats. And meanwhile, all this time, he's had a trump tucked up his sleeve, the play to end all plays.” Rig looked at her grimly. “We are
completely
buggered, you know.”

“Don't say that. We'll find a way. We have to. I swore on the blood of our family.”

He sighed. “You're right, of course. It's just . . . this is a lot to take in.” He paused, dark eyes pinning her. “But you didn't come all this way just to deliver a message. You're going after him, aren't you? Rodrik?”

Alix nodded, swallowing the terror that reared up in her throat.

Rig pursed his lips in displeasure. “Sadik's forces are close, Allie. Just a few miles across the river. And he has spies everywhere, even here in the fort.”

“What?”
She gazed up at him in dismay. “A spy in the Kingswords? Are you sure?”

“Positive. Meanwhile, Sadik's army will be on us any day, all twenty thousand of them. It could hardly be a worse time to go sneaking across the border.”

“What choice is there? If we don't get Rodrik out of enemy hands, Erik is lost to us forever.”

Alix watched her brother wrestle with denial, wracking his brain for some other solution—until, inevitably, he was defeated, swearing softly and shaking his head. “Liam must be thrilled.”

She looked away. “Safe to say he's not.”

“You argued?”

“You might say that.” Alix squeezed her eyes shut. “I said some horrible things, Rig.”

“He'll forgive you.”

“I'm not sure about that. I don't know if we can get past this. Not the fight, but what it brought out into the open.”

“Meaning?”

“What happened between Erik and me last year . . . I thought it was behind us, but I was wrong. It's not behind us at all. It's between us, and I don't know if we can get around it. I don't know how.”

Rig was quiet a moment while he digested that. “Male pride is a fragile thing. It does heal, but it takes a long time. And I'd hazard a guess that this isn't all about you.”

“I don't follow.”

“I know you like to forget that Liam's a bastard, but I promise you he doesn't forget it, not for a moment.”

“I know that.”

“All right then, imagine what that's like for him. He's spent his whole life being told that he's less than Erik, unworthy of the White name. That's enough to give anyone a heap of insecurities. On top of which, show me a man who doesn't suffer by comparison to Erik White.”

“Liam doesn't.”

Rig gave her a sober look. “Better be sure he knows you feel that way, Allie.”

Before she could reply, the door opened and a woman breezed into the room. She froze when she saw Alix, her glance cutting back and forth between brother and sister. “I beg your pardon. I didn't realise General Black had company.” She was Onnani, attractive, with long black hair and fierce dark eyes. Her tone carried a touch of frost; that, along with the entitled manner of her entry, was very telling indeed. Alix shot her brother a wry look.

Rig met her gaze blandly, utterly immune to embarrassment. “Vel,” he said, “may I present my sister, Lady Alix.”

“Your sister? Oh, I . . .” Colouring a little, the woman dipped into an awkward sort of bow, as if she were meeting royalty. Alix arched an eyebrow. And wait . . . were those robes . . . ?

“You're a
priestess
?” Alix blurted.

A dusky blush flooded the other woman's features. “I am,” she said, and the hint of frost was back—with reinforcements.

“Vel,” said Rig, “will you excuse us? We're not quite finished here.”

“Yes, of course. Apologies again, General.” She looked only too happy to quit the room, closing the door with a decisive
snap
.

Alix and Rig stared at each other.

“A
priestess
.”

“What of it?”

“You're bedding a
priestess
. An Onnani priestess, no less!”

“Who says I'm bedding her?”

“Rig.”

He shrugged. “I don't see what business it is of yours.”

“None. I just thought you were through with casual relationships. Responsibilities of a banner lord, so on and so forth.”

Rig snorted softly. “Is this your subtle way of asking whether I'm serious about her?”

“Not at all, because I know you couldn't possibly be serious about her.” Alix raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“Because she's a priestess?”

“A priestess. Onnani. Take your pick.”

“This from the woman who married a bastard.”

“This from the woman whose brother forbade her from marrying a bastard and would have forbidden it unto the end of the world had said bastard not become a
prince
.”