The Death of Dulgath (38 page)

Royce climbed into the back.

“What did you do?” Scarlett asked him, shouting over the rumble of the wagon and the hiss of the wind.

“How is she?” Royce replied.

“She’s drooling blood! That’s how she is!”

“What’s that mean? Hadrian, you’re sort of a doctor, can you—”

“I’m
not
a doctor—but even I know she should have died five minutes ago. Should have checked out the moment she was hit.” Hadrian braced himself as they rolled through a dip that turned out not to be as bad as he thought. “That bow was an arbalest. In the army, we used them to pierce armor, kill horses, and shatter the wheels of assault towers. A single quarrel will stop a charging water buffalo. Royce, there’s no way she’s going to live. She’s spitting red because at least one lung is punctured, or more likely shredded. She’s drowning in her own blood—what little she has left.”

Royce looked at Scarlett. “You know anyone who can help her?”

“Hadrian said we’re taking her to the abbey. I think that is the best place.”

“The abbey? Why there?”

“Don’t ask me,” Scarlett said.

“It’s where she asked to be taken,” Hadrian supplied.

“Then that settles it,” Royce declared.

Scarlett shook her head. “Wagon won’t go up that trail.”

Hadrian’s attention was on the road, but the few glances he gave back to the three passengers revealed a sorry scene. Not trusting the makeshift pillow, Scarlett was cradling Nysa’s head in her lap, her legs to either side of the lady. She looked close to tears as the wind whipped her fiery hair. Royce held on to the wagon’s rail with his relatively good hand, rocking side to side and frowning at Nysa.

“She’s right,” Hadrian said. “We’ll get partway maybe, but it narrows, gets too steep and rocky.”

“We can switch horses in Brecken Dale,” Scarlett shouted. “Get fresh mounts, saddle them, and leave the wagon, but someone will need to carry her on horseback—ride tandem.”

“I’ll take her,” Royce said.

They hit another bump, and Hadrian grunted. If it weren’t for Scarlett, Lady Dulgath’s head would’ve been clapping on the wood. She wouldn’t feel it. The lady couldn’t feel anything, and he was certain she never would again.

“Is anyone going to tell me what happened in there?” Scarlett shouted. She was angry, frustrated, scared, and still holding Lady Dulgath’s head, brushing the woman’s hair away from her face.

“Got there too late,” Hadrian said. “Then Royce threatened to kill the King of Maranon.”

“You’re not serious?” Scarlett looked at Royce. “That’s got to be a step up, even for you.”

“You want to tell me why we’re doing this, Royce?” Hadrian asked. “Normally this is the sort of thing you’d be yelling at me for.”

Royce didn’t answer. He had his head cocked back, looking up at the sky. “Anyone else notice that it’s starting to rain?”

Chapter Twenty-One
The Storm

Clouds.

As a daydreaming boy, Hadrian had done his fair share of lying in fields and imagining some as dragons or trolls to slay. He’d seen castles in the sky and towers where damsels waited to be rescued. In their puffy white and billowing grays, Hadrian had peered into the glories of his future and witnessed wonders—wonders that never came to pass. To Hadrian, the man, clouds only meant rain.

These clouds were different. Not that they appeared unusual, and they did mean rain—plenty was falling by the time they reached Brecken Dale—but they also meant something else. Only no one knew what.

It never rains during the day.
Scarlett must have said it at least a dozen times before they finally reached Caldwell House. From the moment Royce drew their attention to the rain, she’d had her head craned back with a look of surprise and fear.

What does it mean?
Hadrian had also asked more times than he could remember.

Scarlett never answered him.

They made enough racket racing through the dale that those who hadn’t gone to witness the homage came out to see them rattle by. Or maybe they were already out, standing on their porches and stoops looking up at the sky and, like Scarlett, wondering what was happening.

Wagner, Gill, Asher, and Clem were certainly out. Tasha was there, too, standing behind Asher and peering over the doctor’s shoulder.

“Lady Dulgath is hurt!” Scarlett shouted as Hadrian brought the wagon to a stop.

Asher climbed up as Royce and Hadrian got off. Royce hesitated a moment, looking back at the wagon and the motionless woman. Then he and Hadrian ran to the stables.

Caldwell House’s stables lacked the luxury of the castle’s, but they were still grander than any stable in Medford. The long single corridor with stalls to either side was clean and just as livable as any of the homes along the street. With the double doors open wide, gusting storm winds and the sound of distant thunder agitated the horses and threw bits of straw dust into the air.

“How long we got?” Hadrian asked, searching the stalls for Dancer.

“They have to get out of that courtyard,” Royce replied, searching for his own animal. “Get down to their stables, saddle their horses—and wait for others to do the same. The more coming after us, the longer it will take. Fifteen or twenty minutes? Maybe more. But that wagon was pretty slow.”

Hadrian spotted the white diamond and two rear socks of Dancer. He grabbed the bit and bridle hanging on a peg just outside the stall and flung the gate open. “Did you kill him?”

“The king? No, that would’ve only made matters worse. Someone used our real names, remember?”

Hadrian was having trouble seeing how things could’ve been worse, but he felt a sense of relief at the news. When faced with the question of whether to kill or not, Royce had a nasty habit of choosing the former. For him, doing so was the same as checking the grass before squatting in a forest or looking in a boot before pulling it on in the morning. Common sense, he called it—dead people didn’t seek revenge.

“Well, that’s one point in our favor.” Hadrian finished Dancer’s bit, then dashed over to help Royce, who was having trouble with his own mount because of his injured hands. “Would you have killed him? If he’d refused—if they had grabbed me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Not sure if I should feel touched or terrified.”

“That’s your problem.”

“But what did you mean about playing chess?”

Royce appeared puzzled for a moment then smirked. “Oh, that—I literally put the king in check.”

“Funny.” Hadrian tugged the bridle over the horse’s ears, and Royce quickly slipped the bit into her mouth. “And so now what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go.”

Hadrian buckled the neck strap. “Don’t tell me we’re still playing Opposites Day. Seriously, why are we doing this?”

Royce didn’t say anything. He simply grabbed the quilted horse blanket and tossed it over the back of his mount.

Royce often ignored questions he didn’t want to answer. There had been times when—

“I honestly don’t know,” Royce said, smoothing out the wrinkles, not looking at Hadrian.

“You’re joking.” Hadrian paused in disbelief. “Are you…you aren’t in
love
with Nysa Dulgath—are you?”

“It’s not like that,” Royce said.

“What
is
it like?”

Hadrian helped Royce set his saddle onto his horse. “I—I don’t know…but there’s something—”

“Something worth dying for?”

Royce sighed. “Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”

When they rushed out of the stable, leading their mounts, Hadrian noticed that Scarlett was missing and Asher was still on the back of the wagon, kneeling over Lady Dulgath. A crowd had formed around them, mostly the old folk who’d stayed behind while the rest of the village headed to the castle.

“This woman is dead,” Asher told them when they were near enough so he didn’t have to yell.

Royce stopped as if he’d been hit.

The crowd had been generally quiet to start with, but with that pronouncement everyone fell silent. Rain pattered on rooftops, on grass, on the wagon, and on the people gathered in a circle. The sky cried at her passing. A silly thought, but at that moment Hadrian didn’t find it so foolish. Dulgath wasn’t like other places. Its differences lay somewhere below the mind’s ability to reason. Ever since he’d arrived, Hadrian had sensed something odd, something different, somehow out of place. As Asher draped a blanket, pulling the wool toward Lady Dulgath’s face, Hadrian felt a deep upwelling of sorrow, as if something profound was ending, something greater than a single life.

Thunder rolled nearer, and lightning flickered behind the thick clouds.

“I’m not dead.”

Asher jerked back, his face going white.

Royce dropped the reins of his horse and lunged forward, shoving his way to the wagon.

“Get me to the abbey, Royce,” Nysa told him. “I’m running out of time.”

“Royce,” Hadrian shouted, “mount up. I’ll hand her to you.”

Royce nodded, grabbed his horse, and leapt up. The crowd scattered as Hadrian lifted Nysa. The pain in his side screamed.

“Clem, Wagner…” Hadrian looked around and spotted the tavern boy.

Fish are good, but Gill’s the best.

“Gill! Help me lift her.”

With the boy’s help, they got Nysa in front of Royce, who cradled her before him.

Scarlett appeared, coming down from the direction of her house on a saddled black horse. “Everyone ready?”

“Scarlett, no,” Hadrian said. “You stay here. They don’t know about you. No one knows you had anything to do with this.”

“I don’t give a damn. She’s…I care for her far more than either of you do, and I won’t stay here—”

“Don’t have time to argue!” Royce snapped.

“Go,” Hadrian told him. “Down to the river. Cross the stone bridge, then just follow the trail uphill to the left. The monastery is at the top of the mountain. I’ll be right behind you.”

Royce nodded, kicked his horse, and trotted down the cobblestone streets, as overhead lightning warned that the storm was coming closer.

Christopher hesitated at the stall of Immaculate, then looked down five gates at Derby, Lady Dulgath’s sleek courser. Immaculate’s, while not an awful horse or a biter, was a durable linen shirt compared with the fine damask doublet that was Derby. Nysa certainly wasn’t going to be using her that evening. Throwing open the chest before Immaculate’s stall, Christopher took his saddle to Lady Dulgath’s horse.

“Where did they go?” Vincent was shouting outside the stable, where a light rain was falling. “Did anyone see?”

A dozen men were in saddles and a dozen more were still working on it. The king himself was mounted after having a breastplate and helm slapped on him. Sir Jacobus had tried to dissuade His Majesty from coming, assuring the king they could take care of things, but Vincent was still fuming, and the rain did nothing to dampen his anger.

“They’re rogues—assassins—hired to kill Lady Dulgath,” Christopher said. “There’ve been rumors for weeks that two men—professionals from the north—were coming to kill her. It’s likely they’re headed for Gath Pass. From there they’ll try to escape by racing north to Rhenydd.”

“Chrissy,” the king snarled. His face was furious red. His horse sensed his mood and spun, tossing his head…ready for the run. “Do be quiet. I need a chance to think.”