Trouble with Kings (31 page)

As she spoke she tugged on my good hand, and I got to my feet, and staggered as the tower room revolved.

She gripped me against her and together we ran from the room, outside of which there were no guards.

Eleandra said, “All the inside guards are searching round the outside of the castle. It won’t take long, so hurry.”

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to match her pace. Down, down, down, then into a hallway. The whole castle seemed to blaze with lamps, torches, candelabra. Garian had not left a room unlit, except mine.

Into a small, elegant chamber—the room with the mirror in it, I realized. From my almost-wedding day. The mirror was blocked by Jaim and four men.

“Good work,” Jaim said to Eleandra, and saluted me with a casual wave.

“Here,” Eleandra gasped. “Help. She’s so heavy.”

As Jaim’s strong hand slid under my elbow Eleandra stepped back—and then raised her fists to her mouth.

Garian stood in the doorway with several of his men behind him. He laughed in surprise. “Jaim? Well, well.”

They advanced into the room, the men fanning out. Jaim let me go, gave me a gentle push in the direction of the beautiful carved desk, and pulled free his sword and knife.

Clang! Clash! Blades met, whirled, met again.

Eleandra’s eyes widened with terror. She backed to the window, turning to a beautiful silhouette in the strengthening dawn light. No help there.

Door. It was maybe six or seven paces away. I readied myself for a sprint.

Three battles raged furiously in that room, deadly weapons arcing and slashing in all directions. Jaim fought against two men, grinning with bloodthirsty joy as he held them off. One of the men staggered my way. I retreated—and found myself near Garian, who gave me a distracted look as he battled one of Jaim’s men. He shifted—to block my exit!

I closed my hand around the nearest object on the desk, a heavy carved box full of letter seals. I flung it at him. The box hit him on the forehead and the wafers spilled down the front of his tunic like giant snowflakes.

He struck out with his free hand, slapping me back against the wall. A whirl of the blade, he jabbed the point into the side of Jaim’s man, and then turned on me, white-faced with anger.

“You’re far too much trouble.” He shoved me against the table. I fell backward, and he pinned me down with one hand. “Goodbye, Cousin.” He raised his sword, watching me all the while. For what, words of surrender? Begging and pleading? I glared back, my teeth clenched against making any sound at all.

Before he could bring the sword down a thin strip of shining silver flashed across my vision and rested against Garian’s upraised hand.

Garian turned his head, and so did I.

Jason lifted the blade in salute.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Garian’s blade arced straight at Jason’s head, to be met in a smooth deflecting beat that sent it harmlessly to one side. Jason’s tip whirled in, to be blocked by Garian’s dagger.

This battle was going on within arm’s length of me, understand. I was still lying on my back across that desk, helpless as an upended turtle.

I finally got the idea of heaving myself onto my good side, though by then it felt as if my spine had cracked in two. I pushed myself away from the desk and made my way dizzily to Eleandra’s side. She clutched a curtain in one hand and watched Garian and Jason, her eyes wide in her pale face. Wide, but no longer in terror. Her expression was—ardent.

She was enjoying that battle!

I just wanted to get out of there. But Jason and Garian fought their duel between me and the door. No one was going anywhere, either in or out.

Jason forced Garian to stagger back a step or two, then flung his blade up into the air and caught it with his left. Clearly his own wound, which had been far more spectacular than mine, had not yet completely healed.

Garian tried again and again for the advantage, using both blade and dagger. Jason beat, blocked, once using a foot to kick the dagger-hand aside. Then he altered his grip, his eyes narrowed with intent, and struck the flat of the blade across Garian’s face, leaving a red welt.

Garian snarled a curse and pressed to the attack—and at the door a crowd of his men appeared.

They’d win now, out of sheer numbers. Jaim and his foes stopped fighting; everyone watched Garian and Jason. The man whom Garian had wounded staggered to the corner, breathing in harsh gasps.

Garian seemed to realize that he’d won, for he laughed out loud, as he traded blows with Jason. You could see the triumph in his white-flashing smile.

But Jason had been driving Garian steadily toward the cluster of Jaim’s men, while keeping his own back to a wall. Jaim moved two steps to Jason’s shoulder to shield him from those at the door as Jason’s eyes narrowed again and the blade flickered, a maneuver so fast it was a blur. Garian’s weapons went flying out of his hands—blood ran down his fingers on his right hand—and he staggered, Jason’s swordpoint pressed in the hollow of his throat.

One step. Two. Jaim and the men were ranged all around them.

Garian’s men froze.

Everyone froze.

Garian struggled for breath, flexing his bleeding hand. Jason gazed straight into Garian’s eyes.

One move, and he’d thrust.

“Well.” Jaim’s voice was startling in the sudden silence. He waved his sword at Garian’s armsmen. “You know what happens now. Retreat—nice and orderly—or your master will be shopping for a new head.”

The men backed from the door.

Jason glanced once, then flicked the sword to the side of Garian’s neck, against the main blood vessel that I had learned about during my lessons with Ressa a hundred lifetimes ago. “Move.”

Garian started to walk, Jason matching him step for step.

Jaim bowed outrageously to Eleandra and me, then twiddled his fingers at the remaining Drath warriors. They backed out, one or two glaring over their shoulders.

We followed, and so a strange procession made its way through the castle. Eleandra’s servants followed behind us and Lita (who’d been disarmed back in Dantherei, so perforce had to watch for her chance to act) silently joined behind Jaim. She had taken a sword off of one of Garian’s men, which she held, now, at the ready. Jaim and Lita were on the watch lest anyone try a countermove against Eleandra or me.

Down the steps and out into the courtyard, which was bleak in the blue-gray early morning light.

When all had left the castle, Jason must have increased the pressure of the blade against Garian’s neck because Garian stopped, his hand jerking up then dropping. He could never touch the sword blade before Jason could rip it across that blood vessel.

Jason said, “Your men will remain here. We will proceed alone. It is the only way you will live.”

Garian was furious, the sword-welt on his cheek now purple. As I watched Garian debate within himself, I recognized that the welt on his face corresponded with my own sore face. The sword had struck him where he’d struck me the day before.
Fair trade
, I thought with sour triumph.

Garian’s mouth tightened, then he made a staying motion with his unmarked left hand.

The warriors faded back.

And so we walked on to the drawbridge, where several of Jaim’s and Jason’s people waited, some with crossbows, and Vrozta with horses. I noted the bows were sighted on various portions of the castle: a balance of threat, then, with those hidden above.

In low voices, Jaim and Vrozta got the servants sorted among the horses, and they began mounting up. Eleandra stayed back, and perforce I had to as well, for my knees were too watery and my balance too uneasy for me to walk on my own.

Jason looked our way, then abruptly lifted the sword and sheathed it.

“You will regret that decision,” Garian said.

“I already regret it,” Jason replied.

Garian turned around and walked slowly back toward his people; one sign from him, and though we might die from bolts, he’d be the first one down from Jaim’s people. And he knew it.

Markham was holding the last two horses. Mounted, Jaim led the train of servants down the trail. Vrozta followed, her sword out, but she kept looking back from Eleandra to me. An intent gaze, as if containing some meaning or message that I could not read.

Jason crossed the drawbridge in three quick strides, and Markham said in an undervoice, “Vrozta and Randal hobbled their horses and slashed their gear. It’ll take them some time to mount a chase.”

“Ah. Thank you, Markham.”

Eleandra clutched at Jason’s arm. “My dear, I believe you should send one of your people here to help Flian. She can barely walk.”

Jason did not answer her. Step, step, then he was next to me, and his arm slid round me—checking when he felt the new stickiness down my left side.

He picked me up and put me on the saddlebow of the nearest mount, then got into the saddle behind me. The world was revolving gently by then. I closed my eyes as we began to ride. My aching head rested against Jason’s shoulder as he gave the sign to ride out.

We moved, slow at first, then faster. At some point they turned off the road, and the horses slowed again, making their way down the slope. Sounds—birdcalls, the rustle of trees, the rush of water—were unnaturally clear. Close sounds, too: Jason’s breathing, the rapid tattoo of his heart.

Scents: pine, horse, the perfume of late jasmine, sweat. His, not mine, though I was clammy from my exertions and my earlier fear. The smell was not at all unpleasant. No, not at all. I fought against the urge to breathe in his scent, for his proximity was so reassuring. So warm. So…so
compelling
.

And then at last I knew what the unthinking part of me had known for some time, making me dizzy with overwhelming sensation. I was acutely aware of the contours of his arms, the feel of his fingers through the heavy fabric of my riding tunic; I realized, with a kind of hilarious despair, that I had at last managed to fall in love, or rather in lust, for how could it possibly be love with someone I did not know, who had once threatened to make me regret sparing his life?

I kept my eyes closed, my cheek pressed against the rough wool of his tunic, glad that I had at least the duration of the ride in which to get control of my mental state—and also, I thought weakly (knowing it was weakness, but right then I did not care at all) to bask in the fire of his proximity, a dear and burning brightness I would never again feel.

Time passed, and I smelled the cold wet stone of the morvende cave.

Jason said, almost too soft to hear, “Flian, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Did you endure any more of Garian’s maltreatment?”

How to act, to sound normal? All my emotions as well as my senses had kindled to flame. Only pride stayed steadfast. Pride would keep my voice even, would reason for me, would not betray me.

“No.” Because he stayed silent, I babbled on, “But I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday. I guess he didn’t want to waste a dinner on the doomed. Did you know he was sitting at my bedside waiting for you?”

“Yes. We sent a man under his window to provoke him into action. I had counted on something like it, and I apologize for once more putting you directly into danger, but it was the only way Lita could get Jaim and his boys in through the back way.”

“Well, I spoiled the plan, so I guess it was my—”

“It was not your fault.” He interrupted me, low and quite sharp. “The blame was mine, from the beginning.” He hesitated, then said, “You did not tell him that we were at hand.”

“No, for I thought you might have gone back to Lathandra, once you had poor Jewel safe. How is she?”

“Fine—angry but fine. You will no doubt hear more of her experiences than you have interest for, if not patience.” Humor warmed his voice, but then it was gone. “You expected us to abandon you?”

I struggled with words I could not say, and words that I could. How to trust words, when I couldn’t even trust my own emotions?

Start with where we are, and leave out the messy emotions completely. Be calm and rational
. “How could I know? I saved your life once, and you were angry at me for it. Now you don’t owe me anything, if that’s what made you angry, because you have saved mine.”

His voice was flat. “So what you mean is, now we are quits.”

“Yes.”

He said nothing else.

A short time later the horses stopped, and we were once again deep inside the long morvende tunnel. Jason dismounted, lifted me down, set me gently on my feet, and walked away. I leaned against the horse, bewildered and miserable.
Now we are quits
. My attempt to state exactly where we were had become a chasm that I could not cross.

I heard his voice, giving orders for the organization of a camp. Then Jaim’s cheery tones, followed by Vrozta’s low laugh. I opened my eyes, and saw Eleandra’s golden form gliding through the camp in the direction Jason had gone.

I turned my face into the horse’s side, my eyes aching, until a familiar deep voice murmured, “The king sent me to see to your comfort, Princess Flian.” Markham. “Come. You will soon have steeped leaf and something hot to eat.”

I clung to his arm as we traversed the uneven, rocky floor toward an alcove divided off from the carved tunnel by a great, slanting slab of granite. Its edges glistened in the firelight. Markham handed me into a kind of small chamber and withdrew, vanishing behind me. The fire blazed and crackled, giving off welcome warmth. Jewel waited, pointing with pride at a nest of rugs and blankets. “Come in. Sit down, Flian. I made this ready and built the fire against your return.”

Jason had sunk down. He looked tired, his expression the old winter stone one. Eleandra settled herself close to him, as one whose presence would be welcome. She put aside her cloak, shaking back her gleaming hair. She did not seem the least self-conscious to be sitting there in silken wrapper and nightgown, but she looked superb even when disheveled.

Jason poked at the fire with a stick, and got to his feet. “I will see what there is to eat and drink.”

Eleandra looked up in surprise. Jewel exclaimed in protest, “I told you I have that coming!”