Knight devoted, p.6
Knight Devoted, page 6
She clutched her wrists to her chest, rubbing them as she turned to face him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He didn’t sheathe the dagger.
The ache in her chest returned. The cruelty of having him here was almost breathtaking—and the fiery shame of it. She’d almost gotten away without having to face him ever knowing the truth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Then she brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck to the faint light of the candle. “It’s not your fault,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “It is what it is. Just get it over with.”
She braced for him to move, but it didn’t come. Instead, she heard a gentle rustling. Perhaps he had some other weapon.
When a sudden light hit her eyelids, she opened her eyes.
Her room was bathed in a deep orange glow. In the palm of his hand sat a small stone that shone like an ember straight from the fire.
Her heart leapt even as her stomach sank.
He hadn’t believed them. He’d wanted to check. He’d found a Devoted Stone somehow and brought it all the way here. Surely, he wasn’t supposed to have that, but he’d taken it anyway.
Was it true? Had Javarin been the only one who hadn’t already realized she was a mage?
Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see it because he was her friend. Maybe she’d tried harder to hide it from him, knowing he’d be bound to act and how much it would hurt him.
It didn’t matter. The despair in his eyes told the story more plainly than words ever could.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking.
He swallowed hard and, as if remembering himself, quickly tucked the stone back into a small box that he’d carried in a bag she hadn’t noticed at first. He straightened, and she saw concern on his face as his eyes caught on her knees. She could feel the cold from the stone floor through the thin carpet. Her knees were starting to ache, but she didn’t move.
“No. It’s not your fault,” he said finally.
“Yes, it is.”
“Hush. Let me think.”
She almost made a face at him, in that old playful way. Few told a princess to hush, even if she was his friend and disrespected by, well, almost everyone. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Did you ask to be a mage?”
“No.” She pursed her lips. “But I’m flawed, nonetheless.”
His eyes flashed with anger. Still, he didn’t move.
This waiting, this anger—it was almost worse than the fear. She inched closer to him across the carpet until her knees touched his. Then, heart pounding, she reached out.
Death was the only way, so why fight? She couldn’t hope to best him anyway, and he knew her too well for her to trick him. Alekur was as smart as he was vile, yet again.
But perhaps she could at least face death with dignity. With courage.
So she used what small vestige of courage she had to take his hand. She turned it in hers, relishing for the second time today the feel of skin so rough and new to her, callused from work, across her smaller, softer fingers. Twisting and guiding his hand, she laid his palm against her cheek in one terribly self-indulgent moment and closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes, their gazes locked. That flash of anger was gone, as was the dead, distant look, but the intensity remained. His mouth had fallen slightly open, jaw no longer clenched.
Closing her eyes again, she yielded to the fantasy, sliding his hand down her cheek, grazing his fingers along her neck in a wild flight of fancy—as though his fingers would ever long to touch her that way—and then pressed his palm flat against her shoulder, her chest, over her heart.
“What are you doing?” His voice was quiet, rough.
“I forgive you,” she said.
“Don’t. Stop it.”
“I do.” She shook her head. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to do? All this wondering is driving me mad. Can you feel my heart racing? I am trying to face this with bravery. Like you would.” That last bit slipped out, and her eyes widened suddenly. But what did it matter? What did she have to lose?
His nostrils flared. He didn’t try to pull his hand away from where it sat over her pounding heart, both her hands cold over his warmth. The heat was welcome. The room without a fire had grown as cold as the tomb that it soon would be.
“But with each passing moment, my courage slips away. Just tell me what you’re going to do. I can’t stand this waiting, Jav.”
Suddenly he jerked his hand away, escaping her pleading grip. She caught her breath, but he reached around her, enveloping her in his arms.
He pressed her whole body hard to his chest—another dose of heat. The rough stubble of his jaw slid along her cheekbone, and his breath was hot on her ear.
“Did you ever think this would happen?” he whispered.
“Yes. I knew they’d act eventually.” She shrugged as much as she could in his embrace. Her voice was barely a murmur. “I should’ve run. But I ran out of time.” And you were here. And the world is… huge and terrifying and unknown to me.
“But you were planning to.”
The warmth of him was nearly too distracting to respond. “What does it matter?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“The trap is sprung, Jav.”
“You had no plan? No secret passage, cloak, map?”
She frowned. If only she’d been able to find a darn map. “I have a bag packed with some food and a cloak. No map. There’s a passage, of a sort. But you must take it from the outer hall, and he trapped me in here. What does it matter? I want to know what you’re going to do, not—”
He cut her off. “What I am going to do is take you away from here.”
She jerked back. She needed to see him. To believe him. She couldn’t stand another trick. But his eyes were hard. Determined. Her surprise didn’t lessen when he yanked her back against him.
“Where does the passage lead?” he demanded, lips against her earlobe.
“Outside the castle.”
“Near the stables?”
“No, the other side.”
“Could be worse.”
“I don’t see how. We can’t use it.”
“Do you have some coin packed? Any valuables?”
She pulled away again to look him in the eye. “You’re not going to kill me?” she asked as quietly as she could manage, nearly mouthing the words.
He shook his head, his expression grim.
She forced down the surge of irrational joy in her chest—what was there to be joyful about? What good was her life at the ruination of his? She shook her head. “No. You can’t do this. You must kill me.”
“I can’t do it. Let’s go.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“I won’t.”
“You’ve always lived for—”
“I’ve never cared for anything like I’ve cared for serving you, my lady,” he said. “And… and I refuse to accept this is Nefrana’s will unless she tells me so herself. You can hide somewhere. In solitude. What does magic harm if you’re alone? If they can’t find you.”
She bit her lip. “I won’t let you sacrifice your life for mine. Nowhere will be safe for me. Or you, after this. Think this through—”
“Do I strike you as someone who is impulsive or irrational?” His eyes flashed, stormy and black.
“No.”
“Then get your bag.” He released his hold on her and got to his feet, one hand still holding hers. She hesitated to follow. “My lady, get up.”
She stared into those brown eyes for just a beat longer. The gloom was gone, replaced by sheer determination. It was selfish to comply, but it’d be worse to continue arguing. Someone might hear them.
The chance she’d thought she’d lost had been given back to her; she’d be a fool not to take it.
“All right,” she breathed. She hurried for the wardrobe.
Chapter 10
Alekur
Jav’s pulse was pounding in his ears. Was this what it felt like to ruin your life?
If it was, it felt pretty good. Wild. Dangerous. But good.
Iseris tied her cloak around her shoulders then stepped over to her dresser. She opened the top drawer and withdrew a drawstring bag. Loosening the neck, she held it out to him, and he peered inside.
It was too dark to see in detail, but he did see a sparkle and slight sheen, and he could hear the items inside as they clinked against each other in that distinctive way that only gems could do.
Staying silent, he smiled, nodding once as she bent to drop the bag into her pack. In the darkness, her skin was pale like a ghost’s, and, for a moment, his breath hitched as he remembered the way she’d held his hand there, against her heart beats.
Then her cloak fell away from her shoulder and jarred him from the memory. Gods, had he been staring? More than one reason to be grateful for a sturdy, thick cloak.
He’d left his own cloak and sword on Sky. If he’d entered the castle not as part of a patrol or specifically requested royal guard or audience, a steward would have stowed his cloak and sword, and retrieving them to leave would have been problematic. At least now, he had a chance, if they could make it to the stable.
Entering the stable would be risky, though. They could escape on foot and without his sword if they had to. They could manage all right like that. But he’d need a cloak, at the very minimum.
He shifted quietly toward the door to her outer chambers and pressed his ear close, listening.
When he’d entered, the fire had been burned down to nothing. Now, he could hear it crackling. He studied the edges of the door, seeing the light from the fire seep through. His jaw clenched.
Maybe the servants had come to tend it after he'd arrived. Maybe… but then why had it been left to all but smoldering ash in the first place? One servant might have been late on their rotation, or maybe several rotations…
Or the prince had ordered them to leave the princess alone so no one would discover he’d tied her up and left her to be executed.
Maybe now, the prince was stoking the fire himself.
He turned back to Iseris as she shut the wardrobe quietly. She turned to face him, the smallest smile on her face and a fresh light of hope shining in her eyes. There was fear there, too, and worry. How could there not be?
He glared back at the firelight peeking under the door. Then at his dagger. Yes, he should have brought the sword. If the guards had suspected he was there to murder a royal, it would have been the truth.
Still was, perhaps. The royal in question might end up being a different one than Prince Alekur had planned.
Scanning Iseris’s room, his search for a weapon, any weapon, came up hopelessly short. There was little he could wield, short of trying to hack down a bed post. Perhaps the stone he’d stolen from the temple could also injure someone—because he wasn’t going back, was he? He wasn’t returning the stone. He didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t going back.
If the prince had a sword, he could dance around it, but he didn’t like the odds of his dagger or a glowing rock in that situation. Alekur’s skill with weapons was moderate, as he loved to publicly display for half the summer in semi-staged duels and tournaments. Most knights would not struggle to fight the prince; the struggle was more often making it look like a struggle. Jav liked his own chances in a sword fight. Except—his sword was in the stables, and this room was woefully lacking in long blades.
Alekur might not have a sword, though. If it was a bow? Or several armed men with him?
He scanned again. Why didn’t princesses have weapons hung on their walls like princes and kings and dukes? It was highly utilitarian decorating. He strode to the bedpost and jerked at it. Iseris’s eyebrows rose, and the bed creaked like maybe the activities that Alekur had expected to happen might indeed be beginning, but the bed was sturdy.
Damn. He couldn’t let her down before they even made it out of her rooms. But he was just a temple rat. He wasn’t going to outsmart or outmaneuver Prince Alekur.
Outfighting him was his only chance. His eyes caught on the wardrobe over her shoulder. She frowned as she followed his gaze—and continued to frown as he strode to the wardrobe, opened the door, and ripped it off the hinges.
She gasped. But thank Nefrana, she didn’t ask questions. The front of the thing had a handle. Better than nothing. He grabbed a garment unceremoniously from her things and tied it around the door and through the handle to make it a little easier to hold. There. Not a real shield, but it would do.
He glanced around again. There had to be something here that could help them.
His eyes came to rest on the statue of Nefrana, and he almost rolled his eyes. It was sturdier than his other options. Longer. He couldn’t tell if it was painted wood or plaster, but it was lighter than metal as he picked it up. Which meant he could wield it. Like a club.
Just in case he wanted to make his own sacrilegious betrayal especially clear and poignant.
He snorted, but he didn’t put it down. This was not sacrilege. He’d read holy texts. None of them waxed poetic about slicing a defenseless woman’s throat or about spilling blood or even about the corruption of magic. A few texts mentioned dangers of magic, but it was missing from many others. The Nefrana he knew, he loved, he followed—she was a goddess of light, not blood.
And he would serve her. This was the best way he knew how.
Maybe the statue was even a sign itself. That this was his destined path to service. When he was lost, she would help him fight.
Or maybe the corruption was really setting in deep now.
His eyes locked with Iseris’s frowning ones. Yes, perhaps that was stretching it a bit. “Are you fond of this?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
He leaned close, holding his makeshift weapons to one side. “Because the fire is brighter in the outer room. Someone is out there.”
Her eyes widened now. “We have to go that way to get to the passage.”
“I know. Let me go first.”
She nodded.
He slid his left wrist through the handle on his “shield,” then gripped the statue’s calves with his right. The statue actually did fit the shape of a club fairly well, even if it might shatter on impact.
Then with his left hand, forearm holding the shield ready to block, he gripped the door handle. He checked where Iseris was, then jerked his head so she’d move a little further behind him.
Then he held the statue so it’d be the first thing anyone would see as he slowly eased open the door.
Firelight slid across the statue’s white curves in a growing sliver as he inched the door open, trying to keep silent. It had sounded a creak when he’d arrived. Maybe if he opened it slowly enough….
It groaned, painfully loud in the silence. He winced.
An arrow thudded into the plaster, sending shards exploding into the air.
Flinching, he reeled back but a bit too late. A shard careened toward his face, slicing across his cheek. Iseris gasped. No time to check if any of it had hit her.
Shoving the door open, he lunged forward. And sure enough—Alekur was sitting in an armchair scrambling to reload a crossbow.
Jav didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance and swung his makeshift shield up, then down again.
The weight of the door crashed down on the crossbow—and Alekur’s right hand—with all the force Jav could muster. The weapon didn’t crack, but the prince screamed, clutching his hand to his chest, lashing out a kick at Javarin.
Jav danced back, out of reach. The statue was still partially intact in his right hand, the figure’s upper body gone, the jagged edges of what remained now making it an even more dangerous weapon.
“You,” Jav spat. “This is all your fault.”
“No, this is my father’s fault for plowing that fool woman. But you tell him that.” Alekur’s grin was brutal, but bitter. “Iseris could have been more discreet. And my father should have been, too, for that matter.”
Iseris flinched, hovering behind Jav. Now, though, Jav hesitated. Should they try to make a run for it? Tie him up? Knock him unconscious? Kill him?
Kill the prince he supposedly served? He’d been ready to turn his back on a lot of things in the name of justice and service to Nefrana. After all, killing Alekur, no matter how evil the man was, was still killing and no more just than killing Iseris.
Well, perhaps a little more just.
“You didn’t really think I’d trust you to do this,” Alekur jeered into the silence opened by Jav’s hesitation. “I suppose I had my hopes. I waited. I wasn’t going to barge in on you lovebirds. But I’m also not an idiot.” He refused to look at Iseris.
“You’re an idiot if you think this is the right thing to do,” Jav replied. He sounded a lot more confident than he felt.
Alekur let out a bark of laughter that probably would have been a true chuckle if he weren’t in excruciating pain. “Always entertaining, knight. I’m really not disappointed, but I do think it’s high time to yell for my—”
The prince’s voice rose as he spoke, a crescendo toward his call for help, but Jav didn’t let him get that far. He stepped closer and swung. Alekur tried to raise his arms to block, but he wasn’t fast enough.
The statue collided with the prince’s jaw, shattering further now, the jagged pieces slicing flesh, adding insult to the injury of the blunt impact.
Jav let go now, let it all go—his improvised weapon, his temple, his old life, his service. But not what was in his heart. He didn’t need statues to hold on to that. The remnants of this one clattered to the stones.
He took off at a run out of the room, hoping that brutal blow would have bought them enough time. He didn’t want to outright kill the prince, much as he deserved it. If they took the secret passage, hopefully a few moments were all they’d need.
“Lead the way,” he barked at Iseris over his shoulder.
She ran up ahead of him, and not in a dainty way either. There were things he didn’t know about her, after all.
