In the Skin of a Nunqua (21 page)

“I had every intention of finding you. Kyros knows I’m keeping secrets. If I tell him the Nunqua sent you here as a spy, you’re as good as dead. Does Commander Gy know about you?”

“I’m sure he suspects.”

“Gy might be the only one who can get you out of this mess . . . I have to leave tomorrow.”

An odd lump of emotion formed in her throat—a new phenomenon she had never felt before.

“Kyros is sending me to the Outer Boundaries. I’ll find you when I get back.” He touched the spots emerging above her eye. “I promise.” Jun pushed up her sleeves to see the scars. “I’ve heard a rumor,” he said.

She willed the scars to disappear.

“You’re a witch.”

“No.”

He questioned her with a look.

“My skin changes, that’s all.”

“You can touch Bayla and control animals.”

“Coincidence,” she said.

“Denial,” Jun countered. “Be careful. Watch what you say, and don’t trust Kyros.”

Locked in each other’s arms, they whispered words of longing kept hidden for too long. Jun stayed late into the night. He said a final farewell, opened a window, and hoisted a leg outside.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. “What are you doing!” They were on the third floor.

He jumped, his head and torso visible in the window. “There’s a ledge. It goes halfway around the castle. You’re being watched, remember. I can’t go out that door.”

Shanti stuck her head outside. Jun’s heels hung off the icy edge. He shuffled along the rock wall two stories above the ground, in the dark, showing no hint of fear.

22

Blood on Her Hands

B
ayla lifted a
“paintbrush from a bench and felt the bristles with the palm of her hand. She had always loved the organized chaos of this room, with every hue of paint splashed about and different projects yet to be finished on work stands and easels. The artists’ workshop, located in an informal wing of the castle, was so much messier than the rest of the castle, and a great place to explore.

“Hello, Baylova.”

She blushed upon seeing that the old painter, the talented craftsman who had worked at the castle for years, was gone. “Aiden! What are you doing here?”

“I work here. What will it be today, Your Majesty?”

“I thought you were fighting at the Outer Boundaries.”

“I was. Commander Gy sent me here. Consider me part of your royal guard. Besides, working conditions are better at the castle than at the Outer Boundaries.”

“Royal guard?” He wore the clothes of a commoner.

Aiden opened a drawer, and there, behind pots of powdered dye, was his sword. A bow and several arrows were hidden inside a cabinet. Bayla’s eyebrows rose when he picked up a large brush and pulled off the end to expose a wickedly sharp blade.

“I see,” she said, astonished at the arsenal. “I never realized what a dangerous job the castle artist has.”

They sat on three-legged stools separated by a paint-spattered table.

“Well?” he asked.

She put her hand on the table. “Surprise me.”

“Hmm . . . A wolf would take too long. I know . . .” He took her hand.

Watching him draw the lines of the picture onto her skin, she reflected back to the time he carved the dragon into the tree stump at camp. “Will you be joining us for the castle feast tonight?” she said.

“Not today.” He kept his eyes on his work.

“Why not? The castle artist is a respected position.”

“I know.” He laughed. “My father told me.”

“Your father?” She examined him closely. “I’ve been so blind. Your father’s the castle artist.”

“My father’s the castle artist and a Guardian of Willovia,” he said. “And will you please stop moving.”

““A
what
“of Willovia?”

“Nothing. I mean, he’s a soldier, a royal guard.”

“How come I’ve never seen you at the castle before?”

“I guess I haven’t come here much.” He changed brushes. “My father did tell me a few things about you, though. He said that when you were very little, you liked to run away from your governess and visit him here when your parents were busy. He would cover the floor with rags, give you brushes and paint, and let you spend hours making a colorful mess of yourself.”

Bayla gazed into the distance. “I don’t remember that. Clearly, you have inherited his skill.”

Aiden finished. He held her hand, trying not to smear the paint. “I’m sorry about King Magen.”

He had nice hands: calluses, a smudge or two of paint, and a few scratches. She wasn’t sure whether she should ask him about the war. “I will see you later, right?”

“I’ll be here.”

She took her hand back and got up to leave.

“Baylova,” he said, and nodded. She retreated to her large bedroom and locked the door. Once inside, she dropped her noble facade, ran across the room, and concealed herself in a tight corner. Two red rosebuds were drawn on her wrist to match the red of her dress. Green leaves and thorny stems intertwined and extended up her forearm. She hoped she interpreted its meaning correctly. She kissed one of the rosebuds.

It had always been Aiden.

*

Baylova watched Shanti—in plain riding clothes and without her wristlet and sword—walk past some training soldiers. The men recognized Shanti, called out her name, and taunted her to join them.

“Not today, boys,” Shanti said.

““You’re not so tough,” one soldier said. He stood near a ring of bricks where the sword fights were held. “In fact, I think you’re
weak
“.”

She continued to walk, letting the comment go unanswered. Two guards with serious, sour faces trailed Shanti wherever she went.

Baylova wore a brown uniform and sat on top of a wooden table. She did not look very regal at the moment, though she felt much more comfortable. Aiden sat beside her, along with a soldier she didn’t know.

Some of the men involved in fighting the Nunqua had come to the capital city of Erbaut. A few soldiers wobbled about on crutches or canes; others had bandaged arms or legs. She tried not to gawk at a man with a patch barely covering the wound from a gouged-out eye. The spires of the castle could be seen from the training center often used by the castle guards. The men here treated Baylova respectfully but did not trip over themselves to gain her good graces. It was a relief to be surrounded by soldiers again.

“That’s not Shanti,” the young man sitting with Baylova and Aiden remarked.

“Yes, it is,” Aiden said.

“From what I hear, Shanti would never refuse a challenge. I guess all the stories I hear about her are false.”

Aiden winked at Baylova, then said to the soldier, “I’ll give you a gold coin if you go over there and pat Shanti on the bottom.”

“What?” His eyes bulged at the indecent remark.

“One gold coin is worth getting yelled at, don’t you think? She’s not so dangerous. Go over there and see for yourself. She might even be grateful for the attention—want to see you again.”

Baylova suppressed a laugh. “Or maybe she’ll tie you to a tree.”

“I can’t believe you would talk like that in front of Baylova,” the soldier said, bowing to her. “I apologize for his rudeness.”

They watched Shanti stop in front of the many practice swords lined up. “A gold coin is a lot of money,” Aiden said. “Think of what you could do.”

““I’ll give you
two
“gold coins if you go over there and smack Shanti on the bottom,” Baylova said.

Aiden snickered.

“I assure you, I have the means to pay.”

“Your wealth is not in question, Baylova,” the soldier said.

They watched Shanti pick up a sword and run her fingers along the blade. She swished it through the air, practicing against an invisible foe. Before putting it away, she twirled it in the palm of her hand.

“She would cut you and spill your blood on the ground before you had time to react,” Aiden said. “And after she was done with you, Commander Jun would find you, gut you like a fish, flay your carcass, and make a saddle of the skin.”

“I’m still not convinced.” The soldier nodded to Baylova, then left.

“Why would Commander Jun gut him like a fish?” she said.

“Because he and Shanti are . . .” He scratched his head. “Never mind.”

“Commander Jun and Shanti?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know. I spoke with him as I was coming to the castle and he was leaving for the Outer Boundaries. He made me promise to send a letter to him or Commander Gy if anything bad happens to her—getting put in jail because she’s a half-breed, that sort of thing.”

A letter
“. “Do you know the code?” she said.

“Yes. Commander Gy taught me. For some reason, he made me his personal assistant at the Outer Boundaries. He also taught me military maneuvers and tactics. I don’t understand why he showed me so much, then sent me to the castle, so far away from the fighting.”

“Perhaps, it’s because you were a terrible pupil.” She smiled.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Baylova. I cannot respond to your insults.”

Her smile widened. She felt happy just sitting beside Aiden.

*

Baylova was clothed for the castle, in a black dress fringed with lace. She strolled through the majestic hall with vaulted ceilings and thought of Aiden. The only red she wore was a ruby necklace. She did not feel like wearing the red of mourning from head to toe, for it brought nothing but sympathetic nods and hushed, reverent voices full of pity. Being near Aiden gave her hope, made her happy.

She reached a door that was closed and locked. In all her years at the castle, the door had been open. A loud bang reverberated through the hall. The door behind her slammed shut. Another door shut . . . then another. She was trapped in the large space. Five men emerged from the shadows: not Willovian, but Nunqua in black uniforms.

“Not as safe as you think, are you?” A warrior with blond braids and skin the color of buttermilk with tan spots moved toward her with his sword drawn. The others remained by the doors. What could she do? She couldn’t run, couldn’t fight a man twice her size, and no animals were here to come to her aid in the closed-off room.

The Nunqua man seized her wrist. “Baylova.” This warrior was not a hideous-looking monster. He was handsome, with a straight nose and black eyes, but his bearing was filled with contempt. She looked at his spotted forearm, covered with fine blond hair and marred by two scars—the marks of a warrior.

“Willovia belongs to us,” he said. “You’re no match for the Nunqua.” The guard lifted his sword to her throat. “Concede defeat.”

She shook with terror but found the courage to speak. “If you’re going to kill me, make it quick.”

The weapon dropped a hairsbreadth, and the pupils of his eyes constricted. The doors to the majestic hall clicked. He moved behind her, the cold metal of the blade pressed against her throat. His hand twisted in her hair. “Let them in,” he said.

Commander Kyros and royal guards rushed in to save her, only to realize her predicament.

“Put your weapons down!” the warrior ordered. He pulled her hair, and she cried out in pain. They did as he commanded. “Where’s the queen? Where’s Baylova?” He must have thought she was a decoy.

“She’s safe,” Commander Kyros said, “far away from the castle.”

“Where?” He pulled her hair again, but she did not cry out.

“Baylova is well protected with the Merulians.” Kyros took a step closer to them.

“The impostor goes with us,” the Nunqua warrior said. Someone moved in through the open door, partially hidden by Willovian guards. “Stop, or her blood is on your hands.”

A woman emerged. It was Shanti, arms down by her sides and palms facing forward. “You want to fight? Fight me.”

“Stop, crazy Willovian!” the warrior said.

Shanti changed her appearance. She became a Nunqua with spots, pale skin, and red lips. “Go ahead, kill me,” she told the warrior.

“Shanti . . .” The weapon dropped from Bayla’s throat.

“Some fates are worse than death,” she said. Foreign words rattled out of Shanti’s mouth, and Bayla wished she understood.

The Nunqua man let go of Bayla’s hair and shoved her away. Willovian guards picked up their weapons. Fierce fighting began.

Commander Kyros ran toward the blond Nunqua, sideswiping him and pushing his nose hard into the marble floor. The man’s sword fell out of his hand and clanked across the room. Kyros locked the Nunqua’s arms behind his back. Shanti stood over the weapon and reached down to pick it up.

“Whom do you plan on killing with that sword?” Kyros said. “Who are you loyal to, Shanti?”

She backed away, changing her appearance to Willovian and leaving the weapon on the floor.

The fighting ceased as the Willovian guards subdued or killed all the attackers. The screaming and the dead were taken from the room. Shanti went with the wounded.

“Wait!” Baylova’s command echoed off the high ceilings. She stopped the prisoners, the ones still alive, from being escorted out of the hall. The royal guards who surrounded her moved away. She ordered Commander Kyros to line up the intruders. Only three of the five Nunqua warriors stood in a row before the Queen. Blood streaked the floor. She questioned Kyros about the casualties.

“I believe two intruders were killed. One Willovian guard is . . . injured.”

“Will he survive?”

“There’s a chance . . .”

Baylova glared at him.

“No, he will not,” Kyros said.

It all had happened so fast. The death of her father had been slow, agonizing. The lives of the men today had been quickly and unpleasantly snuffed out. Bayla felt responsible. She still heard wounded men screaming in the recesses of her brain and thought of Pirro’s body falling limply into the water. She had never asked for this life, living in the vast castle, with strangers wanting to kill her and willing to kill those who protected her.

“Which blood belongs to the Willovian?” she said.

Commander Kyros pointed to an area by the door. The prisoners and guards watched her walk to that spot.

“Are you certain, Commander? It would be a grave mistake if this blood is not from a Willovian wounded by the enemy.”

“I’m certain,” Kyros said.

She dipped the tips of her fingers into the red ooze. Baylova lifted her hand and clenched it into a fist. “His blood is on my hands now. Commander Kyros, do what you have to do.”

“It is you,” the attacker who held her hostage said. “Baylova.” Blood from his once straight nose flowed down onto his lips, chin, and neck.

A brown hawk flew in through the open doorway and perched on an exposed timber of the vaulted ceiling. The bird screeched at the Nunqua.

Kyros led the prisoners away, and Baylova’s composure vanished. “Where are those wretched monks?” The marble floor cracked at her feet. She stormed out of the majestic hall, now stained by battle, followed by the brown hawk. War had reached the castle.

*

“Shanti sat on the floor of an undecorated room containing a cot, bandages, herbs, and powders. The blood of the Willovian guard covered her hands because she had tried to stop his bleeding as they rushed him here. Now he was attended by workers much more capable than she would ever be. They closed his eyes and lowered their heads. He was gone.