Knight Avenged (34 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sliding to a stop on icy cobblestones, Cosmina took cover behind a small cottage. Back flat against its stone wall, she paused to catch her breat
h . . .
and prayed she’d gone undetected. ’Twas hard to tell. She couldn’t hear much of anything. Her heart refused to cooperate, pounding inside her chest, making blood rush in her ears and listening almost impossible. Nowhere near optimal. Even more dangerous. Cold nipping at her, she pressed her hand against the wall of her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Gods, she needed to pull herself together. Right now. This instant. Before she gave herself away. If that happened, she wouldn’t last long inside White Temple.

Not now that the Druinguari stood inside the gates.

Fear tightened its grip, squeezing around her rib cage. She fought the lockdown and forced her lungs open, refusing to let terror win. No matter how afraid, she needed to go on. Her mission left no room for hesitation. One way or another, she must find the others—intercept the Blessed, secret each one to safety, and ensure all arrived home in one piece. ’Twas a lofty task and a terrible undertaking, but she could do it. The goddess had chosen her for a reason, trusted her to be strong, well able to navigate peril and city streets crawling with enemy soldiers. Gritting her teeth, Cosmina stifled a huff. All right. So
crawling
might be overstating it a bit. She hadn’t, after all, encountered one yet, bu
t . . .

She knew the blackguards were out there. Somewhere. Surveying the whole city. Lying in wait. Preparing to kill her along with her sisters in the Order of Orm.

Panic threatened again. Cosmina shoved it aside.

A clear mind, not one clouded by dread, was an absolute must. The Druinguari weren’t stupid. Master assassins with more skill in their little fingers than she possessed in her entire throwing arm, the group epitomized smart. The infernal beasts had spread out. One stood on the battlements along the east wall. Another atop the west an
d . . .
well, she didn’t know about the south. Hadn’t seen one when she’d slipped through the postern gate to the north earlier. But that didn’t mean an enemy assassin wasn’t out there now. Concealed in shadow. Ready to sound the alarm the moment she came into view. Which meant she needed to find better cover before her luck ran out.

The realization made her stomach ache.

Ignoring the discomfort, balanced on the balls of her feet, Cosmina adjusted her shoulder strap instead. Her satchel obeyed with a persistent tug, settling against her hip as she contemplated her next move. A map of the city morphed in her mind’s eye. She searched for the best way through the maze of streets, back alleys, and main thoroughfares. Her target? The rose garden abutting the south parapet. ’Twas a bold maneuver, a strategy that would put her under the enemy’s nos
e . . .
and the Druinguari keeping watch at that end of White Temple. But few other options existed. The wall at the rear of the garden—beyond the old oak—was the best alternative. She knew the terrain well an
d . . .

The door concealed within the wall even better.

A few clicks of her key, and she would be through, stepping out of danger and into the secret passageway. Deep inside the complex warren of underground tunnels beneath the holy city. Able to access every part of it without detection. An undeniable advantage. Particularly since it would allow her to intercept her sisters. Pull each one inside the underground labyrinth before the Druinguari registered their presence. An excellent strategy, but for one thing. She must save herself first and reach a secret door hidden in plain sight. Which mean
t . . .

She needed to move.

Remaining in one spot for too long wasn’t smart.

Inhaling through her nose, Cosmina exhaled through her mouth. Frigid air picked up the current, turning each breath into a white puff. In. Out. Catch and release. The breathing method worked. Her heart slowed beat by beat, allowing her to hear again. Tilting her head, she listened hard. No scrape of footfalls. No murmur of deep voices. Naught but the whistle of wind through narrow alleys and empty thoroughfares.

Preparing to shift positions, she pressed her hand flat against the wall. Dirty snow pushed between her fingers as Cosmina peeked around the cornerstone. Main Street sliced between buildings, racing past stone facades with shuttered windows. She released a pent-up breath. No movement on the thoroughfare. Or in the large market square beyond it. Just trim houses set in row upon neat row. All shared the same look—whitewashed on the outside, thatched roofs overhead—every one of them abandoned, awaiting the day the residents returned and White Temple thrived once more.

Too much to hope for? A last-ditch effort in a losing game of chance? Probably. And yet, despite everything, Cosmina wanted to believ
e . . .
so many things. That she could find a true home with others of her kind. That the new High Priestess would be nothing like the last. That the Goddess of All Things knew what she was doing—had a plan, one that included Cosmina living long enough to see it succeed.

“You listening?” she asked as she glanced skyward. Gods, she hoped the goddess heard her. Life with the Blessed, after all, was a whole lot better than death by Druinguari. Reaching for courage, Cosmina dragged her gaze from the heavens, and her mind from the Goddess of All Things. “All right no
w . . .
enough stalling. Move it.”

Blowing out a breath, Cosmina inched forward. Her fingers flexed around the dagger. The solid feel of it dragged unwanted memories to the surface as she scanned the street again. Henrik. His knife in her hand. His face in her head. Words written in a wretched note.
I love you.
Blast and damn him. Her gaze strayed to the wicked six-inch blade—sharp edge, beautiful lines, perfectly balanced, an
d . . .
made for Henrik’s hand. Carried in a sheath over his heart. Given to her with lov
e . . .
in a moment he would no doubt call weakness. It didn’t matter. Whatever he chose to label it, Cosmina clung to the connection anywa
y . . .
desperate to be more like him—strong, brave, and unafraid—while she remembered everything about him.

So many things.
Too many things.

His kindness. The gentleness of his touch when he made love to her. The way he listened when she talked, as though she were the only woman in his world. The sound of his voice. ’Twas absurd, really. She was well past the point of redemption. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cosmina shook her head. She must stop thinking about him. Henrik had chosen to leave her. Sad, but true. So enough with the heartbreak. She needed to face facts. She was on her own. Once again alone in the world. Free to make her own decisions. Unencumbered by another’s opinions an
d . . .

Drat it all. She didn’t need him.

Didn’t want him either.

Her motto now. Words to live by. Now if only she could make herself believe it.

Her brow furrowed, Cosmina rechecked her position. Now or never. Do or die. A new mantra, and one much more pressing than the last. Pushing from her crouch, she stayed low and sprinted across Main Street. Boots scuffing against the stone pavers underfoot, she skidded in tight against the next building and listened. All quiet. No flash of movement along the battlements overlooking the city streets. Both things to be thankful for, particularly since the Druinguari assassin atop the east parapet held a distinct advantage. Dressed to blend in, his back flat against the tower wall, he crouched atop the high wall. The perfect vantage point for him. Not so great for her. One wrong turn. Too much noise. The slightest mistake, and his gaze would snap in her direction. Which would lead to all sorts of nasty thing
s . . .

One of the beasts raising the alarm. Druinguari mobilization. Her capture by the enemy.

The thought prompted her to get up and go. Knifepoint leading the way, the midday sun upon her shoulders, Cosmina ran, slinking between stone facades and into back alleyways. Mind working triple time, she scanned each street, every deserted storefront, and all the rooftops while moving with stealth between abandoned wagons and overturned barrels. Almost there. A few more turns. Five, mayhap six, more street corners to negotiate. One last door to find her way through, and she’d be home free. Deep inside the underground passageway and headed for—

A scream shredded the silence.

Fear sliced through her, making her stomach clench. Cosmina dodged right, taking cover behind a pile of timber beams. A shout went up. Unearthly growls accompanied the rapid hammer of footfalls. As sound funneled through the empty streets, Cosmina slid into a crouch, held her breath, and waited. Another earsplitting scream ripped through White Temple. Cosmina squeezed her eyes shut. Oh gods. Oh nay. She knew what that awful cry meant. She wasn’t the only woman inside the city. Not anymore. A member of the Blessed, one of her sisters, had heeded the call, returned to the templ
e . . .

And walked straight into the Druinguari’s trap.

“Great goddess of the shadow and light,” she whispered, falling into habit, reciting the prayer by heart as she turned back in the direction she’d come. No other choice. She refused to leave a member of the Blessed to die. Couldn’t stand the screams, never mind the thought of abandoning one of her own. Following the gut-wrenching cries for help, Cosmina sprinted down one alley after another, heart pounding, fear rising, murmuring more of the prayer as she ran toward danger instead of away. “Grant me courage. Give me strength and allay my fears. Fill my heart with purpose and my mind with knowledge, shine your light upon me so that I might not only serve you well but succeed in the doing.”

Old words taken from an ancient text.

Ones she hadn’t recited in years. Yet in the moment, the prayer felt right, granting her what she needed most—know-how and enough nerve to move forward without fear.

Slowing her pace, Cosmina tracked the voices. She frowned and, creeping around the next building corner, stopped to pinpoint their location. Eyes narrowed, she followed the sound of a scuffle. A horrible crack echoed, the sound of bone striking bone. The bastards were hitting her sister and—

Another scream echoed through the city.

Her attention snapped to the left. Her feet followed, directing her toward the next intersection. Slipping in behind the milliner’s shop, she took cover behind a half wall and, without making a sound, crept along its length. Her dagger tip glinted in the sunlight. The golden dome of High Temple rose above the rooftops. She peeked over the wall an
d . . .
understanding struck. Goddess be with her. Double-damned beasts. The Druinguari were dragging her sister toward the courtyard outside the temple’s main entrance. The location made sens
e . . .
in a sick, twisted sort of way. A place of worship and ceremony, the quadrangle sat at the heart of the city, the perfect location to kill a member of the Blessed. Doing so amounted to the highest form of sacrilege—blood on the stones, shame upon the house of the Blessed and White Temple.

Revulsion rolled through her.

Cosmina shoved it aside and, using the wall for cover, slid to a stop at the edge of the piazza. Forever the same, the large rectangular courtyard projected power, anchoring High Temple, standing strong at the base of wide stairs that rose to meet an imposing row of doors. Sunlight fell over the frieze carved in marble above the entrance, depicting the history and the importance of the Order of Orm, cementing her purpose. And yet she waite
d . . .

A man strode into view, entering the courtyard from the street opposite her.

Cosmina’s heart stalled mid-thump. Oh goddess. Not good. Armed to the teeth with twin swords strapped to his back, the lead Druinguari wore brutality like a scent. One hand clenched in the woman’s hair, he dragged her behind him while she fought him every step of the way. Clenching her teeth, she suppressed the urge to yell “good for yo
u . . .
fight hard” at her sister and assessed the situation, searching for an opening.

None presented itself.

She was in big,
big
trouble. Smack-dab in the middle of an untenable situation with few options and no way out.

With a vicious yank, the Druinguari tossed his captive to the cobblestones. Long blond hair matted with blood—face bruised, clothes ripped, and hands bound—she hit the ground hard and rolled across stone. Coming to a stop in the center of the mosaic medallion, the woman pushed onto her knees. Raising her head, she leveled her chin, defying at the beast standing less than five feet away.

Cosmina drew a shuttered breath. Blast and damn. Nairobi.

She would know her face anywhere. Close in age, she and Nairobi had grown up together and been friends until Cosmina’s imprisonment inside the north towe
r . . .
and eventual expulsion from White Temple. Cosmina hadn’t seen her since, but old friendships died hard and loyalty lasted forever.

“Make your peace, Blessed,” the Druinguari said, voice almost melodic as he drew his sword. Steel scraped against leather, echoing through the stillness. A smile on his face, he rotated the weapon, twirling it in a circle. Light arched from the blade and sunlight winked, flashing across cobblestone. “You go to meet the devil.”

The five assassins, arranged in a semicircle behind the leader, growled in agreement.

Still on her knees, Nairobi squared her shoulders. “What is your name?”

The Druinguari hesitated, blade stalling mid-twirl. “Why?”

“’Tis only right I know who sends me to my death.”

“Valmont.”

“Know this, Valmont.” Tipping her head back, Nairobi looked him in the eye. “You will pay for spilling my blood. The goddess will avenge me.”

He bared his teeth. “A plague upon your goddess.”

“You have just sealed your fate,” her friend said.

Indeed. Without a doubt.