The Beauty of Darkness (22 page)

The sides of the tent shivered with the wind, and a low, distant rumble sounded as if the skies had been drawn into our tempest. I added wood chips to the stove.
Where was he?

I threw aside the curtain of the tent entrance. Two guards stepped forward to block my path, crossing their halberds in front of me.

“Please, Your Highness, step back inside,” one of them asked. A wrinkle curled across his brow. He looked genuinely frightened. “I really don't want to—” He was unwilling to finish his thought.

“Drag me back to my quarters as the king ordered?”

He nodded. The other guard fretted with the shaft of his halberd, refusing to meet my gaze. Surely they'd never had to guard a prisoner like me before, one who had been a guest of the king only hours before. For their sakes alone, I stepped back and snatched the curtain closed, growling as I did.

I snuffed the chandelier lights, and the room glowed dimly with the embers from the stove. I seethed that he hadn't already come in here begging on bended knee. I flopped onto my bed taking off one boot, then another, then threw them across the room. Both smacked the tent wall, each small thud pathetically unsatisfying.

Anger stabbed in my throat like a painful bone I couldn't swallow. I didn't want to go to sleep this way. I brushed at my wet lashes, blinking away tears. Maybe I should have explained it to him in private. Could I have made him understand? But I thought of all our miles traveling from the Sanctum to here, all the times he had skillfully turned the conversation away from Morrighan.
We just have to reach the outpost for now.
He had done it time and time again, so smoothly I hadn't even noticed.

Tonight he hadn't bothered to be smooth. All I got from him was a curt, arrogant dismissal.
No.
No chance for discussion—

“Lia?”

I jumped up from my bed, sucking in a startled breath.

It was his voice. Just on the other side of the curtain. Low and quiet. Contrite. I knew he'd come to work this out.

I walked to the end of the bed, quickly wiping my face with my palms. I pressed my back against the wide bedpost column and took a deep cleansing breath. “Come in,” I said softly.

The curtain parted, and he stepped inside.

My stomach twisted. Only two hours had separated us, but it had felt as long as my trek across the entire Cam Lanteux. The dark crystal pools of his eyes warmed my blood in a way that made me feel lost to everything else in the world but him. His hair was tousled, as if he'd been out for a brisk ride to work off his pent-up frustrations. His face was calm now, his eyes soft, and I was sure a well-practiced apology waited on his lips.

He searched my face, his gaze tender. “I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly. “Make sure you had everything you needed.”

“Now that I'm a prisoner.”

Hurt flashed in his expression. “You're not a prisoner. You're free to move about the camp.”

“As long as I don't leave.”

He stepped closer, stopping only inches away. The heat of his body surrounded me, filled the tent, filled my head.

“I don't want it to be this way between us,” he whispered. He reached out and touched my hand. His fingers slowly slid up my arm to my shoulder, and his thumb traced a slow, lazy circle over my collarbone. Hot embers burned in my chest. He knew I wanted him, that I wanted nothing more than to reach out and close the hurtful space between us.

Almost nothing more. “Are you here to apologize?” I asked.

His hand slipped behind my back, drawing me closer, his hips meeting mine, and his lips brushed my earlobe. “I have to do what I think is best. I can't let you go, Lia, not in good conscience. Not when I know the danger you'd be heading into.” He loosened the laces of my dress. My breaths skipped through my chest, uneven, singeing my thoughts.

His lips skimmed a burning line from my temple to my mouth and then he kissed me, hard and deep, and I wanted to melt into the feel and taste and scent of him, the wind in his hair, the salt on his brow, but another need—a greater one—flamed brighter, blazing and persistent.

I wedged my hands between us, gently nudging him away.

“Rafe, haven't you ever felt something deep in your gut? Or heard a whisper you had to listen to against all reason?”

The tenderness receded from his eyes. “I am not going to change my decision, Lia,” he said. “I need you to trust me. You're not going back for now. Maybe later when it's safer.”

I stared into his eyes, praying he'd see the urgency in mine. “It will never be safer, Rafe. It's only going to get worse.”

He stepped back, sighing, everything about his stance conveying impatience. “And you think you know this because of an ancient text?”

“It is true, Rafe. Every word is true.”

“How do you know? You're not a scholar. You may not have even translated it properly.” His boorish skepticism snapped the last of my patience. There would be no more explaining or groveling.

“We're done.”

“Lia—”

“Get out!” I yelled, shoving him away.

He stumbled back and stared at me, stunned. “You're throwing me out?”

“No, I don't think it's possible to throw
you
out. You are after all
King
Jaxon, and you decide who comes and goes here—or so I've been told. But I suggest you leave before I find another way to dispatch you.” I placed my hand at my side over my sheathed dagger.

Pure rage flushed his face.

He turned and stormed off, nearly ripping the curtain from the door.

We'd see which of us came to our senses first.

*   *   *

Madam Rathbone appeared at my tent early the next morning, along with Vilah and Adeline. Curiously, Madam Hague accompanied them, though she never had before. Inwardly I sighed. Yes, the officers and all their wives had heard our ugly argument, and certainly Madam Hague was hoping for additional juicy details, even if the official purpose of their visit was to deliver the accessories to go with my dress for the party that evening. Adeline held up a silver chain-mail belt encrusted with sapphires. Once again, I marveled at the extravagance, especially here at this remote outpost. Next Vilah laid out a jeweled silver pauldron, embossed with an intricate pattern.

“Tell me, have Dalbretch women ever actually worn these in battle?”

“Oh, yes!” Vilah answered. “That's why they're part of our traditional dress. Marabella was a great warrior before she was a queen.”

“But that was hundreds of years ago,” Madam Hague added, raising her brows in distaste. “Our ladies and queens don't go to battle anymore. It's unnecessary now.”

Don't be so sure
, I was tempted to say.

Madam Rathbone took a last inventory of everything laid out on the table and said, “We'll be by early to help you dress.”

“And do your hair,” Adeline said.

“With silver cording,” Vilah added clasping her hands together in anticipation.

I heard a strained eagerness in their voices, as if they were trying to erase the dark pall of last night's argument. “You'll all be busy getting ready yourselves,” I answered. “I can manage on my own.”

“Really?” Madam Hague asked doubtfully. “Is that how it's done back in Morrighan? No one to attend you?” Her lip lifted with patronizing pity.

“Yes,” I sighed. “We're nothing but savages in Morrighan. It's a wonder your king would arrange a marriage with one of our kind at all.”

Her lashes fluttered downward and she left with a faint apology that she had much to do that day, but with no apology for her insult. Perhaps now that her king had lashed out at me, she felt free to do the same.

*   *   *

Six guards arrived at my tent a short time later. Percy, their leader, informed me they were my escorts for the day. So, this was Rafe's version of being free to go where I wished? Six guards—even within the walls of Marabella. I supposed I should take it as a compliment that Rafe held my skills in higher regard than he would admit. I immediately decided I had many places I would need to go today, not only so the entire outpost could share in the amusement of six guards trotting behind me, but also because, one way or another, I would be leaving and I needed to attend to details.

First I went to the lower paddock, checking on our Vendan horses, now also in the custody of the king. I eyed the lower gate where horses came and went. It was heavily guarded. We'd never get past that, but at least I knew where the horses and tack were. I'd figure out the rest later. Next I went to the cook's pantry. The cook was not pleased with my intrusion, saying he would gladly bring something to my tent. I pretended I wasn't sure what I wanted, then perused the shelves and cold cellar. Unfortunately, nearly everything was stored in large bulky bags or containers. I took one of his bowls and filled it with handfuls of pine nuts, hard soda bread, and some dried sweet figs. He eyed my strange assortment of food and glanced at my abdomen. I smiled sheepishly, letting him draw his own conclusions.

Next I trudged over to the physician's barracks to consult with the surgeon. Kaden and Eben were gone to the showers, but the surgeon was in the middle of examining Griz's wound. He showed me that it was healing nicely in most places, but one section of flesh was slower to knit. He said he felt confident that it would heal, then shot a stern glance at Griz. “With a little more
rest.
”

Griz balked, saying he was fine now.

“But you won't be if you're lifting heavy saddles on and off a horse twice a day,” I said. “Or, the heavens forbid, if you should have to swing your sword.”

Griz smiled, his eyes twinkling with mayhem. “Anywhere you'd like me to swing it in particular?”

My stomach burned. He had heard our argument too, which meant everyone in the dining room had. Surely Kaden gloated over this development, but when I saw him in the work yard later, there was only concern in his eyes.

He spoke in Vendan so the guards wouldn't understand us. “You're all right?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to ignore the knot swelling in my throat again.

He grinned. “And Rafe's shins?”

I knew he was trying to lighten my mood, and for that I was grateful. “Fine for now, but this isn't over.”

“I never thought it was.”

His vote of confidence in me was like cool water on a parched throat. I wanted to hug him, but that would only have brought him additional scrutiny.

The guards became nervous with this conversation they couldn't understand, as if they suspected we were conspiring—which we were. I stepped closer to Kaden and whispered to really give them something to worry over. “When we leave, Eben will have to stay behind with Griz. It will just be the two of us—with Malich out there somewhere. Are the odds against us?”

“He'd have been there with the others in the Valley of Giants if he was sent to kill you. I think he's on his way to Civica with a message.”

“That I'm dead?”

“That you've escaped. They won't count you as dead until they have a body—and they'll know exactly where you're headed.”

Which meant the Chancellor and his coconspirators would be waiting for me. Probably watching every road leading into the city. The element of surprise was no longer mine. I didn't need anything to be harder than it already was.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tavish and Orrin sauntering up to us shoulder to shoulder. They circled, stopping on either side of me. “We're here to relieve the guards, Your Highness,” Tavish said, casting a withering state at Kaden.

“Off you go, Percy,” Orrin added, with a shooing motion. “Colonel wants you all back at his office. Go.”

Tavish gave a respectful nod toward me. “We'll be your escorts for the rest of the day.”

“By whose orders?” I asked.

Tavish smiled. “Ours.”

Neither Tavish nor Orrin spoke Vendan, so I quickly spoke a few last Vendan words to Kaden. “We'll talk more later. We need to gather supplies.”

Tavish cleared his throat. “And Jeb will be joining us shortly.”

His message was clear. Jeb spoke Vendan. I sighed. This was more than loyalty to a king—it was loyalty to their friend.

 

CHAPTE
R
THIRTY-THREE

The Morrighese army came into being centuries before any of the others had so much as set a cornerstone to the foundation of their realms. It was yet another thing the Holy Text emphasized—that the Holy Guardians, the fierce warriors who accompanied Morrighan on her trek through the wilderness had unmatched strength and wills of steel bequeathed by the heavens themselves, to ensure the survival of the chosen Remnant.

Aldrid, who was to become her husband and the revered father of the kingdom, was one of those guardians. His warrior blood ran through all of us. The citadelle even had some of the Holy Guardians' swords displayed in the throne room—reminders of our greatness and the anointing of the gods.

Throughout history, the Morrighese army had remained great, and its soldiers were courageous and honorable. But as I watched the Dalbretch troops going through their exercises and training from my vantage point on the outpost wall, I was struck by their daunting precision. Their halberds were braced with formidable timing, their shields were interlocked with the ease of a perfected dance. Confidence emanated from every meticulously orchestrated move. They practically glowed with intimidation. Their strength and discipline were like none I had ever seen. I understood why they believed in their power. But they couldn't see what I did—their numbers.

Even with an army forty thousand strong, they were no match for the terrible greatness of Venda. After Morrighan fell, Dalbreck would be next.

My gaze rose to the wide expanse above the troops where a crescent moon shared the sky with the departing sun. Another day was gone, fewer still remaining. Time moved forward, circling, repeating, another devastation coiling like a poisonous serpent that had awakened, ready to strike. It was coming, and hidden forces in Morrighan were helping it in the most insidious way—from within—feeding it with power that would destroy us all.