The Beauty of Darkness (56 page)

She dropped to my side and helped me press on the wound, but it seemed there was no way to stop it. Blood oozed through our fingers. Kaden ran down the stairs, taking in the grisly scene. He pushed past us, his sword drawn.

“They're gone,” I said. “I should have let you kill the bastard when you had the chance.”

I pulled off my jacket and used it to help stop the bleeding. Lia's and my hands were both soaked with blood.

“Stay with him until the physician comes,” I told her. “Don't let him go!”

And I ran up the stairs to hunt down the animals who had done this.

 

CHAPTE
R
EIGHTY-TWO

Every corner, every tunnel, every passage, every ledge and chamber in the citadelle was searched. Rafe, Kaden, and I—along with hundreds of soldiers—were up all night, scouring the city, door to door, sewer to sewer, rooftop to rooftop. Civica was locked down, even as it came alive with torches. The search went past city gates into the surrounding hamlets. Not a single clue or missing horse was found. They had vanished. Trackers were dispatched.

The prisoners' empty cells turned up piles of dirt and empty wooden boxes—weapons that had been buried long ago, a backup escape plan in the event they were ever found out. Now I understood why they had risked dragging me in the open all the way to the armory instead of imprisoning me here. They feared I would sense their secret stash. Even with the weapons stowed, they had bided their time, waiting for the right moment. For turning on the Viceregent, the court physician had paid the ultimate price.

Kaden, Pauline, and I waited outside Sven's chambers. Rafe was inside with the physician. The day had raced away from us and night was closing in again. None of us had slept more than a few hours this afternoon.

“I should have killed him,” Kaden said, shaking his head. “I should have done it when I had the chance.”

But the blame lay with me. I'd stayed the execution, thinking one of them might break, one might turn like the physician had and give us information that might be useful. And if the Viceregent feared a painful death, he might break himself and tell me something that would help my brothers. I had played the Komizar's game, trying to find the best use for prisoners under my thumb. But I had lost.

Now four men were dead, Sven was fighting for his life, and the traitors were free, probably on their way to join the Komizar and tell him I was ruling Morrighan now.

Berdi and Gwyneth had taken over arranging for a proper Dalbretch funeral for the dead soldiers, including Captain Azia. We had little experience with funeral pyres, but I wanted to make sure they received the proper tributes.

“If they're running to meet up with the Komizar, he'll make them fight,” Kaden said. “No one riding with him gets a pass.”

“The Watch Captain hasn't lifted a weapon in years,” I said. “But the Viceregent and Chancellor…” A sigh hissed through my teeth. Sword practice was a daily part of their routines. They claimed it was only a simple way to remain fit. They were both skilled. But what were two more soldiers among thousands?

Pauline's lip lifted in disgust. “I'm betting the cowards will crawl into a hole and wait for the danger of battle to pass.”

I rubbed my temple. My head ached. The blood, the bodies, Rafe's face; it all replayed through my mind over and over again. The broken catch in Rafe's throat as he worked to save Sven.
Come on, you old curd!

The door to Sven's chamber opened, and Tavish stepped out.

We all looked at him anxiously. “How is he?” I asked.

Tavish shrugged, his face drawn and weary. “Hanging on.”

“And Rafe?”

“Hanging on too. You can go in.”

*   *   *

Rafe sat in a chair near Sven's bed, staring at him, his empty gaze tearing at my heart. I knew their last conversation together had been contentious, with Sven storming out of the room. What if that was how it ended? What if, after all they had shared, that was their final moment together? I stared at Rafe, a shell of who he had been only hours earlier. He had already lost both of his parents in just a few short months. How much could one person lose?

I wanted him to weep, or be angry, or react in some way. He barely shook his head when I asked if I could get him something.

Gwyneth and Berdi joined us later. In those tired moments, I thought I could love neither one more. Gwyneth poured water, shoving it into Rafe's hand, and she joked with Sven, talking to him as if he was listening. Maybe he was. Jeb and Orrin trudged in later, their lids heavy with exhaustion, but none of us wanted to be in our own rooms tonight. It was a vigil, as if all of our heavy hearts were anchors that could pin Sven to this room. Kaden sat in the corner, silent, carrying guilt he didn't deserve. Gwyneth and Berdi brought in food, fluffed pillows, wiped Sven's brow. Gwyneth chided Sven, telling him he'd better perk up soon, because she couldn't take much more of these stony faces, then eyed all of us, trying to prod us out of our gloom. She kissed his cheek. “That one's on the house,” she said. “The next one will cost you.”

When I encouraged Rafe to eat something, he nodded, but still ate nothing.
Please
, I prayed to the gods,
please, let them have a few last words. Don't leave Rafe with only this.

Gwyneth walked over and sat on the side of Rafe's chair, slinging her arm around his shoulder. “You may not be able to hear him, but he can hear you. That's the way these things work. You should talk to him. Say what you need to say. That's what he's waiting for.” Tears filled her eyes. “You understand? We're all going to leave now, so you two can talk alone.”

Rafe nodded.

We all left the room.

I went to check on him an hour later.

Rafe sat on the floor asleep, his head tilted back against the side of Sven's bed. Sven was still unconscious, but I noticed his hand lay limp on Rafe's shoulder as if it had slipped from the bedcovers. Or maybe Rafe had placed it there.

 

CHAPTE
R
EIGHTY-THREE

I watched from the upper gallery, hidden from view because I couldn't bear for my mother to see me, to catch my eye. To know that I knew too. She and my aunts played their zitaraes, the haunting music plucking at my ribs, my mother's wordless song a mourning dirge drifting, skimming, seeping into every cold vein of the citadelle. It was a song as old as Venda's, as old as evening mist and faraway valleys soaked in blood, a refrain as old as the earth itself.

I hadn't forgotten my vision, the swirl of blood, the cry of battle, the whir of an arrow. More death lurked. I saw it in the deadness of my mother's eyes. She'd had the same vision as mine.
My brothers' squads.
I leaned against the pillar. The citadelle already overflowed with grief, the funeral pyres just behind us yesterday. In two days we would leave for Sentinel Valley.
Nurse the rage.
I tried to with a blinding zeal, but the sorrow crept back in.

The Dragon will conspire,

Wielding might like a god, unstoppable.

Unstoppable.

How much more was there still to lose?

The truth sank in, the gluttony, the grip, the reach. The Komizar was winning.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and I turned to see Rafe finally returning from Piers Camp. Yesterday he'd gone straight there after the funeral pyres had burned out, his eyes fierce again, attending to preparations with vengeance. He'd been there all day today too. I'd only just gotten back myself. It was late. Dinner would be waiting in my room. But when I heard the zitaraes—

I looked back at my mother. This was another reason she hadn't nurtured my gift. Truth had sharp edges that could gut us whole.

The footsteps paused at the gallery. I was tucked in the shadow of the pillars but Rafe had spotted me anyway. He walked over, his stride slow, tired, and he stopped at my side, looking down into the hall below us. “What's wrong?”

I looked at him uncertainly, not sure what he meant.

“I haven't seen you idle since we got here,” he explained. His voice held a weariness I had never heard.

I didn't want to explain my fears about my brothers. Not now, when Sven barely clung to life. The physician hadn't given much hope for his recovery. Whatever last words Rafe had whispered to Sven, he had to trust Gwyneth's claim that Sven had heard them.

“Just taking a moment,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

He nodded, then updated me on troops, weapons, wagons, all the things I had already checked on, but this was the language between us now. We had changed. The world was beating us down into something we had never been before, molding us day by day into two people who had no room for each other.

I watched him, the smoothness of his brow, the stubble of his cheek, watched his lips moving, and I pretended he wasn't talking about supplies. He was talking about Terravin. He was laughing about melons and promising to grow one for me. He was licking his thumb and smudging the dirt on my chin. He was telling me that some things last, the things that matter. And when he said
we'll find a way
, he wasn't talking about battles, he was talking about us.

He finished with his updates and rubbed his eyes, and we were back to our world as it really was. I saw the numbing grief that gripped him and felt the hollowness it left behind.
Regroup. Move forward.
And we did, because there was nothing else to do. He said he was going to bed. “You should do the same.”

I nodded, and we walked down the hall to our rooms, the walls of the citadelle closing in, my chest squeezing with the pluck of the zitaraes and what I knew tomorrow could bring.

We reached my door, and the emptiness twisted tighter. I wanted only to bury my face in my bed and block the world out. I turned to him to say good night, but instead my eyes became locked on his and words I hadn't even allowed myself to think were suddenly there, despairing and raw.

“So much has been stolen. Have you ever wished we could steal some of it back? Just one night? Just for a few hours?”

He looked at me, a crease deepening between his brows.

“I know you don't plan to marry,” I blurted out. “Tavish told me.” My eyes stung. It was too late to hold the rest back. “I don't want to be alone tonight Rafe.”

His lips parted, his eyes glassy. A storm raged behind them.

I knew I had made a terrible mistake. “I shouldn't have—”

He stepped closer, his hands slamming against the door behind me, caging me between his arms; his face, his lips inches from mine, and all I could see, all I could feel, was Rafe, his eyes broken, glistening, and the strain behind them.

He leaned closer, his breaths labored and hot against my cheek. “There isn't a day that goes by when I don't wish I could steal back a few hours,” he whispered. “When I don't wish I could steal back the taste of your mouth on mine, the feel of your hair twisted between my fingers, the feel of your body pressed to mine. When I don't wish I could see you laughing and smiling like when we were back in Terravin.”

His hand slid behind me and pulled my hips to his, his voice husky, his lips brushing my earlobe. “A day never passes when I don't wish I could steal back an hour in the watchtower again, when I was kissing you and holding you and”—his breath shuddered against my ear—“and I was wishing tomorrow would never come. When I still believed that kingdoms couldn't come between us.” He swallowed. “When I wished you had never heard of Venda.”

He leaned back, the misery in his eyes cutting through me. “But they're only wishes Lia, because you've made promises and so have I. Tomorrow will come, and tomorrow will matter, to your kingdom and to mine. So please, don't ask me again if I wish for something, because I don't want to be reminded that every day I wish for something I cannot have.”

We stared at each other.

The air prickled hot between us.

I didn't breathe.

He didn't move.

We made promises to each other too
, I wanted to say, but instead I only whispered, “I'm sorry, Rafe. We should say good night and forget—”

And then his lips were on mine, his mouth hungry, my back pressed to the door, his hand reaching behind me to open it, and we stumbled back into the room, the world disappearing behind us. He lifted me up in his arms, his gaze filling every empty space inside me, and then I slid through his hands, my mouth meeting his again. Our kisses were desperate, consuming, all that mattered and all there was.

My feet touched the ground, and then so did our belts, weapons, and vests falling in a trail across the floor. We stopped, faced each other, fear beating between us, fear that none of this was real, that even these precious few hours would be ripped away. The world flickered, pulling us into protective darkness, and I was in his arms again, our palms damp, searching, no lies, no kingdoms, nothing between us but our skin, his voice warm, fluid, like a golden sun unfolding every tight thing within me,
I love you, I will love you forever, no matter what happens.
Rafe needing me as much as I needed him, his lips silky, sliding down my neck, my chest, my skin shivering and burning at once. There were no questions, no pauses, no room left for anything more to be stolen. There was only us, and everything we had ever been to each other, the days and weeks when only we mattered, our fingers lacing together, holding, fierce, his gaze penetrating mine, and then fear and desperation faded, our movement slowed, and we memorized, lingered, touched, swallowing tears that still swelled in us, the reality setting in—we had only a few hours. He hovered over me, the flame of the fire lighting his eyes, the world stretching thin, disappearing, his tongue sweet and slow and gentle on mine, and then more urgent, pressing, hungry, the moment becoming the promise of a lifetime, a feverish need and rhythm pulsing between us, our skin moist and searing, and then the shudder of his breath in my ear, and finally, my name on his lips.
Lia.