The Bloodforged (35 page)

She did her best to change the subject. “How long will it take to repair the fort?”

“Weeks.” Rig poured himself another cup. “The good news is that Sadik will need time to regroup. He lost a lot of men today.”

“Any word from Wraith?” When Rig glanced over, Wright shrugged. “I heard about the diversion the Resistance was planning. Half the fort seems to have known about it. Deliberately, I suspect.”

Rig didn't bother to deny it. “I've heard from him, yes. They lost a few in the attack on the grain silos, but the decoy got away unscathed. Melted into the fields the moment Sadik's men moved on them.” The thought of the enemy marching on a bunch of farmers in mismatched armour, only to have them scatter like dandelion fluff at the first sign of advance, was enough to bring half a smile to Rig's face.

To Wright's face, though, it brought only confusion. “But I thought the attack on the grain silos
was
the decoy?”

“That's what he wanted us to think,” Vel said, looking as if she were torn between pride and pique. Rig hadn't told her the truth, either. He was going to pay for that later, he knew.

“It was
a
decoy,” Rig said, “just not the only one. We also had a host of Resistance fighters flying Kingsword banners in Andithyrian territory. Convincing enough from a distance. Sadik figured I'd smuggled a battalion across the water somewhere downstream. And being Sadik, he sent at least twice as many men as he needed to smash it.”

“You leaked the information about the grain silos,” Vel said. “That made the false Kingswords the more convincing, because Sadik would take it for the main event, the thing you were trying to distract him from. You leaked the location of the fort too, didn't you? You intended for that bird to be shot down. All those preparations—you told us it was just in case, but that wasn't true, was it? You expected him to come. You wanted him to.”

“Decoys and lures and diversions.” Wright shook his head. “A rather elaborate plan, General.”

It wasn't a compliment, Rig knew. Wright might lack experience, but it didn't take a veteran to know that the more complicated the plan, the greater the odds of it going wrong. “There were a lot of pieces in play,” he admitted, “but I couldn't see any options. As you've no doubt realised by now, I have a spy in my ranks. I decided to use that to my advantage.”

“It certainly does seem that there is a spy,” Wright said. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?” Rig noted the
we
.

“There are two thousand men in this fort, and another seven thousand in the immediate area. Ferreting out a single man—that's assuming there's only one—is going to be all but impossible.”

“Is it?” Wright rubbed his beardless jaw thoughtfully. “The spy must have a way of communicating with Sadik. There are not many options. Perhaps if we fabricated another bit of tempting information—about the Resistance, say—and then watched the river and the skies . . .”

Rig shook his head. “After what happened today, the spy will know we're on to him. If he has any sense at all, he'll keep a low profile for a while. For now, there's nothing to do but live with it.”

“Hardly comforting,” Wright said.

“That's putting it mildly.” It was, in fact, like a physical weight pressing down on Rig's shoulders, just one more stone added to the load.

Sighing, Wright said, “Still, at least we know the Resistance is a force to be reckoned with. I would not have guessed they had the numbers to mount two separate diversions. It is encouraging.”

Rig could have taken the wind out of his sails—told him that fewer than half the men flying Kingsword banners had been fully fledged members of the Resistance—but it seemed wiser to keep that information to himself for now. Instead, he just shrugged and said, “Looks like the white-hairs still have some balls left.” That much, at least, was Destan's own truth.

After Wright had gone, Vel poured herself a generous helping of wine. It was the first time they'd been alone together since the battle, and Rig was fully expecting an earful.

He got one.

“You lied to me. You lied to my
face
. Will you lie again now and tell me you don't think I'm the spy?”

“I don't think you're the spy.”

She scoffed, threw her wine back. “You think I might be, or you would have told me the truth.”

“No, I wouldn't have.” He took her shoulders, turned her around. Not the most dangerous manoeuvre of the day, but not the safest, either. Fortunately, she was content to glare up at him. It was, he had to admit, a very good glare. He nearly said so, but she wasn't in the mood for levity, and for once, neither was he. Besides, there was never going to be a good time to say this, so he might as well get it over with. “Whatever this is between us, Vel, it doesn't change the fact that I am commander general of the Kingswords. I have responsibilities, and that includes keeping secrets. That might change after the war. It might not. If you can't accept that, I understand.” He left the rest unsaid.

Vel turned away from him, cradling her cup in both hands. “Do you have any idea what it's like to cower behind the walls and wait for the world to end?”

He did, actually—he'd done more or less exactly that during the Siege of Erroman. But that wasn't what she wanted to hear, so he held his tongue.

“To be so powerless, while you're out there . . .”

“You aren't powerless. You did your part. You gave us Wraith. Without you, none of this would have been possible.”

She laughed bitterly. “You are a fool, Riggard Black, do you know that?”

“It's occurred to me.”

“You think this is about my pride?” She turned back to him, dark eyes haunted. “Yes, I wanted to make a contribution. To do my part for the struggle. Do you think any of that mattered to me today? You think that sitting in this room, on your bed, while you were out there on the walls, I could think of anything but . . .” She stopped, hugging herself as though to stave off a bitter wind.

Rig paused. She was telling him a great deal, maybe more than she meant to. Her words sat between them like an offering. But Rig wasn't ready to take them up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for where that might lead them. It would have been
complicated enough before the war, when his only responsibility was to his banner. Now . . .

She saw it in his eyes; she turned away again.

A wave of exhaustion swept over him. Exhaustion, and something else—something like loss. He would have to cope with that loss one day, maybe soon. But the ache that it brought was more than he could take just then. Though he knew it was selfish, he couldn't stop himself: He slid his arms around her, pulling her close and tucking his chin into the curve of her neck. He drew in the scent of her, listened to the slow, heavy draw of her breath. It was shelter, however temporary. It was peace.

After a moment, she relaxed; her hands slid up his arms, clasping him tight.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wondered if she understood what he meant.

A long pause. Quietly, she asked, “What happens now?”

Rig's gaze drifted over to the fire, to the twisting, inscrutable shadows it threw on the wall. “I don't know,” he said, and he buried his face in her hair.

A
lix drew up the reins so hard that her horse skittered backward, nickering in protest. She didn't even wait for the animal to settle before swinging down from the saddle and throwing herself into the waiting arms of her husband.

“Allie. Thank Farika you're safe.” He'd heard about what happened with the tribesmen; she could tell by the hitch of his breath, the way he clutched her to him in a grip that was painful even through her armour.

In Liam's arms at last, it was all Alix could do not to burst
into tears. But once again, they were surrounded by people, and Alix couldn't afford to let herself go. She forced it down—the grief, the fear, the rushing tide of relief—though she felt as if it might split her apart.

Liam looked her up and down as though inspecting her for damage. “You're all right?”

“I'm fine, but . . .” She glanced over her shoulder, to where Erik waited at a polite remove.
Not now, you fool
, she scolded herself.
Certainly not now.

“Your Majesty,” Liam said. “You'll forgive the breach of protocol, I hope.”

“Just this once.” Erik started forward, but a snarl froze him in his tracks. He looked down, mildly astonished, to find Rudi standing between him and his brother, teeth bared. “What's this? I thought we were friends.”

Embarrassed, Liam grabbed the wolfhound's collar. “Sorry, I don't know what's got into him. I guess a few weeks is all it takes for him to forget you. He's thick as an oak, this dog.” He glanced at Alix. “Er, would you mind?”

She hesitated, expecting Rudi to snap at her as well, but the wolfhound let her take his collar without protest, and even sat obediently beside her.

“He remembers you perfectly well, it seems,” Erik said dryly.

“It's good to see you,” Liam said, embracing his brother. “When I heard what happened—”

“It's over now. We're home.”

“Just in time, too,” Liam said, grinning. “I've been in charge two whole weeks, and I've already started to go mad. You're lucky you didn't come back to find the whole place burned to the ground and me wandering around half naked and muttering about banquet menus.”

Erik laughed, but it sounded strained to Alix's ears. “What's this? You were in charge?”

“My doing, Your Majesty.” Albern Highmount descended the steps of the keep to bow, gingerly, before his king. “I thought it best to have the Whites restored to the crown as soon as possible.”

“Did you? Transition upon transition. Yes, I can see where that aids the cause of stable government.” Shaking his head,
Erik moved past his astonished first counsel and mounted the steps of the keep.

Liam's eyebrows flew up as he watched his brother disappear through the palace doors. “Wow. Someone's a bit touchy today.”

Alix pursed her lips, but it still wasn't the time. What she had to say on the subject of Erik's mood could only be said in private. Besides, Liam had just spotted Kerta and was already shouldering his way through the courtyard to greet her.

Highmount, meanwhile, was still staring after Erik. He'd schooled his features back to their customary impassivity, but Alix knew he would still be wrestling his surprise. Not so long ago, she would have taken petty delight in seeing him publicly upbraided like that, but not now. Not like this.
Should I tell him?
She resolved to ask Liam about that too.

Sensing her eyes upon him, Highmount turned. “I am pleased to see you looking so well, Your Highness. We all had quite a fright when we heard what happened in the Broken Mountains.”

“Thank you, Chancellor.”

“And what of our news—did that reach you on the road?”

Alix cocked her head. “I don't think so. What news is that?”

“Varad has been assassinated.”

The air left Alix in a gust. She stood there, mouth hanging open, for what seemed like forever before she finally closed it with a snap.
Saxon did it. He actually did it!

“Told her about Varad, did you?” Liam appeared at her side, sounding oddly grave.

“
When?
” she breathed.

“About a week ago,” Highmount said. “In the Temple of the Fountain. One of the monks, if you can believe it.” Like Liam, he spoke in subdued tones, and when he glanced back at the palace doors, his expression was unmistakably worried. “His Majesty will not be pleased.”

Alix all but laughed in her disbelief. “Why in the Nine Domains not? We've killed another Trion! It's a huge blow to our enemies!”

“
We
, Your Highness?” Highmount arched a bushy grey eyebrow.

“I mean . . . I presume one of our allies . . .” Alix swallowed, glanced away. “At any rate, we are the ones who benefit.”

“I hardly see how. Varad was the weakest of the Trions, and the least committed to expansion. That was
before
his health began to fail. His death gains us nothing. On the contrary, it has become a rallying point for the Trionate. By all accounts, the Oridian public and even some of their top advisors were urging an end to the war. Now, they cry for our blood, since of course everyone assumes Alden was behind the deed.”

“Bad luck, huh?” Liam said. “Someone murders the old man, and everyone blames us.”

“As though we would stoop so low.” Highmount shook his head in disgust. “Assassination of a
king
! Simply not done!”

“But surely,” Alix said weakly, “in times of war . . .”

“I could perhaps be convinced of that, Your Highness, but it is not merely the morality of the thing to consider. Removing a head of state is deeply unwise, for it is all but impossible to guess what will follow, whether the enemy will be weakened or strengthened by it. In this case, we need not wonder. The Oridians are unified as never before. To them, Varad is a living god, a divine soul housed in mortal flesh. Killing him was not merely murder, but blasphemy. In the eyes of the Oridians, we have proven that we are the heathens Madan always claimed we were, in desperate need of civilising. If the Priest's death weakened their resolve, the King's has restored it entirely.” Still shaking his head, Highmount headed for the stairs.

“Allie, are you all right?” Liam touched her arm. “You look ill, love.”

“I . . .”
Dear gods, what have I done . . .
She put a hand to her stomach, tried to control her breathing. “I'm fine. I just . . . it's a shock, that's all.”

“You're telling me. For a moment there, it looked like we might live to see an end to this thing, and now . . . On top of which, I got to be the lucky sod in charge when the news hit.”

“Oh gods.” Alix doubled over. She was going to throw up, she was sure of it.

“Hey, now. Come inside, love. We can talk in there.” Liam took her by the shoulders, casting a nervous glance about the courtyard.

He's afraid you're making a scene.
Liam, impervious to
nearly all forms of embarrassment. Her husband, who wouldn't know a political implication if it slapped him in the face.
Blessed Farika, the world is inside out.

Numbly, Alix let herself be ushered inside.

People passed by in a blur, saluting and bowing and smiling. Liam led her on, his voice sounding oddly distant as he offered vague pleasantries and excuses to the various well-wishers. Alix followed in a daze. It wasn't until Liam threw the latch on their chamber door that she came round, blinking as though she'd just woken from a bad dream. “Liam—”

He stopped her mouth with his own, a kiss almost desperate in its urgency. Alix wilted in his arms.
I'm home.
For a moment, every other thought fled from her, and she let herself be swaddled in the cocoon of Liam's love, soft and warm and safe. Then he pulled away, and the worry in his eyes brought the world crashing back down.

“You heard what happened in Harram?” Alix asked, swallowing.

He nodded. “What about you? Did you hear . . . ?” His gaze dropped to his boots.

She reached up, brushed her fingers through his unruly hair. “It wasn't your fault.”

“On some level, I know that.” He sighed. “You'd think that would help, wouldn't you?”

“Give it time. It's too raw right now.”

“See, that's why I need you around.” He drew her in again. “You always know what to say to me.”

“I wanted to write you a letter . . .” An ache was working its way up Alix's chest, choking off her words. “You were so good about writing to me, and . . .” She trailed off, gazing up at him miserably.

“What?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “That first one you gave me, on the road . . . I never . . . I lost it . . .” She broke down at last, a sob tearing from her like a weed dragged out by its roots, leaving a gaping hole behind.

Liam's arms tightened around her. “Hey, what's this, love? It's all right. It's only a letter . . .”

And of course it was just a letter, but it was
his
letter, his love poured out on the page so that she could hold it close
wherever she went. Imagining it buried in the snow out there, lost and forlorn . . . It seemed such a tragedy to her in that moment, such a crushing loss, that she couldn't bear it. It was the feather that brought the whole stack of firewood crashing down. She wept bitterly, Liam holding her close, rocking her and whispering to her and doubtless thinking she'd gone completely mad.

Later, when she'd settled, curled up beside him on an oversized upholstered chair, cup of tea in hand and wolfhound at her feet, Liam went looking for the source of her madness.

“What happened out there, Allie?”

“So much,” she whispered, her gaze on the rippling surface of her tea.

He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he said, “What about King Omaïd? Couldn't Erik get through to him?”

The choice of words almost made Alix laugh—which would no doubt have dissolved instantly into tears. She blew on her tea, composing herself. She'd been thinking about this moment for days, deliberating over how to put into words the fears she almost didn't dare acknowledge to herself. “Erik made a mistake,” she said. “Several, actually, each worse than the one before. By the end, Omaïd was barely speaking to him. I wasn't even sure he would be there to bid us farewell when we left.”

“Gods. What did he
say
?”

“Among other things, that he thought the mountain tribes should join together and rise up.”

Liam's mouth fell open.

“He meant against the Trionate, of course, but it didn't matter. The idea of the mountain tribes banding together for any cause is anathema to Ost. The fact that Erik openly admitted encouraging them to do it was more than Omaïd could take.”

“Well, of
course
it was! Even I could have guessed that, and I'm the man who managed to alienate half the population of Onnan! What was Erik thinking?”

Alix took a sip of her tea. Once she said these words, there was no unsaying them. But she had to tell someone, and she trusted Liam more than anyone in the world. Even so, when she finally did speak, her voice was thin and trembling. “Something is wrong with him, Liam. Very wrong. I think . . .” She swallowed. “I think Erik might be going mad.”

Liam drew back. For a long moment he just stared at her, his gaze fearful and searching. “Allie . . .”

“I know that's a lot to process—”

“It's
treason
, is what it is.” His voice, already a whisper, dropped even lower. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it's what I believe.” Her eyes started to fill again, but she kept herself together. “You saw him in the courtyard. He's like that all the time now. Not just moody, but erratic. Fearful. It started in Harram, but it's been getting steadily worse. Almost as if the closer we got to home, the more he came undone. By the time the escort met up with us, he was snapping at everyone. You should see the way the men were looking at him by the end. Like they didn't even recognise him. And why should they? I don't.”

Liam took her by the shoulders. “Alix, Erik is the sanest man I've ever known.” He said it firmly, gazing deep into her eyes as though
she
were the one who'd gone mad.

“I know, and I can imagine what this must sound like to you. But I'm telling you, I know him better than anyone in the world, and something is wrong with him.”

“Okay. Maybe he's ill, or maybe . . .” Liam stood, shoved a hand through his hair. “Remember how the Raven was. His moods. And their father . . . our father . . . he was addle-brained in the end. Maybe it's a family trait.”

“Maybe it is, but that doesn't change the fact that he isn't himself.”

Liam paced the length of the hearth and back. Rudi yawned at his feet, as though he'd seen this kind of thing before. “So what do we do?”

“I don't know. Watch him, I suppose. Try to help him.”

“Help him how?”

“I don't
know
, Liam. We just . . . try to be there for him. Let him know he's not alone, whatever he's facing.”

Liam stopped pacing. Blew out a breath. Rudi got up and went to him, nub wagging, bumping up against his master's leg. Liam patted him absently.

“That's new,” Alix said with a weak smile.

But Liam wasn't ready to change the subject. “If he's as bad as you say, he isn't going to take the news about Varad very well.”

The sick feeling reared up inside Alix again. For a moment,
she'd managed to forget about the assassination of the Trion. The assassination she'd ordered.
Oh Alix, what have you done?
She looked up at Liam, the concern weighing his brow. She couldn't bring herself to add to that burden. Not yet. She'd have to tell him eventually, but there was nothing to be gained by doing it now. For today at least, she was on her own. “I'm going to have a bath,” she said. “And after that, if it's all right with you, I think I'll take Rudi for a walk.”