The Death of Dulgath (39 page)

“Actually, Sire,” Sir Jacobus said, “I think he may be right. Several witnesses saw the lady placed in a wagon that went that way.”

“If they’re in a wagon, they’ll have to stick to the road,” Sir Dathan pointed out.

Vincent nodded. “If they’re in a wagon, we should catch them before they reach the pass.”

Christopher found his stirrup and swung up on Derby, who jerked sideways and turned around, bending her neck, trying to bite him.

Why do the good horses always try to bite me?

“Best watch out—the last one to do that died,” he told the horse.

He gave Derby a sharp tug on the bit and pulled her head back hard. This caused the horse to back up, which was fine because Knox was behind him. The sheriff had a less-than-triumphant look on his face.

“This is a mess,” he hissed.

“Relax, everything’s fine,” Christopher whispered back. “Just stay close.”

“Everyone”—the king rose in his stirrups—“to me!” With that, he spurred his horse forward and the race began.

With Nysa Dulgath propped between his arms, Royce found the path. Like navigating crowds, he was also good at finding his way. He’d never been lost, not outside at least.

Because I’m elvish.

He looked down at Nysa as if she’d said the words, but her eyes were closed.

Royce had no idea if elves had a better compass than anyone else. Fact was, he didn’t know much about elves. Common knowledge held that they were less intelligent and physically smaller and weaker than men. They were lazy, avoiding work like an intelligent man avoids a bare hilltop in a lightning storm. They were filthy all the time, too. Everyone knew elves hated water. They had ugly pointed ears and sinister slanted eyes. But some generous folk also said they had better hearing and sight than men. Others—shopkeepers, mostly—maintained they were strangely quick and agile, and could steal merchandise right out from under watching eyes. Their agility led to rumors that elves were somehow related to cats. That their god had cursed a family of felines, turning them into abominations. The one thing everybody agreed on was that back in the days of the First Empire, they had been slaves, and freeing them had been as foolish as turning milk cows loose or expecting chickens to fend for themselves.

Royce did have high cheekbones and was fast, agile, and could move quietly. He could see farther than others seemed to be able to, even in near-total darkness. His hearing was also better than that of anyone he knew, but his ears weren’t pointed, and his eyes were like everyone else’s.
I’m not completely elvish,
Royce qualified, arguing with the voice in his head
. A mix maybe, a half-breed of some sort.
And he never got lost.
Maybe that’s a thing.

Rain battered the leaves. It came down harder, sounding like a fast river or nearby waterfall. The volume of the shower helped muffle the sound of his horse’s hooves as she plodded up the narrow trail. Royce didn’t dare push. The path was uneven, steep, rocky, and growing slick. If she stumbled—if they fell—Royce would never get Nysa back up on the horse, not with his hands the way they were.

Nysa’s head hung limply. He cradled it to his chest, sheltering her face from the raindrops with his hood. Her chin, lips, and the lower half of her cheeks were stained red. As he held her, as he looked into her face, Royce realized she wasn’t breathing.

He touched her neck, feeling for that little pulsing thump that—

“I’m still here,” Nysa said. Her eyes opened slowly and with effort, like jammed wooden windows swollen with humidity.

“Didn’t look like you were breathing.”

She offered him an effort-filled smile. “Thank you for this.” Her voice was sluggish, cracking.

“Don’t talk. Conserve your strength.”

“Strength is fine.” She coughed and spit more blood.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Just hard to talk. Blood is in my throat.” She coughed again. A dark, almost black line drooled down her chin.

Royce looked behind. No sign of Hadrian.

He should have caught up by now.

“Royce,” Nysa said, her voice clearer. “Do you like me?”

Royce looked at her, surprised at the absurdity of the question, and decided to respond in kind. “Of course not. I always risk my life for people I hate.”

She smiled. “I mean, are you attracted to me?”

In another place and time, and with someone else, Royce would have smirked.

She’s delirious,
he reminded himself.
Humor her.

“Honestly? At this moment? You’ve looked better.”

She jerked and coughed again. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Most people don’t find me funny.”

“I’m sure most people don’t share our sense of humor.” She cleared her throat.

For a woman with a hole in her chest the size of a crown tenent, she was oddly lucid and unconcerned. Most people, even seasoned fighters, would be crying, begging not to die, screaming, or complaining about the pain.

“We’re short on time, so I’ll skip the formalities. Nysa Dulgath is the last of her bloodline. If she dies, the king will appoint a new earl, someone from the outside, someone like Christopher Fawkes.”

If
she
dies? If
Nysa
dies? She’s really delusional.

“I wouldn’t count on Fawkes. I have it on good authority he’ll be unavailable for…well, everything,” Royce told her.

“But if Nysa has a child,” she went on, “we can raise her to be a good ruler.”

Royce’s brows rose. “We? Are you asking me to
marry you
?”

Nysa looked up at him, her lower lip lifting, eyes drooping into an embarrassed, practically apologetic flinch. “I realize I have problems.”

“No kidding.”

“Oh—believe me, you don’t know the half of it.”

“What? You chew with your mouth open?”

She smiled again.

So odd. So very odd. How is she even talking? I’m missing something.

“Thing is—I never thought I could find anyone that I could…well,
be with.
But you’re different.”

“Because I’m part elven.”

“Yes. I know you think that’s an insult, but it’s not—it’s an incredible compliment. Look, I’m giving you the chance to become the next Earl of Dulgath. The offer comes with your own castle and an ocean view.”

And a wife with a hole in her chest.
“Tempting.”

“But? There’s a
but,
isn’t there?”

“There is.”

Nysa glanced down at herself. “Is it the blood? I could wash.”

He couldn’t help smiling. She did share his morbid sense of humor—even while facing her own death. That won her points in his book—a book with few pages. He did like her, and his admiration grew by the minute. If not for Gwen—and the fact that Nysa’s life expectancy was akin to a soap bubble’s—he might have considered it.

I could lie. She won’t live. What would be the harm?

“I’m with someone,” he said, his tone serious, regretful. “I know what it’s like to be betrayed. I won’t do that.”

“Hadrian?” she asked.

“No.” He chuckled. “A woman.”

“Oh. She must be very special. You’re turning down a title and an estate that would make you wealthy and respected for the rest of your life.”

“She is special.”

Royce glanced behind them again. Still no sign of Hadrian.

What’s taking him so long?

“Oh!” Nysa looked up, hopeful. “You
could
bring her along. I won’t mind.”

Royce’s brows rose in surprise.

Nysa frowned again. “Different cultures, I suppose. Where I’m from, we don’t have marriage. People don’t mate for life.”

“People don’t get married in Dulgath?”

She offered that same apologetic smile. “Look, I want to thank you for being honest—for telling me the truth. Now…I have something I need to tell you. Something I never thought I’d ever tell anyone. You see, I’m not Nysa Dulgath. That poor girl died two years ago. Fell off her horse in a steeplechase accident and snapped her neck. I arrived too late. Managed to fix her body, but by then she was long gone.”

“You’re not Nysa Dulgath?”

“No.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re right—I’m not breathing. You’re carrying a dead body.”

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. The storm was almost on them.

“You can’t go!” Hadrian shouted at Scarlett.

She’s being so stupid!

She wasn’t. She was being brave, and he admired her for it. But that didn’t take away the pain of knowing she’d die alongside him.

Going to the monastery was suicide. Lady Dulgath was certain to die, and they’d be trapped on top of the mountain. After what Royce did, after threatening the king, there would be no mercy. He and Royce would hang, or burn, or kneel before the block, or whatever they did down there. But no one knew about Scarlett. She could continue living her life, entertaining guests at Caldwell House and sleeping in Wagner’s bed. Given enough time, she might even learn to spin and weave.

If she came with them, she’d be arrested as part of a conspiracy to murder the countess and threaten the king.

“You can’t stop me!” Scarlett turned her horse, but Hadrian caught her mount by the bit and pulled her back. “Let go!”

Hadrian grabbed her wrist and pulled Scarlett down. He let her fall, hoping it would take some of the fight out of her. It didn’t. She came up swinging.

He caught her again one wrist and then the other. She struggled, trying to kick him. He spun her as if they were dancing, making her face away and pulling her arms across her body, hugging her to him.

“You have to stay here,” he said.

“Let me go!” She tried kicking backward with her heels.

Wagner, Asher, and the rest watched. No one moved or said a word.

“If you come with us, the king will execute you.”

“Nysa is ours, not yours!” Scarlett shrieked as she struggled. “She doesn’t mean anything to you! You don’t understand!”

This was taking too long. He hoped Royce didn’t need him, but he wasn’t letting Scarlett throw her life away.

If only I could tie her up or—

The idea of locking Scarlett in Caldwell House’s cellar came to him at exactly the same time that he heard the shouts.

“The king! The king!” Someone Hadrian didn’t know was running up the street. He was pointing backward and yelling like a wild man. “Coming up the road!”

Hadrian was out of time.

He let go of Scarlett, who took the opportunity to kick him hard in the shin before leaping back on her horse. Hadrian grabbed Dancer and together they raced for the river and the bridge.

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. The storm had arrived.

While everyone else fought for a place nearest the king, Christopher lagged at the rear of the pack, Knox at his side. By the time they entered the dale, the rain was pouring, a heavy summer shower that, along with the growing darkness made it hard to see. Sunset was still hours away, but the clouds continued to roll in, thick and heavy. By the time the king’s party reached the village market, the sky was as dark as dusk. Wind whipped the rain that fell in sheets, making puddles on the brick. Lightning revealed the world in colorless flashes, and the following thunder rolled with a deep, long voice, making it hard not to imagine this wasn’t an ordinary storm.