“Arrows,” he said.
Yes, an arrow had killed him. She surfaced to wakefulness with tears burning her cheeks, at first disoriented. She was not in her old bed, nor was she in her new bed in the queen’s chamber. She blinked through the darkness to where the watchers should be sitting, but she could not make out their figures in the dim light. She hadn’t a clue to the hour, but they must have grown tired of watching two people sleep and left for their own beds.
“Arrows,” Zachary muttered.
Startled, Estora turned to face him. It must have been he who had awakened her. His eyes were open, aware. “Zachary?” she whispered. She caressed his warm, damp cheek, each contact with his skin sending tingles through her body. Whatever they’d dosed her with had not yet worn off.
“Arrows,” he said again, looking at her.
She should call to Ellen to summon Master Destarion, but Destarion said Zachary might awaken, that it would be all right.
Instead, she said, “Yes, it was an arrow that wounded you.”
The muscle in his cheek ticked. “No . . . battle. The arrows . . .” He gazed at her and the dim light shone in his fever-bright eyes.
“What battle, Zachary?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Has it happened?”
“There has been no battle.”
He started to sit up, but she feared he’d try to leave the bed and stand and she thought he would be too weak to bear it. She pressed his shoulder so he would sink back into his pillows. He relaxed, but she found she could not, that she did not wish to remove her hand from his shoulder, but instead trailed it along his powerful chest, over the contours of his stomach, his muscles quivering in reaction to her touch. Each variation of texture, each hollow and rise that was the landscape of his body, quickened desire through her.
When he responded, he touched her in kind, the agony of need rolling over her like a molten wave. She could feel it taking him, too.
“Do you love me?” he breathed into her ear.
Stunned, it took her moment to respond. “Yes. I believe I do. Yes.”
He levered himself above her. “Good. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
The velvet brush of Zachary’s lips against her throat made Estora think that she was the delirious one, but the touches and sensations were real, present, and she became greedy, impatient, craving more, wanting it all, and he showed her he was just as eager to provide what she required, his mouth questing across her flesh, her breasts, to secret places. She grew fierce in response, straddled him, wanton and demanding, sheathing him in her with a cry of triumph.
There was no stopping the journey they were on, and despite injury and illness, the strength was in him. He burned and drove hard. He was fire against her skin.
As their pleasure crested, however, even as she rode him into brilliance, the name upon his lips was not her own.
When they parted she lay again on her back breathing hard, staring into the dark, her body thrumming, asking for more, part of her mind, however, unnerved by the revelation of who it was Zachary truly loved.
Finally, as the dark of night dulled to the subtle gray of dawn, he lay slumped by her side deeply exhausted, his arm draped across her belly. She kissed his forehead but there was no response. She too, felt tired, but sated. Every touch no longer incited flame, and she realized whatever herb Destarion had used had worn off. It was time now for rest.
Someone applauded. Estora half sat up, heart thudding and suddenly fully awake. She held the blanket to her breast. Zachary remained insensible beside her.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
“I believe you can guess,” Richmont replied, moving from the deepest corner of the chamber to stand by her side of the bed. He plucked at her blanket. “Why so modest now, my dear cousin? Your performance this night shows otherwise.”
“I thought . . .”
“We were all gone? No, I alone remained as the sole witness. I was more patient than the others, and it paid off. You were my good little cousin and completed the rite. I enjoyed it very much.” He cupped her chin in his hand. She slapped it away and he chuckled. “Still full of feisty energy after all that. And you exhausted the king. The parties concerned shall be pleased by tonight’s results. Speaking of which . . .” He pulled something, a small vial, from a pocket. “A little pig’s blood for the bed. I should not want the servants speculating as to why there was no virgin’s stain upon the sheets when they go to change them, and you know how obsessive about such details members of the court can be if they catch wind of ... irregularities.” He placed the vial on her bedside table.
Estora listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room to the door. Before he opened it, he laughed once more. “Do not worry about that other female. She will be no competition.”
She did not want to give him the satisfaction of her asking, but she could not help herself. “What do you mean?”
“A dead woman is no competition. Do remember all I do, I do for you.” With that he was through the door and it closed behind him.
Estora fell back into her pillow, now cold after her exertions, made colder still by the vile monster Richmont revealed himself to be. What additional danger had Richmont put Karigan in than what she already faced in Blackveil? All at once she was concerned for her friend, but a very human part of her almost hoped it was true so that Zachary would be hers, and hers alone.
She shuddered, and sheltered herself in the warmth of his body.
SHEDDING BLOOD FOR THE REALM
Later that morning, Estora paced in the cold light of the solarium. Zachary had given her the room in the fall as a place to call her own, a place of refuge from relatives and courtiers and endless wedding preparations. It felt a hundred years ago, the problems back then much more simple. It had been such a generous gesture. Zachary had known exactly what she needed, this retreat. And yet, she’d done little to make it her own. A few chairs, a table, some wall hangings, but nothing personal. She used the room rarely, instead spending time shadowing Zachary as he moved through his days, performing his duties as king. That had enlivened her more than hiding away.
The fireplace was dark and rain splattered the windows, blurring her view of the courtyard gardens. The gardens held such promise. It was too early in the season to see growth, but it was there beneath the mulch and fallen leaves of last autumn. All was barren now, but time would bear the fruits of rain and sun and warmth. Some birds had already returned from their wintering grounds and darted about the trees and shrubs, hunting for wrinkled berries, seeds, and grubs.
She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, missing the warmth of Zachary’s bed, of him. He’d been strong during their coupling, but so exhausted after that he hadn’t awakened. He would get well. She knew it, she believed it. He must. She’d simply wished to stay with him all morning, but there were tasks she must attend to. This first was not on the official list Cummings had handed her while she broke her fast.
A tapping came on the door.
Finally, she thought.
Fastion opened the door and stuck his head in. “Lieutenant Connly is here, my lady.”
“Let him in.”
Fastion stepped aside so the Rider could enter the solarium, then closed the door to resume his post out in the corridor.
Connly bowed, his posture hesitant, his gaze uncertain. She could not blame him.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I’ve come as you requested. How may I serve?”
“You told no one where you were going, whom you were seeing?”
“I spoke to no one as instructed by your message.”
Estora nodded. “Good.” Perhaps after Richmont’s admissions she was being too mistrustful, but she preferred not taking chances. “Lieutenant, I realize this is a complicated time for all of us, but I must ask you to keep our meeting secret.” Secret. The word echoed in her mind in Richmont’s sneering voice. So many secrets. She closed her eyes for a moment.
“May I ask
why, my lady?”
A bold question, she thought, when he was so uncertain of her. But the Riders were bold. She knew just how bold they could be.
“No,” she replied.
He bowed his head. “I understand.”
He understood that she could not trust him yet. She remembered how F’ryan used to bring her to the common room of the old barracks to play games with the Riders. They played Knights, Intrigue, even rolled dice. Connly had been there, untried and only just beginning his career in the messenger service. They’d laughed and joked and told stories. It was all different now, as though they’d never met before.
“I know you are finding it difficult to be sure of me right now,” she said. At his alarmed expression she added, “Relax, please. I am not accusing you of anything.”
“What of Captain Mapstone?” he asked, once again showing his daring.
Someone else, another monarch, might have punished him for impertinence. But Estora was who she was. “If it helps, I am told your captain is very comfortably settled into a suite of rooms in the diplomatic wing—the finest—and is being treated royally. And she’s hating every moment of it.”
She saw the flicker of a smile on his face, and then it was gone.
“When . . .” he began. “When will you release her?”
“I will not answer your question, but I did want to reassure you she is well.”
“Please, may I see her?” Connly asked.
“No.”
His face fell.
“Though as a favor to her, because of her long service and devotion to King Zachary, I am going to permit a visit from her friend Elgin Foxsmith. As he is no longer a Green Rider, his presence is more . . . permissible. Not a conflict of interest. I am sure you will find his assessment of the conditions of her confinement favorable.”
Good. The Rider looked much relieved, and he relaxed.
“Furthermore,” she continued, “based on the information you and your Riders provided us about the Eletian Sleepers and the towers, you may be pleased to know we have arranged for an extra unit of soldiers to provide support down at the wall.”
His relief was now almost palpable. Relief for the added safety more soldiers could provide for his fellow Riders assigned to the towers, especially the Rider he shared his mind with, Trace Burns. From his reaction, Estora discerned they shared more than their thoughts.
By telling Connly these things, she hoped to draw him into her confidence, for she needed his help, and she believed the only ones who could truly help her were the Green Riders, and one Green Rider in particular.
“Lieutenant,” she said, “I understand Beryl Spencer is due in soon.”
As soon as Elgin learned he could visit Red, he wasted no time in throwing on an old patched oilskin coat and trekking from the stables where he was seeing to “the girls” and through the rain to the castle’s diplomatic wing, where they’d detained his friend. Once among the fine furnishings and passing richly attired and important looking people, Elgin felt quite the pauper, quite inadequate. He’d left Sacor City after his brooch released him from the messenger service because of such feelings, and now here he was, dripping rain on a carpet worth far more than his own sorry hide, and keeping his head bowed in the presence of his betters.
The guard at Red’s door looked askance at him. “What do you want, old man?”
“I am here to see Captain Mapstone.”
“Go away. Only certain visitors are allowed. By the queen’s orders.”
“But—” Elgin began.
“Get outta here,” the guard said.
A Weapon appeared seemingly from the shadows. Elgin recalled the fellow’s name to be Fastion. It was not easy remembering the names of the Weapons for they all appeared the same, with their stony countenances and black attire. Elgin had a sneaking suspicion they cultivated uniformity—it allowed them to fade into the background. No single individual stood out.
“Let him in,” Fastion ordered in an authoritative voice. “He is approved by the queen.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said, and without hesitation he pivoted, knocked on the door, and opened it for Elgin.
“Thank you,” Elgin told Fastion, and the Weapon nodded.
The chamber Elgin entered reeked of luxury, from overstuffed chairs to artwork even his undiscerning eye could tell was of the highest quality. It was a suite, really, with a sitting room, bedchamber, and a bathing room. More cavernous than anything he had ever lived in.
Within he had expected to find an agitated Rider captain pacing madly. Instead, he discovered Red lounging on a sofa with stockinged feet up, reading a book. A tray containing a pot of tea and pastries sat on a table in front of the sofa. Elgin was not sure he’d ever seen her look so relaxed.
Red glanced over her book to see who’d entered. It took a moment for her eyes to register recognition, and when they did, she dropped the book and leaped up.
“Chief!” she cried. “What a wonderful surprise.” She came over and hugged him. “I have missed everyone so much.” She gave him an additional hug and beckoned him over to the sofa and poured him some tea.
“You seem pleasantly situated,” he observed dryly.
She grinned. “Servants looking after my every need, the finest meals from the kitchen, and this.” She waved her hand to take in the suite. “Don’t let it fool you, though. I’m seething inside. But comfortable. I was bored beyond tears until Destarion brought these up.” She indicated a pile of dusty volumes on the table like the one she’d just been reading. Some were ledger-sized, some were much smaller, and their leather covers were very plain. Elgin opened one and found it filled with cramped handwriting.
“What are these?” he asked.
“Case histories from the menders. This is just a small pile. Destarion has apprentices looking through others.”
“For what?”
“We’re searching for references to Riders—or others—with true healing ability, like Ben. I’m hoping to find something that will reveal how to help him. So far nothing, but a couple references to me. I’m sure Destarion chose these particular records for me to look at on purpose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The menders who wrote about my cases complained extensively about my temper. When I was conscious, that is. One mender actually mentioned he preferred me unconscious.” She frowned.
Elgin almost snorted his tea. He ended up coughing instead, shaking with suppressed laughter. He remembered what a difficult patient she could be.
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “In any case, Destarion did tell me this morning there were hopeful signs for both Zachary and Ben, that there’d been some awakenings for Zachary, and that Ben had a fitful night as if dreaming, which is better than lying in the deathlike state he’s been in. Destarion also said his cheeks have a little pink in them. Have you heard anything?”
“No,” Elgin replied. “I’ve been with the young ones all morning. You’ve heard more than me.”
“It is my hope that once Zachary does awaken for good, that all of this will be cleared up. If he does not, I suppose they will have to do something with me.”
“Red—”
“No, Elgin.” She’d been almost buoyant before, but now she was subdued, shadows darkening her eyes. “I’m realistic. This is political and they can’t allow anything to endanger Estora’s new crown.”
“But you wouldn’t—”
“No, I probably would not interfere. The time for interference is past. But I know too much and they are not sure they can trust me, and the only true way to relieve me of duty is to exile me, or find a way to break my bond with my brooch.”
The only way to break that bond, Elgin knew, was to kill her. “I won’t let that happen,” he growled. “They’ll have to come through me first.”
“Thank you, old friend,” she said patting h
is knee.“Enough about me. Tell me about my Riders.”
“After all you’ve done for them,” Elgin muttered, not willing to change the subject so easily. “All the blood you’ve shed for the realm, and you practically raised the boy.”
“King,” she reminded him.
“What I remember is the boy who put frogs in my boots.”
“Zachary did that?”
“As if you didn’t know.”
She gave him an innocent look, but a smile edged the corners of her mouth.
“Humph.”
“Seriously, Chief,” she said, “we’ve all shed blood for the realm, but as captain and king’s advisor, I must also function in the political sphere—a role which can prove just as bloody. But I’d prefer not to dwell on it. So please, could you tell me about my Riders? Has there been any word from Blackveil?”
Elgin narrowed his eyes at her, his Red. Yes, they’d all shed blood for the realm, but one only had to see the scar that ran from her chin, down her neck, and beneath her collar, to know how close she’d come to giving her life for the realm. That scar, he knew, went much farther down her body, and was only a small part of the cost she’d paid the day she received it while serving as a Green Rider.
If there was anything in his power he could do to protect her, he would do it. He knew her Riders felt the same way, and those who had raised Estora to queenhood had not reckoned on that. He smiled.
“No word from Blackveil yet,” he said. “As for your Riders, that Sophina has become quiet since that day.” Since that day she’d “seen” the king struck down by arrows. “No complaints or snobbiness from her since then. Not much, anyway. She’s even getting along with Merla.”
He continued to chat with her for the better part of two hours, telling her about the smallest doings and accomplishments of her Riders, and she smiled as she listened, the proud captain, but behind the smile he sensed a profound sadness that no matter what he said, he could not erase.
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