Chapter Thirty-Three
For one heart stopping second, Lucy thought it was all over, but miraculously Eamon recovered himself. His horse had shied away, and he had no hope of remounting, but he managed to make it to his feet, his sword in front of him, before any of the guards could take him down.
Even in the midst of her anguish, Lucy felt a fierce stab of pride at the sight of her childhood friend, standing tall and strong, bravely facing down an unbeatable enemy without a tremor. When had the boy she had played with become this capable, powerful man? He looked every inch the unbeatable prince that Sonia and Vanessa had fawned over before his departure from Kyona.
But Lucy’s pride quickly gave way to despair as Eamon’s attackers closed in. She remembered the words of the admiring noble girl—that Prince Eamon could fight off anybody—but there were just too many.
At first the Thoranians approached the prince cautiously. Even from where she was tied up, Lucy could see the grim determination written in every line of Eamon’s body. The attackers were clearly confident of their victory, but none of them were eager to be the ones Eamon took down before being bested himself.
One of the guards lunged forward, and Eamon parried quickly, managing to disengage his blade in time to deliver a sharp slash to the man’s arm. The guard drew back, cursing, but another one instantly took his place. In spite of everything, a critical part of Lucy’s mind admired Eamon’s excellent form as he dueled fiercely with the guards. He had always been a good swordsman, but clearly she wasn’t the only one to have trained relentlessly in the time since they had sparred together as teenagers.
One of the guards circled around behind the prince, and Lucy’s cry of warning was swallowed in her gag. But Eamon had seen the man, not that it did him much good. He was already holding off two men, the clang of metal seeming deafening in the still morning air. His feet shifted in the sand as he pivoted, trying to keep both attacking groups in sight. The Thoranians were probably used to fighting in this terrain, but the unsteady ground seemed to slow Eamon’s movements, putting him at an even greater disadvantage.
Lucy was so intent on the battle below, she was taken completely by surprise at the quickly stifled cry of the guard beside her. She turned her head to see him crumple to the ground. For a moment she stared in bewilderment, struggling to make sense of the arrow protruding from his chest.
Then the clang of steel drew her eyes to the other guard. Lucy watched in amazement as the man, wielding his sword frantically, failed to defend himself against his opponent. He fell, and Lucy found herself blinking into the calm face of Lady Yasmin.
Without a word, the older woman strode forward and ripped the gags from their faces.
“Eamon’s in trouble down there!” Lucy gasped the moment her mouth was free. She jerked her head toward the plateau as Lady Yasmin efficiently cut the bindings from her bruised and chafed wrists. “He needs help!”
“I know,” said the Thoranian grimly. “Why do you think I’m freeing your hands?” Within moments, she had both Kyonans free. They staggered to their feet, stumbling against each other as their aching limbs protested.
Matheus took only a moment to roll his wrists, wincing, before seizing the sword from one of the downed guards. Lucy reached for the other man’s weapon, but Lady Yasmin stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Take this,” she said, thrusting her curved blade into Lucy’s hand and seizing the guard’s larger weapon instead.
Lucy didn’t pause to thank her rescuer, or ask any questions. She rushed forward, hoping desperately that he hadn’t succumbed to his attackers during her distraction. Her feet slipped in the sand as she slid down the incline toward Eamon.
When she made it to level ground, she saw with confusion that he was no longer standing alone. He was back to back with another fighter, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Matheus’s sharp gasp told her that he had also seen, but she gripped his arm to stop him from calling out. They were still heavily outnumbered, and any element of surprise they could retain would help.
Even as she watched, though, one of the attackers went down to a lightning-quick thrust from Cody’s blade, and another to a skillful attack of Eamon’s. The two men fighting in tandem were a sight to behold, equally matched in skill and determination, their feet scuffling in the sand and their arms flashing out and back as their blades danced around those of their opponents.
But there was no time to admire their fighting. Brandishing her own weapon, Lucy threw herself into the fight, slashing at the nearest attacker from behind before he realized she was there. The man went down without even a yell, but his closest companion raised a shout, and everyone’s attention turned to the latest additions to the fight.
Lucy locked eyes with Eamon for the briefest moment, a multitude of emotions flashing across his face. Then her focus was claimed by one of Rasad’s guards, who advanced on her with deadly purpose. She raised her weapon to meet his with a metallic clash, forgetting all else in the grip of the fight. She pushed forward relentlessly, seeing with satisfaction the moment when the man changed from attack to defense, shock in his eyes to discover such a fierce opponent in the slim girl.
She was no longer distracted by fear for Eamon, even though he and Cody were each fighting two challengers at once. She did know a moment of concern for her fifteen-year-old brother—she could feel him fighting furiously beside her—but she forced herself to keep her attention on her own fight. There were only seven guards to their five defenders now, and the arrival of the unexpected reinforcements had turned the tide unmistakably.
Still, the outcome wasn’t sure. Sweat rolled down her face as the sun’s rays began to reach them over the top of the hills. The sand sparkled in the growing light, the colorful sediment that flew in puffs from beneath their feet creating a beautiful display that was wasted on the fighters, each battling for his or her life.
Lucy didn’t relish the idea of being once again forced to choose between killing, or letting someone she loved die. But she knew their only hope of not just surviving, but averting the coming disaster, was if none of Rasad’s guards escaped alive to warn their master of the failure of his plan. So she fought with an extra edge of desperation, letting her training take over in the familiar rhythm of deflect and attack.
Then, suddenly, a cry of pain from her brother ripped her thoughts away from her own duel. He was still standing, but he was now bleeding heavily from one arm. Lucy lunged sideways, throwing herself and her blade in between him and the guard who was clearly ready to press his advantage. Fear threatened to bloom inside her, but she forced it back ruthlessly, knowing she needed every bit of energy and focus to hold off the two guards now facing her.
Her breath was coming in gasps—the light, curved blade moving more quickly than she could have achieved with a normal sword. She was just wondering how long she could hold out, when Lady Yasmin suddenly appeared beside her, clearly having felled her own opponent. Lucy didn’t allow herself the indulgence of relief as she shifted position to better synchronize her defense with the Thoranian noblewoman.
The two guards paused, drawing back. After eyeing the two determined women and exchanging a glance, they suddenly pulled away, turning in unison to join the attack on Eamon. Apparently they had remembered their original mission.
Lucy drew in a sharp breath as she realized Eamon and Cody had become separated in the fighting, and the Kyonan prince was now standing alone, facing off two guards. Even as she watched, he executed a flawless lunge, bringing one of them down. But the prince had no opportunity to celebrate his victory, as the two new attackers instantly appeared to take the place of their fallen comrade.
A quick glance showed that while Cody had also managed to take out one of his opponents, the other was fighting ferociously. The older Kyonan was hard pressed to hold him off, and would not be racing to the prince’s rescue any time soon.
Lucy took a step forward before remembering her brother. She turned quickly toward him,
but Matheus waved her off with his good arm. His face was pale, but his voice was strong as he prompted her.
“I’m fine—help Eamon!”
Lucy needed no further encouragement. With Cody’s opponent fully occupied, and the remaining three determined to eliminate Eamon, there were no further threats to her brother.
She could see Eamon’s exhaustion as she ran toward the fight. As much as she told herself to stay focused, she still stumbled slightly as she saw Eamon finally take a hit, one of his opponent’s blades breaking through his defenses. The prince raised his sword desperately, deflecting the blow aimed for his heart so it instead pierced his shoulder. But Lucy felt no relief, just an overpowering surge of fear and anger.
She threw herself into the group, Lady Yasmin close behind her. For a moment even Lucy was startled by the ferocity of the battle cry that burst from her as she fell upon the guard who had succeeded in injuring Eamon. She was dimly aware of Cody running to join them, having bested his opponent at last, and of Lady Yasmin’s blade dancing dangerously beside her as she forced one of the guards to turn his attention away from the prince.
None of that mattered. All that mattered was reaching Eamon. The guard fell back before Lucy, clearly shocked and alarmed by her unexpected skill and intensity. Lucy pursued her advantage grimly, some part of her mind recognizing from the sudden stillness around them that their duel was the only one still going. She felt Eamon’s presence—as captivating and unmistakable as ever, even amidst the chaos of battle—as he appeared alongside her. All at once, the guard dropped his weapon, holding his hands up in surrender.
For the briefest second Lucy battled with her frustration. She could still see the man’s blade plunging into Eamon’s shoulder, and she realized she didn’t want him to ask for mercy—she wanted to finish him.
The brutality of her thoughts alarmed her, and she lowered her weapon, breathing hard as clarity returned. Of course she couldn’t run a man through who had surrendered. After a moment’s reflection, she raised the curved blade again, her hand steady as she held it to the man’s throat. The immediate danger might be over, but fear still swirled within her at the thought of what Rasad had set in motion. She only hoped it wasn’t too late as she remembered the advisor’s comment that a “herald” had already left for Nohl.
“What’s Rasad’s plan for King Giles?” she asked without preamble.
“I don’t know,” the guard gulped, his hands still raised and his eyes on her sword.
“Yes you do,” said Lucy, unimpressed. She lifted the blade slightly, so he had to tilt his head back. “It will have to be quick if the army marches today, but I know he wants it to look like an accident, so the Balenans won’t be on their guard against attack. So what’s his plan? I won’t ask you again.”
“His horse will throw him,” the man spat, still extending his neck unnaturally to avoid her blade. “Rasad will make the creature lose its mind somehow. I don’t know the details.”
Lucy frowned. “That might look like an accident, but I don’t see how he can guarantee it will be fatal.”
The man hesitated for only a moment. “He’ll lure the king out to the logging camp. Then the horse will throw him into the river.”
Cody’s sharp intake of breath convinced Lucy the plan must be more carefully crafted than it sounded. She lowered her blade, stepping back slightly as she looked over at her mentor with a frown.
But her question was never formed. A cry of warning from Matheus snapped her focus back to the newly released guard. He had produced a dagger from somewhere and was lunging for Eamon, clearly determined to complete his task, regardless of what followed.
Eamon hadn’t even seen the movement, his eyes on Lucy, and his sword hanging loosely at his side.
Lucy didn’t hesitate, propelling herself forward to intercept the attack, blade raised. The man didn’t divert from his target, but he had underestimated her speed. It cost him his life, Lucy’s blade felling him once and for all before his dagger so much as nicked the prince.
For a moment Lucy stared down at the man’s unmoving body, her mind too full of emotions to identify any particular one. Then she looked up and straight into Eamon’s eyes. The anxiety she saw there as his eyes searched her figure for signs of injury seemed to unlock her own mind, as she relived again the intense fear of thinking time after time that he was on the point of death. The blood blooming from his injured shoulder was a vivid reminder of how close she had come to losing him forever.
Her breath came in a shuddering gasp, the tears she’d been holding back starting to gather at last. His eyes locked with hers, his movements tentative as he reached a hand toward her.
“Lucy.”
The one word was more than enough. Lucy threw herself onto his chest, abandoning all effort to hold in her emotions as she clung to him. His uninjured arm closed instantly around her, and he buried his face in her hair, murmuring unintelligibly into the dark, unruly tangle.
“I’m so sorry, Eamon,” she sobbed, her words tumbling out in a barely coherent rush. “I thought you were going to die, and it would be my fault, and I would never get to tell you that I didn’t mean any of it.”
Eamon’s arm tightened around her, his injury apparently no hindrance as he put his other arm around her too, locking her securely against his chest. “Lucy, none of this is your fault,” he whispered, his lips so close that his breath stirred the hair falling over her ear. In spite of the fear still pumping through her, a delicious shiver went down her spine. But she shook her head against his tunic, her words coming out muffled.
“It is my fault. You don’t know everything that’s happened. I couldn’t bear the thought that he used me to lure you into a trap. I thought you were going to die not even knowing that I never for a moment wanted to be with Rasad, or anyone but you.”
Eamon’s whole frame went suddenly still, his arms vise-like as they held her close.
“Lucy,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Do you mean that?”
She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Of course I do. I’ve been a bigger fool than you ever were, Eamon, but I didn’t really stop loving you, not even for a minute.”
Eamon’s eyes bored into hers, aflame with the intensity she’d only ever seen him direct toward her. Then, heedless of their audience, he pulled her against him again, lifting her feet from the sand with the strength of his embrace as he crushed his lips down onto hers.
Lucy responded immediately, extricating her arms and attempting to avoid his shoulder as she wound them up around his neck to pull herself even further into him. Her feet were inches from the ground now, their faces level as Eamon continued to hold her up. Her lips moved eagerly against his, her exhaustion forgotten as new energy coursed through her.
This was nothing like the sweet kiss he’d given her in the forest. She’d thought she loved him then, but she hadn’t known him—or herself—like she did now. She’d told herself that his actions during the recent crisis had showed the true weakness of his character, but in reality, his behavior since had offered constant evidence of its strength. She couldn’t help but be attracted by his confidence, but he’d proven himself capable of humility as well. And while Rasad’s maneuvering had skillfully illustrated Eamon’s youth and inexperience, the duplicity and ruthlessness of the older man’s true self only served to highlight the honor that had always defined Eamon.
Without breaking their embrace, Lucy’s hand crept from Eamon’s neck around to his cheek, her fingers trailing over the roughness that told her he hadn’t paused to shave before riding out to keep their dawn tryst. He had come to her aid without question, just as she had known he would.
Eamon’s own arm moved in response, his grip on her loosening as he tangled one hand in her hair. This wasn’t the kiss of childhood sweethearts playing at being grown up. Lucy knew down to her very bones that Eamon was the man she wanted to spend her life with, that she could trust him with her future.
But
thoughts of the future made her pull back, suddenly recalled to the danger still to be overcome. Eamon let her go regretfully, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer once his arms had released her.
“Well,” Matheus’s voice sounded faintly nauseated, “that was hard to watch.”
“It was a little,” Cody agreed, his tone as unemotional as usual.
Lucy ignored them both, too overwhelmed with her relief, and fear, and joy, to have room for embarrassment. She glanced around at the grim scene, the bodies of Rasad’s guards strewn across the sand, which was now sparkling in a multitude of colors under the morning sun. It was an awful sight, but there was no time to dwell on it. She looked up at Eamon.
“This isn’t over. Killing you was only the beginning of Rasad’s plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Yes, I gathered that,” Eamon said, frowning. “You said he means to kill King Giles?”
“That’s right,” Lucy confirmed. “He wants to weaken Balenol ready for annexation. He poisoned King Rupert, and he was the one who bewitched your guard to attack King Giles. He was even behind the balcony collapse—it was dragon fire, that’s the flame I saw before it crumbled.”
“The flame?” Eamon asked, clearly struggling to put all the pieces together.
“Never mind that,” said Lucy impatiently. “Just one of the many things I should have told you at the time but didn’t.”
“So he is using dragon magic,” Lady Yasmin breathed, her eyes wide. “We’d wondered, but it seemed too far-fetched…” She narrowed her eyes. “The guard said Rasad would bewitch King Giles’s horse to throw him off. Can he really do that?”
Downfall of the Curse Page 36