As they traversed the area outside the keep, Aiden could see an increased number of guards at the main gate, which confirmed Venn’s theory as to what Balak would expect. But the solitary guard at this secondary entrance had obviously not seen them as a threatening pair. He’d simply waved them through.
Aiden followed Venn. It was beginning to rain so the damp cloth clung to their bodies as the blanket did to the horse tethered between them. Their pace was slow despite the fact that adrenaline pulsed through Aiden’s every fiber. She was desperate to find Kathryn, but she knew if they appeared anxious it would cause them to stand out among the downtrodden villagers. It would also not serve the element of surprise.
Venn turned into a narrow alley before they reached the wide stone steps at the front of the castle. Several soldiers were stationed there also. They were clustered under the decorative eaves to avoid the rain. Aiden followed Venn as they wound through dark, narrow passages. Venn signaled a stop near a small guard station along the southeast wall. They tied the horses and pulled weapons from under the blanket.
Light was visible in the single window of the small cube-shaped building.
“Give me a minute. Then follow.”
Aiden nodded and watched Venn approach the soldier standing near the open door. All Aiden could see was the subtle, swift movement of Venn’s arm, and in the next instant, the man fell against her. Aiden moved to Venn’s side and helped drag the body inside. His throat had been cut. Venn propped him on a bench, facing away from the door, so that if anyone passed by it looked as if he were taking a nap on duty.
Aiden stared at the man’s vacant, lifeless eyes. Venn reached to close them.
“Aiden, listen to me.”
She looked up from the bloodied corpse. Things felt as if they were moving in some surreal slow motion.
Venn put her hands on Aiden’s arms and faced her fully. “Once we enter the castle we must move silently and quickly. There will be no room for doubt. There will be no time for sentimentality. Anyone we encounter would be willing to kill Kathryn at Balak’s command. Remember that. If one of us falls, the other must keep moving.” Venn put her hand on Aiden’s cheek. “Aiden, your father was Edward, King of Belstaff. Your mother was Isla, Queen of Belstaff, and you…you are the rightful heir. Your ancestors stand with you tonight and so do I.”
Venn pulled Aiden into a tight embrace. They held each other.
“Thank you, Venn.” Aiden didn’t know what else to say. There was too much to say and no words large enough to capture all that she was feeling.
One floor above the guard station roof was a terrace. That was to be their entry point. Venn tossed the grappling hook up and tugged the rope until it caught. She handed the line to Aiden.
Aiden looked at the line disappearing over the ledge above her and quoted a line from the warrior poet, Amairgrin. “I am the spearpoint that gives battle.”
“What did you say?”
“Now we fight.”
Venn put her hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Yes, now we fight.”
Aiden nodded and placed her hand over Venn’s.
“Stay low until I join you. One foot at a time, and make sure each foothold is secure before you climb farther.”
Aiden nodded as she braced her right foot against the stone wall. It was fully dark, clouds hid the moon, and the rain was coming down in a steady cadence. It was as if the elements themselves had arrived to offer cover. Aiden adjusted the dagger at her belt one more time and then began to climb.
She was over the ledge and kneeling on the terrace in a matter of minutes. She sat as still as a stone while she waited for Venn to join her. She had no real experience with close combat. She tried to settle herself for what was to come. For Kathryn’s sake, she would not weaken.
Venn dropped to one knee beside her and pulled a short blade free from her belt. “Quiet. Do everything quietly. Get close; go for the throat. Remember, do not hesitate. Hesitation will get you killed.”
Aiden also freed her blade and looked at Venn. Rivulets of water ran down Aiden’s face. She wiped at her eyes to clear her vision. The cloak she wore was hooded, but it was so soaked it could absorb no more water.
She started to stand but felt Venn’s hand on her arm.
“Walk at a normal pace. Haste will only attract attention. Surprise is our ally.” Venn stood and walked toward the door leading from the terrace to the interior.
The first room they entered was empty and dark. Venn stopped at the threshold and then signaled for Aiden to follow her. It was near the dinner hour so they reasoned any nobles on the premises would be in the great hall. That room was their target.
Aiden saw a man approach. He looked up, but before he could sound an alarm, Venn punched the short blade through his neck. She covered his mouth and eased him to the floor, then retracted the blade and kept walking. Venn took out another man as they rounded the corner, stepping behind him, covering his mouth, and dragging him backward into the shadows as she sank her dagger in a sweeping motion across his esophagus.
They hadn’t gone far when two men approached. So far, Venn had done all the work. They would have to strike almost in unison or risk exposure. Aiden waited for Venn to move and then she mirrored her. When the flesh and cartilage of the man’s neck offered resistance against the thrust of the blade, Aiden leaned into it. The man collapsed and pulled her with him. She untangled herself and kept moving.
Venn paused and whispered to Aiden. “Now it gets tricky. The closer we move to the great hall the more opposition we’re likely to encounter. Don’t flinch. Don’t withdraw. Be the sword.”
“I’m ready.”
As Aiden followed Venn down the wide corridor toward the great hall, the last lines of the poem came to her with searing clarity:
Who tells the ages of the moon, if not I?
Who shows the place where the sun goes to rest, if not I?
Who is she that fashions enchantments—
The enchantment of battle and the wind of change?
Aiden pulled her sword free as she strode with purpose. I am the wind.
Chapter Forty-two
Kathryn cringed as Balak ordered one of the servants to bring more wine. The boy couldn’t have been more than fourteen. He cowered when Balak bellowed at him. Balak spoke to the boy as if he were part of some inferior race.
Balak was everything she’d heard he was and worse. Bitter and pathetic, he approached the world with childish contempt.
Kathryn couldn’t decide which she loathed more, Frost for her duplicitous treachery or Balak for his insatiable greed for power.
The room was populated by others, but it was impossible to know their role in Balak’s court. Some were dressed as noblemen, fat with wine and food. Some, apparently, only for the entertainment of others, like the small groupings of women who flirted with any man in the room who showed them attention. In the back of the hall at the last table, she spotted Miro and some of the men who’d been with Frost when they brought her from Olmstead. There were a few people seated at the head table who did nothing but flatter Balak and stroke his ego.
Frost sat at the end of the table near Kathryn, eating quietly and watching the room, as if she were waiting for something.
A sentry approached and whispered in Frost’s ear. Frost rose and followed the sentry to the door.
Kathryn had been focused on a carving knife temptingly close to her plate. With Frost away from the table and Balak distracted, she took a sip of wine and at the same time, with her other hand, slid the knife off the carving block and up inside the sleeve of her dress. No one noticed. She was simply bait, so obviously no one considered her a threat, otherwise they would not have left sharp objects so easily within her reach.
Balak came over and took Frost’s vacant seat. He casually took a chicken leg from Frost’s half-eaten plate. His build was stocky, his hair gray at the temples, and his face scarred as if he’d suffered some burn on his left cheek. He leaned forward as he pulled
meat from the bone with his teeth. He studied Kathryn, saying nothing, and she offered nothing.
She’d bathed, put on the dress Frost had provided, and she’d sat through Balak’s wretched tirades during dinner. Since she’d arrived at Windsheer, she’d been scarcely conscious of her own misery because of her fear for Aiden. As she watched Balak chew, she fingered the cool edge of the knife inside her sleeve and visualized thrusting it through the fine fabric of his dinner attire, into his chest.
“So do think my niece will arrive soon?” He wiped his greasy thick fingers at the edge of the starched white tablecloth.
Kathryn didn’t respond.
“It doesn’t matter what you tell me or what you don’t tell me. Your fate has been sealed and so has Aiden’s.” He leaned closer. “Who knows, maybe I’ll keep you for a little while after I’ve dispatched Aiden, as a pet. You’re very pretty. It’s a shame to squander that when it’s right under my own roof.” He smiled, but it was the sort of smile that offered no comfort.
“What is to become of Olmstead?” Kathryn tried to keep her tone neutral, when what she really wanted to do was scream.
“Haven’t you heard? Frost will assume control on my behalf. Second to the king, is that what you’d call it?”
Kathryn hadn’t believed that Balak would relinquish even a small part of control to anyone, but Frost had apparently told her the truth.
The young servant who’d been sent to fetch wine returned. His hand shook as he refilled Balak’s raised glass, spilling some. The deep red of the liquid ran down Balak’s wrist to the cuff of his shirt. Balak exploded with rage. He struck the boy so hard that he fell to the floor and the earthen carafe of wine with him. The carafe broke apart, and the wine pooled on the stone tile like blood.
He struck the servant in the face with his fist and then kicked him across the floor as the boy tried to scuttle away from the blows. The people still seated for dinner laughed, talked, and continued eating. They showed no indication that they’d witnessed Balak’s violent outburst or that it continued as the boy cried out. It was as if they purposefully looked anywhere but at the scene unfolding near the head table. The experience was surreal and desolate for Kathryn. She could no longer bear witness to the boy’s abuse and had to look away.
Chapter Forty-three
Venn had been right. They’d met with more resistance and were no longer able to quietly move through the castle. A sword fight with three men had ended with three dead and Aiden with blood on her shirt and face, but both she and Venn were unharmed. When they reached the outer vestibule of the great hall, Frost was waiting. Eerily, she stood alone, facing them. She pulled her broadsword free. Blood from Venn’s sword dripped onto the floor as she faced off with Frost.
“Aiden, you get Kathryn. I’ll take care of this.” Venn pulled the axe she’d brought so that her sword was in one hand and the small axe in the other. Frost pulled a dagger from her belt with her free hand.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Aiden.” Frost’s lips cinched into a thin smile.
Venn moved between Aiden and Frost giving Aiden access to the large double doors of the great hall. She placed her hand against the rough wood of the heavy door. This was the moment of reckoning. She closed her eyes for just a second and whispered, “I am the wind.”
As she pushed the door open, she heard Venn, calm and confident. “Let’s dance, Frost.”
The celebratory scene on the other side of the closed door was surreal. Outside, a battle raged. Inside, feasting, women, and song. At first, no one took notice of Aiden. She realized she was still wearing the dark cloak. She shucked it off her shoulders and let it fall in a heap to the floor. Still no one noticed her. Was she invisible or was everyone in Balak’s court simply mad?
A woman walked past her and flirtatiously smiled and brushed her shoulder with her fingers as she passed. She wasn’t invisible to everyone. She scanned the room for Kathryn and finally spotted her at the table on the raised platform at the front of the hall. And then she saw Balak at a seat very near Kathryn’s.
She stood for a moment, tightening her grip on the sword handle. Despite the clamor of the room, a sense of calm washed over her. She felt something against her leg. When she looked down, she saw that she was not alone. The wolf had come. It looked around and snarled. Emboldened, Aiden took long strides toward the front of the hall. As she walked, she dragged the tip of her sword across the stone floor. The screeching sound silenced the revelers who turned to watch her. The wolf shadowed her, lunging and snarling at anyone who didn’t step out of her path. As she got closer, she could see Kathryn, regarding her with wide eyes.
Aiden wanted to run to Kathryn, but instead she turned to face the crowd. She held her sword aloft and shouted.
“I am Aiden Roth, daughter of Edward Roth. I am the true heir to Belstaff, and I am here to claim my throne.” Aiden’s words echoed across the now silent room. The great white wolf circled her, pushing the crowd back. This time, others could clearly see the wolf because they were quick to move out of the animal’s way each time it circled to expand the open space around where Aiden stood.
Someone slowly began to clap behind her. She turned to see that it was Balak. He stood and walked around the table. He took a sword from one of his guards as he passed by him. The other guards stationed around the head table edged closer. Aiden stood her ground.
One of the guards rushed at her, but the wolf intercepted him before he could reach Aiden. There were a few minutes of agonizing cries, and then the wolf backed away from the man’s unmoving body, its white fur smeared with red.
At the sight of their comrade’s mauled body, the other guards eased back a few steps. Aiden pointed her sword at them. “My quarrel is not with you. Stand down.”
First one guard and then the other two dropped their swords and moved aside. Balak’s face reddened with rage. “Get over here. Do your jobs!” He shouted at them, but they didn’t move. He swung his sword wildly, skewering one of the men through the gut. When he turned back to face Aiden, his sword glistened red.
Aiden moved sideways up the steps of the raised platform. She wanted to put herself between Balak and Kathryn, who was now standing behind the table. Aiden reached for Kathryn’s hand and pulled her away from the table. “Stay behind me.”
“Oh, Aiden, you shouldn’t have come.”
“I will always come for you.” Relief that Kathryn was unharmed gave Aiden the steadiness she required to focus on what she needed to do now—face Balak.
Balak must have realized that no one was going to come to his aid. This was a fight he would have to win by himself. His guests were huddled together as the wolf continued to pace back and forth, keeping anyone from approaching the stage. Aiden, Balak, and Kathryn were the only ones still standing on the raised platform.
“So, Aiden Roth has come home at last.” He swung his sword, slicing it through the air a few times, and then leveled it at Aiden. “Too bad your visit will be so short.”
She didn’t respond to his taunts. Venn’s admonishments to stay focused echoed in her head. He will try to make you angry. Don’t let him. You are in control, not Balak.
They slowly circled each other. Balak lunged first, reaching across the space between them. Aiden dodged and then answered his thrust with a downward strike. He blocked the blow and they volleyed. Balak’s attack was swift and aggressive. Aiden shifted behind one of the thick marble columns; he struck the rock and sparks flew. He cursed and threw a chair aside.
In a flurry, he went after her, finally backing her against the wall. She stilled his sword using the handle guard of hers, but he pressed close to her chest and spoke to her in a quiet voice.
“How dare you come here and proclaim to be the rightful heir. I will end you.” She shoved him off and sidestepped. He was breathing hard. His age and poor physical condition was beginning to show.
Aiden glared at him through damp tendrils of hair that fell across her eyes. She would not let his words
shake her. She would stay focused.
“It was so easy to poison her. She never suspected. So stupid, so naïve.”
Aiden stopped moving and looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” He twirled his sword as if he were playfully pointing. “I poisoned your mother. Too bad I didn’t think of it while you were still in her womb.”
Something inside Aiden snapped. She rushed him. In a furious frenzy of arced strikes, she pushed Balak back until he stumbled over the chair he’d tossed aside earlier. He dropped to one knee then shoved the chair between them in an attempt to halt her advance. Aiden kicked the chair aside and swung downward. He caught her sword against the handle guard of his sword and then from his lower position pulled a small blade free and swung at her midsection.
She saw the smaller blade in his hand a fraction of a second before he tried to cut her in half with it. Aiden bowed outward as the razor sharp blade sliced the front of her shirt. She stepped back and looked down. A thin line of red seeped across the tear in her shirt. He’d just grazed the surface, but she’d felt it nonetheless. The pain was like a streak of lighting, scorching and precise. White-hot fury filled her senses. He’d drawn her close to kill her with a blade she didn’t even know he had. He was still on one knee. She kicked his arm so hard that he dropped the knife and it skidded across the floor.
Balak was on his feet again, now with a sly grin spread across his face. It was too late when she realized what he was doing. He angled close to Kathryn and pulled her in front of his chest. His sword was in one hand and her throat in his other.
The wolf turned toward Balak, growled, and lowered its head as if it were about to attack. Aiden held her open palm toward the animal and eased forward with an intense focus on Balak. Every muscle in her body was coiled to launch onto him if he hurt Kathryn.
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