Emerging from the thickest midst of the crowd, Leo glanced around for any sign of Terras. A part of him hoped to find the count beset on all sides by underworld thugs, though he knew better than to hope for such a convenient resolution. Instead, he found the spot the man had previously occupied abandoned. Perhaps Terras had gotten some hint of the violence to come, or perhaps he had simply fulfilled the requirements of his attendance and departed. Whatever the reason, the man was gone.
Too anxious to bother worrying about the man, Leo continued to weave through the thinning crowd. He had very nearly reached the edge when a large, broad-shouldered man stepped in front of him. Leo started to go around him, but the man shook his head and drew a long, wooden club out from under his cloak. The weapon was as long as Leo’s arm and nearly as thick. Worse, the topmost third of it appeared to have been studded with thick, iron nails.
“Not so fast, Baron,” the man rumbled. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Eyes narrowing, Leo silently drew his rapier. And, from the corner of his eye, he spotted the rippling of cloaks as Mihal and Nyssa did likewise with their own blades.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said.
The words were barely out of his mouth when the screaming began.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Leo whirled in the direction of the screams, startled by their sudden intensity. No sooner had he turned, however, than the man in front of him leapt forward. He had just enough time to notice the attack and spin back around before the man was upon him.
Or would have been. Where Leo’s reactions failed him, Nyssa’s did not. The trow female stepped effortlessly between Leo and his attacker. And with one graceful move, she redirected the man’s spiked club and sliced her blade cleanly across his neck.
Leo scrambled back as the man fell, dropping his club and clawing helplessly at his devastated throat. His palms were slick with sweat and it was only by the tightness of his grip that he managed to keep hold of his rapier as he watched the man writhe before him.
“Thank you,” he managed hoarsely.
Nodding curtly, Nyssa grabbed Leo by the shoulder and half-dragged, half-shoved him away from the crowd and the screams. Even as he moved, panicked men and women began to stream past him. Twice, in their desperation, those fleeing crashed into him from behind. The first time, he merely stumbled. The second, he was not so fortunate.
Leo grunted as he was knocked to the ground, his rapier clattering away from him. He reached for it without thinking, then bellowed a curse as a passerby stomped hard on his wrist. A second later, however, Mihal was there. The trow hauled Leo roughly to his feet, then stooped to retrieve the fallen blade.
Leo accepted it gratefully, then turned to find Nyssa standing directly behind him. Her shoulders were squared, her hood thrown back, and her blade held warningly out in front of her. And, accordingly, the fleeing crowds parted like a river split by stone.
Her attention, however, was not focused on the people who constituted the rapid stream of humanity, but rather on the man who waded smoothly through it.
“Baron VanOrden,” Terras said, bowing. He did so without worry, all four of his guards arranged behind him like a dam. And although Leo could not precisely hear the count speak his name, he recognized it upon his lips.
There they waited. Terras did not move, evidently content to wait out the chaos in the shadow of his escorts. Leo, on the other hand, sheltered behind Nyssa’s defensive stance and thought.
He could flee, certainly. It seemed unlikely that Terras would pursue him, and even if he did, doing so would provide the perfect excuse for Leo to strike back openly. No, it was far more likely that the count would simply let him go. If Leo fled, he could retreat to his estate, alive and unharmed—for the moment.
Until the man’s rumors began to spread.
And so, Leo continued to wait. A minute passed, and another, until the tide of fleeing civilians began to thin. Soon, the only ones who passed by were those who could not run outright, either because they carried children or because they sported injuries—cradled limbs and bloodied faces, mostly. Only then did Leo emerge from behind Nyssa’s back and return the count’s bow.
“Your Grace,” he said. “I trust you enjoyed the rally?”
Terras grinned, eyeing a pair of men who limped by, supporting one another.
“Indeed, I did,” the count said. “And to think I almost stayed home. I had my doubts when Count Wyden asked me to attend, but he did promise me a spectacle.”
“I see.”
“Come to think of it,” Terras added, his voice growing cold and hard. “I seem to recall another promise. One you made to me when last we spoke. Something about my head on a platter?”
Leo shook his head, frowning. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said.
“That’s a shame,” Terras replied flatly. He turned, patting the nearest of his guards on the shoulder, the way one might a horse or a familiar, reliable tree. “Kill him.”
The guard chuckled. Bracing himself, Leo lifted his rapier into a readier position. Then, he—
“Leo!” came an exasperated call from over his shoulder.
He hesitated, reluctant to turn away from the men ordered to kill him, even for an instant. When the men made no move toward him, however, he risked a quick, experimental glance backward.
Cirilla scowled as she marched briskly toward him, her skirts hiked halfway to her knees. She was flanked on either side by the same men Leo had seen before—Lewis and Nat, she’d called them—both of whom appeared more amused than annoyed by their mistress’ indignation.
“There you are,” she grumbled as she reached him. “I can’t believe you! You promised me we’d attend this thing together!”
Leo gawked at her, then at his rapier, and then at Terras. The count, for once, seemed to be just as taken aback as Leo.
“Oh! Your Grace!” Cirilla exclaimed. She curtseyed, smiling thinly. “My apologies, I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m sure,” Terras replied, bowing.
“I’ve given your offer some thought,” she continued. “And unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’ve just received a better offer.”
Terras grew still. He had not quite been smiling, but at Cirilla’s words, all traces of amusement vanished from his features. He eyed her coldly, much as he had Leo a moment earlier.
“I see. How unfortunate,” he said. Then, to his men, he added, “Kill them both.”
This time, there was no interruption or hesitation. All four of Terras’ men stepped forward, drawing their blades with the smoothness of trained soldiers. Fortunately, they weren’t the only ones. Without waiting for orders, Mihal, Nyssa, Lewis, and Nat moved to intercept them. Though they cut a far less imposing figure—Cirilla’s men carried only a dagger and club apiece, while Mihal and Nyssa’s blades were almost a foot shorter than their foes’—the equal numbers filled Leo with a confidence he’d lacked before. He advanced as well, not into the fray, but far enough to shield his fiancée with his body and rapier.
“What are you doing?” Cirilla hissed suddenly. She seized his free hand, tugging him insistently away.
“Finishing this,” he replied, as the combatants before him eyed one another. “Stay behind me.”
“Don’t be a fool. Getting yourself killed won’t accomplish anything.”
“I’m not planning on it,” Leo snapped. Growling, he wrenched his hand free of hers. “Just—”
With a roar, one of Terras’ men charged. The others hesitated only an instant, then followed suit.
The ensuing skirmish was not a long, drawn-out affair. In fact, in the opening seconds, two men fell. Leo flinched at the suddenness of the deaths. One of Cirilla’s men, he didn’t know which, dropped heavily as his neck was practically hewn in two. The other, however, felled his opponent with equal swiftness, parrying a blow and driving his knife around the armor and into the chest of one of Terras’ men. Neither of the survivors had a
chance to celebrate their victory, however, as each readied their bloodstained weapons and turned their attention on the other.
For Leo’s trow, it was a different story entirely. Mihal and Nyssa moved as if dancing. They dodged every blow the men aimed their way and parried the ones they could not avoid entirely. Unfortunately, the apparent ease with which they confounded their attackers did not extend to offense. On the rare occasions when the men ventured a step too far, the slight frame of the dark-skinned elves gave them little opportunity to retaliate. They tried often enough, but between the shortness of their blades and the caution of their foes, the battle remained a stalemate.
Or at least, they did, until a bellow of pain from the last of Cirilla’s men drew Leo’s gaze. The man’s weapons fell from his hands as he toppled, clutching his leg and crying out in agony. Rather than finish him, however, Terras’ twice-victorious guard turned his attention on Nyssa. Her back was turned, her blade held defensively at her side.
Raising his sword, the man advanced.
“No!” Leo shouted. And without thinking, he charged.
His shout alerted the man, who turned and readied his sword to block Leo’s attack.
Leo was not a talented swordsman. And he knew the measure of his skills well enough to be honest with himself. Even before he lunged, Leo knew his attack was doomed. The man he’d targeted was far larger, far stronger, and far, far more talented with a blade. It was a hopeless cause. And judging by the sneer on the man’s face, both of them knew it.
Leo grunted, stumbling as the man knocked his rapier aside with a casual motion. He watched in horror as the man shifted instinctively for the inevitable counterattack. Leo ought to have been terrified, but the man’s movements were too swift and too practiced for him to have the chance.
And then, without a sound, Nyssa came to his rescue. She pirouetted, abandoning her previous foe and driving her sword cleanly through the center of the man’s neck.
Leo grunted again as he hit the ground, followed a second later by his would-be-murderer. And, in the space left behind by the man, stood Nyssa. Her face was stern and tense. She did not smile. And yet, Leo could see in her silver eyes a strange, fae-like ecstasy.
But, it wasn’t all he could see. No sooner had Leo met Nyssa’s gaze, than her abandoned foe appeared behind her. He loomed over her like a storm cloud, his blade drawn back overhead for a two-handed slash that would have cleaved her in two.
Leo tried to cry out, to warn her, but his throat was sealed tight.
The man’s sword descended.
“Nys!” Mihal roared. He struck the man, not with his blade but with his shoulder. The man staggered, cursing as his swing missed Nyssa by inches.
Gasping in relief, Leo scrambled to his feet. But, by the time he’d risen, it was already too late. He stared in disbelief at the sword point that had been driven through Mihal’s chest from behind. And, as the last of Terras’ men wrenched his sword free, the trow slumped to the ground in a ruined heap.
The scream that tore from Nyssa then was not human. Nor was it trow—so far as Leo had cause to know. It was a wild, animalistic thing that chilled his blood beyond anything he’d heard or witnessed yet.
She hurled herself at Mihal’s killer, abandoning any pretense of defense. The man backpedaled, sword rising defensively, but it was not enough. Nyssa batted the blade aside with her own, then delivered a ferocious kick between the man’s legs. Before he’d even had a chance to feel it, however, she launched herself at him again. Her knees caught the man in the chest, toppling him. And, before they’d even landed, the grieving trow drove her sword up through the soft, unarmored meat of the man’s chin.
She spun then, still kneeling atop the corpse of her anathki ’s murderer. Her gaze did not fall on the last of Terras’ men, however, but on the count himself.
“ You ,” she snarled, rising.
She made for a terrifying image, then. Her shoulders hunched, her dark skin splattered with blood, and her dripping sword clutched at her side, Nyssa stalked toward the count.
It was not surprising that the man retreated. Terras’ composure was gone at last, and he glanced from Nyssa, to Leo, and then to the last of his men who remained standing.
“Kobi!” Terras snapped, his voice shaking. “Let’s go. Protect me.”
And with that, the Third Count of Ansiri turned and fled. His sole remaining guard hurried after, running at an angle to avoid turning his back on Nyssa.
They’d gone less than a dozen paces when she took off after them.
“Nyssa!” Leo cried. He’d meant to bark the words, but his throat was so tight that they came out more like a yelp than anything else. “Wait!”
“What?” Nyssa raged. She rounded on Leo, gripping her sword so tightly it shook. “ What , Leo?”
“We need to go,” he explained quickly. “Once we regroup, we can—”
Nyssa laughed once, humorlessly. She glared at him, her grief and loathing so intense that Leo half-expected her to swing at him.
“Regroup? Fuck that! I’m going to kill those bastards!”
“And leave Mihal here?” Leo asked, quieter. He glanced down at the fallen trow.
Nyssa followed his gaze, and for just a moment, her grief seemed nearly to overwhelm her. Then, an instant later, her eyes snapped back to Leo and her rage returned.
“ You take him,” she snarled. “I will not be denied this!”
And with that, the bloodstained trow turned on her heel and sprinted after Terras and his guard.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cirilla’s estate was the nearer of the two and so they headed there. It wasn’t far, only a few blocks and a quick jaunt around the Ministry of Justice, but Leo was slowed somewhat by the weight of Mihal’s body in his arms. The trow was light, far lighter than he’d expected, but that hardly mattered. Somehow, the grisly wound in the male’s chest and the knowledge that he’d received it defending both his anathki and Leo seemed to exceed the simple weight of his body.
Four of Cirilla’s men were waiting for them at the gate to her estate. The men stiffened and bowed as they approached, then reached for their weapons at the sight of the body in Leo’s arms.
“We’re fine, Marcus” she declared, when one of the men hastened toward them. “Send a runner to the docks and let them know there’s been a riot. Then, double the guard. No one enters or leaves.”
“It will be done, my lady,” Marcus replied. Gesturing at one of the others, he whistled and the man took off at a sprint. Then, grasping the hilt of his sword, he took up position at his mistress’ side.
Leo followed Cirilla inside, grateful when the door proved wide enough to allow him through without adjusting.
The interior of the large estate easily put his to shame. Statuaries, tapestries, and large paintings decorated the foyer, while open doors offered peeks at similar finery in the rooms beyond. Several servants were gathered as well, sufficiently practiced or trained to avoid commenting on Leo’s current state.
“Do—” he began, clearing his throat when he found it dry. “Do you have a room where…?”
Glancing at him, Cirilla nodded and turned to the nearest servant. “Of course,” she said. “Show the baron to a spare room. And… is Fayett here?”
“He is, my lady,” the woman replied.
“Fetch him. One of Leo’s… guards was killed defending us. He’s a trow. See if Fayett knows anything about their customs.” Turning, Cirilla offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “We owe him a proper burial at least.”
Leo tried to speak, to thank her, but found his throat had closed. Nodding his appreciation, he followed the servant down the hall. As he left, he overheard part of his fiancée’s conversation with the man she’d called Marcus. Most of it was conducted in hushed tones, but he heard enough to deduce she was filling him in on the nature of their conflict with Count Terras.
Or, the soon-to-be- late -Count Terras, as the case might be. Leo doubted anyone, much less a s
ingle weary guard, could keep Nyssa at bay for long.
The servant showed him to a small, simply decorated room tucked away near a narrow servants’ staircase. Presumably, the chamber was intended to house the servants of visiting guests. Not that Leo much cared what its intended purpose was; wincing with exertion, he gently deposited Mihal’s body onto the covered bed.
The trow’s features were stiff and grimacing, so much that he could not suppress a shudder. He owed Mihal a great deal—his life, even—but looking at him now, Leo could not imagine what else he could do.
There was vengeance, of course, but Nyssa was already attending to that.
Leo stared down at Mihal a moment longer, then turned to leave. He was surprised to find the servant waiting for him, her hands folded before her and her face a polite mask of quiet sympathy.
“Pardon, my lord,” she said. “There are clean clothes waiting for you. Or, if you’d prefer, a bath could be drawn first.”
Leo glanced down, surprised to discover his chest and arms stained with dried blood. He’d been so distracted by Mihal’s fate and Nyssa’s vendetta that he’d failed to notice until now.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he said. Then, at the woman’s expression, he reconsidered. “Actually, could you bring the clothes? I would like to change, but I need to speak with Ci—with your lady, first.”
“Of course, my lord,” the woman replied, departing.
Making his way to the door, Leo watched her go, then set off in the opposite direction. He intercepted Cirilla as she made her way down the main hall, flanked by Marcus and another guard, and trailed by a column of several servants.
“—and tell him to keep everything right where it is. At least for today. Until we know if Terras is dead, we can’t risk—” Cirilla froze briefly at the sight of him, then waved him over. “We can’t risk leaving ourselves undefended. I’ll review the rest with you later.”
Baron of Hearts (Master of Monsters Book 2) Page 21