The executioner took Lady Hightower’s arm. He was gentle. There was respect there, and Melchor wondered if the hooded man was the Lord High Sheriff himself, the officer’s obvious absence from the crowd and the anonymous executioner’s gut suggesting the two were one and the same.
A footman helped the Queen from the carriage, and two young women and Arianne’s sister came after. Elaine Hale would be an uncommon beauty, too, once womanhood fully took hold, though Melchor preferred the darker complexion of her older sister. Miss Hale clutched a carving in her arms as a child would a beloved doll someone had threatened to take away, though Melchor couldn’t make out what it was.
All of the ladies wept, and under the weight of their tears Arianne’s resolve broke, her own emotion bursting forth. Her bosom heaved as panic and sorrow tortured her breathing. The milky white cheeks turned red to match eyes burned with sleepless worry. There were more tears from some of the nobles on the bleachers, though others looked on with cold, stoic faces; some believed that the verdict passed by Judge Pinkerton was just.
Finally, the executioner led her away. Her friends followed, standing near the platform where Lady Hightower ascended the three steps and knelt in the rusty, iron cage. After a quick squeeze to the lady’s arm, the executioner closed the heavy door, affixing a massive lock and pulling at it to show the crowd that it was indeed secured.
Lady Hightower had recovered her composure, though tears still fell as strained hands gripped the slats of the cage, draining her fingers of blood. Her eyes remained fixed on her friends, her sister in particular, as the executioner walked to the edge of the platform and spoke. And when the words came, Melchor knew for sure that the Lord High Sheriff hid beneath the black hood.
“By order of the court, Lady Arianne Hightower is condemned to die by drowning for committing high treason against the Crown, the Kingdom, and the people of Bittermarch.”
The executioner grasped the pulley and started to crank, the whining screech of the rusty wheels grating Melchor’s ears and silencing the cheery bird. The heavy cage and its wretched occupant slowly rose into the air, and once it was high enough to clear the bridge rail, the executioner locked the pulley in place and reached for an iron rod about ten feet long. He placed it on the beam from which the cage dangled, preparing to swing it out over the river, the swift, deep water patiently awaiting its victim.
But something was wrong. From where he was, Melchor could just make out the muted screams coming from some disturbance far back down the line of people toward the center of town. The executioner prepared to use the rod to shove the cage outward when the distant tumult crescendoed, shouts and cries of terror rolling toward them like an ill wind.
The crowd of people split, pulling back as something massive shot down the avenue. Bestial barking reverberated against the buildings and shook the air. Melchor couldn’t quite fathom what it was at first. Then, like a cannon shot, a mass of white fur streaked toward the bridge, something too big to be moving that fast. The ceremonial guards unlimbered their guns, fumbling for their ammunition pouches. But it was too late.
A sabercat as tall as a horse and as white as snow blasted into the space between the stands and the contraption of death. It drove its mighty head and shoulders into the clumped mass of soldiers, sending them and their guns scattering like leaves in a gale.
Instinctively, Melchor took an involuntary step back. He had hunted sabercat in Creetis, but nothing approaching the size of this monstrosity had ever been reported, even in the most wild and exaggerated of hunters’ tales. Its jaws dripped with the froth of its exertion, green eyes accusatory, angry, and oddly intelligent. Three streaks of black fur ran vertically down its chest.
With a fierce look at the executioner, who now pointed the rod at the beast, the sabercat sucked in a lungful of breath and let loose a long roar with such visceral presence that the executioner stumbled backward off the platform and onto the bridge. Melchor joined the rest of the crowd in covering his ears, the sound so deep and rumbling that it drove some to their knees. Birds shot from nearby branches, and some in the crowd turned and ran in terror.
Unchallenged, the sabercat reared up, placing its forepaws on the platform. With a precise movement it bent its head and slipped its hooked fangs into the slats of Lady Hightower’s cage. She shrank back, eyes wide. Cage secure, the animal pulled back and bounded away, the pulley handle whizzing in circles until the rope snapped out, trailing behind the fleeing beast. The bewildered crowd stood stunned, necks craned down the avenue.
But Melchor fixed his gaze on Queen Filippa, whose exultant, tear-streaked face matched those of the three women who moments before had sunk into mourning. Had the old monarch known this would happen? No, he concluded. She was just as amazed as everyone else who milled about at a loss for what to say. Several moments of stunned silence passed before the crowd found its voice again.
The Lord High Sheriff, who had unmasked himself, came to the Queen Filippa’s side, rubbing his dirt stained back. They exchanged words for a moment, and Melchor could guess the contents of the conversation:
“Shall I tell my men to give chase, Your Grace?”
“Of course not.”
Arianne cowered in terror, hanging on to the slats of her cage to minimize the violent jostling and bumping caused by the beast’s swift, powerful gait. They fairly flew out of Bellshire, streaking north down the road so fast that Arianne felt dizzy. A handful of times she had brought a horse to a full gallop, but this was surely as fast as she had ever gone.
From her awkward position staring up at the mighty fangs, she could see little of what passed. So stretched and raw were her emotions that she felt she could do little more than fight to keep from fainting under the strain of the past week. To have exoneration stripped from her, to have marched to her death, to now find herself torn from execution by a giant beast taxed the powers that maintained her sanity.
The enormous sabercat ran until the shadows started to stretch, what she figured was the better part of two hours. She could tell the beast was laboring now, its breath hot and damp through the slats. Finally, it slowed as they reached a bridge spanning a shallow stream. Treading softly, it picked its way down the bank and into the water, sheltering in the shadows of the bridge planks. The cool air and calmer motion refreshed her, and she rejoiced when the gigantic predator finally put her down on a sandy bank.
For a nearly a minute it lapped at the water before returning and placing one paw on the cage and hooking its massive tusks on the door. With a mighty toss of its head, the rusty metal whined and then ripped away. This was no ordinary animal, Arianne concluded. Its movements and actions came from intelligent purpose. It was frightening, all the same.
And then the beast was Davon.
Her eyes shot wide, heart pounding. He smiled sadly at her, his mouth surrounded by an awful, scruffy beard. He set his rifle aside and extended his hand.
“I am so sorry, Lady Hightower,” he said. “I have failed you. And I was nearly too late.”
She could hardly speak, and she felt like she was staring at a row of emotions in a shop window and trying to choose one. Her cramped body ached, every inch feeling bruised and battered. She grabbed his hand, and with a gentle pull from him and a push from her protesting legs, she stood. He helped her step the rest of the way out her cage before enfolding her in her arms.
She cried, trying to drain the reservoir of terror that had flooded her heart.
“Where have you been?” she sobbed. “I needed you.”
“Please forgive me, Lady Hightower,” he said. “Forgive me. I came as quickly as I could. I should have tried harder.”
She pulled away from him for a moment, finding his eyes wet, as well. Any anger for him that she had kept bottled up had fled, and she buried her head in his chest again and exhaled, closing her eyes and relishing feeling safe for the first time in days.
“You know, Davon,” she said, “you could have, perhaps, stopped an hour or so ago j
ust to let me know that the ferocious animal was indeed you and not some hungry beast dragging me off to a distant cave to clean my bones.”
“I would have, Lady Hightower—”
“Arianne.”
“But—”
“It is my name. I would like to hear it from your lips.”
“Arianne, I was afraid that if I changed to my present form, I wouldn’t be able to change back. I don’t quite have the knack of controlling it yet.”
“Is it another gift of the Eternal Flame?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” he answered. “It is a long tale, but there is much to tell, for both of us, I think.”
“Yes.” She smiled, feeling her legs and her heart finally steadying. She stepped back and pulled at the beard on his chin. “Going back to your old disguise, Davon?”
He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard word she had said, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. He held her eyes with his, gaze intense but affectionate.
“Davon?” she asked, wondering where his mind was wandering off to.
His right hand went around her waist, pulling her back toward him, his left hand sinking into the curls of her hair. And then he kissed her. Warmth flooded into her, sweet and enticing, and she sunk into him and wouldn’t let him stop until she was sure he understood that she wanted more than a polite demonstration of affection.
When it ended and he pulled away, she could feel her face beaming, and even his more reserved countenance couldn’t hide its satisfaction. From death to life in a matter of hours—the contrast was stark and intoxicating.
“That was awfully forward, Davon Carver,” she said, her tone anything but disappointed.
“Yes,” he stammered. “Well, these long days without you have forced me to admit that I love you. I felt a sudden need to let you know.”
“I enjoyed how you did it, though I believe you went in reverse of the normal order of things. I believe one is to say it first, like so: I love you, Davon Carver. And then comes the kiss, like this.”
The second kiss was a good deal more practiced than the first and all the more enjoyable for it. It was hard to stop. How could she have ever married Lord Cornton? Now that she knew what love was, she could never imagine marrying for any other purpose than to show it.
“I do warn you, Baron Carver, that I am a convicted criminal and you will sully your reputation by consorting with me. I am a traitor by judgment of the law and one Judge Pinkerton.”
While she said this in jest, his face screwed up into an angry mask. “I will clear your name, Lady Hightower. What was done to you was wrong and unconscionable! I won’t rest until your honor and your rank are restored and those responsible punished in the most severe manner. I won’t have—”
She kissed him to stop his flood of righteous anger. “First things first, Davon. Where can we go?”
“Things are more dire than you know,” he explained, grasping her shoulders. “I must return to Bellshire and the Queen immediately. There is a Creetisian army bearing down on us from the north. You and I are just outside of the Libbon Township, but I cannot risk hiding you in the comfortable accommodations there, as you will likely be recognized. There are not far from here a couple of acquaintances of mine that will keep you safe out in the wild while I return to Bellshire and the Queen.”
She frowned. “I don’t wish to be parted from you, Davon. I would rather go into danger with you. I don’t feel quite safe anywhere else. Every time you leave I—”
And then he kissed her. “We must bear with separation and peril for a while longer, Arianne. Once Bellshire is safe and our good names restored, then we will never be parted, I promise.”
She nodded, though her mind and heart still rebelled at the thought of seeing him go again.
“Davon,” she said, “I hate to tell you that Frostbourne manor is no more. Emile burned it down out of revenge.”
He smiled wistfully and stroked a strand of her hair. “It is of no consequence, dearest Arianne,” he said. “There are things there that are best burned, and it would be nice to start over.”
Arianne nodded and knew what he meant. When a new manor rose in Frostbourne, it would be free of painful associations and the bones of dead men.
Davon took her hand and led her away along the tall, bending grass of the shore, the pleasant gurgling of the creek accompanying them as they trekked deeper into the trackless countryside. He asked her to relate what had happened to her during his absence, and she obliged him while they walked.
And as civilization faded behind them, a quiet satisfaction built within her. Before her waited hills and clumps of trees completely unfamiliar to her, but she had no sense of being lost. With Davon at her side and the soft evening coming on, she felt comfortable and at home with herself and the world. The horrors of her trial and execution seemed but a faded memory in fields flooded by afternoon sunshine.
Before she had the chance to ask Davon about his adventures, he led her away from the creek and around the base of a low, wooded hill. They circled around to the far side and walked into a loose clump of mature oak with thick trunks and wide, sheltering branches. She had just started to smell the wood smoke when they reached a modest rise and looked down into a small depression where two exotic, white-haired women turned a freshly skinned rabbit on a spit.
When she saw them, she knew immediately that they were North People, the mysterious Aua’Catan. They must have been the ones the Queen had told her about that had absconded with Davon.
They heard their approach and both stood with identical poses, and the closer they came, Arianne saw that more than their poses were identical—and that they had dressed in the most scandalous tight fitting pants and revealing jerkins. And that they were very pretty. She felt a stab of jealousy. So these were Davon’s new acquaintances?
“Is this the woman, Brown Man?” one of them asked.
“Yes. Ki, Ta, this is Lady Arianne Hightower. Lady Hightower, this is Ki and this one is Ta, though it can be difficult to tell them apart. They are Spear Sisters of the Aua’Catan.”
Arianne opened her mouth to offer a greeting, but Ki and Ta circled around her as if she were some sort of statute. “But Brown Man,” Ta said, “she is beautiful. And Ki, look at her hair! It is as dark as a moonless night!”
Arianne stood stock still while the two strangers rubbed her hair between their fingers as if to determine its authenticity. They repeated the same routine with her dress before turning their attention to the jewelry Davon hard carved for her. Davon just leaned on his gun and smiled an irritating smile through the whole ordeal.
The one Arianne thought was Ki lifted the pendant at her neck. “Did the Brown Man carve this for you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Does it do anything?” Ta followed.
Arianne opened and closed it and they smiled appreciatively. She then demonstrated the blooming flower bracelet to their delight.
Davon squeezed her arm. “I’ll tend to the rabbit while you three get to know each other.” He winked at her while the strangers continued to give her a thorough inspection.
“He carved birds for us,” Ki said, giving Arianne a demonstration of the exquisite snow finches. They gashed through the air and landed on their owners’ shoulders. When they reached up to retrieve them, the birds returned to motionless forms just as Elaine’s sabercats would.
“So, Ki and Ta,” Arianne asked, “why do you travel with Davon?”
“Because we want to,” one of them answered. Arianne was confused again as to which was which. “He is Khodo Khim, after all, and he told us of your peril and the plight of your nation, so we decided to render assistance. To help the Khodo Khim is an honor.”
“Khodo Khim?” Arianne asked.
Both of their faces turned sour with disgust. “Brown Man! You have not told your woman that you are Khodo Khim?”
Davon rose and walked over. “Well, not exactly. I haven’t had time to relate my side of the tal
e. But let’s talk over our meal. I must away soon.”
“Already?” Arianne asked. She didn’t want him to leave yet. She’d barely gotten him back. “Shouldn’t you take your rest this evening and get your strength?”
He returned to her and took her hands. “I wish I could, but if I don’t act soon we will lose the northern duchies with hardly a fight. I will return tomorrow or the day following. Ki and Ta will take good care of you.”
She nodded, a feeling of sadness entering her heart. Did he really have to go?
Ki and Ta watched them closely. “Don’t worry, Lady Hightower,” one of them said. “He loves you and breathes you with every breath. He will return so that you may be bonded. He even made you hair rings. Be sure to leave them here when you go, Brown Man.”
Arianne wondered what they meant. “Bonded? Hair rings?”
“Yes,” the other twin replied. “We’ll explain after he leaves. But the two of them should be bonded, Ki. It is plain. Can you imagine the little dark-haired babies they will have?”
Arianne blushed and Davon cleared his throat. “Well, let’s carve this rabbit, and I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to.”
Chapter 42
Night had darkened the windows of the drawing room where Queen Filippa sat rubbing her strained, scratchy eyes. A day reading military reports through a magnifying glass had reduced her eyes to irritated children whining at her to stop. And she had to stop. The information before her was three days old and only told of a ragged Creetisian army in the warm fields far to the south, and the fighting had surely begun by now. Before long, the first casualty reports would trickle in and she would get angry. Until then, she could pretend that the incensed Creetisians had come to their senses and retreated back to their miserable hovel of a country.
Her war adviser, General Cutler, perused the same documents with her. He was barrel chested and late in years, his dark hair shot through with so much gray that the black seemed ready surrender. But unlike other men of his age and station, General Cutler was strong and fit, and his vitality reminded her of her late husband. His small eyes made quick work of the documents, and the Queen was impressed with his posture and fortitude; the man had sat with a back as straight as a board the entire day.
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