Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  “Yes, Sera. Do you understand what that means?”

  Blindly, she stared past him. “It is money, or a valuable

  trinket, an Outlander gives to a woman when he rids himself of

  her.”

  Andre realized that she was in shock. “Come.” He eased

  her into the chair and poured a glass of wine. “Here,” he said.

  “Take deep breaths. It’s not so bad, after all. You’re going back

  to your homeland, Sera. You’ll see all your friends, all your

  family. Think of it that way.”

  She pushed away the glass he offered. “He gave me a

  douceur to take the sting away, did he? As though I were just

  another discarded mistress.” The last word came out in strangled

  sob. Sera pressed her fist to her mouth.

  Andre stared at the floor. He couldn’t stand watching her

  devastation.

  “The king wishes you to leave immediately. Soldiers await

  you in the courtyard. They will see that you arrive home safely.”

  “Tell them there is no need,” Sera said, and he heard the

  soft scrape of the chair as she rose.

  Andre took a hasty step forward, in case she should falter

  and need assistance. But she drew herself up and raised her

  hand, palm out, to keep him back. Sera was a small woman, but

  somehow, at this moment, she looked tall and commanding. He

  saw strength radiating beneath fragility, holding her upright.

  Without thinking, Andre executed a deep bow—a minister’s

  bow to his queen.

  “Sera,” he said holding out his hand to escort her from the

  room. He paused, not knowing what to say or do next.

  She lowered her head and raised it again, a regal gesture,

  and looked him square in the eye. “I do not require your

  assistance, Count Lironsky.” She swept from the room and down

  the corridor.

  Andre waited alone in the study until he decided enough

  time had elapsed for Sera to gather her strength to face him

  again. He must arrange to pack her clothing. Nikki was very

  insistent that she dress warmly for the journey. He gazed out

  the high arched window into the park, sick at what Nikki had

  ordered him to do, and disgusted with himself for doing it.

  A slender figure covered in a plain gray cloak ran from the

  palace to the stables. Within moments, she appeared again, upon

  Wind Rider. Sera lifted her head to look at the palace. From

  where he stood, Andre could see the glitter of tears on her cheeks.

  She raised the hood of her cloak, and horse and rider disappeared

  into thin air.

  ***

  Nicholas groaned. Where was he? He could hear flames

  licking and crackling. Was he in Hell? He doubted it. The place

  was warm, but not burning. He made a vain attempt to keep

  himself from thinking of Sera, but his nightmares had been full

  of her. In scene after scene, he saw them coming for her, saw

  her dragged from the palace and tortured by Laslow’s ghouls,

  and upon waking, the horrifying images still made his blood

  run cold. He turned his head and groaned.

  He hurt, that was for sure. His head felt as though it had

  spent the last twelve hours inside an active cannon. His side

  throbbed, and it was difficult to breathe. Cautiously, he opened

  one eye and found himself on a cot in a crude hut. The crackling

  flames were, in reality, a warm fire in the stone fireplace at one

  end of the room.

  A familiar face twinkled down at him—a blue-eyed with a

  broad smile.

  “Baron Summers,” he said. His voice cracked.

  The doctor lifted his head and gave him warm beef broth to

  drink. “Hullo, dear boy. You’ve found me out.”

  “But how? And where. . .?”

  “You are in a crofter’s hut not far from the Laurentian border.

  And I’ve been a member of His Majesty’s Forty-seventh for a

  few months. Got the urge to travel, see the world, do my bit for

  Laurentia, and all that. So here we are, together again, I’m afraid.

  Andre and Will Carlsohnn dragged you here after the battle,

  which, incidentally, you won. Any other questions?”

  “How many of us survived?” Nicholas couldn’t keep the

  fear out of his voice. He was too weary.

  Andre’s face came into focus above him. “Many,” he said.

  “They had us fighting hand to hand, there were so many of

  them, but when you killed their leader, their discipline broke. It

  was easier after that.”

  “God, what a creature,” said Nicholas. “I’ll have nightmares

  for weeks about him.”

  “They thought he was invincible,” said Andre.

  “He very nearly was.” His voice almost failed him, then.

  “Sera?” he asked, and it came out in a whisper.

  Andre leaned over him. He looked haggard. Nicholas

  wondered how he had managed to ride to Laurentia and back in

  just two days. “She’s all right, old fellow. Safe home by now,

  with that horse of hers. She had a gray cloak like that Hillman

  wore when he disappeared. I’ll tell you more later.”

  The picture rose in his mind of Sera, small and sad in her

  ermine cloak, sitting in the straw-strewn stall and confiding to

  her horse in the Hill tongue. “No cloak,” she had said, even

  though ermine and wool protected her from the cold night. Of

  course. The plain gray cloak that had never raised suspicion

  among Outlanders had enough power to hide both Sera and the

  horse from those who would harm her. He sighed, filled with

  relief even as his heart opened in a crack that could never be

  healed. She was safe.

  “But there’s more, Nikki, and it’s an unsettling mystery,”

  Andre said. “You remember the merchant who sold you the

  ruby. The municipal guard found his body. Whoever killed him

  made him suffer for a long time before he died. So they alerted

  the palace. Then, three nights ago, our guards captured four

  men attempting to breach the palace walls. All of them wore

  Brotherhood black.”

  “Damnation.”

  “One of them lived long enough to confess. The thief had

  given them the location of the entryway to Sera’s Hills before

  they killed him. Laslow sent them in to capture Sera as well,

  and—this is odd—the ruby you bought from the merchant. It

  seems the ruby’s some kind of key to Arkadia.

  Nicholas nodded slowly. “Galerien wants to see Sera die.

  Painfully and slowly. He thinks she is still in Montanyard.”

  He shook his head, trying to keep the fragments of what he

  had just learned together. “Laslow said something, too, about

  the ruby. He said that with it, Galerien would conquer the Hills.

  She gave that Hillman the ruby, Andre, and I thought to myself,

  ‘she doesn’t care about what it means. She doesn’t love me.’ I

  thought she had thrown away my betrothal gift. I didn’t

  understand.”

  Nicholas felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the wound

  or the temperature in the room. It had to do with despair. “But I

  think perhaps I just hurt her worse than I was hurt. Do you

  know, I never told her I loved her.
How could I, when I couldn’t

  afford to love anything but Laurentia? She told me, of course.

  She had the courage of a lioness when it came to loving me

  freely, without reciprocation.”

  He laughed, a sound bitter and thin to his own ears. “But I

  was always afraid she’d leave me. So I made her leave me before

  she could think of it, herself.”

  Nicholas stared into the fire, recognizing fully what he had

  lost.

  Andre bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Nikki.”

  “I’m not. She’s safe.” Liar, he thought. “She’s safe,” he

  repeated, using the words like a mantra to soothe the harsh sting

  of loss.

  “Laurentia’s still in danger,” he told Andre. “I want the men

  to return to Laurentia immediately, Baron Carlsohnn. Would

  you and young Oblomov ask the generals to gather here in, say,

  half an hour?”

  “Sire,” said Baron Summers. “Forgive me. You should not

  think about traveling for at least a few days. The wound is deep

  enough to be troublesome as it is. Kindly keep your men here,

  protecting you should your presence be discovered.”

  “I cannot leave Laurentia with only half the force necessary

  to guard the land against Galerien.” Nicholas lifted his hand to

  his eyes and covered them. “Baron Summers, I am weary. This

  conversation is at an end.”

  Summers heaved a sigh. “Andre, try to talk some sense

  into him, will you? And convince him to take the laudanum.”

  “He’s right, Nikki, and you know it.” Through a foggy haze,

  Andre scowled down at him.

  “Galerien will be desperate when he gets word of what we

  did to his terrorists. If you could have heard that commander—

  by all that’s holy, I didn’t know if he could be killed.”

  “Laslow. A fanatic, a madman.”

  “I noticed,” said Nicholas with a wry twist to his mouth.

  The generals filed in, grim-faced. Nicholas knew that, lying

  prone on his pallet after so much blood loss, he must look like

  a dying man. But he had no intention of giving Galerien that

  satisfaction.

  He gave his orders in a voice he hoped sounded less hollow

  to them than it did to his own ears. “Count Lironsky will lead

  you home. Station men of the fifty-ninth along the border and

  take the rest to the passes at Selonia. We can hold Galerien

  there for quite a while. Put the citizen militia on alert. General

  Oblomov?”

  The old general approached the pallet and knelt in a rather

  creaky fashion. “I am here, Sire.”

  “I may be weak, sir, but I am not blind,” said Nicholas with

  a wry smile. He pulled at the ring on his finger, the blazing

  sapphire held in a golden eagle’s talons. It held fast, and it took

  all his puny strength to draw it off. Never, since they had

  crowned him king, had it left his hand.

  “Give this to my sister in front of all the ministers. Tell her

  to keep Laurentia safe in my stead. Tell her I shall return.”

  Nicholas lay back on the pallet and shut his eyes. He had no

  energy left to fight the hot pain of his wound. “I’ll take that

  laudanum now, Baron,” he told the doctor as the generals left

  the room.

  ***

  On the third day after the battle, Nicholas awoke feeling

  less as though an ox cart had rolled over him. The hut was quiet

  and warm. Carlsohnn and young Oblomov kept watch in the

  room. Oblomov had his knife out and whittled away at a small

  object. He turned it in his hand, inspecting closely, then used

  the knife again.

  Nicholas heard low voices outside the door, and then it

  opened. Andre stood silhouetted against the light, his hair going

  in a thousand different directions, and the grin wide on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing, Lironsky?”

  Andre’s grin grew even wider. “I’m the proverbial cat that

  came back. I sent the generals on to Montanyard and returned

  in record time. Rather impressive, eh?”

  “You know damned well I wanted you in Montanyard with

  Katherine. Stop that infernal grinning and get out of here.

  Damnit, this is serious, Andre.”

  “I’m well aware of that, my friend. You, however, seem to

  be a bit muddled about your own safety. Do you remember our

  first days at Eton? How the bullies came at you, wanting to

  make the barbaric crown prince cower before English

  superiority? It might be illuminating to recall that you could

  not have beaten seven boys so soundly without me by your

  side.”

  Andre was no longer grinning. “I have always been there

  for you. It pleases me to think that may be part of why we have

  never lost. Galerien is looking for you. There’s danger all around,

  Nikki. Do you expect me to turn tail and run, leaving you to get

  out by yourself?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I wanted one of us happy, Andre.”

  Andre shrugged a shoulder. “What chance of happiness

  could I have if I didn’t bring you home safe? Do you think

  Katherine would ever speak to me again? Do you think I could

  live with myself? So tell me you’re happy to see me and when

  the hell we can get out of here.” The smile broke on his face

  like sunshine through a cloud.

  “Now, I suspect,” Baron Summers said sweeping into the

  hut. “If the king can ride, we must leave immediately. Galerien’s

  soldiers are scouring the area.”

  “All right,” said Andre. Lieutenants Carlshonn and

  Oblomov jumped to their feet. They were halfway out the door

  when Nicholas heard the sound of hoofbeats and the metallic

  ring of swords pulled out of scabbards.

  Nicholas had made it up on one knee when the door of the

  hut was flung open and several figures appeared silhouetted

  against the bright light. Andre, Carlsohnn, and Oblomov went

  for their swords, but the fruity tones of the man in the middle

  stopped them short.

  “My dear Nicholas Alexander Andreyevitch Rostov. I hold

  a very accurate pistol in my hands. Tell your men that if they do

  not lower their swords, you will be the first to die.”

  Nicholas’s men slowly lowered their swords.

  Anatole Galerien stepped into the hut, his weapon raised

  and aimed at Nicholas. “I am hurt that you have chosen to take

  shelter in this rude hut when you could have come to me. But I

  am not one to hold a grudge. I have a comfortable litter that

  will take you to my palace in Constanza, where you will recover

  in a peaceful chamber while you await my wedding to your

  sister. No, no, my dear brother-in-law to be. Do not jerk like

  that. You will open your wound if you are not careful, and I

  need you alive until the wedding, which will give me as much

  right to Laurentia as I need to accomplish my goal.”

  Galerien smiled coldly as his men tied Andre’s hands. They

  did the same to Carlsohnn, the doctor, and Oblomov with

  efficient dispatch.

  “My sister is no fool, Galerien,” said Nicholas. A cold,

  relentless fury welled up in him. He
would survive this, he

  vowed, and have Galerien’s head for it.

  “Oh, she will consent, believe me. When my messengers

  inform her that I have her brother in custody, and that her

  marriage to me will free him. Of course, I shall not reveal to her

  that you will have but one instant of freedom before I have you

  killed, along with your guards, here. Such details are not for the

  gentler sex, are they?

  “And now, Nicholas, if you’ll excuse me, I shall see that

  your traveling accommodations are made ready for you.”

  Galerien swept out of the hut, leaving Nicholas to contemplate

  how he might get them all out of this.

  ***

  Katherine sank slowly into her chair as she read aloud the

  message Galerien had sent her. The faces of the ministers in the

  council room turned grim and frightened.

  “What do you suggest, gentlemen?” she asked, raising a

  pale face to them.

  “We must keep Laurentia safe. That is the important thing.

  We have soldiers at the borders, at the mountain pass, and armed

  citizens through the countryside. Remain here, princess. Keep

  the throne safe. That’s our advice.”

  Katherine felt the weight of the monarch’s ring that hung

  from a heavy gold chain about her neck. She lifted it and stared

  down at it. The eagle was a fitting symbol of the house of Rostov,

  and not just for its power and courage. She thought of

  Prometheus and his sacrifice.

  She didn’t doubt Galerien’s threat. She, too, was a Rostov.

  She raised her head and looked calmly at the men assembled.

  “I am, in my brother’s absence, regent of Laurentia, and what I

  decide is law, is that not correct?”

  The men gathered about the table assented.

  “You will remain here, protecting our country against

  Galerien’s invasion. For as soon as he has married me, he will

  come. I shall go to Constanza and wed this monster.”

  The ministers rose, shouting their denial. Katherine quelled

  them with one fierce look and a raised hand. “If I do this thing,

  Nicholas will be alive until the ceremony is completed. Your

  king is clever and resourceful. As long as he lives, there’s hope.

  I give him a week by consenting—time for him to come up

  with a plan. Do you understand, my lords? This is the only way

  to buy what we need. Time.”