Regulus swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and throat. His pulse pounded in his ears as he lowered then sheathed his sword and stepped away from Carrick. He offered his hand, but Carrick shoved it away.
“You’ll pay for this, Hargreaves.” Carrick’s voice sounded tinny and muted through his visor. “I’m not done with you.” He stomped away without removing his helm.
Regulus turned toward the spectators, his focus shifting from Carrick to the cacophony of applause, cheers...and booing. He removed his helm. Baron Carrick stood, clapping leisurely, but his expression was hard as stone. Regulus’ gaze wandered over the crowd. Many stood, some smiling and cheering. Some yelling. He looked to Adelaide. She beamed, her broad smile making her cheeks round and her eyes crinkle as she stood and applauded. Baron Carrick held out a hand and the crowd’s excitement dropped off to silence.
“The winner of this year’s Etchy Tournament’s sword competition,” Baron Carrick said, his rich baritone ringing out over the arena, “is Lord Regulus Hargreaves of Arrano.”
Most of the crowd cheered, although some jeered. The herald walked onto the field, carrying a miniature model of a knight with gold armor and a silver sword. He presented the little figure to Regulus, who accepted it with a deep bow.
Off the field, his knights greeted him with whoops and slaps on the back and shoulders. His pulse raced. He grinned and couldn’t stop. Their exuberance heightened his own soaring emotions. But Regulus locked eyes on the woman moving through the crowd toward him. He shoved his helm and the tiny knight into the hands of one of his men, he wasn’t even sure which. He pushed past them, only aware of her.
Adelaide’s smile and shining eyes made his breath come faster. He strode toward her, ignoring the congratulations of the men he walked past. He knew what he wanted to do. Grab her by the waist, spin around as he lifted her into the air, and when he put her back down, kiss her. But that would be crazy. They weren’t there. Not yet. But as they stopped, a little too close together, ideas of proper and crazy and logical and irrational blurred and then vanished. His chest tightened as he drifted toward her upturned face. His gaze drifted to her lips.
Searing pain prickled his right arm, and he winced. Her smile faded. His heart felt heavy. Not now. Why now, Etiros? Why at all? Anger rushed through him, followed by despair.
“Are you all right?” Adelaide placed her fingertips on his breastplate.
“Yes.” He forced a smile. “Just the cut on my leg.”
Her forehead wrinkled, concern in her eyes. “Is it deep? You should see the tournament physician at once.”
“It’s fine.” He took her hand off his chest and held it. “I’ve had much worse.”
Adelaide glanced at the scar on his cheek then met his eyes. “Still. Better get it stitched.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she pulled her hand out of his and smiled coyly. “The sooner you get that mended, the more likely you will be able to dance after supper tonight.”
She went up on her toes and planted a kiss on his unscarred cheek before he could react. His jaw went slack. He could still feel the soft, warm brush of her lips on his skin after she pulled away.
“See you tonight.” She darted away.
“Right,” he responded in a breathy whisper. “Yes.” Idiot. The mark on his arm continued to tingle. A dull pain like a minor burn. He turned and headed for his tent.
“Now that looked promising,” Dresden said, walking beside him. “So where are you headed in such a hurry?”
“I need to look to my leg.” His words sounded blunter and harsher than intended.
“Oh. Right. Yes, good.” Dresden dropped his voice to a whisper as they left the crowd behind. “Got to cover that before anyone notices.” He nudged Regulus with his elbow. “And then did I hear something about dancing?”
“I don’t think I’ll be dancing.” His throat pulled taut as he spoke in a low, sharp tone. I’ll have other business to attend to.
“Reg, what’s wrong?”
He wanted to scream. To punch something, or someone. To grab the sorcerer by the neck and shove him into a brick wall. He wanted to collapse to his knees and sob. Because he had known better. Now he knew more clearly than ever. His mark had burned right as he stood on the brink of careless joy. At the edge of love. It cut through his euphoria, pulling him back, reminding him what he was.
“Reg, slow down.”
He couldn’t risk hurting her.
“Is it the mark?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth.
“Regulus!” Dresden grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stop.
He had fallen for a daydream. Tried to live in one of the happily-ever-after romance ballads Caleb sang. But his life wasn’t a romance.
“Reg?”
The truth crushed him, like his heart was being squeezed. His lungs compressed. His life wasn’t a romance. It was a tragedy. Even if she accepted him, he might hurt her. Not if you obey, a selfish voice whispered. “Such an obedient pet,” the sorcerer’s voice taunted. “Next time, you won’t get to choose.” He pushed Dresden aside.
“Regulus!”
Until he had paid his debt, he had no business loving Adelaide Belanger. Or anyone.
Because he wasn’t his own man.
And slaves don’t get the girl.
Chapter 25
AFTER REMOVING HIS armor, Regulus double-checked each knot holding the tent flap closed. Dresden sat lounging on a stool in front of the entrance as an extra precaution. Caleb had pulled out his lute and was playing it as loudly as possible. All the surrounding tents were his knights’, but Regulus couldn’t chance a passerby hearing anything suspicious.
He pulled a chain out from under his armor and over his head. The key hanging on the chain glinted in the lamplight. His hand hovered in front of the lock as he crouched in front of the chest. The mark burned hotter, the pain sharpening as he hesitated. A reminder the sorcerer would not be denied or ignored. He unlocked the chest and pulled out the mirror, then hooked it on a nail he had hammered into the tent post next to his cot for this exact eventuality.
With a deep breath he focused on keeping the anger and bitterness out of his face and voice. He wouldn’t risk incurring the sorcerer’s wrath in the middle of the tournament campground. “I’m here, my lord.”
The mirror shimmered, and the sorcerer appeared. His hood was thrown back, revealing graying brown hair pulled away from his face. Regulus stifled a gasp. He had never seen the sorcerer’s eyes before. The whites were bloodshot around coal-black irises rimmed with a thin line of green.
“Good! I—” The sorcerer squinted. “What are you doing? Where are you? This isn’t familiar.” He moved closer to the mirror, craning his head as if to look around Regulus’ tent. “Where are you?”
What good would lying do him? “I’m competing in a tournament.”
“A tournament? Interesting. Winning, I’d imagine.”
“Yes, my lord,” he kept his voice level, “but on my own strength.” I don’t owe you anything.
“Hmph. Ungrateful idiot. But that’s not relevant right now.” The sorcerer tugged on his beard, his movements frantic. “I’ve hit a wall. It’s infuriating. You get so close to everything you’ve planned, you think you’ve thought of everything, that vengeance is finally assured, and just like that...a wall. A wall of my own creating! Isn’t that darkly poetic.” He glowered at Regulus, as if whatever wall he was talking about was Regulus’ fault.
Regulus didn’t respond. The sorcerer would get to the point eventually.
“Fix one problem, create another. Just have to do it all over again!” The sorcerer shook his head. “If those thrice-cursed mages weren’t already long dead, I’d kill them. Such a hassle. Should have seen it coming, though.”
Regulus tried to look uninterested and keep his confusion hidden. What mages? Should have seen what coming?
“No matter. Always work-arounds. See you, for example.” The sorcerer chuckled to hi
mself. “Just time-consuming. And requires precision. And it’s exhausting.”
Regulus clenched his jaw. Don’t ask. Obey. Pay your debt. If he earned his release, he could court Adelaide. The thought made him much more willing to play the obedient servant.
“I need several very specific things from you,” the sorcerer continued. “So pay attention. One thing out of place, and this won’t work. And if this doesn’t work, I swear by every dark curse I know I will kill you and everyone you care about. Understand?”
Regulus swallowed and nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He was grateful the sorcerer didn’t know about Adelaide. Just follow his instructions, and no one will be hurt.
“Good.” The sorcerer crossed his arms. “First, I need a circlet of silver. It must be pure silver, no other metals. Second, I need a bushel of white flowers. Doesn’t matter what kind, but they must be white. Third, I need clamshells. Eight large shells should do it. Fourth, and this is where things get difficult, I need the blood of an innocent person. Doesn’t have to be a lot, just a few drops. And finally, I need a foot-long piece of a root of a neumenet tree.”
“What?” Regulus gaped. “Blood?”
“Of an innocent person, that’s important.” The sorcerer waved his hand. “Yours won’t do.”
Regulus winced, guilt pricking his conscience, but moved on to another problem. “What’s a neumenet tree?”
The sorcerer groaned. “Don’t you know anything?”
Regulus stayed silent.
“Useless. Neumenet trees were considered sacred for thousands of years. They’re very rare, and strong vessels of magic energy. People used to try to conceive their children in their shade, hoping to have a baby born with magic abilities. Sometimes worked, too. They have bark like obsidian and leaves that look like shards of glass but feel like feathers.”
“And where do I find one?”
“There’s one in Holgren Forest.”
“But that’s a royal forest!”
The sorcerer thrashed his teeth. “And I’m the Prince of Shadow and Ash! That forest belongs to me!”
Regulus recoiled. He had claimed that title the first time Regulus met him. Had bound him to tell any who asked the Black Knight who he was that he served the Prince of Shadow and Ash. Regulus had assumed the sorcerer was being grandiose. But now he realized—the sorcerer seemed to think himself actually royal.
“With all due respect, my lord,” Regulus said, trying to sound as humble as possible, “I don’t think any sheriffs or forest rangers will care.”
“Well,” the sorcerer grinned coldly, “then kill them. Better yet, don’t get caught.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Now, tell me what you’re bringing me.”
Regulus sighed. “A circlet of pure silver. A bushel of white flowers. Eight clamshells. The...” he swallowed, his mouth dry, “the blood of an innocent person. The root of a neumenet tree.” Whatever such specific and odd ingredients were for, he suspected he would regret being a part of it. As if the sorcerer interrupting a wonderful moment wasn’t bad enough, that made his mood worse.
“Good. Make your plans. I must have everything before the next full moon, do you understand?”
Regulus shook his head, trying not to let his irritation with the sorcerer’s tone show on his face. “When is the next full moon?”
“You are such an idiot.” The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “A useful idiot, luckily for you.”
Regulus clenched his teeth.
“Eleven days. You have eleven days. That should be enough time to gather everything. If I don’t have all the ingredients on the eleventh day, or if you bring me the wrong ingredients—I will consider your debt unfulfilled. And I will collect in full.”
He bit his tongue to stop his panicked protests as a shudder raced down his spine. “And...if I succeed, my lord?”
“Then we’ll be much closer to being even.” The image shimmered and reverted to a mirror.
Regulus stared at his scarred reflection. Eleven days. The mark had stopped burning. So long as he intended to obey, the mark should leave him alone. He could finish the tournament and still make it on time. He bit his cheek. “I will collect,” the sorcerer’s voice echoed in his mind. No. He wouldn’t be that selfish. He needed to leave Adelaide alone until he was free.
He locked the mirror back in the trunk and opened the flap of his tent. Dresden raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Regulus motioned him inside. Caleb continued to play his lute.
“What did he want?” Dresden sat on the small stool next to Regulus’ bed.
“Flowers. Clamshells. A pure silver circlet. The root of a magical tree in a royal forest. Oh, and the blood of an innocent person.”
Dresden gawked. “What?”
“I know.” Regulus sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands. “He’s doing something, working to accomplish some plan. He needs all of that before the next full moon, in eleven days.” He dug his fingers into his skull. “If I don’t get him the right ingredients on time, he will consider my debt unfulfilled and collect.”
“But...that would mean...”
“Yes.” Regulus laid back on the cot, his hands clammy and stomach churning. You’ll all be killed. Acid burned at his throat. “But if I do this, he said we’d be close to being even.”
“So the end is in sight.”
“But at what cost, Drez?” He sat back up and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I have no idea what I’m helping him do! I think...he might have designs on the throne.”
“Two years you’ve done his bidding. He’s holed up in that infernal tower. Maybe you’re wrong and he’s not dangerous.”
“Maybe.” I doubt it. He hung his head. “But I can’t refuse him. We know how that ends.”
They sat in silence for a couple minutes until Dresden suddenly sat up straighter. “Wait, eleven days?”
“Yes.”
Dresden grinned. “Then I propose you go dancing.”
“Drez—”
“Come on. It’ll cheer you right up. Get you to see some positives.”
“I can’t.” Regulus shook his head. “I was a fool. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Court Adelaide!” He yanked his sleeve up, revealing the mark. His face burned with humiliation and guilt. “I’m not the hero in a romance. I let myself forget it, but I received a cruel reminder today.”
“You said yourself, you’re getting close.” The gentleness and pity in Dresden’s eyes made Regulus more irritated. “You will be free one day. Live like it. You choose who—”
“I am, yes. Right.” He shook his head. “What if he orders me to do something I can’t? What if...” His throat tightened, and he closed his eyes.
“You won’t hurt her.”
He met Dresden’s eyes. “But what if—”
“You’ll do what he wants, and he’ll set you free.” Dresden spoke slowly, his palms pressed together.
“Free or not, after everything I’ve done...” Regulus slumped. “I’m not worthy.”
“Worthy? Etiros above, Regulus. You’re a respected swordsman, a lord who can live comfortably, the best commander I’ve ever met, and the kindest, most selfless man I know.”
Regulus flinched under the praise. “But I—”
“You are on the verge of having everything you never thought you could have. You’re a lord with loyal knights. You won a contest of swords, and people cheered. For you. They might not all accept you, but some of them are coming around. You’ve found a chance at love.”
Regulus rubbed the mark on his arm, his thumb pressing against the irregular scars. He wanted to believe Dresden. But he was a slave with blood-stained hands. He’d taken lives long before he met the sorcerer, but it wasn’t the same. Guilt weighed on his shoulders while frustration mounted. Anger at what the sorcerer had forced him to become. Anger at the guilt that wouldn’t die. Anger at Dresden for not understanding his despair.
“You can have a n
ormal life,” Drez said. “You can stop hiding in your castle. Stop living behind this wall you’ve put up around yourself and I’ve only seen you lower around her. You don’t have to live the rest of your life shutting people out. Don’t throw that all away.”
“I don’t shut you out,” Regulus said weakly.
“Yes, you do!” Dresden stood and paced away. He turned around and Regulus recoiled from the anger in his friend’s eyes. “We know your secret, but you don’t let us help. You rarely tell us where you go or what you do. You push us all away! And don’t say to protect us. You do it because you’re too proud to admit you’re afraid.” Dresden shook his head. “After two years, I don’t know if I can keep having the same conversations with you, Reg. How can I hold you up when you’re so determined to drown!”
Regulus’ heart twisted as Dresden’s frustration stoked his own anger. He yanked his sleeve down. “If that’s how you feel, why don’t you go? I never asked you to stay!”
“You idiot!” Dresden cursed. “You didn’t have to!”
Regulus turned away. “Just leave.”
“No.” Dresden sat on the ground and folded his arms. “Not until you stop being a fool, believe that you’ll get through this, and agree to dance with Adelaide tonight and joust tomorrow. You didn’t come all the way here—”
“You don’t get it! You don’t understand what it’s like!” Regulus stood and pointed at the tent door, fury and hopelessness burning under his skin. He hadn’t asked for a lecture. “Get out!”
Dresden scowled. “I’m here as your friend. You can’t give me orders.”
“I can and I am. Leave, or I’ll throw you out.” Regulus pointed again, more emphatically, but Dresden didn’t budge. “Now, Jakobs! Go!”
Dresden turned crimson. “I see.” His neck muscles bulged as he swallowed hard and stood. “Anything you want me to do once I leave, Captain? Or is it my lord?” He gave a messy, low, mocking bow, his voice bitter. “Command me, master. I live to serve.”
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