“Very. Only the core of us...the ones we trust...will know the truth.” Xavian pushed away from the table, flexed his hands, rolled his shoulders, running through a list in his mind. He wanted Drachaven and all who lived inside his walls prepared to defend, no matter the circumstance. His home was now Afina’s, his walls her safeguard. By the time he finished with the castle, a groundhog wouldn’t be able to burrow anywhere near them without his knowing about it. “I do not want Afina exposed any more than that. Her purpose and ours must remain a well-guarded secret.”
“Hmm, secrets,” Afina said, coming through the open doorway to his chamber. “Sounds intriguing.”
Gowned in the green silk he’d taken from Ismal, she tipped her head to one side and drew a fine bone comb through her hair, smoothing the knots. Xavian followed each sweep through her raven locks, trying not to notice the color of the gown matched the flecks in her eyes. The strategy didn’t work, and shifting focus to cool his ardor, his gaze jumped to her hands. A mistake. Watching her brush out the tangles made him realize he’d put them there—had made her thrash against the pillows in his bed. And that made him remember other things...like the way she tasted and how good she felt around him.
He tightened in reaction, the traitor behind his laces keen for another round. Xavian wanted to give in to the urging. He had two choices: slam the door in his friends’ faces and carry her to bed or stay and finish the conversation. It was a close call. He teetered on the edge for a moment before he found control and reined himself in.
Holding out his hand, palm up, he invited her to come to him. She crossed the workshop, hips swaying, comb forgotten, skirting the table and his half-carved dragon to reach him. As her hand slid into his, the connection they shared flared. Afina smiled and his heart flip-flopped, thumping hard in his chest. With a gentle tug, he reeled her in until she rested against his side.
Cristobal grinned. “About time.”
“Goddamn it.” Henrik scowled at Cristobal then turned his fury on Xavian.
He dug in, tossing Afina’s brother a warning look of his own. His friend was obsessed. What did Henrik expect him to do? Pull a priest out of his arse, for Christ’s sake? Besides, there’d been no time to discuss marriage. He’d been too busy—first claiming Afina and second, meeting the goddess. Prepared for all-out war, he opened his mouth to tell his friend to shove off and mind his own affairs.
Afina beat him to it. “Stay out of it, Henrik.”
“Christ, Afina.” Henrik’s knuckles went white around his dagger hilt. “I warned—”
“I mean it,” she said, her voice so sharp Xavian flinched, feeling the razor edge of her tongue.
In a move contrary to his nature, Henrik snapped his mouth shut.
Cristobal chuckled.
Xavian gave Afina a gentle squeeze. “Where are you off to?”
“The keep.” She hurled another dark look at Henrik, no doubt to ensure her brother stayed mum, then turned her gaze up to meet his. “The boys will be done with their lessons soon. I want to take them and Sabine out for a while...run their little legs off.”
Xavian nodded. Jesu, she was a marvel...made him so damn proud. She’d taken to his lads without hesitation, and in less than a fortnight had won them over, becoming the mothering influence he wanted for them. Even Dax, the oldest and most damaged of his wards, accepted her with open arms. Forgetting was impossible—Xavian knew that better than most—but mayhap now they would begin to heal, to move past the pain and embrace a new future.
Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to Afina’s temple. As far as “thank-yous” went, it wasn’t much. But with his throat gone tight, it was all he could manage.
“Ram?” A folded piece of parchment in his hand, Qabil hesitated between the shafts of the doors of his workshop. “A missive just arrived for you.”
“From?”
“Ivan of Ismal.”
“Shit,” Henrik muttered, of a sudden very interested in the tip of his blade.
Afina grimaced, a flush spreading over her cheeks. “Sherene’s husband?”
“Aye.” Xavian raised a brow, curiosity piqued by the siblings’ reactions. What the hell had they done to his seamstress? Hmm...a mystery, one worth investigating. But not now. Qabil had that look about him. The one that said whatever he carried held great importance. Giving Afina an encouraging nudge, he pointed her toward the door. “Go, love. See to the children. I will meet you for the evening meal.”
Color still high, Afina headed for the exit. She smiled at Qabil, murmuring a greeting as she passed him. The lad turned an interesting shade of scarlet but remembered his manners and nodded before she rounded the doorframe and was out of sight.
“What does it say, lad?” Cristobal flicked his fingers, inviting Qabil into their meeting.
“News from Grey Keep.” Worry in his eyes, Qabil raised his hand. The vellum crackled between his fingertips. “More boys are to be delivered to Al Pacii.”
With a snarl, Henrik pivoted and hurled his dagger. Steel whistled before it struck wood, the twang audible as the blade bit into the doorframe. “Fucking Halál.”
Xavian ignored the damage to his chamber door. Henrik’s outburst was one he could get behind. He understood that kind of hatred. Felt it himself for the man responsible for their pain. “How many?”
“Ivan doesn’t say, but word is they are transporting them via the North Trail.”
Cristobal cracked his knuckles. “When do we leave?”
“An hour before dawn,” Xavian said, their route already mapped in his head. The North Trail snaked through the mountains, the terrain rough at best, deadly at worst. They would reach it by traveling through Gully Pass, come out of a hidey-hole positioned above the path. ’Twas the perfect place for an ambush.
“I will see to the supplies and tell the men to prepare.” With a nod, Cristobal headed for the exit. “Come, lad. You may help.”
“How long will we be gone, Ram?”
Asked without heat, and still the query held the power to shift his foundation. He understood Henrik’s worry—couldn’t help but feel it himself. “Afina will be all right, H. Until today, I hadn’t touched her in a fortnight. A sennight without me will do her no damage.”
“You’ll check with Garren to be sure?”
“Aye,” he murmured, needing reassurance as much as his friend.
Short absences from her couldn’t be helped. Especially now that he served the goddess. But he needed to know how long she could go without him. Xavian prayed the shifter held the answer. Leaving her would be hard enough. Leaving her to suffer would be unbearable.
Safe behind Drachaven’s walls, Afina stood on the ramparts, looking out over the forest. A thin mist hovered, playing between the sway and creak of treetops. Thick evergreens, tall maples, stout beech trees pushed skyward eager for the sun’s first rays. In the stillness of the closing night, she sensed them lean toward the east, impatient for the coming day to banish the gloom.
Afina placed her hand flat against stone, between two blocks jutting up like sharp teeth from the outer wall. The granite pressed into her palm, scraping her skin. The chill leached into her hand as she leaned out, trying to see past the tree line.
It was no use. She couldn’t see them anymore.
Mother Mary, what was she doing? They’d been gone over an hour—Xavian with them. No amount of looking or wishing or praying would bring them back.
Rubbing a circle over her heart, Afina searched the lip of the forest one last time. She was being foolish. Xavian was a warrior with a warrior’s purpose. He couldn’t spend all his time with her. Knowing that, however, didn’t make his leaving any easier to bear. The good-bye had been so hard. On him too, she knew. He hadn’t wanted to leave her any more than she’d wanted him to go. Although she couldn’t deny his farewell had been spectacular.
Not the hard kiss. Not the pat on her behind. Nor the part where he’d told her to “behave” before he mounted Mayhem. But beforehand...in his ch
amber, up against the wall. Well now, a good-bye didn’t get much better than that.
Afina sighed. She needed a distraction.
The more she thought of Xavian—skilled bed-play or otherwise—the more she missed him. And as much as she ached to have him home, she refused to carry on this way the entire time he was away. For one thing, it was unproductive. For another, she wasn’t a lily-livered ninny without a brain in her head. Drachaven and its people needed her care. And she would make certain they got it. No matter how woebegone she became over Xavian’s absence.
Turning away from her perch, Afina snugged her cloak up to cover the nape of her neck and headed toward the east tower. Footfalls as heavy as her heart, she listened to her boot heels click against stone on the battlements.
A thick shadow shifted in the guardhouse and stepped down to her level. Afina nodded to the huge man now blocking her path. Wide of shoulder with long legs and muscled arms, the captain of the guard was a fierce specimen whom those with any wisdom gave a wide berth. Taken from a country far to the north, Hamund’s ferocious expression hid a gentle soul, though with his sword unsheathed one would never know it.
“Good morrow, Hamund.”
“’Tis barely that yet, my lady.” The captain’s mantle parted to reveal his throwing knives as he cupped his hands and blew on his fingers. His eyes narrowed on her thick cloak and boots. “You’ll not be wandering off today, will you, my lady? Ram wants you inside the walls while he’s gone.”
The news made Afina grit her teeth. Of a sudden, Xavian’s short command to behave took on a whole new meaning. What did he expect her to do? Stay cooped up inside the whole time he was away?
“I thought to walk the woodlands,” she told the guard. “Midmorning, mayhap.”
Hamund grunted, the sound as ominous as his expression. “Not wise, that.”
Probably not, but she itched to get outside Drachaven for a while. The sensation had taken hold the moment she lost sight of Xavian from the wall. His leaving left an empty space inside her, one the forest would soothe. The evergreens called to her. The maples murmured and the beeches lured with quiet insistence. Each whispered in its own way, voices distinct, craving the life-giving essence she carried with her. Not that they needed her among them to receive it. She felt the flow now, gave the goddess’s power without effort. Connected in a web, each tree reached out to touch the next, spreading the energy between them, passing it along until everything—to a single blade of grass—received what it needed to flourish.
Afina breathed deep, filling her lungs with autumn’s chill and the smell of morning dew. The freshness—the vibration she felt as nature hummed—lightened her heart. Finally she was part of a solution, not in the middle of a problem. She was helping reverse her mother’s mistake. Making right a terrible wrong.
“An hour, no more, Hamund,” she said, a pleading note in her tone. She needed out, if only for a while. To hear the birds call. To touch the leaves and see squirrels play. To walk among the roots, lay her palm to tree trunks and listen to the hum beneath the rough bark. “And I’ll take a guard.”
He gave her a dubious look.
She folded her hands in the prayer position. “Please...I’ll go mad cooped up inside. I miss Xavian already and the woodlands will keep me happy until he comes home.”
“More than one, then.”
“A dozen burly guards with mean swords and even worse scowls.”
Hamund’s lips twitched. “All right. But only when the sun’s high. And you stay within sight of the walls.”
“Deal.” Releasing a breath, she gave him a big smile.
He shook his head. “Off with you then. I’ll fetch you midmorning...after I’ve found guards with fierce enough scowls.”
With a laugh, Afina skirted the captain and hurried along the outer wall to the rounded archway at its end. Thrown into shadow by the stone vault above, the planked door face looked more black than brown, and Afina fumbled a moment, searching for the iron pull. The smoothly hooked handle chilled her palm as she thumbed the latch, swept passed the barrier, and into the chamber it protected. Stone dust and the scent of disuse swirled as the door thumped closed, sending the sound of wood on stone echoing in the quiet.
Carved into the rock face, the turret was neither round nor square, but some shape in between. The odd curves in the main chamber were charming, really, and as Afina crossed the empty space she imagined it as her healing room. East facing with a sheer drop from the windows to the river below, it was close to the battlements, accessible to the men from the wall. Treating wounds quickly and cleanly saved lives. The chamber was well situated to do both should they ever be attacked.
Afina paused to look up at the domed ceiling. Ancient symbols stood in relief against the pale stone. She studied them a moment then pushed the door opposite the one she’d just entered open and stepped into the corridor beyond. Ten feet apart, limestone walls marched alongside her as she hurried through the gloom. The boys along with Sabine would still be asleep, but she needed to see them, if only to count heads.
They hadn’t taken the news of Xavian’s departure well. But then, she couldn’t blame them. Her own reaction had been less than superb.
Reaching the entrance to the nursery, Afina cracked the door open. Coals glowed in the hearth, throwing enough light into the chamber for her to see. Beds marched like soldiers along the far wall, matching quilts mounded in the centers over little bodies. Her gaze lingered on Sabine a moment, taking pleasure in the wealth of blond curls visible above the blankets.
Another victory. She’d kept her promise to Bianca. Her little girl was safe.
Afina sent a quick thank-you heavenward and continued to count. She pursed her lips as she got to the last bed. Just as she suspected. Dax was gone.
Her heart went still in her chest then sent up a dull throb. The ache swirled out, rushed through her veins along with her worry. Her poor lad. He’d had another bad dream. It was the only explanation. Although he was the wanderer of the group, Dax never left his adopted brothers or the nursery at night. He was scared of the dark, though at ten years old he would sooner die than admit it. But Afina couldn’t blame him. The lad had seen more in four years with Al Pacii than most men saw in a lifetime. Xavian assured her the nightmares would go, but each time Afina heard Dax scream in his sleep and ran to soothe him, a part of her screamed along with him.
The bastards. Those filthy, rotten bastards.
Anger curled her fists tight as magic pulsed in her fingertips. What kind of monster preyed on children? One that needed to be wiped from the face of the earth. By the goddess, she hoped Halál accompanied his men this time...and got within range of Xavian’s swords. She wanted the piece of filth in a shallow grave where he belonged.
Taking a calming breath, Afina pulled the door closed, shutting her babies safely away in the nursery. They wouldn’t be up for another hour, and she needed to find Dax. He could be anywhere, inside Drachaven or outside the walls. Afina bit her bottom lip, hoping it wasn’t the latter. Somehow, though, she knew he wasn’t in the keep. The lad loved the forest as much as she did and would choose the upper limb of a tree over a dark corner in the castle any day of the week.
The ache in the center of her chest grew stronger as she pictured him curled up, knees to chest, trying to be brave, unwilling to let anyone hear his whimpers and see his fear. One day mayhap he would come to her instead of running away, but today was not that day.
Pivoting on her heel, Afina headed back toward the battlements and Hamund. She needed to tell him Dax was missing. If the lad stayed true to form, she would be venturing outside the walls sooner than the captain expected.
From his hiding spot amid large ferns and dense foliage, Vladimir surveyed the beast. He’d come at the great fortress from behind, hoping to find a weakness on the cliff side or, at the very least, the postern door. So far he hadn’t found it—or anything else for that matter: no weak points, no deficiencies, an Armageddonlike arsenal mannin
g the walls.
Drachaven was a veritable monster.
Not unlike the man who called it home. The assassin was unbeaten hand-to-hand, but his home...Damnation. ’Twas a thing of beauty. Stone walls and cliffs colliding to form an impenetrable stronghold. And shit, he hadn’t even begun to examine the gatehouse. At first glance, he guessed three portcullises. That meant navigating three sections separated by metal gates before reaching the outer bailey. No doubt with murder holes, countless places through which to launch arrows or pour boiling oil on the soldiers below. If anyone made it through alive, the inner gatehouse awaited. Vladimir could only imagine...and salivate. What he wouldn’t give to hold Drachaven for himself.
But first things first. He must get his hands on Afina.
Stepping over a fallen log, Vladimir leaned around a fern head to get a better view. He scanned the battlements again. Spaced at even intervals, men-at-arms lined the walls, looking far too alert. Hell, the sun wasn’t even up, yet there they were, armed to the teeth and ready to fight. Ramir must be cracking the whip and busting heads open while he was at it. ’Twas the only explanation for the kind of diligence he saw on Drachaven’s walls.
But then, the assassin wasn’t a fool. Ramir protected a prize. A woman with more power than the bastard had the wit to recognize. He needed to get in there...or find a way to force Afina out. Reaching into the pouch at his waist, Vladimir stroked the choker he’d had made especially for her. The gemstones caressed his skin and heated his blood. He couldn’t wait to force it on her, to claim what belonged to him by right and the will of God.
Careful to leave the foliage undisturbed, Vladimir moved left, his eyes on the base of the great wall. He must locate the postern door. Even if it was well defended from above, a midnight raid might prove successful. He dodged around a massive oak, heard his men move with soundless precision behind him, and caught movement. A shadow skirted the angled foundation stones, moving on quick feet away from him and his men. Vladimir crouched on his haunches and waited. A heartbeat passed then two before the slight form slipped from the shadows and made for the lip of the forest.
Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) Page 32