Then, suddenly, came the definitive snap of corroded metal breaking. Rascal spun to a crouch. Though tiny, the sound would seem thunderous to one in a room so unremittingly quiet and worried about getting caught. Clutching the bin of raisins, she dropped to the floor, munching with a young guilelessness that might have fooled even the most hardened. She waited for repercussions several moments. Had someone heard her, they would surely have come to investigate by now.
Left arm clamping the bowl to her chest, Rascal tugged at the drawer with her right. At her back, Tae assumed a readied crouch. The drawer slid open with a barely audible hiss, and Rascal reached her hand inside.
Tae lunged for her, extracting his sword knife and slamming the drawer shut. The wood crashed against Rascal’s wrist, bouncing open. She jerked backward with a gasp. The bowl slammed the floor, flinging raisins in a wild spray. Rascal spun to face him, then pressed her back against the cabinet at the sight of readied steel.
“Ya spooked me,” Rascal said, her tone containing just the right combination of innocent shock, fear, and outrage. “Juss comed for a snack.”
“Spare me,” Tae said, dark eyes glaring into hers. “I know what you ‘comed’ for.”
“Snack.” Rascal clung hopelessly to her story. “Gots the king’s pramisshun. Hain’t nothin’ ya kin do ’bout dat.” Brown hair lay in a wild mane, giving her a feral animal look.
“King Griff didn’t give you permission to steal from the staff.” Tae kept the knife at Rascal’s chest, far enough to maintain the distance needed for momentum and to keep it from any tricks of her own. “I know about the hair bindings and the badges. I even know about the studs.”
“Not knowin’ what ya’s talkin’ ’bout.”
“You’re going to return them,” Tae said evenly. “With apologies. You can do it by yourself, or I can announce it in front of everyone and let the king dispense the justice.”
Rascal’s attention turned fully to the blade.
Tae read the thought attached to the look. “No, I’m not bluffing,” he lied. “I’ll run you through if you give me no other choice.”
“An’ lose ya misshun?” Rascal’s smile went positively evil. “Hain’t thinkin’ so.” She ducked suddenly, but the knife followed her.
Tae fought the dense fog of rage that threatened to overtake him. “Just give the things back. And don’t take anything else while you’re here.”
Rascal’s pinch-faced look and sullen silence promised grudging obedience. She rose, Tae trailing with the weapon. Unable to win that point, she switched to one she could. Her hand floated nonthreateningly to her throat, and she unfastened the topmost stay.
“What are you doing?” Tae demanded.
“Doin’ what ya wants,” Rascal snapped, opening another catch. “Ya gots me alone at knife point.” She unloosened another, revealing undeveloped breasts. “Hain’t no one gonna proteck one like me.” She pulled the shirt apart, fully revealing herself. “Ya knows ya want me.”
Tae banged the knife back into his sheath. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Without another word, he turned and left the room, anger fleeing with every step. He still had more than enough time to collect Subikahn for the night.
* * *
Rascal burned with all the rage Tae no longer suffered. Still flattened against the cabinets, she whipped the shirt back into place, fingers fumbling to restore the stays. Quaking anger ruined her usual dexterity. At length, she managed to fully close her clothing; but the time it took only stoked the fire in her veins. Cheeks blazing, she stomped the spilled raisins into the floor, twisting her foot to grind the stains deep. She had no choice but to return the kitchen help’s property, but she could still make them miserable in return. Them . . . and HIM. The desperate need for revenge flared into a bonfire. Tae’s prize possession could not defend himself, and babies brought more gold than trinkets on the current market. Eventually, Tae would likely get Subikahn back, but not before he suffered the worry and shame he had inflicted on her.
Once conjured, the idea would not leave Rascal’s mind. Straying from its image resulted in a restless discomfort that drove her relentlessly back to the thought. She knew she could never snatch the baby from Tae, nor from his savage Renshai mother. Ra-khir might fall victim to trickery, though unlikely to her own. But none of that mattered. Rascal had seen Kevral turn the babies over to a servant who had rolled their cribs to a grizzled old woman in the play room. From the brief conversation that had accompanied the exchange, Rascal believed the elder a great-grandparent. She would fall easy prey to youthful strength and quickness.
Rascal raced through the castle hallways, worried that Tae might beat her to the infant. She arrived shortly, catching her breath for several moments before knocking on the door. She would have to gauge the situation swiftly and plan accordingly. If anyone other than babies and grandmother occupied the room, she would run. Otherwise, she would snatch up Subikahn and race for the window. She would attempt to climb; but a two-story fall into gardens should not harm her. She would protect the baby as best as she could or lose the money it represented. But if the gods willed the baby dead, she would escape without it and consider her vengeance complete.
Heart pounding, Rascal watched the door ease open, prepared to dash into the shadows in an instant. Tae might threaten, but he could never prove she meant the child harm.
A weathered arm, flesh sagging, appeared through the crack, then Rascal faced a woman easily approaching seventy. Hair white as milk curved around a wrinkled face, and watery blue eyes studied Rascal without presumption. She wore a V-necked tunic and tan linen britches instead of the house dress Rascal expected. Focused on the lack of other occupants, the two full cribs, and the window on the opposite side of the room, Rascal did not notice the sword belt fastened to the old woman’s waist. Two chairs, a table, and a chest filled with toys completed the furnishings.
Shoving the elder aside, Rascal made a dash for the cribs. Intent on the dark-haired one, she barely heard the door slam closed and the bolt clack into place. She grabbed Subikahn, whirling toward the window. Now she could see the glass that framed it top to bottom, a detail she had never considered. Tae worried too much about Rascal escaping to allow her a room with a window, and her experience never placed her in a location rich enough to afford such luxuries.
Rascal’s instant of hesitation gave the old woman the time she needed. A silver streak hammered the baby from Rascal’s grip. The child sailed, shrieking, snatched from the air by a great-grandmother accustomed to catching flying swords. Still clutching a wailing Subikahn, the old woman struck directly for Rascal.
Unable to suppress a scream, Rascal threw herself sideways. The sword stung against her arm, and she crashed into a chair. Momentum flung her over it. It slammed to the ground at her back, even as her shoulder struck the floor with bruising force. She rolled over a shard, struggling to her feet, only to see the sword speeding toward her again. . . .
* * *
Tae forced himself to amble through the corridors from Kevral and Ra-khir’s room, eager for Subikahn yet wanting Kevral’s kindly old grandmother to have as much time with the twins as he could spare her. The exercise proved harder than he expected. He understood Kevral and Ra-khir’s need for a night of privacy they rarely had, especially while searching for the pieces of Pica. But surely the great-grandmother would understand Tae’s own need to see his child during their recoveries between worlds. She had the opportunity to play with the boys while they stayed with Kevral’s parents.
A scream, followed by a solid crash interrupted Tae’s train of thought. Though accustomed to approaching conflict cautiously, he ran toward it. The noises came from the direction of the toy room, and he could not risk the chance that it threatened his son.
A series of thuds followed, then another scream. A baby sobbed. As Tae rounded the corner, he lost all doubt. Panic hammered him as he careened through the corridor. He seized the door latch and yanked. It did not yield. Frustration emerged
in a desperate screech. “Let me in!” He pounded hard enough to bruise his fists. “Damn it, open this door!”
“Please, no. No!” someone shouted. The baby continued to cry. Something heavy struck the door.
Tae abandoned his efforts, charging to the nearest stairway and barreling to the upper stories. Dashing through the first open door, he found an unpaned window, jerked the bolt, and slapped open the shutters. Moonlight funneled through the opening, reflecting from an ice-covered pond several stories below. Tae scrambled to the ledge. Seizing it, he swung his legs downward, barely bothering to catch toeholds before beginning his sideways descent. Terror usurped caution. His fingernails cracked against stone, tearing the tender pads of his fingers. He dashed from hold to hold like a hunted insect, at dangerous speed. He had scarcely reached the third story when his boot toe skidded from a bulge. His leg plummeted suddenly, jarring loose the other foot and a hand hold. He clung by three fingers, toes squabbling wildly at stone. Then that, too, failed, and he plunged from the castle wall.
Tae barely had a chance to tuck before he slammed into ice that shattered beneath him. Impact shocked through him, eroding consciousness. He gasped in a mouthful of water that spasmed his windpipe closed. A deadly chill washed over him, and he struggled to sort direction in the dense, black water. Moonlight mirrored oddly from the ice, stealing all sense of bearings. He flattened his body, allowing the water to buoy him upward, sacrificing necessary speed for direction. All the swimming in the world could not save him if he shoved himself deeper.
Tae drifted upward, lungs bucking against his control, desperately seeking air. As he became certain of his course, he kicked his legs, propelling himself upward. At last he reached the top, surging toward the surface with a sudden second wind. His head crashed into ice so hard it drove him back under. The understanding of certain death reached him, accompanied by panic. He had lost the hole of his entry. Without it, he could not escape. Already, the coldness of the water seeped into his body, threatening to finish him before the search. He pounded against the ice, but without the momentum of a fall, he could not break it.
No. Tae bucked against a death so unlike what he had expected. Gathering his wits, he turned his face toward the ice, exploring it for a weakness. Water trickled across his forehead. Movement. Tae leaped for this new savior. A tiny pocket of air had layered between the water and the ice. He plunged his nose into the space, just as his windpipe surrendered to his lungs’ demands. Screwing his mouth tight, he sucked blessed air through his nostrils. Its coldness, and the dribble of icy water that accompanied it, cut his insides like knives. He ignored the pain, propelling himself along the underside of the ice, forcing composure. The air could not last long with no way to replenish, and the cold already made every movement stiff and painful. He could feel his thoughts slowing along with his mind, and the urge to give up to the frigid waters seemed nearly overwhelming.
Subikahn. Tae roused himself with thoughts of his son in danger. Faster, he pushed himself along the ice, his nose now pressed against it and guzzling in nearly as much water as air. At length, he had no choice but to hold his breath again, knowing he had brief moments before death claimed him. His hands banged solid ice twice more. As he wrestled down the impulse to pound the ice in frenzied, hopeless hysteria, an edge of ice sliced open his smallest finger. Tae gathered his all for one last surge, and emerged, sputtering, from the pond. Catching an edge of the ice, Tae levered himself over, keeping his weight evenly distributed so as not to break the surface and send himself under again. Using the patience that might have prevented the fall in the first place, he crawled across the frozen pond to shore.
A shiver wracked Tae, straining muscles with its abrupt ferocity. Subikahn. He staggered across the ground, seizing handholds immediately beneath the proper window, studying the shadow of its deep shutter ledges. Upward he climbed, every motion more instinct than intention. The winter wind stabbed through his sodden clothing, numbing his fingers until he no longer knew where they were. Somehow, they continued to draw him upward and to the proper ledge. Balanced there barely long enough to recognize Rascal shrieking and dodging the old woman’s sword, he hurled himself through the window. The glass shattered, raining over the floor in a high-pitched sprinkle, accompanied by droplets of blood. Without bothering to assess the damage, Tae collapsed between Rascal and the blade. “No. Stop,” he managed. What the hell is going on?
Only then Tae managed to drag the details together. The Renshai grandmother could not have chosen to kill Rascal, or she would already lie dead. The flat of the sword that sheered away in time to miss him demonstrated that as well. She had chosen only to beat at Rascal, presumably to hurt her. But there could be only one reason Rascal had come here, one that made him wish the grandmother had intended to kill. Subikahn. Tae tried to ask about the baby’s well-being aloud, but even the name refused to emerge. Soaked from head to toe, buffeted by chills, he finally managed to clamber to his feet.
Rascal cowered behind the toy chest.
The Renshai stood with her hands on her hips, sword sheathed. The babies lay safely in their cribs, Subikahn’s breaths shuddering and tears clinging to his lashes. “Give me one reason not to batter her senseless.”
You’re asking the wrong person. Tae kept that thought deliberately silent. “What happened?”
Rascal puffed out a breathless answer. “I comed lookin’ for ya. Crazy ol’ hag ’tacked me.”
The Renshai jerked warningly, which sent Rascal ducking back behind the chest.
“She grabbed Subikahn,” the elder explained calmly. “Should I kill her?”
It was an idle threat, Tae knew. The Renshai would not murder an unarmed adversary in an unfair fight. “No.” Fatigue crushed in on him. No longer in desperate danger, his son safe with his great-grandmother, Tae saw no reason to fight any longer. “I’ll handle her.” He limped toward the door, tossing a gesture to Rascal over his shoulder.
For once, Rascal’s bravado disappeared. She scurried after Tae, keeping him between herself and the Renshai at all times.
Tae hoped with all his heart she had finally learned her lesson.
CHAPTER 12
A Deeper Chill
Fire warms the body;
Exertion warms the spirit.
—Colbey Calistinsson
THE hearth fire in the queen’s chamber dispelled Tae’s chill, chased the numbness from fingers and toes, and dried his wet clothing. Huddled on the floor as close as safety allowed, he watched the flames flicker and snap while Matrinka tended his cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Laughter occasionally wafted from the room next door, the king’s deep rumble accompanied by the higher-pitched sounds of his mother and the lighter, more disjointed chuckles of his stepfather. Though less frequent, Tem’aree’ay’s giggles emerged as sweet as bell-song, and the perfect chords of Darris’ lute broke the quieter moments at intervals.
Tae watched the color gradually return to his fingers. “I’m sorry I pulled you away from the celebration.” Exhaustion made thought difficult; he felt broken and guilty, hating that he had torn Matrinka from a last night of private revelry before the travelers set out after the third Pica shard. Between their mission and Darris’ dedication to Griff’s task, she rarely found time to spend with her beloved.
“Not at all.” Matrinka sat back on her haunches. “I don’t mind, Tae. Really.”
The door connecting the king’s and queen’s rooms creaked, and a furry head poked through the widening crack. Mior sat in the opening, cleaning her neck with long strokes of her tongue.
Tae grinned. “That must be torture for a cat. Choosing between so many laps and a fire.”
Mior stopped licking to look at Tae, and Matrinka laughed. “That’s uncanny.”
“What?”
“You called it exactly. She’s whining about the temptation I created by not closing the door.”
Still in cat mode, Tae guessed. “She would have complained at least as much if you had shut her out
there.”
“No doubt.”
Mior rose haughtily, raised her head and tail, and trotted back into the king’s room.
“I’m sorry.” Tae watched after the disappearing cat. “Did I offend her?”
“You just struck a little too close to home.” Matrinka smoothed her skirt, skillfully embroidered with dancing bears. “When she stops feeling huffy, she’ll be impressed by your insight. You’ve got a real gift.”
A gift for thinking like a cat. Great. How useful. Tae held the thought. To express it might offend, Mior if not Matrinka. And the queen would chide him for denigrating himself again. “I wish it extended to Rascal.”
“You mean you wish you could read her intentions?” Finished with her ministrations, Matrinka rocked to her feet, disappearing behind her bed. A drawer rattled open.
“Right,” Tae said, lowering his head. A damp clump of hair fell into his face with the movement.
The bed muffled Matrinka’s question, “Are you sure you can’t?” The drawer clapped closed.
Tae shrugged, though Matrinka could not see the motion. She had a point. Nothing Rascal had done so far surprised him, only enraged and disappointed. “I hope I can’t. I expect nothing but the worst from her.” He mumbled, “And so far, I haven’t been proved wrong.”
“Excuse me?” Matrinka came back around the bed, clutching a comb and a shearing knife. “I missed the last part.”
Not wishing to repeat the concluding line, Tae hedged. “I said I expect nothing but the worst from her.” He watched Matrinka take a new position beside him. “What are you doing? I don’t need anything amputated, do I?” The lack of concern in his voice should have made it clear he did not really worry for that possibility.
The Children of Wrath Page 27