“The Ardrigh will be pleased to see you alive, de Mendoza, not least because it will silence the hordes of Devlin cousins who’ve been plaguing the palace since your disappearance.” His eyes slanted toward Fionn. “Fionn? I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I heard the sounds of a fight and the discharge of a weapon. I came to investigate and found these two down,” he indicated the injured shifters, “and the wounded norms back in the trees.”
Rhodry lifted his brow in surprise that Fionn made no mention of Amanda.
Padraic eyed the two of them skeptically for several minutes before turning to study the various injured men once again. “This is for the Ardrigh to decide,” he announced.
One of the norms struggled upright, bracing himself against the thick tree trunk behind which his skewered companion still lay moaning. “We need a doctor!” he demanded loudly. “That animal attacked us!” He pointed at Rhodry, who gave him a tooth-baring smile.
Padraic studied the two injured men, his attention lingering on the arrows still visible in both, before returning to Rhodry and Fionn, neither of whom was carrying a bow. He gave Rhodry a knowing look, then gestured at the two norms and said, “Are you acquainted with these fine gentlemen?”
Rhodry grimaced in distaste. “Both are de Mendoza, I’m ashamed to say. My cousins. The talkative one’s Robbie, the other Zalmon. Not everyone was pleased with my grandfather’s preference for his shifter offspring.”
“Preference,” Robbie spat. “He didn’t give a damn for anyone else, you Devlin bastard. De Mendoza would be better off if you were dead.”
“Unpleasant fellow,” Padraic said drily. “Daly,” he said over his shoulder. “You and Serna get your useless selves up off the ground, and help carry those two to the Guild Hall. We’ll get them a cart from there to the palace.
“De Mendoza, you and Fionn come along. The Ardrigh will want to hear what you have to say.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Amanda stomped away, muttering imprecations against shifters in general, and Rhodry and Fionn in particular. Too soon, the adrenaline rush faded, and exhaustion overcame her anger. She slowed down, limping painfully. Now that the crisis was over, her leg was throbbing with every step, reminding her that there was a price to pay for shimmying up and down trees and running full out for miles. Her back still ached where the young shifter had hit her, and her hands and feet were scraped half raw from her precipitous slide down the tree to Rhodry’s rescue.
And this day wasn’t anywhere near over. She still needed to present herself at the Guild Hall, and deal with any challenges to her trial—and there were certain to be some of those, no matter that the whole thing had been rigged against her from the start.
Forget the iced fruit juice. When this was over, she was going to go home to her apartment, take a bath just long enough to get clean, then climb into bed and sleep for a week. Her original idea had been to include Rhodry in that bed. Now it seemed he’d be busy at the palace. He was the de Mendoza clan chief and someone had tried to kill him.
Besides, she was no longer sure he wanted to be in her bed with her.
She found the tree where she’d abandoned her boots, and sank down with a sigh, pulling on both socks and boots quickly. For a brief moment, she considered leaving the pelt in its hiding place. The long walk back to retrieve it was almost more than she could handle. The temptation was fleeting, however. If the Guild shifters didn’t take her word for where she’d been dropped, and she knew many of them wouldn’t, the fur would be proof that she’d been left on the edge of the glacier.
Rhodry could testify to that as well, if she only knew where he was or when he’d show up. If he ever did. He and Fionn were probably already settled within the cool confines of the palace, refreshing drinks at hand, maybe having already enjoyed a quick bath and a change of clothes before meeting the Ardrigh.
Amanda trudged along, hoping she was on the right heading, knowing she was, and that she was just feeling sorry for herself.
It almost surprised her when she looked up and found herself at the deadfall, her pack right where she’d left it. She’d been half afraid scavengers would have gotten to it by now. Gods knew the damn pelt had a smell strong enough to attract half the forest. That it was still there and unmolested was a bright spot in her otherwise crappy day. She dug for the crumpled half of a trail bar, which was all the food she had left, settled both pack and pelt on her back and limped off on the final leg of her trial.
Orrin Brady was waiting for her when she emerged from the trees, sitting on the back porch of the Guild Hall, his chair balanced on two legs. He was holding one of her arrows in his big hands, tapping it lightly against his knee as she drew close.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs and gave him an inquiring look.
“This yours?” he asked, regarding her from beneath bushy gray eyebrows.
She knew it was. And she had a good idea of where he’d gotten it. She made a show of climbing the stairs to take it from his gnarled fingers to examine carefully. “It is,” she said.
He stood, careful not to crowd her on the narrow porch. “Thought so. Pulled it out of a norm just a bit ago, came through screaming about a shifter attack on him and his buddy.”
She opened her mouth to respond angrily, realizing just in time that the old shifter was smiling.
“Bunch of shifters packed the two of them through here, and had a slightly different tale to tell. The whole lot of ’em went on up to the palace. Let the Ardrigh sort it out.”
She waited.
He looked her over, his eyes widening when he saw the ice bear hide sticking out of her cloak where it was rolled beneath her pack. “You ready?”
“Ready and past ready, sir.”
He smiled again and nodded. “Almost there, candidate.”
He turned to go inside, gesturing for her to follow. She stopped him with a touch on his arm to ask, “Have any other candidates gone out since I left?”
He paused with one hand on the door handle, turning his head just enough to see her over his shoulder. “You’ve been gone for weeks, girl. But no, no others have gone out.”
“And the jar?”
He took his hand from the door and turned around fully to frown at her.
“The jar with the stones,” she clarified. “What happened to it after I left?”
Orrin’s look turned thoughtful. “Should be in my room,” he said, gaze sharpening. “Why?”
Amanda dug in her pocket for the black stone she’d retrieved on her way in, her arrow still marking the tree where it had fallen. “I think you’ll find they all look like this.” She held it out and dropped it into his open palm.
Orrin stared down at the smooth stone, then back up at Amanda, who nodded. His face darkened with anger. “Tiegan!” he shouted.
“Sir?” There was a shuffle of footsteps and a young shifter pushed open the door. He gave a little squeak when he saw Amanda standing there, and she realized he was the same teenager whose attack on her had gone so wrong for him.
Orrin pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket and held them out to the youngster who was staring at Amanda fearfully. “Pay attention, boy.”
The boy in question jumped guiltily, and held out his hand for the keys.
“Go to my room, get the jar. You know which one, don’t be ignorant,” he snapped, when the young man opened his mouth to ask. “Don’t open it, don’t mess with it, don’t even shake it. Just get it and bring it right back.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get away.
The judge watched the young shifter race off, his head tilted thoughtfully. “Tiegan’s my youngest grandson,” he said to her without turning. “A good boy. Foolish perhaps, as they all are at that age. A good boy nonetheless.” His glance slid to her. “Funny thing is, he showed up a few days back, looked like he’d been in a fight. Claimed he fell out of a tree.” The judge chuckled softly. “Never known that b
oy to fall; he was climbing before he could walk.”
“You might ask him who suggested he climb that particular tree,” she said.
Orrin stared at her a bit longer, then grunted. “Well, best get this finished. Come along, girl.”
Young Tiegan must have passed the word as he’d hurried to do his grandfather’s bidding. By the time she followed the judge into the Guild’s great hall, and dropped her pack with its heavy load to the gleaming wood floor, shifters had already begun to gather. Some were in animal guise, their great, furred bodies lounging in improbable places, tails swishing in a mix of agitation or threat, depending on the shifter. Others wore their human form, a few only half clothed as if they’d pulled on the first thing that came to hand before rushing out to see. They emerged from the hallways and meeting rooms, lining the mezzanine overhead and crowding along the walls downstairs to stare at her.
Amanda knew how she looked. She hadn’t had a proper bath in days. Her hair was filthy, pulled back in a braid that had started out tight, and by now had bits of leaf and bark clinging to it, with loose strands tickling her neck and hanging into her face. Her clothes were in worse shape—dirty, torn, streaked with blood, some of it fresh as her leg had begun bleeding again on the long walk back. On the plus side, she was alive, and still strong enough to enter the Hall on her own two feet. And only a short time ago she’d taken down two assailants with clean shots that had wounded, not killed. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and refused to let them think she did.
She straightened her spine and lifted her chin defiantly in the quiet room, the only sound the soft shuffle of feet, the gentle swish of tails along wood railings and posts. It was all vaguely ominous. She stood calmly and waited, her gaze circling the assembled shifters, never resting on anyone in particular, never meeting anyone’s eyes.
With a clatter of clumsy feet and rattling stones, Tiegan came running back, shoving his way through the crowd to reach his grandfather’s side. Clearly mindful of the many eyes watching him, the young shifter sucked in a breath, pulled his narrow shoulders back and presented the jar to Orrin with a solemn air. A ripple of tension ran through the room as the shifters saw what the boy had brought. That reaction told her that at least some of those present knew what Orrin would find. She managed to control the snarl that fought to reach her face as the judge took the jar.
Moving with a deliberate slowness, he set the ceramic container down on a table. He accepted his keys from Tiegan and slipped them back into his pocket, before placing his hand on the round lid. She experienced a fleeting panic. What would she do if it turned out she was wrong? He lifted the lid and upended the jar. She held her breath, half expecting to see a small flood of multicolored stones tumble out.
The flood was black. Shining, smooth and black. Orrin looked up with a thunderous expression, his glare falling first on Tiegan, who stepped back fearfully, then rising to spear every shifter in the great hall.
“Tiegan,” he said softly.
“Grandfather?” the boy squeaked.
“Go fetch Evan Graham and Padraic Vaquero from the palace.”
Tiegan’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard enough that she winced in sympathy. “Yes, sir!” he whispered, then spun on one foot and rushed for the doorway. Silence settled over the room, punctuated by the sharp crack of a slamming door as Tiegan ran for the city and the palace.
Both of the men Orrin had requested were shifters. Evan Graham was the other trial judge, and Padraic Vaquero was captain of the Ardrigh’s guard. That Orrin was sending for them indicated he wanted more authority than his own for whatever happened next.
“Amanda.”
It was the first time the old judge had used her name to address her, rather than the formal “candidate” or the dismissive “girl.” She wondered what it meant that he used it now. Was he giving credence to her charges before hearing them? Acknowledging the successful completion of her trial? Or just treating her like a hysterical woman who could begin screaming at any moment?
“It will be some time before everyone gathers,” he said gently. “And you must be tired. We’ve rooms if you’d like to rest or clean up.”
She considered the offer. It didn’t escape her notice that she was being offered the hospitality of the Hall, which was strictly reserved for Guild members. Other guests, no matter how significant, were housed at the palace or elsewhere in the city. On the other hand, she wasn’t quite comfortable enough to sleep or even shower surrounded by hostile shifters.
“I appreciate the offer, sir. I’d rather wait. I wouldn’t mind a cup of hot tea, though. If I could use the kitchen?”
Orrin studied her for long enough that she wondered if he was trying to decide whether to be offended at her refusal. Finally one side of his mouth quirked up in a half grin. “I believe you know the way.”
“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged and hefted her pack onto her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Amanda,” he said softly, when she started for the kitchen. “You can leave that here. On my honor.”
She was loath to let the pack out of her sight, but there could be no doubt of the insult to Orrin this time if she refused. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, then lowered her burden to the floor at his feet. She met his eyes directly, wanting him to know what this cost her. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded once, slowly. “There’s fresh bread in the box, and some cold meats, or fruit preserves if you’d rather. Help yourself.”
Her mouth already watering at the idea of anything fresh baked, she made her way out of the crowded room, shifters clearing a path ahead of her, then closing in again as she passed. She was painfully aware that for the first time in weeks, her back was bare to anyone who wished her harm.
And it made her wonder how Rhodry was faring, and who had his back as he confronted his enemies at last.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Rhodry followed Padraic Vaquero toward the palace, feeling the binds of civilization tightening around him. For all its dangers, his time in the forest with Amanda had been a welcome interlude. Already he could feel the suffocating hostility of the Ardrigh’s court, the circling of old enmity.
Walking next to him, Fionn gave a mock bow to a group of women as they passed. The women giggled flirtatiously, and he tried to imagine Amanda standing around dressed and pampered within an inch of her life, having nothing better to do than flirt with passing shifters. Instead, he got a picture as he’d last seen her, angry with him, hurt even, because he’d tried to protect her, to keep her away from the attack he’d known was coming.
And what was wrong with that? He’d been raised to respect people with skills other than his own, taught to protect them as well, those who were weaker, less— He tripped on his own thought. Amanda wasn’t less of anything, was she? She’d saved his life on the glacier, and who knew what might have happened just now if she hadn’t been there to take out those two norms with their deadly plasma rifle. She had both the courage and the skills to match his own, as well as other abilities he’d never had to develop, relying instead on his physical prowess.
Certainly he was stronger than she was, because he was stronger than most people he knew, both norm and shifter. It was a simple matter of physical size and muscle mass, and he’d been born with that, it was hardly to his credit.
So, then maybe you shouldn’t have treated her like one of those pampered females. He scowled at his own thoughts. He’d make it up to her later, after all of this was over. She was angry, so he’d talk to her. She’d understand. Wouldn’t she? He thought about Fionn with his easy charm and good looks. Fionn who—
“If you please, Fionn,” Padraic reprimanded over his shoulder, drawing both Fionn and Rhodry’s attention back to the task at hand. Desmond Serna and Kane Daly, the two shifters who’d tried to kill Rhodry, twice, were walking just ahead, sandwiched between Padraic in the lead and Rhodry and Fionn behind. They were both worse for the wear, still visibly wounded and worn from carrying t
heir injured norm allies back to the Guild Hall.
The norms had been given first aid, then sent on to the hospital with shifter guards and orders that no one was to see them until the Ardrigh or Padraic himself sent word. They’d complained loudly to anyone who would listen, though none of the shifters had given their whining much credence.
Daly and Serna walked with their heads down, feet dragging, and Rhodry could almost pity them. He’d favored shifting and going around through the forest over this public parade on the streets. Padraic had overruled him, saying it would be too easy for the prisoners to slip away among the trees. He wasn’t sure he agreed with that, doubting the two could have escaped in their current sad condition, and with so many healthy shifters on their trail. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d tried anyway. There would be no good outcome for them from this affair.
Of course, since he’d been the object of their treachery, and since Amanda could have been killed in the course of it, whatever pity he felt was short-lived.
The palace loomed ahead, and he wished Padraic had at least permitted them to wash up before rushing over here. They were dressed at least, wearing typical loose shifter clothing with soft boots on their feet—Padraic had allowed that much, laughing at the idea of five naked shifters strolling through the city streets. Rhodry would have preferred to appear before his Ardrigh bathed and dressed. It was a matter of respect.
“Don’t worry about it, de Mendoza,” Fionn said in a low voice. “Everyone will be so shocked to see you alive, they won’t even notice what we’re wearing.”
He looked over in surprise, not expecting any kind of empathy from Fionn. At that moment, the doors of the palace swung wide and a gust of perfumed air rushed out. He and Fionn exchanged identical grimaces of distaste, and Fionn laughed suddenly, reaching out to clap a hand on Rhodry’s shoulder.
“Give me a bloody fight any day,” he said softly.
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