The shadow started moving, a counterpart to the escaping haze. Gandrett didn’t move. Not yet. The element of surprise worked only once. And she had to make it count.
He neared another step. And another. Then the tip of his sword was visible from the side. Gandrett rallied her strength and let him take another step before she hurled the chain like a whip, watching it wrap around his blade, and tugged it free from his grasp.
His responding growl was nothing less than lethal. The sword clattered to the ground between them and Joshua Brenheran had already drawn a dagger—Nehelon’s dagger—by the time she bent, trying to pick it up. Gandrett hurled back the chain, leaving the sword where it was before Joshua could launch at her with the new blade gleaming in his grasp.
“You should not fight me,” he warned her, teeth bared, emerald eyes piercing through the dim light. “It will only make your suffering longer.”
He took one feral step toward her, dagger ready to slice into her.
She needed to find his weakness. She had caught him off guard before in the hallway. All she needed to do was—
“I am here to help you, Joshua,” Gandrett tried. If there was any truth to what the Brenheran family said about their heir, then she had to find a way to get him to stall rather than to fight. To listen. “Your father sent me to get you out of this castle.”
Joshua didn’t seem human as he waved her off and took another step. “My family is glad I am gone.” He laughed darkly. “The black sheep of the Brenherans. A stain to my family’s honor.” He spoke, it seemed, more to himself.
Gandrett didn’t stop him. As long as he had something to say, he wouldn’t kill her. So she didn’t stop him.
“It’s a surprise my father”—he laughed as if that word was a joke—“even let me live. A Brenheran by name and blood, but—” His eyes grew distant as if he were listening to something.
Gandrett strained her ears, trying to make out any sound but the slow shifting of Joshua’s feet on the gravel-covered ground.
Now. It had to be now.
With another—last—surge of strength, she let the chain lash against Joshua’s neck, and as it wrapped around his throat, she pulled hard enough to fell a tree, but Joshua didn’t even tumble. And he didn’t yield.
“You vicious creature.” His face distorted, all handsomeness relinquished by the grimace, and his free hand grabbed the chain, now pulling Gandrett closer as if he were hauling in a boat.
Gandrett, no matter how hard she dug her heels in the dirt, couldn’t hold her ground. Not as Joshua released his full strength and tugged, sending her stumbling forward until she came to a stop an inch from his dagger—Nehelon’s dagger.
A surge of fury filled Gandrett’s chest, strong enough to burn the fear for her life and dulling the pain in her face, in her limbs, in her torn palms. Nehelon’s dagger. His diamond-blue eyes flashed before her, centering her, and felling her rage.
“Give me that dagger,” was all she said.
Joshua cocked his head in response, seeming confused by her demand.
“The dagger, Joshua Brenheran. Give it to me.”
He did no such thing, but his confusion grew, spreading wide on his features. His grasp on the chain, however, held fast.
“A friend gave it to me, and I would not want to return to him without it. So give me the dagger. I won’t say it again.”
As Joshua’s lips curled into a cruel smile, the leash on Gandrett’s temper snapped, and she tugged on the chain with all her force, grabbing the blade of the dagger before her with one already injured hand.
It cut into her palm, sending searing pain up her arm, but she didn’t let go. The blade shook between her grasp and Joshua’s, but she didn’t yield. Even when the blade turned hot like a branding iron between her fingers, she didn’t loosen her grasp. She held Joshua’s gaze, staring him down until he flinched, sucking in a breath of surprise.
“Magic—”
Armand’s breathing was ragged by the time they made it down the stairs. He never took this corridor—even though he knew of its existence, knew where it led, he never took it.
“How much further?” The servant girl kept running ahead, her legs fast as a doe’s as she leaped around corners, braid bouncing on her slender back.
He could still feel the looks on his guards’ incredulous faces as he’d taken off with her. But he’d care about that later. Right now, his ray of hope needed his help, and he would run until his lungs bled if he had to.
“I don’t know how long she’s been in there,” the girl panted as they flew down the next flight of stairs. Never in his life had the castle felt that unnecessarily large to him. “But if we don’t make it soon…”
Do you have any idea how she got there? Wherever that is. He wanted to ask. But he saved his breath for running.
“She didn’t sound good when I left and”—Addie flung out her hand, holding on to the wall at the corner she was turning—“and someone was coming.” She didn’t pause for a second to see if he was catching up. “She was scared, Sir.”
It was when they made it to the bottom level of the north tower that Armand’s chest tightened. The north tower was the last place he’d seen her. What if she had never left?
They made it past another turn and then down into the underground levels where the ancient dungeons of a time long before the Dragon King were located.
The humid smell of mold climbed into his nostrils as they entered a long, torch-lit corridor.
“Almost there,” the girl panted and pointed ahead, this time glancing back over her shoulder, her face panic-stricken.
He heard it then, Gandrett’s scream. A sound shaking him to the core of his bone marrow.
His legs automatically pushed harder, as if in answer to the horrifying sound of pain, and he darted past the girl, sweat sheathing his neck.
It couldn’t be far. Just—
In the corridor, coming into view as he made it past the next corner, a shape was cowering on the floor, hands raised before her face and shaking uncontrollably.
Gandrett.
She was wearing the same elegant, dusty-blue dress as the last time he’d seen her. Only now it was hardly recognizable, covered in dust and something darker he hoped wasn’t her blood.
Armand skidded to a halt in front of her and dropped to his knees, his sword hand still firm on the hilt of his sword while his free hand hesitated midair as he noticed the deep gash on her hand.
His strength almost left him as she lifted her head, exposing her face. Blood. There was so much blood on her lovely features. Her nose was swollen, dribbling fresh blood on top of the crusted one covering her lips and chin. Dirt glazed her cheeks and every inch of skin that wasn’t covered by her gown.
“What happened?”
He was still waiting for an answer when the servant girl joined him on the ground. To her credit, she didn’t hesitate one second as she noticed Gandrett’s injuries, but reached into the pocket of her dress and extracted a handkerchief. “It’s clean,” she commented as Armand gave her a doubtful look and grabbed Gandrett’s sliced-open hand to bind it with the cloth. Then she took Gandrett’s other hand, which, to Armand’s horror, was covered in countless little cuts and scratches, and she made Gandrett apply pressure on the bound wound.
“I think I killed him,” Gandrett whispered and glanced over her shoulder into the open cell behind her.
Armand froze. There were boots visible from his angle. Familiar boots.
He jumped up, leaving the girl to tend to Gandrett’s wounds—“Wait here.”—and made his way to the cell, a looming dark hole behind her, to find out who she had been speaking about.
Joshua’s motionless body lay sprawled over a heap of gravel, his dark tunic and pants covered with dust. But what held Armand’s attention wasn’t the fact that Joshua didn’t move but the burn marks encircling his throat. The stench of singed flesh filling the small cell made Armand cover his mouth and nose with his free hand.
; Beside Joshua, a long chain sat on the ground, part of it incinerated.
What had happened?
He darted to the Brenheran heir’s side and gently nudged his shoulder. It couldn’t be. If he was dead, all his efforts, all the efforts of his mother would have been in vain. All those years—
If Joshua was dead, there would not be a true king of Sives.
To Armand’s relief, Joshua’s chest was slowly rising and falling, but his injuries looked bad. He needed a healer before the wounds could get infected. As did Gandrett.
“Can you hear me, cousin?”
Gandrett held her breath as Joshua’s groan drifted from the cell. Alive. He was alive. And she wasn’t a killer.
Her heart beat a bit more lightly but remained the same darkened lump it had turned into the moment the dagger had started to glow.
Magic. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it was possible that magic had erupted from her hands. Never in her ten years at the priory had she ever had a spark of magic—a sword-wielder, yes, the best one, but magic? Vala had not bestowed that gift upon her.
So how could it be possible that the blade had heated in her hand, that it had burned Joshua, that the chain around his neck had seared into his flesh?
She was remotely aware that Addie had returned with Armand. A welcome rescue under different conditions… But not with magic involved. The magic that had run through her hadn’t been the calm stream of the Vala-blessed water mages but something different. Hot and angry magic. Some rogue energy that had saved her from Joshua Brenheran. And yet, it had damned her. If anyone found out, her fate would be to be exiled to the dormant forests of Ulfray to live her life in the wilderness of the Fae lands… if she was lucky. If she wasn’t that fortunate, she would meet her end through magic-haters before she ever made it to the borders of the Fae territories.
She knew that when Armand returned from that cell, there would be questions, and she wasn’t certain if she could find plausible answers to any of them. He would know something was wrong.
And once Joshua woke up to tell the tale…
Her face stung as Addie dabbed the fresh blood off her lips, but Gandrett didn’t complain. She was still trying to make sense of what had happened in that cell, the slightest of hope remaining that she might have hallucinated.
“We must get Joshua somewhere safe.” Armand appeared at her side, face weary. “And you need a healer.”
Addie had stopped torturing her face with the cloth and folded her hands in her lap, bloody cloth and all. “We can hide them somewhere in the higher levels of the north tower,” she suggested quietly as if embarrassed to speak at all.
When Gandrett looked up, she found a silent understanding between Armand and Addie as if they both knew exactly there was something more than just their recovery at stake. For Gandrett knew, the wounds on her would heal once she could clean up, get some water to drink, and then rest for a day or two. Joshua would most likely survive if a healer tended to his burns, or so she hoped. But her hopes of ever dragging him back to Ackwood had been incinerated when she realized just how strong he was.
He wouldn’t go willingly. And she wouldn’t have the strength to make him.
“People will start looking for him,” Addie noted. “We need to hide him.” Some ghost of guilt crossed her features that Gandrett didn’t understand.
Armand touched Gandrett’s shoulder with a light hand. “Can you get up and walk?”
Gandrett studied him for a short moment. He was wearing night-blue silken pajamas and boots. Under different circumstances, she would have made a joke about it, but now, she just nodded. It didn’t matter if she could stand and walk. She had to in order to get out of here.
So she pushed herself up and set one wobbly leg in front of the other until she swayed. Addie caught her around the waist, not commenting on the wet stains at the back of her dress. Gandrett hid her embarrassment and made a silent promise to reward Addie for her aid later.
Beside them, Armand appeared, Joshua Brenheran’s limp body draped over his shoulders.
“Not in the north tower,” Armand said to Addie. “Gandrett goes back to her room, and Joshua we’ll hide in plain sight.” Gandrett felt his gaze on her as she stumbled along, mouth too dry to say a word, head spinning. “I’ll keep him at my own chambers for now.”
Riho didn’t bring news when he returned at first light, instead, dropping a corn-seed in his hand, he cawed by way of greeting. It was the third day without news from Gandrett. If it took another night, Nehelon swore, he would go to Eedwood himself and turn the castle upside down until he found her.
He had even prepared a message for her, saying exactly that. Riho cocked his head as Nehelon tied the tiny scroll of parchment to his leg. He was just finishing up as it hit him like a surge of wind running through his blood. Magic.
Clear and bright like a bolt of lightning. He hadn’t felt something this strong since—
He didn’t allow himself to go there. It had been over a century…
“Did you feel that, my friend?”
Riho cocked his head to the other side in a silent question.
“Magic, Riho.” Nehelon leaned back against the tree, probing through his system for a trace of the sensation he had just experienced.
But it had already subsided. A bright light in a dark world that had flickered for but a moment and had left the darkness that came after even more blinding.
With a sigh, Nehelon sent Riho in the skies. “Find her,” he told the bird even if he knew it was out of his hands.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Addie refused to leave Gandrett’s side as she dismissed the girl with heartfelt words of thanks. As did Armand.
He had taken Joshua to his chambers and sent one of his loyal guards, both of which had not asked any questions despite the horrified looks on their faces when they had assessed the condition Joshua and Gandrett were in, to get reinforcements—only from his inner circle, he had demanded, and Deelah.
While Gandrett had washed and changed into her sleeping gown and wrapped a robe around her shivering body, Armand had overseen Joshua’s treatment. Only now that Joshua was asleep, he had come through the secret passageway together with Deelah, and the woman was now cleaning the wounds on Gandrett’s hands. No burn marks there, Gandrett had noticed. Just the deep cut from Nehelon’s dagger.
Deelah didn’t ask questions either but patiently worked on Gandrett’s hands while Armand paced the room in an elliptic path.
“I can do this myself,” Gandrett commented between two sips of water she drank from a glass Addie was holding to her lips.
“It seems you can do more than that,” Armand noted from his position by the wall.
Gandrett knew by the look on his face that he knew. She could tell by the deep furrow between his brows that he was debating what to do with her—or Joshua. But he didn’t speak until Deelah was done with her hands and left with a bucket full of bloodied water.
“Use this for your face.” She placed a small bottle on the table before she headed out the door, a weary smile on her lips.
“She’s not going to say a word to anyone,” Armand claimed as soon as the door closed behind Deelah.
Gandrett loosed a breath, as did Addie and Armand. The three of them stared at each other for a long moment, Gandrett close to the point of falling asleep sitting up. If it weren’t for the fear that she would be kicked into the forests of Ulfray before she ever had a chance of finishing her mission and seeing her parents again. Then, if she did have magic, wouldn’t it be better to stay as far away from them as she could.
Eventually, Armand stopped looking at her as if she was a hybrid between a branding iron and a porcelain doll and sauntered over to sit next to her on the crimson sofa. All the while Addie still stood, shifting as if she was about to make an excuse to leave.
“You are staying here,” he said with a voice that was more commander than a young lord.
Addie, to her credit, didn’t
shy away from his tone but simply said, “Lady Linniue will be wondering where I am.”
The light of recognition flashed in Armand’s eyes. “So that’s where I have seen you before.”
Addie cringed. “The Lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmured, her electric blue eyes wandering to the secret passage between Armand’s and Gandrett’s chambers.
Armand gave her a tentative smile. “When you get there, you can tell my aunt that it is my fault you’re late.”
Gandrett tried to piece together the information while Armand leaped to his feet once more to pick up the bottle Deelah had left. With quick strides, he vanished into the bathing chamber, from where he emerged a few moments—and the sound of running water—later.
“I can do this,” Addie offered as Armand returned to Gandrett’s side where he set down the metal bowl he’d filled with water and dipped a fresh piece of cloth into it.
Armand waved her off. “You’ve done enough already,” he said, glancing at her as she was still fidgeting. “Why don’t you sit down and rest?” he suggested. “You must be exhausted.”
Addie felt her jaw drop and had no control over it. Never once had anyone in Eedwood castle offered her to take a seat and rest. Especially not Lady Linniue. But the young lord’s stare was so compelling that she set foot after foot without even realizing it. Only when she reached the table and sat down did he release her from his surveillance.
“Good,” he said and turned back to Gandrett.
It was hard to watch the way he looked at her, his measuring gaze, the unspoken words on his lips. There was an undeniable bond between them. A sort of closeness that made her heart ache for someone she could confide in.
“I want the whole story, Gandrett,” he demanded, words gentle despite the urging tone in them.
He pulled the cloth from the water, wrung the excess fluid from it, then touched it to the side of Gandrett’s nose where, after she had washed all blood away, a gruesome, swelling bruise was distorting her beautiful face.
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