Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Seraphina
Afternoon came too swiftly. It arrived cold. Overcast.
And awash in frantic energy.
The frigid air sought to slice right through her fur cloak as Seraphina briskly strode across the courtyard, weaving between the sea of soldiers preparing to march and the courtiers waiting to see them off. Her Queensguard pressed in close around her, keeping the crowd at bay.
Confusion choked the air, mingled with a hint of excitement.
Her sudden decision to send the men south before reinforcements from the north had arrived was the topic of conversation for the day.
Snatches of conversation reached her ears as she hurried past: whispers, speculation. Her courtiers were surprised.
If they only knew her soldiers’ true destination, they would surely be surprised twice over. She could only pray none of them learned the truth before she had a chance to spring her trap.
There was no way for her to know just who was still loyal to her.
And who already belonged to Coreto.
Her eyes skimmed the crowd as she walked, hunting for any sign of her Crow amidst the chaos. Her mind whirred while she searched. Had she forgotten anything? Were there any key details she had overlooked?
Aldric had been right—this ploy of hers hinged on several big ‘ifs.’
If everything went according to plan.
If Coreto did not see through the ruse.
If no one else betrayed her trust.
But what else could she do? More waiting? More praying for a miracle?
“Your Majesty!” one of the Sons called, waving her over. The large one named Rakon, the big, bearded brute, towered over nearly all others in the courtyard, almost as broad as he was tall.
Seraphina hurried that way, melding seamlessly into the pack of men and horses.
The scent of leather and sweat slammed into her, overwhelming her senses as she forged deeper.
The youngest of the Sons, Sven, offered her a shy smile.
The rest paid her little mind, too busy in their own preparations to spare her even so much as a glance.
She finally found her Crow equally preoccupied next to his large, scarred warhorse, poetically named Mourn, his back facing her. The moment she drew near, she saw the set of Aldric’s shoulders tense beneath his leather armor. But still, he pretended as if he had not noticed her arrival.
“Calix,” he rasped, nudging the saddlebags resting next to his foot with the toe of his boot. “Strap these in for me.”
Master Fitzjesmaine hurried to obey, his bronze eyes flashing her way for a split second as he stepped around her, murmuring his apologies as he went.
Still, Aldric ignored her.
Seraphina pursed her lips. “Husband,” she greeted him, the word unfurling on a cloud of vapor.
“Wife,” he growled in reply, shooting her a look over his shoulder. “What are you doing down here?” His chin jerked upward, indicating the balcony overlooking the courtyard where her godparents, Sir Tristan and Olivia, gathered. “Better view up there.”
“I wanted to see you off in person,” she explained, circling around him until they were finally face to face. The unspoken part—“for the sake of appearances”—lingered in the air between them. “There is no telling when next you will return, after all.”
Something stirred beneath the collar of Aldric’s undershirt, the material visible just above his jerkin.
For some reason, he wasn’t wearing a gorget to protect his throat.
She realized why in the next moment when a dark, serpentine head poked its way out from under her husband’s armor to gaze at her with shiny, black eyes.
Soot, his usuru.
“You are taking Soot with you?” she asked, trying to hide her dismay.
She failed miserably.
Aldric grunted and finished strapping his polearm’s harness around his chest. Under his breath, he pointed out, “It’ll look strange if I don’t take him.”
Taking a step closer, she hissed back, “It will look stranger still if he is spotted flying above you during our ruse. Usuri are uncommon pets, Aldric.” She didn’t know a single person who kept one for a pet besides her and him.
She stood close to her Crow now, close enough for the body heat radiating off his form to soothe some of the chill seeking to soak into her bones. Close enough to hear Soot purring in that odd, usuru fashion.
Aldric lifted his face, irritation flickering through the gold-flecked depths of his one eye. “I’m not an idiot, Sera,” he bit out. “And this is not our ruse. It is yours.”
Master Fitzjesmaine cleared his throat from where he lingered nearby. “Your bags are all set, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” Aldric muttered, though his gaze never once left hers. He merely stared up at her, as if waiting for her to do something.
The weight of a dozen eyes prickled the hairs on the back of her neck, making her suddenly aware of how the Sons surrounding them now watched their every move. It seemed that the two of them together had garnered far more attention than she had warranted on her own.
Self-conscious, she took a step backward.
Her attention shifted back to his destrier, her eyes flickering between Aldric and the stirrups of his saddle, which dangled far above him.
It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t the faintest idea how he even mounted his horse.
She frowned. “Do you…need any assistance?”
Aldric arched an eyebrow. “With what?” Turning his back to her, he lifted his hand and tapped his horse on the meat of its shoulder until, with a snort, the stallion lowered itself to the ground.
She watched, utterly fascinated, as her husband easily climbed into the saddle. A custom saddle, she noticed up close. Its seat was narrower than normal. Its stirrups, shorter. Even the cantle and pommel were both higher, no doubt to provide a more secure seat.
Realizing she was staring, she swiftly glanced away.
Her eyes met those of the oldest of the Sons—the one with too little hair and too few teeth.
Leif. He offered her a gap-filled smile before letting loose with a strange, warbling whistle so like birdsong that she would have thought it was a bird in truth if she hadn’t witnessed him making the sound.
The Sons were always whistling back and forth to one another.
She suspected the sounds were meant to be signals of some sort.
Aldric shot a sharp glance toward the older man and fired off a curt whistle of his own as his horse shifted back to its feet. To the others, he barked, “Make ready to ride!”
Men swung into saddles. Horses stamped the ground and shook their heads. The jingle of bits rang in the air. Now, she was in the way. She should fall back, escape to the balcony to watch the procession with her advisors.
But for some reason, she lingered on.
“Here,” she whispered, stepping back toward Aldric to make herself useful. He had not yet slipped his feet into the stirrups of his saddle. Her hand fell to his boot.
“I have it,” her husband snarled, bristling like a porcupine as he leaned down to hold his stirrup steady while he shoved his own foot into it.
His venomous tone was like a slap to the face, stealing her breath away. “I was just trying to help, Aldric—”
“But I do not need help,” he snapped before lifting his gaze back to hers. The moment he did, he went quite still. His eye searched hers. Whatever he saw there lured a sigh from his lips, sending his breath caressing against her face—warm and peppermint-scented.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, surprising her with the sudden apology. “I didn’t mean…”
But whatever he didn’t mean, he didn’t bother explaining. He simply trailed off and took Mourn’s reins in his hands, beginning to pull away.
Her pulse flickered. What if this plan of hers failed? What if one of them didn’t make it back from this alive? What if this…was goodbye?
Her arm snaked out, seizing his horse’s reins. “Aldric!” His name burst forth far louder than she had intended. Heat crawled up her throat as the eyes of all his men swung her way again.
Rakon rumbled something in Kunishi. Whatever the large man said, her Crow ignored it. Instead, he spared all his attention for her as he leaned back in, closing the distance between them. “What is it, kirei?”
He lingered so close that she could count the scars carved into his tawny flesh. That she could see herself reflected in his eye—not a woman wreathed in flame, but merely a woman. A woman who didn’t know what she was doing.
Her mouth ran dry. She lowered her gaze from his as her mind raced. What did one say to their husband at a time like this? A husband who was more stranger than lover?
“Be careful out there,” she finally whispered, lifting her face back to his.
Some emotion passed across her Crow’s face with that—something she couldn’t begin to understand or name, there and gone in an instant. His own gaze dipped lower. His attention hitched on her mouth for a single, breath-stealing moment.
His eye snapped back to hers again. Gruffly, he said, “You, too. Look after Reyla for me. Please.”
And then he retreated from that nearness, righting himself in his saddle at last. Looking away from her, he tugged the collar of his undershirt higher along his throat, no doubt to protect Soot from the cold.
That was that, she supposed. Nothing more to be said between them.
Ridiculous as it was, a tendril of disappointment squeezed her heart as she watched the Twelve Sons stir around their leader, preparing to join the Elmorian soldiers and Sir Easome in their march.
She shook her head at herself and edged backward out of their midst, her arms tightening around her midsection to protect herself from the biting cold.
What had she expected?
“Kirei!” Aldric called, his deep voice winging above the shouts of men and the clatter of hoofbeats against stone.
Her gaze cut back his way to find him holding Mourn steady against the tide, rooted in place, his attention fixed on her once more.
“If this doesn’t go as planned,” her Crow continued, his tone laced with equal parts warning and rare levity, “I make no promises not to simply do things my way.”
Despite herself, a faint smile hitched at the corner of her mouth. Lifting her chin, she called back, “Very well. Though for the record…” Trailing off, Seraphina nipped at her bottom lip, her pulse hitching at the bold quip lingering in her thoughts, demanding to be voiced.
Did she dare?
Aldric arched his eyebrow again.
His Sons stirred around him, their horses clearly restless. Rakon shouted something at him in Kunishi—words she didn’t know. But her husband ignored it. Still, his one-eyed gaze was all for her.
Emboldened by his lingering attention, she finally finished, “When it comes to the matter of gift-giving, I am the sort of woman who is more partial to flowers than decapitated heads.”
A few of the Sons laughed at that. Leif whistled again.
But it was Aldric’s reaction that stole her breath—a smile. Small and fleeting though it was, she had still lured that rarest of expressions to the corner of her Crow’s mouth for the barest of moments.
“I will keep that in mind,” he rumbled, the words almost lost within the chaos, the noise. But she traced them upon his lips easily enough.
They felt like a promise.
Please, Lord, watch over him. Bring him home, she prayed as her husband finally brought his destrier around and nudged the beast into a trot. He soon joined the throng, riding for Sir Easome, where her Lord Constable surely waited for him at the head of the pack, ready to set their ruse in motion.
With any luck, news of their departure and her own letter to Coreto would reach the duke within the hour. And then it was just a waiting game. And a matter of hoping he would not see through her lies.
Not until it was far too late.