Chapter 15 #2
“I have my queen’s departure to prepare for,” Petur tried, but Liath wasn’t taking any excuses.
She steered him down a hall and into an open courtyard.
The walls were half crumbled and the ground one enormous puddle thanks to the unending rains they’d been plagued with.
The rain acted as a muffler, softening all sound.
Petur was reluctantly impressed. Princess Liath would have made him a formidable spouse.
“I didn’t need your help securing that alliance,” Liath said quietly but vehemently as they stood together in the rain.
“I wasn’t trying to help you,” Petur told her. “You’re going to land on your feet no matter where you end up.”
“Something I would like to have more of a direct say in.”
“You made your say direct,” Petur replied, unwilling to be cowed. “You did it by making your suit public. We all knew about it. Don’t play at being disappointed now, because you got what you wanted.”
“Don’t pretend you helped out of the goodness of your heart,” she snapped back.
“Of course, I didn’t,” Petur replied. “I don’t care about your happiness.
I don’t care about Lonn’s happiness. I do care about the stability of your countries, though.
I care about there being a clear line of succession.
I care about you being strong enough to defend yourselves and come to the aid of your neighbors without feeling so strong that you might try to swallow them whole.
I care about strengthening what the Southlands have. ”
“Then why not marry me yourself?”
Petur smirked at her. “Because I know you,” he replied. “And I know myself. Be honest. Do you really want to fight with your spouse every day for the rest of your life? Or do you want someone biddable, who will help you accomplish your goals as long as you help him retain his crown?”
Princess Liath rolled her eyes and let out a huffy sigh. “You’re so much prettier, though,” she said, and Petur laughed.
“I’m sorry to deny you my beauty,” he crooned at her. “Perhaps if I had a miniature painted for you?”
“Oh, shut up.” She laughed as well, though, then continued in a more serious voice. “Consider this all the thanks you’re going to get. My father left the convocation two days ago.”
“Yes,” Petur agreed. “We all know that. He didn’t want to see you throwing yourself at every man who crossed your path, I suppose—”
“Quiet, you jackass. I’m trying to tell you something. He left two days ago, and there was an attack against him on the road home.”
Petur went still. “Why didn’t the rest of us hear about this?”
“Because he weathered it well enough that there was no reason to share. A bridge was out,” she explained. “My father decided to attempt a shallow crossing. Our people aren’t afraid of a little wet. They came under fire while they were still in the middle of the river.”
Petur’s mouth went dry.
“Obviously, the attack was unsuccessful,” she continued.
“It was the work of less than an hour to build rafts for the crossing, and my father ordered them cut free from the line that was hauling them across. Everyone ended up a few miles off course as they floated downstream, but no one was injured. We didn’t even lose any of our supplies, but”–-she shook her head slightly—“I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.” He inclined his head in genuine appreciation. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Go, go.” She waved him away. “And please, never help me again.”
“Your wish is my command.” Petur left at a brisk pace, fighting to keep from scowling.
There really wasn’t any reason to feel as annoyed as he did about being left in the dark about the attempt; it was standard procedure.
Information such as this wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted getting around.
Tania was already a bit of a focal point because of the fact that their family was a target of assassination attempts right now, and no one wanted to take that unfortunate crown away from her.
No, Petur wasn’t surprised that this knowledge had been hidden from him, but he did dislike the fact that now it meant he was the one who’d have to do the right thing and lose face by letting everybody else know that they could be attacked on their return trips home.
He gathered Lise to him as soon as he returned to the wing their people had been stationed in. “I need you to make some visits,” he said under his breath, “covertly, to the heads of security for all visiting royals present except Liath.”
Lise immediately nodded, bless her. “About?” Petur relayed to her what Liath had told him. She frowned thoughtfully at the end of it.
“There won’t always be a convenient bridge to knock out,” she murmured. “How do you think they’ll do it for us?”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” Petur said. “Just make sure everyone knows, alright? Tell them we don’t expect anything for this.”
“Of course. I’ll start with Bekkon.” She smiled briefly. “You just missed the prince consort, actually. He was carrying a message from his wife for your sister.”
“A message? Hmm.” Petur wasn’t aware of any pressing need for Tania and Melisse to be talking. Eh. He’d get it out of them later. “Work fast,” he said instead. “I want to be out of here before the day is done.”
That plan, at least, was easy to put into motion. By the time the convocation came to an end, everyone was always very ready to leave. Even Tania didn’t put up a fuss, only nodding her head as she directed the packing of her trunks into the coach that would carry her and Jemal back home.
“The sooner we leave, the better,” she said airily, then wrinkled her nose. “It’s like I can feel myself mildewing here. I don’t think I’ve been dry for ten days.”
“Even my fur feels wet,” Petur agreed. “And I’m not even wearing my fur right now.”
Tania smiled. “There, there,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll have you dry again in no time, puppy.”
Petur grinned at her, and for a moment, he felt a surge of the camaraderie that had been theirs for so much of their youth.
Tania seemed to as well. She opened her mouth—to say what, Petur wasn’t sure—but her attention was diverted by her husband’s entrance as he complained of some minor thing.
She went back to ignoring Petur, who shrugged and ignored her in turn.
Queens did not make camp by the side of the road. Tania had made that very plain to Petur. They were only leaving Volkow, Deloth’s capital, as long as they could make good time to the next city en route, where there was an inn of fine quality waiting for them to fill it.
They set off at as brisk a pace they could manage on the muddy road, the royal coach’s wheels rumbling noisily.
Petur, Deyvid, and the rest of the guards were on horseback, with the exception of two flyers high in the sky, watching out for any treachery.
And treachery, Petur knew, was coming. He just didn’t understand the flavor of it quite yet.
But when Deyvid called out, “Hold,” an hour into their journey, he thought he began to see it. The driver brought the coach to a stop as Petur rode ahead to join his lover.
“What the—”
“I know,” Deyvid murmured. “Inconvenient, isn’t it?” The road ahead of them looked more like a lake than a well-traveled highway and continued that way for well over a hundred feet.
“Test the depth,” Petur said to one of their squad, who dismounted and moved forward.
“I thought Harriers didn’t do magic,” he said under his breath to Deyvid as they watched Jaysen, one of the few other otter shifters in the Corps, step forward and immediately come to midthigh in the water.
“How could they erode things so much without word of it coming back to the castle?”
“I don’t think this is magic,” Deyvid replied grimly.
“I think they’re taking advantage of natural faults in the landscape.
Knocking down a bridge is much easier than redirecting a river, and as for this …
” He shrugged. “It’s been raining for days now, and I noted this dip in the road on the way here.
It’s entirely possible that King Brin didn’t even consider this would impact our ability to get back to Riyale, either because it’s a common occurrence, or because he’s … well.”
“Why have we stopped?” Tania called from the coach. “We should be moving! Petur, get us underway!”
He turned back in irritation, just in time to watch an arrow strike the side of the coach.
Only this arrow didn’t have a steel broadhead.
It was thin, hollow wood, and where it struck it released a liquid, foul smelling and so pungent that everyone began to choke.
Worse than that, they went completely nose blind.
“Defensive positions,” Petur called immediately. “Defensive positions around the queen, now!” He tilted his head back and bellowed into the sky, “I want eyes on the shooter!” Their fliers would be unaffected by the stench and more able to hone in on where the arrow had been released from.
Petur dropped his sword and shed his cloak as he swung down from his horse.
A moment later, he shifted into his warrior form, and the world narrowed into two categories: threat and ally.
Deyvid was already leaving him, moving swiftly on foot as he headed into the trees.
Good. Deyvid would find them. All Petur had to do was make sure his sister stayed alive.
He kept his shifters clustered around the coach, ready to strike. They might be nose blind, but they were still blessed with incredible reflexes. That swiftness stood them in good stead as they cut projectiles out of the air: arrows, darts, even a dagger or two.
The temptation to run into the woods and confront this enemy head-on was strong, but Petur forestalled himself. He couldn’t act rashly now, not with Tania’s life on the line. “Ginnie, Herow,” he snarled instead and pointed to the woods. They obeyed, heading in to support Deyvid.
Not a minute later, the attacks tapered off, then died out completely. Petur waited, tense, barely able to hang on to his need to run and take vengeance himself. He heard Ginnie’s roar, the crunch of branches, and several screams. Perfect. They would have answers soon.
What they got was the last thing that Petur expected, and the only thing that could have made his heart feel as though it was going to stop completely. Herow emerged from the edge of the woods, Deyvid alongside him. No … not alongside. Herow’s grip was all that was keeping Deyvid upright.
Deyvid staggered as he bled from a wound above his left hip, a wound that, despite the hand he’d pressed to it, was steadily oozing blood.
When his eyes met Petur’s, there was none of his usual confidence.
Only the flint of a man who was actively suppressing everything he felt, but Petur could still read Deyvid.
He saw not just pain, but fear—fear that this might be the thing that took him away from Petur for good.
“No,” Petur whispered, then broke rank and ran to collect his lover just as he began to collapse.