Chapter 17 #2
He’s every inch the celestial knight as he slips his broadsword over his shoulder in a smooth and practiced rhythm that minimizes the metallic hum of the blade against its sheath.
The noiseless action is impressive, but useless. If there is someone else down here, surely they’ve heard us talking and—
Vesper. When was the last time I heard the click of her wings?
“Come,” Lachlan commands, barely giving me a chance to obey before he splays a palm against my back and pushes me back up the tunnel toward the statue of Alanthe and Sir Melloway. “Hide behind here.”
I grab his arm before he can rush away. “Wait! What if something happens to you?”
He gently pries my fingers from his mail, then flips his hefty sword and catches it single-handedly. “It won’t.”
I nearly roll my eyes, though I don’t doubt his prowess.
He passes me the stardrop. “It will fade without proximity to my magic, but the novillum should keep it from completely going out on you. Hide it in your pocket to block the glow. If you hear anyone coming other than me—I’ll warn you through the diamhrán—whip the drop out and blind them. ”
“And then what?”
“Run.”
He’s off, stalking down the tunnel and leaving me gaping. Not to mention with a thousand questions. How long am I supposed to wait? How does he not need the stardrop? Does his gift allow him the ability to see in the dark?
Despite my misgivings, I settle behind the statue, doing what I’m told and waiting for my bodyguard to deal with the trouble then come back to fetch me.
It’s hard to tell how much time passes with no outside light to track; the only things to count are my breaths. I’ve taken about seventy when I hear the faint echo of droning wings.
Vesper.
It sounded close. From the end of this corridor, even. A frantic, stuttering buzz, like she’s trying to free herself. It’s followed by a pitiful whimper, and there’s no way I can hide here like a coward and not try to help her.
Lachlan, I call through the diamrhán. Lachlan!
What’s happened? Are you alright?
Someone’s got Vesper.
Don’t move. I’m coming back. I’ll—
An agonized screech pierces the darkness, and before I know what I’m doing, I bolt out from behind the statue. I cannot see a thing, flailing blindly until I crack my knuckles against the wall across from the alcove.
There’s a faint glow at the end of the tunnel, and as I creep toward it—one hand on the wall for guidance while the other’s wrapped around the stardrop in my pocket—I hear a small crack, followed by another wail.
The glow brightens, and I peek my head around the corner to find Vesper lying on the ground cradling her hand against her chest. There’s another stardrop next to her, highlighting her in a bright aura, but she’s alone.
“Oh, Vesper,” I whisper as I tiptoe over, and she releases her hand as soon as she sees me. Two of her tiny lavender fingers are broken.
Who would dare hurt a creature so small? I am so distracted by the fury boiling in my veins that I barely notice her shaking her head and pointing behind me with her intact hand.
“Food!” she croaks out. “Careful food!”
A gloved hand clamps down onto my shoulder, and I’m whipped around to face a short, wiry faerie man dressed all in black beneath a hooded cloak.
He raises a large knife above his head, and my reflexive will to survive kicks in as I snatch the stardrop from my pocket.
I close my eyes and shove it toward his, wrenching free when he bellows.
I dart away to scoop up Vesper, then hold her against my chest as I scramble toward the crypt entrance.
My assailant recovers, and his footsteps soon gain on us.
Moonlight spills beneath the door ahead, and we’re close. So close. I clutch Vesper tighter, careful to avoid her injured hand, while holding the stardrop out to light our way.
I pound forward, we’re nearly there, and—
Something slams into me, and I tumble forward with only a fraction of a second to toss Vesper aside before I crush her.
My assailant lands on my back, and I feel the cold press of his knife against my neck.
He pulls a vial from beneath his cloak, thumbing off the cork and bringing the glass to my lips.
“Drink this or I’ll slit your throat,” he grunts in my ear.
I press my lips closed, straining my neck away from his knife and struggling to free myself as he jams the vial against my mouth.
Then there’s a hiss. And a thunk. And a shocked grunt as the man’s weight instantaneously lifts off me. Something wet coats the back of my head.
I turn over to find Lachlan pinning the man to the floor with a booted foot to the chest and a broadsword to the neck. The man’s wrapped a hand around Lachlan’s ankle in a futile attempt to free himself. Only one hand though because…
I gag, forcing myself to look away as I realize what the back of my head is covered in.
Lachlan sliced the man’s arm clean off.
I scurry for Vesper, who flies up into my arms and burrows herself against me.
“Who sent you?” Lachlan growls down at my assailant, whose laughter spurts blood down his chin.
His hood pulled back in the struggle, revealing cotton-pale hair above a gaunt face.
Lachlan bares his teeth, pressing his boot down harder. Something crunches, and the man chokes out a wheeze. “Who. Sent. You?”
“Just end me, Sir Cathal.” The man uses what little energy he’s got left to mock Lachlan’s title. “You celestial knights are skillful murderers, aren’t you? Crown-sponsored killers, the lot of you. And you’re the best of them all.”
Emotion flickers across Lachlan’s face—guilt?
—gone in an instant before he fists the man’s cloak and slams him into the wall.
The man barks a pained yelp, which turns into an anguished scream when Lachlan sinks his fangs into his throat.
An attempt to form the diamhrán and gain access to the secrets the man refuses to share.
This bite is a far cry from the gentle pinch Lachlan offered me last night. It’s messy and loud, flesh tearing and tendons crunching. I want to look away, but cannot tear my gaze from the spectacle.
Lachlan pulls back with a gasp and a final swallow, his lips and teeth coated with blood.
My assailant grins madly, pushing his tongue into the side of his mouth then biting down on something and swallowing. “She will never be queen.”
There’s a wet gurgle as the man’s mouth fills with pinkish foam and his eyes roll back into his head, exposing whites as his limbs convulse.
“Fuck,” Lachlan snarls as he drops the man to the floor.
“What happened?” I sway on my feet, trying not to faint. This is the goriest scene I’ve ever witnessed in my life; I’m proud I’m still standing.
“Poisoned himself before the connection could form.” Lachlan toes the man’s remaining arm. “I cannot read a dead man’s secrets.”
Vesper’s heart races against my palm; likely from excitement, not fear. I imagine she’d like to strip the corpse for leftovers.
Lachlan cleans his sword on the assailant’s cloak, then re-sheathes the blade down his back in a single movement.
Seconds later, his hands are roaming over my body, close but not touching.
He’s killing calm, but his jaw muscles are twitching.
Like my mussed hair and the small cut on my chin are crimes for which he’d like to carve up the man all over again.
I know you’re not badly injured, Lachlan says. I would have been able to feel it here. But otherwise, are you alright? I’m sorry you had to see that.
Something is holding my shock at bay. Something that must be the reason I’m not scared of Lachlan after what he just did.
He butchered someone. For me.
On some level, I knew it was a possibility. He is my bodyguard, after all. But that knowledge alone cannot explain this low, throbbing heat spreading through me. I dare not ponder the cause while the diamrhán is open.
“I’m fine,” I say out loud, willing him away from our connection. “But poor Vesper isn’t. That bastard broke her fingers trying to lure me out. Who was he?” I flick my chin toward the vial he tried to force me to drink from. “And what is that?”
Lachlan picks it up, but most of its contents have spilled. “No idea,” he murmurs, studying the faint sliver of acid green liquid at the bottom. “Some kind of poison, perhaps?”
“Why would he try to poison me when he already had a knife at my throat? Seems like overkill.”
“Doesn’t look like any kind of poison I’ve ever seen, anyway.”
“That man … You didn’t know him, but he knew you.”
Lachlan shrugs, unimpressed by his own notoriety.
“That’s not what I … We can use that knowledge to narrow down our list of suspects. Only a handful of people know we’ve arrived in Tír na Lune.”
Lachlan nods thoughtfully. “Not only that.
“But how many of them knew you were in the crypt tonight?”