Chapter Seven #2
Jem scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Perhaps if the king was alone, but you heard Treeve.
His father’s lost his mind and blames Ergh.
He’s out for blood. Do you think you’re going to battle his soldiers all by yourself?
You’d just get yourself killed. Probably me as well.
Or we’d be prisoners. There’s no telling.
Treeve clearly thought we were at risk.”
He grunted. Treeve . “You never mentioned you knew him.”
“Didn’t we already go over this? I don’t. Not really. We met as boys, but not again until the summit. We didn’t even speak. I was too busy being forced to marry you.”
Cador ignored that, for what could he say? “He seemed quite familiar with you.”
“I don’t think so? But we’ve always been friendly enough, I suppose. We owe him now. I hope he can keep his father in line.” He inhaled loudly. “And if the sevel fields burn…”
“We can’t allow it.” As if they could control a fire on the other side of Onan from their dark tunnel. “Will Ebrenn have stockpiles?”
“I would think so, but I don’t know for certain. I’ve never thought about it.” He moaned plaintively. “Gods, how much farther?”
“The end must be soon. Unless—”
Jem clutched his hand. “What?”
“I’ve been feeling along the wall to our right. What if there was another tunnel branching off on the left while I carried you?”
They stopped in their tracks. Jem’s breathing was louder again. “I’ve no idea which way is which. We’re still going in the right direction, aren’t we?”
Cold sweat prickled the back of Cador’s neck. Were they? Yes, they had to be going the right way. He’d been careful when he picked up Jem. After he’d removed the glass, when he stood… Had it been the same wall he groped for?
“We have to get out of here.” Jem sucked in little gasps. His palm grew damp in Cador’s grasp. “It’s too dark. I can’t breathe.”
Tamping down his own panic, Cador forced a deep inhalation and exhalation. “I think we’re still going the right way. If not, we’ll end up back where we started, and we’ll simply turn around. They won’t see us down this dark tunnel, and we’ll spot the lamps. We’re all right.”
Jem exhaled loudly. “Yes. Treeve would have told us if there was another tunnel partway.”
Unless he was lying. Unless this is a trap. Grudgingly, Cador thought, unless he didn’t know. Giving Jem’s hand a squeeze, he walked on, hoping they’d hear any danger in the distance. Neither of them spoke again until Cador blinked and squinted ahead.
“Is that…?” he murmured.
“It looks a shade lighter, I think?”
They crept forward now, Cador almost holding his breath.
Had they gone back the wrong way? He’d settled into a rhythmic motion of touching the curved wall to the right and then sweeping his outstretched arm back and forth in front of them before dragging his fingers along the wall once more.
It did seem to be a slightly less black darkness, and—
He jerked to a stop as his outstretched fingers hit stone. His heart hammered. A dead end? Fuck, they were trapped. Fuck, fuck—
“This way,” Jem murmured, nudging Cador to the right. “It’s a bit brighter.”
With a flood of relief, he realized they’d entered another tunnel traveling left to right. “This must be the tunnel from the temple.” Since they had no idea which way led to the field of flowers Cador barely remembered, going toward the steadily graying light seemed the best choice.
Before long, they crept to the mouth of the tunnel and peered out at the square temple bathed in ghostly moonlight beyond the white marble arch.
The stone chairs on each of the four sides sat empty.
The temple was deserted, and only the faint music of distant insects broke the silence.
Any threat of King Perran and his soldiers seemed ages away.
Jem breathed deeply, eyes on the dark sky, clearly relieved to be out of the darkness. “I guess we chose the wrong direction,” he finally said.
Cador stared at the altar where they’d wed. It was just a piece of polished stone—no more important than any other, despite what the clerics might say. Yet…
He was still holding Jem’s right hand, their branded, sweaty palms pressed together.
He was struck by the mad idea that he should repeat their vows—and this time he’d mean every word.
If he could even remember the words given how much he’d had to drink that day.
Ugh. He really had been a beast. Jem had deserved so much better, and now…
“Well, there’s nothing for us here,” Cador muttered.
Jem yanked his hand free. “Clearly not. Come on.” He took a step and winced.
“Let me bandage that.” Before Jem could object, he added, “You’ll only slow us down.”
Begrudgingly, Jem limped to the closest chair.
Cador knelt at his feet once more and bent his head to examine the wound, cradling Jem’s foot on his lap.
The blood oozing from the cut was dark in the pale moonlight.
It didn’t gush, at least. He wished he had water to clean out the dirt, but it would have to wait.
“Must hurt,” he murmured.
Jem’s shrug was brittle. “It’s my own fault for taking the flask.”
“It wasn’t wrong to think to bring water with us.” The smattering of hair on Jem’s shin tickled Cador’s palm as he rubbed reassuringly. “It’s not your fault.”
“But—” Jem seemed to relax a fraction. “Come on, we have to go.”
Cador took the hem of his robe to tear a strip, but Jem stopped him, reaching down to grab Cador’s wrist. “My robe is too long anyway.”
Ah. He was right, of course. Cador gripped the fabric and pulled. And pulled. Grunting, he cursed the clerics for making robes of such sturdy material. “An unnecessary amount of stitching,” he muttered, his muscles tensed as he tried again.
A giggle burst out of Jem, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. It was such a glorious relief to hear even one little nervous laugh from him, and Cador found himself grinning.
He puffed up his chest. “I am a mighty hunter of Ergh. I will not be defeated by this robe.” He yanked, muscles straining, and the fabric gave way with a riiip .
He tore off a wide strip and wrapped it tightly around Jem’s heel and foot and ankle, tucking the frayed end in and hoping it would hold for the time being.
He glanced up at Jem, his heart skipping at the way Jem watched him so closely.
“Thank you,” Jem murmured. His damp curls hung close to his eyes, and Cador reached up to brush them back and—
Jerking back, Jem stumbled to his feet, almost toppling onto his arse. Cador dropped his hand, digging his blunt nails into his palm. Was Jem truly frightened of him? He couldn’t blame him given his own betrayal and Jem’s near murder.
He wished fervently he could go back and tell Tas he wouldn’t be part of the plot to hurt Jem so cruelly. So casually. If he thought the gods were real and listening, he’d pray for it day and night.
Jem stiffened, looking back down the tunnel. “Do you hear that?”
Drawing him to the side of the archway, Cador planted his feet. “Get behind me.”
Jem hissed, “Yes, obviously I’m going to get behind you!”
They waited, the soft footsteps drawing near. Tentative. Then a golden glow emerged from the mouth of the tunnel. Closer, closer…
The girl gasped and leapt back, red hair flying, almost dropping her lantern. Cador relaxed his stance. “Tamsyn.”
“Prince Treeve sent me to meet you. I thought I heard voices, so I came in case you were lost. This isn’t the right way.”
Cador grunted, then belatedly added, “Thank you. Lead on.”
They were only a few steps when he heard Jem hiss in pain. Cador turned and lifted Jem into his arms without a word. There was no reason not to carry him.
Jem opened his mouth to say something, but apparently realized there was no sense in arguing. His rigid body relaxed just enough that it was clear he wasn’t going to fight. Cador rejoiced in the small surrender as he turned to Tamsyn, who watched them with a beaming smile.
He frowned. “What?”
“Nothing!” She hurried down the tunnel, and he strode after her.
It didn’t take long to follow the tunnel out, and she led them to the field where Dybri waited, grazing on the brittle grass near the base of the hill that protected the temple. A small sack waited as well. Too small.
“My boots?” Cador asked. He wanted his sword too, but that could be replaced. His summer boots were broken in perfectly, and he hated all this running around in bare feet.
“Only food and water, I’m afraid,” she said. “You know the way to Neuvella and your castle?” she asked Jem, who poked at Cador to put him down.
Now on his feet—or more accurately one foot as he balanced on the right, he said, “Yes, of course.”
Cador frowned. “Didn’t you get lost on your way here?”
Jem glared. “The smoke confused me.”
“I didn’t mean—” He held up his hands. “Forget it.”
Tamsyn looked between them nervously. “Er, there should be road signs as you go south.”
“Thank you,” Jem said. “We won’t forget your help.”
Cador nodded his agreement and bent to take Jem’s waist to lift him onto Dybri’s broad back.
Jem batted at him and hissed, “Stop it! I can do it myself.” Glancing at Tamsyn, he seemed embarrassed.
Ah, yes, all the lessons with that fucking liar Austol. Not that he was in much of a position to judge given his own lies, but Austol had taken advantage of Jem’s trusting nature and—
And fine, I shouldn’t fucking judge.
Stepping back, Cador said nothing. Dybri wasn’t as tall as Massen, but she was no pony.
He didn’t think Jem would be able to mount her without a boost at least, especially with an injured foot, but fine, let him waste time and try.
It wasn’t as though they were escaping a mad king and his soldiers or anything important.
Jem bent his knees and launched forward but suddenly aborted the movement, stumbling and almost ending up on his face in the dirt.
“Your grace!” Tamsyn shot Cador a worried, confused look.
“I’m fine!” Jem laughed awkwardly. “I can do it.”
Cador’s irritation fled. He wanted Jem to do it. He hated the anxious tension in Jem’s body, the clench of his fists, the obvious embarrassment although truly there was no reason for it. He was small! There was no dishonor in that.
Though it was Cador himself who’d taunted him when they met for not knowing how to ride. It was he who’d shoved Jem off the horse and frightened him even more. The sticky shame made acid rise in his throat. He watched as Jem bent his knees and had another go.
Come on! You can do it!
And he came so close—a hair’s breadth away from shifting his weight over far enough to keep his balance. Instead of letting him crash back down onto his arse, Cador rushed forward and steadied him, lifting him the rest of the way.
Gripping Dybri’s mane, he mounted behind Jem and took the reins. Missing his trousers more than ever, he tucked the excess material of his robe under his legs and rear since he had no undergarments.
“Almost,” he murmured to Jem, patting his arm.
“Don’t patronize me,” Jem gritted out through clenched teeth, reaching for the sack of supplies Tamsyn passed him.
“I’m not! I—”
It took a moment to understand what the low sound was. Hooves. Getting closer, a pounding noise within only a few seconds. Whoever it was, they weren’t trying to be quiet.
“Go back through the tunnels!” Cador told Tamsyn, and she disappeared. He wheeled Dybri in time to see a cleric thunder toward them across the rolling field. No—Prince Treeve . “What the fuck is he doing?”
Treeve waved his arm, motioning onward, away from the Holy Place at the same moment Cador realized the ground was vibrating too much for a lone galloping horse.
“Go!” Treeve shouted, leaning low over his mount. He no longer wore the borrowed gray robe but tight breeches and the fancy type of shirt favored by the mainlanders.
At least a dozen riders appeared over the far rise of the field, and Cador didn’t have to be told twice.