CHAPTER 30 #3
He dropped the point of his sword down, almost touching the ground.
A large man charged at him, swinging a longsword in a devastating overhand strike.
Everard stepped to the side, redirecting the descending sword with the flat of his blade.
The swordsman realized he was exposed and tried to jerk his arm to the right, but Everard’s sword was faster.
He struck. The man’s head drooped, barely connected to his neck by a sliver of flesh.
He took another step then crashed down to the stone floor.
An axeman chopped at Everard from the left. He shied back. The axe whistled by, but another swordsman on the right was waiting, and their blade grazed Everard’s back.
Oh god.
Everard thrust at the swordsman, too fast to follow. The swordsman’s back was to us, and I didn’t see exactly what happened, but Everard’s blade slid either into his throat or his upper chest. The swordsman stumbled away, clutching at himself, folded in half, and fell.
The axeman came at Everard swinging. Everard dodged, left, right, floating like his body was made of water. His sword sliced, and the axeman dropped the axe, clenched their arm, and tried to back away. Everard thrust and recovered in a fraction of a second. The axeman went down.
Five bodies in the courtyard.
The three remaining attackers hesitated.
“He’s bleeding,” one of the shadows growled.
Everard took a step back, toward the southern wall directly opposite our tower. The intruders followed.
Another step.
Another.
If he kept going, eventually his back would hit our stables.
Why wasn’t anyone helping him? Why wasn’t I helping him? I opened my mouth to tell Kaiden to bring me a bow. I had never shot one before, but I could shoot a gun. I would manage.
Everard stopped.
The intruders closed in on him, weapons ready.
His eyes ignited with a shocking, murderous green. Black smoke shot out of him, licking the pavers of the courtyard. Brilliant green Fatefire ran up the blade.
Tillmar dropped to one knee, head bowed.
Everard lunged, light on his feet. His sword struck, slicing at the nearest attacker. The top half of the intruder slid aside and crashed to the ground. Clover gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth.
The two remaining swordsmen had no time to react. Everard was coming, unstoppable, fast, his sword slicing like the Grim Reaper’s scythe. The green blade kissed the second shadow’s neck, and the head rolled off its shoulders. The third one turned to run, and the blade severed their spine.
He’d cut them down like they were made of paper.
I realized I had squeezed the windowsill so hard, my fingers hurt.
If anyone enters this house, even if they appear by magic, I will know and I will kill them.
Well, he kept his word.
Everard strode to the kneeling intruder, the glow of the Fatefire throwing green light on his face. The black smoke curled around his feet. He looked like a demon, he killed like one, and now he was moving to take this man’s life and nothing in the world could stop him.
“I surrender,” Tillmar squeezed out, his voice hoarse.
“My lord!” Gort called. “I know this man. He will talk.”
“I haven’t decided if I want him to talk,” Everard said.
He reached the man. The sword rose.
The man braced himself. His shoulders shuddered.
“Please don’t!” I called out.
Everard looked up at me. A long moment passed.
The man stared at the ground.
“Don’t move,” Everard told him.
The man froze as if petrified.
The Fatefire died.
“I know you are there,” Everard said.
A figure stood up on the north side of our house wearing a ninja-like get up. One of Solentine’s people. Had to be. He’d left a babysitter for us.
“Get down here,” Everard ordered. “I have a job for you.”
The figure tossed a rope down and slipped into our courtyard.
Everard looked in Gort’s direction. The old mercenary hurried over.
“Take him to the basement.”
Gort nodded to his sons. They flanked Tillmar like two hounds and herded him inside.
Everard looked up at me.
“Don’t walk down the stairs by yourself. I will come and get you.”
I chased Kaiden out, Clover helped me throw on one of my two housedresses—it still hurt to raise my arms—and headed for the stairs.
“My lady, your hair!”
“Never mind.”
Someone had broken into our home trying to murder us. The condition of my hair was the least of my worries.
I marched out the door and to the stairs.
Everard was already there, blocking the way.
He saw me. I was on the top of the stairs, and he was one step down.
We were almost the same height, and I saw his expression shift.
His eyes darkened. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
My brain identified the look and screeched to a halt.
For a moment we just stared at each other.
“Your hair is down,” he said. The smile got deeper.
In Rellas, the only time a man would see a woman with her hair down without any sort of decoration would be if they were about to climb into the same bed together.
“For crying out loud, it’s not like I ran out here wearing nothing but lace and leather.”
His eyes went wide. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
And that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Me and my big mouth.
I jerked my hands up, rolling my hair into a bun. “Clover! I need a hairpin!”
She darted out of my bedroom, thrust a hairpin at me, and ran back inside.
I pinned my bun in place. “There, it’s fine now.”
“Leather and lace. I’m still trying to picture it.”
“Don’t.”
“Is it not usually either or? How would one combine the two . . .” He gave me a contemplative glance.
“You need to broaden your horizons. Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?
“You were cut.”
“I wasn’t. I’m wearing chainmail under my clothes.”
He moved like that while wearing chainmail? I had lifted some up a few days ago when Gort was working on it. It had weighed about thirty pounds.
“Take my arm, Maggie. I don’t want you falling down the stairs.”
Grrr. Unfortunately, while I could move okay on flat ground, the stairs were still a problem. I took his arm. We started down slowly, taking the steps one at a time. Each time my foot touched the stone, a spike of pain shot up into my leg.
“I get why going up the stairs is hard, but we’re going down the stairs. Why does it hurt more?”
“It’s the force of all of your weight landing on your foot.
Goes straight into the knee. The first thing the heavy-armor knights learn is to never jump off their horse or they will have no knees left by their middle age.
Would you like me to carry you? You can explain more about the leather and lace to me. ”
“No.” I’d had enough bridal carry for a lifetime. “You just fought. Aren’t you tired?”
“From that?”
Of course, why would anyone be tired from hacking at eight people with an oversized chunk of metal? Silly me.
He stopped on the landing and didn’t move.
“Shouldn’t we be going downstairs to interrogate that man?”
“Let him sweat. The more he waits, the louder he’ll sing. Thank you for playing along. It was just the right touch.”
He never meant to kill Tillmar. He had just wanted to intimidate him into talking. He thought I was in on his plan, and I would absolutely take credit for that.
“Any time.”
We stood on the landing close enough for Solentine to have kittens if he saw us. My hand was on his arm.
“Are they Redeemers?”
He shook his head. “Not good enough.”
“Then who?”
“We’ll find out shortly.”
We stood together. A minute crawled by.
“Solentine left us a babysitter.”
He made a noise halfway between mhm and a growl.
“Still upset that I took his offer, I see.”
“It was a regrettable decision, my lady.”
There was more than one way to say “my lady.” Gort said it without any thought behind it, as a common courtesy. Clover said it like a pledge of loyalty. Just now Everard had said it like I belonged to him. Like I was his lover. That “my lady” was a declaration of exclusivity, desire, and intent.
Oh no. The Sleepless Duke had regrouped.
I’d frustrated his plans for me by becoming a Demarr, but he had formulated a new strategy.
Letting me slip through his fingers wasn’t an option.
He still needed the knowledge in my head, and I’d opened this door by planting a vision of me in a sexy nightie in his. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.
“That’s a bit hypocritical, Your Grace. In my place, you would’ve done the same.”
“In your place, I would have chosen the wiser option. I can protect you better than the Demarrs.”
“Yes, but Solentine offers no surprises. I’m familiar with the way he thinks. I don’t even know you.”
It was true. I had been in Solentine’s head, in Hreban’s, in Sauven’s, but never in Everard’s. I knew what he did and how he reacted but never why.
“Then I will have to introduce myself.”
He started down the stairs and since my hand was still on his arm, I stepped down with him.
“My name is Ramond vi Everard. Son of Lorest and Elia Everard. Lord of Selva, Cataren, and Audiar.”
He took a step.
“Wielder of the Fatefire.”
Another step.
“Lord Commander of the Selva Knightage.”
Every time we moved, he delivered a new title.
“Lord Commander of the Everard Knightage.”
Step.
“Commodore of the Falcon Fleet.”
Step.
“Duke of the Realm.”
And that told you exactly how little he valued Rellas’s title. He had put all the Selva-related honors first.
“Lord Protector of the Northern Coast.”
Step.
“Ruin of the Okula.”
He got that title when he stopped the Third Invasion. Sauven had to officially bestow it on him because of the historical precedent, and it had nearly killed him to do it.
“Owner of three castles and one hundred fifty thousand kare of land.”
Although he ruled the whole of Selva, his personal lands were the size of South Carolina. I knew that one from the forums. What was next, his prized Pokémon card collection?
We’d reached the end of the stairs and continued down the hallway toward the stairway to the basement.
“To summarize, I’m powerful, wealthy, and unattached.”
So nice of him to throw that last one in there. Not unmarried. Unattached.
“Interesting choice of words.”
He stopped by the door leading to the basement staircase. “Your turn.”
“Maggie of no name, poor, titleless, and landless. No fleets or castles.”
He flashed a smile, like a hint of a lethal blade in the scabbard. “You have some titles of your own. You forgot Undying.”
“Yes, well, there is that.”
“Keeper of Secrets.”
Funny he should mention that.
“A woman of interesting fashion sense . . .”
“Would you like to know who you will marry?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Omelyana of Gor.”
He blinked. “Ah. It seems I will require the Gorynian Guard in the future. But why would they seek an alliance with Selva?”
“There will be an earthquake along the White Beard Strait. It will drown their main port.”
He rocked his head back and forth, mulling it over. “Makes sense.”
“You will manipulate her until she falls in love with you. She’ll live for the crumbs of your attention. Your presence will become her reward for anticipating Selva’s needs.”
“Mhm.” He bent toward me slightly. “But will she be happy in my presence?”
I opened my mouth. Shoot. “Yes.”
Deliriously happy, in fact. Giddy. Thrilled.
“Well, that’s something to keep in mind, then, isn’t it?”
You arrogant ass.
He swung the door open and offered me his arm. “Let’s see what we can squeeze out of our guest.”