Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
ISOLDE
“And then Hruudwulf looked upon the moon with new eyes,
at once ensorcelled and free.” ~ Southern lore
P ower flooded my limbs, and I was upright and moving before my brain clearly identified the sounds of combat. Thumps, grunts, ripping clothes, rapid breathing, something falling with a pretty twinkling sound. Audrey’s accessories.
It took me one heartbeat to be in her room. The glow of the fire showed a writhing pile of limbs, but I couldn’t make out enough to safely intervene. The next heartbeat, I was ripping the shutters open and letting moonlight flood the room. The crack of a breaking bone made my teeth ache, and I saw Audrey, then, beneath her spindly assailant, their arm stretched out and now bending the wrong way.
The attacker was still struggling, but I had a clear shot and I took it, kicking out.
Their head snapped to the side, and they went slack in her arms.
I found a fallen knife and scooped it up, assessing the damage to my charge as best I could in the low light.
Fast breath, pale cheeks, eyes puffy from crying. Whole.
But how close had we come? Twice in one day. That was two times too many that I’d almost lost her.
I swallowed down the rage born of fear and looked closer at Audrey as she straightened. There was blood on her, but it wasn’t the mess that a mortal wound would’ve left. Still… “That isn’t a scratch you’ve got there.”
She looked down at herself, the movement making her unconscious assailant slide further onto the rug and out of the grip of her legs. “It’s fine,” she said dismissively.
Ungently, I yanked the blanket they’d been tangled up in from beneath the assailant, making their head bounce against the rug. Their face turned to a better angle for me to see the silver loops in their eyebrow, connected to a silver chain that went to their ear. Worg.
A chill went up my spine as I gave the blanket a stiff flick, then folded it neatly. “Keep pressure on,” I told Audrey. We needed light.
Twice, I’d almost failed her.
I needed to figure out what we were going to do.
“It’s fine,” Audrey protested again, but she sat up and pressed the blanket to her wound. “I don’t know what woke me.”
I didn’t either, but I’d bet that chest wound would’ve been a throat wound if she’d been in a deeper slumber.
“I kicked the blanket at them.” Audrey looked down at the scrawny form at her feet, her breathing still quick. “They were surprised.”
I was surprised, too. I’d tucked it in firmly.
“You did well,” I said, lighting a few candles. I didn’t need to inspect the knife in my hand to know it’d be Southern make. I could already feel the excellent balance. Long, wide, double-edged, straight. This weapon was designed to cut people, not dinner. It wasn’t curved like I favored, and it was longer than what was used locally, and wider. The steel was good. Excellent, in fact.
There was only one place I knew you’d get better steel than La’Angi. And that was at the source, in the hands of the people used to strip those resources from below the mountains.
I turned the knife over in my hand, trying to calm my too-quick heart. Audrey was fine. She was staring down at the slumped would-be assassin, her expression blank.
She was as fine as she’d be while we existed in this glorified torture room.
The attacker was Southern. There were no markings on the knife to identify them further, and I wasn’t keen to explore their silver too closely. I could’ve woken them up and made them talk, but I didn’t need to. I knew why they were here.
Luca had talked plenty.
Judging by the dull look settling over Audrey’s face, though, she wouldn’t have put two and two together yet. But she needed to be involved in deciding what we did next, so I needed her to know the context. Anything less was unjust.
“Luca sent an assassin after you,” I said, enunciating the words slowly and clearly.
She looked up, shocked. “No, he’d never…” she trailed off.
He wouldn’t do it deliberately . But I could imagine a lot of ways he’d do it accidentally . From Audrey’s silence, I knew she was figuring that out. And if he was allied with the Worgs…
It really wasn’t hard to imagine that, given the opportunity, a group of rebels would act to ensure the sins of the father wouldn’t be revisited by the heir.
She let out a long breath. “He wouldn’t send an assassin after me, Isolde.”
We didn’t have time for this. “He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know you.”
The only sign of the damage I’d done was a brief flicker of her eyelids and the frown that smoothed away, leaving her looking peaceful.
I wanted to swear.
I wanted to apologize.
“You hide the best of you,” I offered, sensibly. “Because if you didn’t, they’d take it, and they’d break it.” Her expression was flat. I waited as she breathed, watching the way she elongated the exhales and drew the air in deeply with grim pride. “Audrey?—”
“He swore me a Blood Oath,” she said, cutting over me. “Something went wrong, or his blood would’ve boiled in his veins when he attempted to plan this.”
I waved that away. “He doesn’t attempt harm any time he interacts with you, yet he has done plenty of damage. He’s ignorant, and you pay for it .” She didn’t argue with me, at least, though I knew getting her to agree out loud would be like drawing hen’s teeth. With a sigh, I offered my palm for the blanket she was using on her wound. “Let me see the damage. We may as well wait in case the others have better luck.” I doubted they would. That boy couldn’t organize a successful rush to the privy.
“The others?” I could see the meaning sink in after she’d spoken the words.
She sat with that thought for a moment. I turned with my borrowed knife to cut a strip off our guests’ cloak, then started trussing them up.
I was halfway done when Audrey said, the words so soft I could barely hear them, “He always did promise he’d look after me.”
Ah, yes, Luca and his big promises. “Present circumstances bear testament to his dedication,” I agreed sweetly and, just for emphasis, ripped another strip of cloth free.
She didn’t flinch. Good girl , I thought grimly, stripping the unconscious assassin of their other knives and tossing them behind me.
Anyway, we all knew Luca would do better to kill Audrey after they were wed. He didn’t even have to do it deliberately. The childbed worked same as a knife to the throat, and a babe increased his hold on La’Angi.
The crack of her door being thrown wide made alarm flood my veins, but I didn’t react. I’d trained too long and too hard for that.
Audrey didn’t, either.
The Butcher strode in a moment later, sleeves rolled up and shirt open at the throat in a surprisingly informal moment that was only emphasized by the spray of blood on his boots and his hair still military neat.
Audrey had stood, taking pressure off her wound to curtsey. His eyes took in her injury and the attacker beneath me in a moment.
“Send for a Healer,” he snapped, and behind him, I saw Sullivan’s about-face.
“I—Your Grace, I?—”
One flick of his fingers, and Audrey fell silent. I watched, ice cold, as he took one of the knives where they’d been thrown. His eyes were on the silver the would-be assassin wore as she lay slumped at my feet.
“Keep the pressure on it,” he told Audrey, without looking.
Audrey’s eyes danced to me, then away, as she returned the blanket to where I’d instructed she hold it.
I wasn’t getting the jump on him now. But I could take him to the ground, if I had to.
He didn’t question us, though, just directed a curt nod in my direction with a brusque “Well done.”
Of course he’d never assume it was his daughter who’d bested the assailant. But still, I should’ve dropped a jug or something, so I could’ve claimed I’d smashed it over her head.
Regardless, he was distracted, and I’d take the reprieves I could get. “Needs must, Your Grace.”
“It would seem so.” He turned over the assassin with one booted foot. We all gazed down at her form. I didn’t mention he’d rolled her onto her broken arm. She was probably Audrey’s age but as finely built as a bird.
He reached into the collar of their shirt and pulled out heavy silver loops, letting them fall onto their thin chest. The slow rise and fall of her breathing made the metal glitter in the silence of the room. I stood back, watching the Butcher’s face.
He knew what it meant. And, from the way he was looking at that necklace, he knew this Worg’s importance.
Audrey had no idea. She stood, hands clasped before her, eyes on the rug somewhere to the side of the unconscious attacker. Ignorance, for her, was safest right now.
Heavy, unhurried steps warned us of Mikus’ approach long before he arrived with the jangle of metal and the creak of leather, stinking of beer and sweat. He’d obviously thrown his black tabard over top of whatever he’d worn to drown his sorrows. I wouldn’t have bet on him having been in his cups too long. He was too stable for that. But I was interested to see half his face was swollen beyond recognition. Mayhap the ’Ban rider had done a better job than I’d thought, or mayhap Mikus had gone looking for a way to vent.
“Forget something, Mikus?” the Butcher asked, his words almost idle as he straightened.
Every single one of us in the room, except the unconscious rebel, felt the implicit threat in that calm.
Mikus bowed deeply. “Your Grace, after the tourney?—”
“After you disgraced me,” the Butcher corrected, coldly.
They were doing this right here, and I wasn’t going to show my thoughts. We’d had two close calls today. We just needed to get through this one.
“Sullivan should’ve been on the door, Your Grace,” Mikus said firmly. “The Watch was set.”
“Funny,” my father said without any trace of humor. “That isn’t what I’ve heard.”
Mikus’ jaw worked. He dropped his eyes to the assassin, but I could feel the fury in him.
“Von Rhea is dead,” my father said, straightening. “My daughter could be. Who should pay the price for that?”
“The men not at their post,” Mikus replied. “Your Grace.”
“If I didn’t set the Watch on La’Angi and the duchy was overrun, I think I’d be at fault.”
The urge to move toward Audrey was physically painful to resist. The Butcher stepped up close to Mikus. I recognized the pose and the power in the older man’s limbs, and the impotent rage in Mikus. Dread beat somewhere in the vicinity of my belly.
If this became lethal, we were far too close.
“Next time you fail me will be the last. Are we clear, soldier?”
Mikus’ head bobbed once, hard, and relief trickled through me.
“Good. Sullivan is new First Blackguard.” Color flared in Mikus’ cheeks and that relief turned to ice at his expression. “Bring the woman. I do like to have political prisoners before we even declare war.” Then he walked through Mikus, forcing the big man to fall back to make space as the Butcher left.
I didn’t move as Mikus strode over. He, too, paused for a moment at the sight of all that silver. And then he was picking up the assassin like they weighed no more than a ham. His eyes settled on Audrey as he did, and a chill washed through my bones at the sheer menace in that look.
All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. There had been real threat in that brute. He spun, and the woman’s boots hit the door on the way out. A flake of mud fluttered to the stone floor.
Alone again, I circled the area, sticking to the shadows and moving quickly toward the door. “Von Rhea,” Audrey said, horrified. The King’s representative. A poor target. Better that they’d sent all the assassins at the Butcher. I closed the door firmly. “War. He said war, Isolde.” There wasn’t shock. She was just stating facts. “It’d be against the Southern rebels. Surely, this is the start of a rebellion.” Now she sounded puzzled, and I turned to her, watching as she turned it over in her head. What she said made sense. “If there is war, he’ll go South. He broke Wolfswail once. He can do it again.”
Any further commentary she held until after the Healer arrived, and I wondered if I ought to count the Butcher’s attendance as the third time Audrey had escaped death this day. Luca had told us there would be change.
Which meant Luca was part of this rebellion.
Which meant Audrey was betrothed to a problem.
She should’ve known that part, although the political implications were, I had to admit, not as predictable. Who’d have thought the dreamer would actually do something?
Of course he’d done it wrong, but mayhap I ought to have credited him for doing it at all.