Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
HORNHALL
“ W here are you going?” Archer asked from the opposite end of the corridor.
The champion, dressed in a skin-tight leather vest and pants–that damned wyvern perched on her shoulder like a parrot–stilled. “Commander,” she purred, turning slowly, a hand on her hips. “Do I detect annoyance?”
“It should be a tone you’re used to by now.” Archer walked toward her. “Where are you going?”
She lifted one hand and inspected her nails. “Legion has need of a walk.”
“You shouldn’t be going anywhere without your personal guard.”
He had appointed one after she’d nearly been killed yesterday. It was clear someone was onto her. Onto them. Until they figured out who, he did not want her taking any chances.
Apparently, her acquiescence on the subject had come with exceptions. Such as walking her tiny beast.
“Is there any deal you won’t break?” He stopped in front of her.
“Not really. ”
Pounding footfall echoed out from down a connecting hall. The wyvern craned its head to see past Archer, thrashing its tail.
Katarra leaned in and lowered her voice. “I don’t think he’d be much help in a pinch.”
The running came to a sudden halt when the guard rounded the corner.
“You had one job.” Archer didn’t bother turning to face the male. “What was it?”
“To make sure Champion Talon does not leave her chamber unaccompanied,” the guard answered, breathing raggedly from his sprint.
“And yet, here she is.” Archer did not bother to turn. “Wandering the castle with only her pet .”
Katarra grinned, as if to indicate there might be more than one pet with her in this hall. Archer wanted to throttle her.
“She said she was going to take a nap–”
Archer felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. “And you believed her.”
It wasn’t a question, but the guard said, “I had no reason–”
“Tell me, Ian.” Archer cut him off again. “Where is your company issued dagger?”
The utter dread was palpable. “I…”
“Go to the dungeon, lock yourself in a cell, and swallow the key,” Archer ordered. “You can leave when you shit it out.”
“Yes, Commander.”
The guard hurried to do just that, the sound of his retreating steps fading as swiftly as they had arrived.
“Give me the weapon.” Archer held out his hand. The wyvern hissed.
Katarra reached down the front of her vest, pulled the dagger from between her small breasts, and handed him the blade.
He palmed the dagger. “Let’s go.”
She brightened. “You want to go on a walk with me?”
“No.” He started down the hall ahead of her. “But you’re clearly leaving me no other choice. ”
“Good.” She caught up to him. “I like my males helpless.”
“And your females?” He looked straight ahead. “Is Lady Erinned still enjoying your company?”
He had no idea why he was asking. Some stupid fascination. Or possibly jealousy.
Idiot!
She thrived on exactly this sort of thing. Using her cunning, her beauty, and the dark whirlwind of her nature to enthrall and petrify others. Once thoroughly captivated, she would make them her playthings, tools she would weaponize and bend to her will. Then enjoy breaking them apart.
He knew all of this. Had braced himself against it and hardened his resolve with each passing day. Despite it, his best intentions had turned on him. Watching her hit that muddy floor–thinking she was dead.
Realizing his fear was not for his own agenda’s loss. But for a world that would no longer have her spirit in it. A world in which he would no longer have her.
Katarra stroked a hand down the wyvern’s long tail. It curled into her neck, some vibrating, purring sound coming from the tiny beast. “I told Lady Erinned I needed to focus on the tourney.”
“I’m sure she understood.”
“They never do, but it is what it is. She was a good distraction.” A small smile. “And revenge.”
Archer curled his lips in amusement. Lord Durrant would never live down the slight. That was worth Archer’s alliance with the female beside him. He’d never liked the pompous ass. It served the prick right.
After a few more paces, he said, “You have one final competition. Are you ready?”
The sound of thundering feet pounding up the stone stairs at the end of the hall forestalled her answer.
Gods above, what now?
Drake erupted onto the landing in front of them with five King’s Knights on his heels. One look at his longtime comrade told Archer enough. Normally taciturn and measured, the male’s eyes were wide with alarm.
“We’re under attack from the rebels.”
E fficient, bloody, and swift. The attack was over and done before they made it to the south-facing gardens.
Only bodies remained. Many had been cut down before they could get to their feet. One female still held her book, legs tucked under her on a picnic blanket, neck snapped as if she hadn’t even noticed the murderer coming up behind her. Most were not so lucky, their ends met by more gruesome means.
Katarra looked to one such fool, lovely face immortalized in abject horror. At least twenty stab wounds stained the front of her dress red. Blood trailed down her pale arm, still dripping from her fingers onto broken white china.
Blue and White Dragon ; the teacup was from Earth, dating back to the 1400s. She missed her fine china. One day, she would have it back. And kill whoever had enjoyed it last.
The Queen Regent rushed up, skirts gathered in each hand. Legion hissed, a puff of smoke in Katarra’s periphery. “Where’s your sister?” the female panted, gaze frantically combing the lawn.
Ah, that’s right, the young king’s sweet mother hosted her reading club out here each day. Katarra looked around more carefully. Archer’s sister was not among the dead.
“Go inside,” the commander ordered.
Archer’s mother’s eyes grew round, her hand fluttering to her mouth as someone lifted something from the ground.
A crown.
It was not the Queen Mother’s dainty silver one made of jeweled flowers. Katarra knew it well, having appreciated the craftsmanship and rubies .
No, this one was gold. And small. The king’s.
“Search the castle. Every square inch!” Archer bellowed. “Find the king and the Queen Mother!”
Guards fanned out in all directions. Archer turned to his mother. “Get inside, lock yourself in your rooms, and do not come out until I come for you.”
For the first time since Katarra had been here, the Queen Regent looked unsure.
“Take her.” The commander thrust his mother into Lord Ulrich’s path as the male approached. “See that she listens.”
The advisor did as asked— another first —and swiftly guided the Queen Regent back inside.
“Accompany them,” Archer instructed another guard.
Katarra watched him for a minute, spellbound as the commander issued more orders, directing everyone without an ounce of hesitancy or emotion. A male trained to lead. A warrior worthy of a crown.
Drake reached the commander’s side, pulling Katarra from her observations.
The King’s Knight held out a sword, his face like stone. “Windsong steel.”
Archer’s eyes conveyed nothing as he took the blade and turned it over, inspecting every inch. “Are there any others?”
“The arrows are being retrieved,” Drake confirmed.
Katarra looked to where one was embedded in a throat. She walked over, Legion grumbling in her ear as he repositioned himself on her other shoulder, and pulled it loose. It bore the northern king’s crest as well.
She wiped the blood with the end of a picnic blanket, walked back to Archer, and handed it to him.
He looked it over with the same attention to detail he had shown the sword. When his studious gaze again lifted from the arrow, Katarra met it. “Do you want my help?” she asked.
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded .
“Tell your mother to make this the final tourney, and I’ll bring you their leader.” She turned away. “I will get your sister and nephew back. You get me my crown.”