Sanctuary

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

P etra woke facing Rand . Loom had moved out of the shelter, lingering nearby. Her husband’s arm had replaced the elk, keeping her pressed to him. The cloak was tightly wrapped around them. His eyes were closed.

In daylight, overcast though it was, she saw gashes and burns across his face and down his neck. How many more, and bruises too, were beneath his armor?

He's used to it. How many are my fault? How many will heal as scars, never letting me forget that I have caused him hurts he did not consent to? And this is only the beginning. I must accept it. I did not accept Aldney’s death. I wanted my own truth. Look where it has brought me.

Us.

And still, he holds me close. I would live a lifetime with him like this, buried in the snow, if it meant I remained in his arms.

Petra closed her eyes. They should be moving. They had not been followed but that might have changed in their hours of respite. Likely, the longer they remained, the more danger they accrued.

“Rand?” she whispered, half-hoping he did not hear.

“Hmm?”

“We should probably get moving.”

“Do you feel able?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“We’re going to ride to Mynydd without stopping. If you want to rest a while longer, that’s alright.”

“I think you would have been moving hours ago, if not for me.”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “But I do have you and I don’t want you to suffer more than you already have.”

“Me?” she scoffed, distracted and delighted by the warmth of his breath on her face. “I am, I’m the one who—”

“Don’t start. I intended to bring you and my men safely to Mynydd. I’m not accustomed to failure. I tell you, if you need to rest more, it’s fine. No danger is near us, currently.”

He stared at her. She was hushed by the whisper that separated them. His gaze held hers for a long time, then dropped to her mouth.

If she spoke, what would happen? Would he only listen, or would he finish her words with a kiss? Heat between the bones of her ribcage begged she speak and pull him nearer her mouth.

My wants brought us here. I’ve wanted enough. I have a duty to be a helpmate and not a temptation. It’s about him now. Not me.

She coughed and he turned aside.

“When I was little,” she began, pulling the cloak off, “my mother used to say I slept like a milk-drunk calf.”

He crawled out in front of her. “My mother told me inconvenience would follow me if I did not sleep.”

“I think I must have known that proverb young in life.”

He smiled. “I blamed my father’s snoring,” he said, offering to help her stand through protesting stiff joints.

“Oof! I think the ride will be worth it when I can sleep above-ground.”

“I’ll call for a fire to be made the moment we arrive.”

He smiled as he said it, but the expression paled fast.

“Are you worried what you’ll find?”

“Yes.” He let her hands slide from his. “Moreso now that we were ambushed. It makes me wonder if they have been nearer to Vale than we believed.”

“The birds?”

“The birds confirmed spies sent ahead. They were ready for us.” He paused. “I am not ready to learn who made it out.”

Shreds of that terrible night fell over her mind’s eye.

“I don’t think I would be ready to, either. But maybe you don’t give Yates enough credit. He is Shivalry.”

Rand ran his hands over Loom’s back, raking off debris and loose hair. “May it be that he did what I could not.”

Because of me .

“You’ll see.” She combed her hands over the elk’s back, too. “Everything is going to be okay.”

He patted her hand and lifted her atop the animal. Up behind her, one arm around her, he nudged Loom’s flanks. With only his free hand holding tight to the elk’s mane, he guided the steed from a trot, into a canter, that became a full gallop.

They were off.

Petra pulled her outermost layer over her nose. To keep her eyes from drying out to blindness, she alternated between looking down and closing them altogether. She knew that if the wind became intolerable, she could turn around and face her husband. However, trying to escape the discomfort felt selfish.

She was not the only one for whom this ride was difficult. His body was in worse condition than hers; his thoughts punished and haunted him.

***

A ROUND AND ABOUT, SOMETIMES on a visible path, often not, they rode through the hills. From Petra’s vantage, it looked more like the hills loomed over them, petulant giants disturbed from their comfort. Right when Loom and his charge might be stomped upon, the giant moved aside, their girth quickly filling in behind.

It was absorbing to watch, despite her vision being shaken to smithereens. Which was nothing to her rear end being bounced absolutely flat and her modest breasts rattling off altogether.

Riding for prolonged periods must either bring about an unparalleled equanimity or disband coherent thought for hours.

Loom’s pace rarely altered. Save for a few uneven lengths of land, Rand did not hold him back. They were conquering fantastic distances and Petra kept imagining the fort rising in the distance.

However, the pale sky that greeted them hours before dimmed now into a gray twilight. The dusk sunk to a starless night. Dampness hung thick in the atmosphere. Her teeth chattered and she pulled her cloak tighter.

“Turn around,” Rand said, pulling up the elk.

“I’m alright.”

“I can feel how you shiver. Turn and put your arms around me.”

“Rand, I—”

“You say you want to help. Help, then. Don’t fall sick when we arrive and take me from my obligations.”

She swung one leg over the mount’s neck. Rand helped her keep balance while she maneuvered the other. Facing him in such a position, aware of how his virility touched her senses, she did not meet his gaze. Dutifully, she reached around him. He took her cloak and shrugged it around her, tucking the ends under his girdle, so she was cocooned to him.

“Loom is touched by Shivalry when I ride him. Within two days, Mynydd should be in our sights.”

“Your sight,” she joked.

“Your controlling husband will let you turn around then.”

“Perhaps I will not want to.”

“Ah, our second quarrel. Should I be a monster and force you or should I be a progressive man and concede to my wife’s will?”

“I shall be interested in your decision, but we will never get there if you keep talking.”

She felt the vibration of his answering laugh inside her own chest. He tapped Loom’s hindquarters, and she tightened her grip, thinking that no matter the years between them, she would remember this moment with clarity.

***

S OMETIMES IT FELT LIKE Loom’s pace slowed. Other times, the elk galloped with such speed that its cadence seemed almost entirely smooth, like they flew across the rocky terrain.

She dozed frequently. Being tied to Rand, the heat of his body around her, she was warm and secure. Often, Petra felt like she could not keep her eyes open, no matter how she tried to remain present. Did she, her husband, and the elk move outside of time?

When, at last, Rand pulled the cloak free, she turned around and saw their destination.

They had reached Mynydd. Over the years, the stone fort had been rubbed black with ash mixed into tar. Its walls were high and dotted with red flags. The battlements looked down over colossal gates. A bartizan tower stood behind, in the middle of what Petra assumed was the square. It was scoured smooth, in defense against potential attack.

At once, Petra was awed and filled with dread. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned Rand atop the high walls. His hair blew violently in the wind like the flags. Red and black. Power and courage. At the same time, she saw him amid the blaze of the hand-cannon explosions. Bleeding. His hair on fire.

Her imprint stung.

“Don’t let fear invade you, Petra.”

“Is it my thoughts or emotions you can see?”

“I see only you. Your eyes grew wide and your back straightened. Yet,” he continued, placing his hand over his corresponding mark, “If I were blind to my eyes...”

“It’s not fair it hurts you because of my thoughts.”

He shrugged. “Little is fair in life.”

“There should be exceptions.”

“My wife is an optimist. Hold tight to that while we are here.”

She opened her mouth to reply but he kept talking.

“I mean it. Fear will paralyze you. Hope will let you run and keep your mind clear.”

“I will hope, then. I will do what I can to help you.”

“I know,” he replied, touching his forehead to the back of her head.

Loom pawed at the ground, and they closed the last stretch of land.

***

T HE GATES OF MYNYDD opened outwards. The gears, operated from the inside, creaked and moaned, moving the impressive doors.

Rand dismounted and helped Petra off, keeping a close hold on her. She expected there to be a rush of people, asking a thousand questions from every direction. However, they had been seen from afar, and allowed to enter without fanfare, as if they came on a regular basis.

Two servants came forward to take Loom. Petra was quick to say the animal must be thoroughly rubbed down and fed, glancing at her husband’s face. The mask of the military man had dropped down, but his unease fractured it.

“Come,” he mumbled.

The inner court was large, and people milled about. Few looked at them. One woman gawked at Petra for longer than was polite, but she knew she was not the image of a proper woman at this time.

Something’s wrong. They should be swarming us. Didn’t the men make it here? Don’t they know about the attack? They must know. They saw us coming and let us in without question.

“Do you think—”

“I don’t know.”

His grip around her waist tightened. Muscles in his jawline twitched.

They moved briskly. Rand practically carried her along for she was not able to match his stride. Her husband’s grip hurt.

From the corner of her eye, Petra noticed a few children had emerged. Yet, they were quickly reprimanded and yanked aside. There was no curiosity or delight as there should have been for newcomers. When she was little, the sight of a stranger in the village was the beginning of an adventurous day.

Out of the dark interior of the main tower, a formidable man walked. Unlike the fashion for men of status to be clean-shaven, the lower half of this man’s face was covered by an unkempt beard that extended down his neck. A sword shorter than Rand’s jostled at his hip and his leather uniform had been stitched with emblems that denoted rank. Had not his walk already proclaimed it.

“Rand Tsenturian, third captain of Shivalry.” From over his long nose, he scanned him. “You did not arrive with your men.”

“You have a gift for stating the obvious. Who are you? What happened to Leopold?”

“I relieved him. I am First Lieutenant Forwin Humphrey.” His bow was slight.

“Why was Captain Leopold relieved?”

“I know not.” He pulled a scroll from the inner pocket of his vest. “Do you wish to see the letter of my command?”

“No. Where are my men? Where is Yates?”

“They are accounted for and accommodated.”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” he replied, pointing behind himself. “Perhaps the captain and his...”

“ Wife . This is Lady Petra. You will greet her directly.”

Forwin turned his upper body towards her. “My lady. I welcome you to Mynydd. Perhaps you and your husband should like to rest before—”

“Bring my men to me.”

A pert smile pressed over the lieutenant’s lips. “I shall have what is left of your platoon gathered and brought to you, Captain. All, except your contemporary, can walk.”

Petra felt the muscles in his bicep around her waist spasm.

“Yates is...?”

“Bedridden with a fever and a broken, infected leg. It should be removed.”

Red suffused Rand’s cheeks. His demand to be shown Yates was more of a tiger’s growl than human. Overly gracious, Forwin led them into the tower.

Out here, they lived differently. Illumination was a priority for heat not seeing. The inside of the tower seemed impossibly dark. If she had not already been held tight by her husband, she would have stayed close to keep from tripping and giving the unseen eyes she knew watched reason to dismiss her.

At the middle of the tower was a spiraling staircase. Every twelve steps, it opened onto a landing where there were five to eight beds. Though they were not led beyond the fourth landing, Petra guessed there to be over one dozen landings. It appeared that the only purpose of the tower was to bed inhabitants. There was no scent of cooking nor bodily waste. Only the large hearths that sat on each landing permeated the air with a charred scent.

Forwin stepped aside when they reached the fourth landing. Additional beds had been placed here with cots in between. A few of the cots supported sleeping bodies. There were remnants of armor she recognized on others.

Petra was struck by the outcome of the ambush. She counted twenty places to sleep.

Twenty...

If not for me...

Wrapped in soaked sheets, Yates writhed and moaned.

If not for me...

Loathing gripped her and she cried out, covering her eyes as if she could cover her shame.

Rand ran to his compatriot and dropped to his knees. Choked by tears, he grasped a bandaged hand and wept into the bed sheets.

Forwin had the decency to depart.

“Forgive me, my brother. Forgive me this curse.”

Swallowing her sobs, Petra heard a strangled moan. The words that followed were broken by long pauses as Yates fought for breath.

“I’m...glad...you’re alive,” he said, slowly, as if drugged by pain.

“I don’t deserve to be.”

“I feared...for you.”

Rand’s scoff was bitter and there was a long pause before Yates explained that he had taken off in pursuit of a group of Bessarabites. The initial men he raced after gave chase and he was able to cut down enemies along the way. But his prowess as Shivalry was not enough to keep them from firing their hand cannons. Eventually, he was surrounded and then rapidly outnumbered. He could not remember how many there were. They shot to wound him, not kill. To torture.

By the time Yates was nearly on his knees, soldiers of Vale came from behind and managed to take down the aggressors. With those men, he stumbled back into the foray and continued to fight until he blacked out. It was not until he came around again that the men explained to him the outcome. Bessarabiah had not been beaten back. They dealt their damage and left.

“They knew,” Yates stammered. “They knew we were coming. They wanted to ensure we cannot defend ourselves.”

Rand used his sleeve to wipe the perspiration from his face. “We will hold down this fort.”

“Once they take off my leg, I’ll be able—”

“To heal,” Rand finished.

Yates tried to say more but his captain shook his head and stood.

Steeling herself, Petra neared the bed. Punishment, seeing an innocent affected by her decisions, was due to her. She could not hide. She would not hide.

“The men will fight in your name, I’m sure. They will win for you,” she whispered.

Though the soldier’s mouth was bloodied and swollen, Yates smiled. Sidelong, she saw Rand look at her, his face a disaster of emotions.

“I’ll gather the other men,” he said, turning back towards the stairs.