CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
S acrifice possessed him. His eyes were black and opaque. He was taller, broader, and made of more muscle than a human man could be. He ran with unnatural speed and his steps shook the ground.
The three men shouted. Arrows flew. The leader aimed his sword at Rand and kicked his horse to a gallop.
Lindy screamed and wept. Petra kept her hand firm on the back of the girl’s head so she could not be tempted to turn and look.
Arrows struck Rand but he did not feel them. Two he ripped from his shoulder. He tore three from his legs. Four in succession he caught and hurled back at the first shooter, one of which landed in the man’s eye.
The man screamed, grasped at the arrow in panic and dislodged it, dislodging his eye as well. Blood poured down his face. He shrieked obscenities at Rand who, by now, had gotten to Petra, and grabbed hold of his sword.
“Demon!” The leader with the blade shouted, turning his horse around.
Arrows ricocheted off his back. Some pierced him. Rand let the horse run towards him. In the instant before the horse’s snout touched him, Rand moved a fraction to the side and flung his weapon upwards.
Spooked, the horse whinnied, barely scraped, and its rider fell now lacking a leg and arm. Onto the ground, the man bounced, and his body’s fluids gushed. Half a human and wailing like a banshee, he crawled to where his sword had been flung.
Meanwhile, the other two men had dismounted and ran at Rand with short swords brandished.
With eyes unseeing and his body freed beyond the limits of humanity, he ran at the men. Fearless, Rand slammed into them both. Wind knocked out of their bodies, the men fell backwards, immediately trying to gain their feet and breath.
Rand did not wait. He grabbed one man by the legs and flung him at the closest tree. The body snapped backwards with a visceral crack around the trunk and dropped, lifeless.
Rand let the other man lunge at him. Grabbing across himself, he caught the soldier’s forearm and used the man’s momentum to fling him off balance. The enemy blade came around and carved at Rand’s waist but only an instant before Rand clutched the man’s head and wrenched it off.
Without pausing, Rand took two steps and pinned the mauled leader with his heel. All his weight he drove downward and cracked the man’s sternum. Then driving his heel to the side, he burst the heart.
Sweat poured from him. His breath was like smoke from a dragon. He turned towards Petra, ripped the remaining arrows from his back, and sank to his knees.
She let go of Lindy and ran to him, grabbing his face and pressing it to her abdomen.
“We’re safe! Come back! Come back, Rand!”
He did not seem to hear her. His body had morphed down though his eyes remained unseeing. With a groan from the bottom of a grave, he rose, picked up Petra and then Lindy, who wailed and cried. Each perched in the crook of his arms, he trudged away from the bloodshed.
Petra kept talking to him, telling him he could rest, he could put them down. Everything was okay now.
Although it wasn’t. He had saved them, but those Bessarabites were armed and out for a reason. Some kind of scouting, perhaps? It would be noted when they did not return. And if more scouts were sent out, the bodies would be found, and blame laid. It would have been better if one of the men escaped. Then he would return talking about the unearthly Mynyddian warrior.
My husband. The warrior whose body is pushed beyond what a human could endure because of me. He will feel the wounds he sustained when Sacrifice releases him. Meanwhile, my mark restores me. It isn’t fair.
Moving into a copse of stout trees, Rand set his charges down. Staggering to one of the thick trunks, he leaned against it before sinking and sitting. His chin fell to his chest, and he closed his eyes.
Lindy immediately hugged Petra.
“Is...he...?”
“He’ll be okay,” she reassured. “We must give him a moment.”
“Is Lord Tsen—Tsen...tur...ian,” she began, her head tipping from one side to the other, trying to make sense of what she had witnessed, “is he...magic?”
“No. But he is more than a man. And,” she continued, smoothly dislodging herself from the girl, “he needs me right now.”
“He’s very hurt.”
“He is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
She wasn’t sure Lindy believed her from the way the little mouth quivered. But she wouldn’t believe the explanation either. Or comprehend it.
I still don’t.
Next to her husband, Petra sat. It took a moment to lift his arm around her; his limbs were dead weight. When she managed, though, she then kept his hand between both of hers, with a strange inclination to hum. To soothe. To pull him free while respecting what they had agreed on. Petra’s immediate response was to press her lips to his until she felt his body reply.
She hummed. It was no song she knew. She knew few. It was a melody that carried steady on, lifting, and lowering only a note or two at no particular moment. It was the melody of a mother soothing a child to sleep. It was the melody of a woman mending clothes alone. The air of a woman as she cooks, cleans, and tends to her home. A tune as old as time.
He leaned into her. The weight of his body leant resonance to her humming. The heft of him drew satisfaction from within her. Deep comfort, so weighty that she could not stand up under it if she wanted. Innate satisfaction. Meant to be.
A shelter but more profound. A place of sanctified rest.
His hand tightened around hers.
“Petra?”
“I’m here.”
“What happened,” he asked, slowly.
“Lindy ran. I had to chase her.”
“What, what were you doing outside of—”
“It’s my fault, Lord Tsenturian!” Lindy dropped down in front of him, hands clasped like a penitent. “It’s my fault! I lied. I told Lady Petra I wanted to walk outside. I didn’t. I wanted to, to get away.”
With an effort, Rand lifted his head. Blinking like one who is awakened from a fever induced slumber, he tried to focus on the child. Then, to steady himself or Lindy, Petra was unsure, he reached forward and grabbed her shoulders.
“There is no reason to get away.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
“Untrue. Lady Petra sent word to your mother’s family. If they do not reply and your mother’s cousin’s husband cannot find the second beat of his heart, you shall travel back to the Cloistered City with us.”
Lindy gasped. “Live...live with Lady Petra and—”
“Me and Lady Petra’s mother. You shall have a room all to yourself and,” he smiled, “a cat if you are patient enough to win the feline over.”
Lindy jumped and flung her arms around his neck. Petra pressed a kiss onto his shoulder, despite herself, and then burst into laughter and tears.
Heaven help us, I love him. Let us resolve this so he and I can have a chance to make a life together.
***
Y ATES RODE OUT TO THEM . He passed Petra and Lindy’s cloaks back, meeting Rand’s gaze with concern. To the brief unspoken dialogue between them, Rand shook his head. Yates looked as if he would reprimand Lindy, but Petra glared at him. With a deferential nod, he turned his mount and continued his patrol.
The trek back had been hurried. It was agreed Lindy must be made to rest with her mother’s cousin and that Rand ought to rest, too. Even if it was only an hour. At least it was an hour inside where Petra could examine the wounds he sustained.
However, they had hardly turned towards the tower before Forwin came striding over. In his hand were two scrolls, tied with black ribbon. A muscle in Rand’s jaw twitched. His expression remained blank.
For a selfish instant, Petra wished Lindy was strong enough to walk herself back to Clemence. It was no happenstance the messages were tied with black. Her heart rate quickened. However, she told herself she would not emasculate Rand by asking him to wait for her before reading the missives.
Instead, hoping her eyes weren’t as wide as they felt, she led Lindy on, hearing Forwin complain that Rand’s men were pig-headed for not letting him read messages that came into his fort.
Inside the tower, Clemence met Petra partway up the steps. She had been told that Lindy was seen running. She hugged the child tight and said she must be wrapped in blankets and made warm before bowing and thanking Petra profusely.
And though the woman’s concern appeared sincere, Lindy did not look comforted. Did she know the husband would lecture Clemence on this being one of the many reasons they simply could not take on another child?
Or was she saddened to be further separated from a wonderful promise?
Rand and I will not go back on that promise, Lindy. You will know it soon enough.
That thought was the only thing that made it easier to leave Clemence’s room. Free to hurry, Petra now rushed up the rest of the stairs, already listening for Rand’s steps behind her.
It was not long before he shut the door of their room behind himself.
“What news?”
“I haven’t opened them yet.”
“What? Why?”
He pushed his hand through his hair. “I need a moment.”
“Are you in pain? Do you want me to—”
“Hold me, Petra.”
Her insides clenched. “Rand...”
“I am in pain. Medicine is nothing compared to the touch of a Sacred. That night on the ground, I held you to keep you warm, but I woke with my injuries healed. Hold me. Please. I want to be healed before I set eyes on these scrolls.”
She pushed aside a selfish flicker of disappointment that this was not her husband asking for the comfort of his wife. Her power had summoned him. When the danger was gone, he was a man carrying blows that should have killed him. In the garden, she had been the one to speak the words when he begged her to keep her mouth shut. She was part of this pact, too.
Moving behind him, she reached her arms around his chest and rested her body weight onto him. For a moment, he stiffened but then heaved a dense exhale and his muscles eased.
I could stay like this forever, if you needed me to. I wish some of the hurt transferred to me. It’s not fair that it does not cost me to heal you but Sacrifice costs you so much.
“I won’t let go ‘til you tell me.”
He nodded and two hours passed.
She refrained from nuzzling into his back. The urge to sigh in contentment she pushed down. Eventually, he stepped forward and she let go. Together they sat down on the bed and untied the letters.
Rand’s hands were steady, but his nostrils flared. Petra’s nerves sparked. Here they were, in this little room, high up in a tower, isolated from people. Yet here, so modestly tied, the Cloistered City sat in their hands. The emperor’s own script might be revealed to them.
In the wake of their caravan, they had left within a momentous time. A bride-to-be hanging in an unprecedented limbo. Neither married nor her own self, the city watched Theophania lift her chin to the duties of empress but not take her side by Cyprian.
Petra laced her fingers together. Rand unrolled the first message.
Captain Tsenturian, your man was willing to part with a considerable sum of money in an attempt to bribe me to fly this letter to you. I did not let him. I was touched that he should risk your ire to get word to you and your wife, now Lady Ondise Tsenturian. I suppose you know she was the sister of a life taken too soon.
“Augustine’s written this!” Petra said. “I’d know his handwriting from hundreds.”
“Damn you, Bartholomew,” Rand mumbled, clearing his throat.
Many in the city are asking what has happened to the caravan that went to Mynydd. There were rumors of an ambush and then no certifiable news afterwards. Speculation was a favorite topic of conversation until the other day.
You were there on the final night of the Festival of the Late Harvest Moon. Lady Theophania was plucked from the Mansion of Delicate Petals and set to be empress. Yet as our emperor spurned the expectations of his people and three surrounding countries, the stars and the cycle of the moon mocked him. A suitable time for the marriage could not seem to be set. Loose lips began to flap in the breeze of ignorance that it was Theophania willfully putting off the marriage. Unsightly things began occurring. Hooligans defaced her mansion with feces. Bodies were seen not bowing at her passing on the main road. Then dead rats were tossed from higher windows anytime she appeared in public. Our emperor did nothing. His silence justified such actions.
The rats became stones. Lady Theophania ceased to leave her mansion. Less than twenty-four hours ago, in broad daylight, fourteen soldiers were sent to her doorstep. Planking and boards had been set up across the threshold and windows, barring intruders. It was rumored Lady Theophania had locked herself in the cellar.
“I don’t believe that,” Petra whispered. “She was afraid, but she was not a coward.”
The soldiers forced their way in. I was among the many who watched. Within an hour, servants ran screaming from the gate. Their cries sounded like, “heresy.” They were caught by fourteen more soldiers who waited on the road. In two more hours’ time, Lady Theophania was carried aloft by six men. A seventh trailed, clutching her head. It was then that our emperor emerged from the palace. The head of his future bride was placed in front of his feet. The body was laid down next to it.
To all, he proclaimed that this dishonor to the throne of his ancestors was his fault. He had wanted to choose an unexpected bride to begin a new century for his city, but the stars and the moon showed him the error of his ways. His mistake must be rectified. He had been tempted by quiet eyes and a quiet mouth. How could such a woman ever be for him? He needed fire. He needed a warrior by his side so the new millennium could begin.
Emperor Cyprian kicked the head and then returned to the palace. Chaos was allowed on the street for six hours until the servants of Lady Theophania’s household were made examples of, as had been their mistress. A proclamation was issued. The new empress will be chosen at the next full moon.
Captain Tsenturian, your man has seen fit to have this information sent to you. I trust you will know what to do with it.
Rand dropped backwards on the bed with a curse. Petra wept without knowing it.
“He will choose Sunniva,” she said.
“Yes.”
“His choice will end their attacks.”
“Yes.”
“Was that his plan all along?”
“I cannot give him credit for such forethought. If I do, I shall question who I serve.”
“And what of the other letter?”
He ripped it open. There were only four words: request taken in council. Rand threw it in the fire. She looked at him. His eyes were tightly shut.
“You serve Vale. You serve the country and its people. They are more constant than the man who sits on the throne.”
“You speak travesty, my wife,” he said with a weak smile.
“I am not afraid.”
Not when I see what has crumbled before you. A black hole. It taunts you to cross it. No, I am not afraid. There is still hope here. There must be. It can’t all fall on you. Do you hear me, Eternity? What good is this mark if I cannot help him? If I am Sacred, then I must show it!
She took his hand, and they sat in silence.