Chapter 8
Cassandra darted forward as Arphaxad slumped to the dirt. The man at the gate was beside them in an instant, reaching for Arphaxad’s wounded shoulder.
“Careful,” Cassandra said. “He’s had an arrow in the back.”
“Right,” the man said, and shifted to help Cassandra pull Arphaxad to his feet. Arphaxad’s head lolled forward, and he let out a moan as Cassandra angled herself beneath his good arm, letting his weight settle on her shoulder.
“Stretcher! We’ve got wounded!” the broad man shouted toward the sentries at the top of the wall. His declaration was met with shouts of affirmation, and he and Cassandra dragged Arphaxad through the gate and into the outpost. A moment later, two soldiers in the red and green of Medira met them with a wooden stretcher.
“I can walk,” Arphaxad protested weakly, but he didn’t fight when Cassandra pushed him gently down. His head dropped back, and his eyes fluttered closed. Cassandra’s heart gave a sickening thud, and she slid her fingers down his arm to squeeze his hand. He opened his eyes for a moment and gave her a quick smile as if to say, “I’ll be all right.”
Cassandra kept close to the stretcher as the two soldiers lifted it and set out across the muddy cobblestone courtyard toward a squat building at the back of the outpost. Inside was a dim room lit by a pair of orbs of enchanted fire set on a workbench in the back. A long table rested in the middle of the room, and beside it was a sagging shelf holding glass vials of various herbs and colorful liquids. A soldier with graying hair jumped to his feet when they entered, and immediately directed the soldiers to set Arphaxad on the table. They did so with a clatter, and Cassandra almost barked something unpleasant at them.
“Gently!” the gray-haired man said with an exasperated wave of his hand. “What happened to him?” he asked, pivoting to face Cassandra.
“An arrow, a few hours ago now. I don’t think the bleeding ever stopped.”
The man—who could only be the outpost healer—grimaced and leaned over to get a better look at the bloody bandage around Arphaxad’s shoulder.
“Brace yourself, son,” he said grimly. “This is going to hurt.” It was only when he started cutting away the blood-soaked bandage that Cassandra’s stomach heaved, and she fled the room.
She burst into the cool night air and pressed her back against the rough side of the building, tipping her head back so it rested against the calloused wood. Stars spread above her in a swath of unending brilliance, the constellation of the Archer twinkling in the northeast. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. What was her sister doing now back in Rendra? Was she wondering what had happened to her?
She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She’d lost her bow, the one thing that meant something to her. She’d lost the correspondence she’d taken from the cave, their only proof of what Amanakar was planning. And now she was cornered in a Mediran military outpost, surrounded by people who thought she was the enemy, no matter what kind of strange truce had existed between her and Arphaxad today. She slammed her fist against the wall behind her, wincing as her skin scraped against the wood.
It was stupid to stay here, she realized. Stupid to remain in a position where she could easily be caught and taken to the Mediran palace. She didn’t think Arphaxad would stoop that low, not after what they’d been through, but she couldn’t say the same for the other soldiers.
But she couldn’t just leave either, not until she knew he was all right. Not when she was this exhausted. And not until she was sure their information would make it into the right hands.
Her mind fluttered to that midsummer night not long ago at the Mediran palace when she had looked up at a similar sky. She’d been with Arphaxad then too, dancing with him beneath the moonlight, her fingers in his, his hand pressing against her back, his breath on her skin. She fought back the sob that welled up in her throat. She had almost died today. More than once. And now he might be dying too.
She hauled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then did it again, and again, just as Andre had taught her.
The door to the infirmary opened to her left, and the man who had met them at the gate stepped out. For the first time, Cassandra noticed that he wore the green stripe of a Mediran commander on the right shoulder of his uniform. He paused when he saw her, and she straightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“Cassandra,” she said after a moment. She wasn’t sure what Arphaxad had managed to tell him, if anything, but she couldn’t risk contradicting his story.
He nodded. “Ramon Castez. I’m the commander of this outpost and a long-time friend of Ilin Serra’s.”
Cassandra took his offered hand and shook it. His palm was rough, but his grip was firm. “Thank you for your help,” she said.
Castez gave a short nod. He was wary of her, she realized. And he had every right to be. “How are you . . . connected . . . to him?”
“We work together,” she said vaguely. She didn’t even have to lie about that—at least for the moment.
He glanced toward the infirmary door and then back, his eyes sharp, as if he didn’t know what to make of her. He looked like he very much preferred a more concrete answer than that. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “What happened?” he asked instead.
Cassandra hesitated. Castez said he was a long-time friend, but until she heard it from Arphaxad himself, she had to tread carefully. “It’s . . . a long story,” she said finally.
Castez pressed his lips together, but, to her relief, didn’t probe further. “I’ll find a place where you can wash up and rest for the night.” He followed Cassandra’s gaze toward the infirmary door. “He’ll be a while. The wound needs to be cleaned and dressed. Encar is as good as it gets, but it won’t be pretty.”
Exhaustion ground deep into her bones as she followed Castez to the other end of the outpost and into another squat wooden building. He opened a door on the right, and Cassandra stepped inside. The room was sparse. A narrow bed with a brown, threadbare blanket sat on one end, and a low cabinet and ancient writing desk were pushed against the window on the other.
“One of the officers’ rooms,” Castez said. “He’s been back in the capital for a few weeks. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
“Thank you,” Cassandra said. Castez gave her a nod, then stepped back into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Cassandra was quick to push the deadbolt in place, then pressed her ear to the crack between the door and the wall. As she’d expected, Castez had posted a guard at the door. A muscle jerked in her jaw, and she dragged the cabinet in front of the door, barricading it from the inside. She couldn’t risk anyone trying anything, not when she was alone in an enemy camp and tipping into a realm beyond exhaustion.
There was a washbasin in one corner, and she did her best to get as much of the grime off her body as she could. The water was almost black when she was done. She pulled her hair out of its careful knot and ran her fingers through it in an attempt to get the worst of the snarls out. After a few minutes, she gave up, then finally, finally, collapsed onto the bed, and despite the lumpy mattress and the camp full of enemy soldiers and the fact that she’d almost died more than once and that Arphaxad might just be dying now and that she really, really didn’t want to think about why that made her feel so hollow inside, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
She awoke to a knock on her door. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and for a moment, couldn’t remember where she was. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the threadbare blanket, the dull wooden boards of the walls, and the cabinet barricading the door.
She shot up as everything came back in a rush—Amanakar, the chanters, Arphaxad. A heaviness descended on her chest, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed. At least she’d been left to sleep.
“Who is it?” she called, reaching for her boots, which she had kicked off the night before. Her dagger was still there—the one the Inetians hadn’t found—and Karim’s dagger with its black handle stamped with the Inetian sigil of a golden bird was still in her boot.
“Cass,” a familiar voice said softly. “It’s me.”
Relief swept through her like a tidal wave, and she did her best to school her face into a neutral expression before she dragged back the cabinet with a horrible scraping sound, pulled the deadbolt, and opened the door.
Arphaxad stood on the other side, his left arm secured in a sling. The guard was nowhere to be seen. He wore a fresh uniform in the red and green colors of Medira. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the stubble along his jaw had progressed into a full shadow. His mouth was tipped in that familiar, arrogant smile, which made her heart give a traitorous thump.
“Did you sleep well last night?” he drawled, his gaze flicking to the cabinet she hadn’t pushed all the way back in place.
She glared at him. “I did, thank you very much. No thanks to you, leaving me alone in a Mediran outpost.”
He arched a brow at her. “You alone in a Mediran military installation is exactly what I was worried about.”
She smirked. It wasn’t everyday she was granted free access to a Mediran military installation, even if it were one as remote as this. “Too bad your friend oh so helpfully posted a guard at my door.”
Arphaxad blinked. So, he didn’t know. “Smart man,” he said finally.
“And to think, I was so worried about you.”
“You were worried about me?” His smile broadened. “Cass, I’m flattered.”
“Well, I’m not anymore.” She crossed her arms, warmth rising to her cheeks. Her eyes traveled to his sling. “No longer at death’s door, I take it?”
He shrugged, then winced as if he had forgotten about his shoulder. “No, thank the Archer. Encar is good at what he does. He had a healing tincture he’d traded for with an Alliance caravan. Seems to be working, at least for the pain.”
“Better than nothing,” she said.
They were quiet for a moment, each waiting for the other to say something.
“We’ll need to give a report to Ramon,” Arphaxad said finally, his eyes skittering away from her. “He’s in charge of the outpost here and of dealings with the enclave. Our first line of defense.”
Cassandra nodded. They had to tell someone. Figure out what kind of force they could gather to stop the idiocy of the Inetians. They’d already wasted enough time.
And then Arphaxad would go back to the Mediran palace, and Cassandra would go back to her queen. That was all that was left.
Arphaxad shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll need to get the information to the king. Do something about the Inetian ambassador. It’s going to be . . . tricky.”
That was an understatement. “Rendra will need to know, too,” she said.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I would hope this leads to some sort of . . . of alliance.”
She stared at him. An alliance between Rendra and Medira. It had been unthinkable for so long. Something more than a tenuous peace would be . . . incredible. Her mind started to turn, as if it were just waking up. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Maybe, just maybe, they finally had the pieces to stitch the broken bonds between the two countries together. A greater cause to unite them. A tiny flame of hope lit in Cassandra’s chest.
“I’ll do my best to encourage the king to send an envoy to Rendra as soon as possible,” Arphaxad said.
“Medira would stoop so low?” she teased.
His mouth tipped. “You can be insufferable, you know.”
“I don’t think I’m alone in that,” she said.
A group of soldiers clomped down the hall from the direction of the barracks, slapping and cajoling each other as they went. Cassandra tensed as they passed. A few of the men blinked when they saw her, clearly not expecting a woman in their midst.
Arphaxad glanced over his shoulder as the men piled out the door and into the cobblestone courtyard. When they were gone, he turned back to her, meeting her gaze with a sudden intensity. “You have my protection here, Cass,” he said. “I hope you know that.”
A shiver moved through her at the intensity in his voice. She believed him. Of course she did. But she wasn’t so sure the rest of the Mediran army would feel the same.
“Come on,” she said, pushing past him. “We should probably find Castez. And some food. I’m starving.”
***
An hour later, Castez leaned back in his chair and let out a long, slow breath. “How in the name of the Archer did we miss that?” he asked.
He was perched behind a heavy mahogany desk in a room twice the size of the one Cassandra had slept in. A shelf of leather-bound books leaned on the wall behind him, and a swath of gold-embroidered curtains adorned the window. A red velvet chaise sat under it, and Cassandra caught a hint of cigar smoke clinging to the fabric.
Arphaxad shook his head. “The chanters are going to great lengths to hide what’s going on. If I hadn’t received a”—he cast a quick glance at Cassandra—“a tip from one of my sources, we would still have no idea.”
Cassandra almost snorted. A tip from one of his sources indeed.
Castez rifled through a stack of paper inscribed with neat letters in thick black ink. “We’ll need to gather a significant force to raid the enclave. They may think you’re dead, but my guess is the accident put them on high alert.”
“We’ve seen what havoc they can wreak when they don’t know they’re being watched,” Arphaxad said. “I don’t want to know what kind of horror they can stir up when they do.”
Cassandra listened to the two men draft plans for how to best draw out the rogue Inetians without tipping off the chanters. She didn’t feel like she had the right to interject, though Arphaxad kept glancing at her for confirmation every now and then. This was his territory. And the last thing she wanted to give away to Castez was who she really worked for. Castez seemed to take her presence for granted now, which showed just how much he trusted Arphaxad.
She also wasn’t sure why Arphaxad hadn’t kicked her out yet. Even with the possibility of a Rendran–Mediran alliance on the table, there wasn’t much more she could do here. He’d quipped earlier about the dangers of leaving her to roam a Mediran military outpost on her own, but he surely couldn’t expect to watch her at every moment. She wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. And she didn’t want to think too hard about exactly why that was.
Arphaxad sat back in the chair beside her and ran his good hand through his hair. His face was ashen. Cassandra wanted to kick him back to the infirmary and make him rest. He’d taken an arrow to the back not even twenty-four hours ago.
“Inetian traitors in our midst,” Castez said with a shake of his head. “I bet you’re glad to have sniffed this out before your wedding, eh, Arphaxad?”
Cassandra’s stomach dropped. Wedding?
Arphaxad went rigid beside her as Castez rose to grab a glass decanter of amber liquid from the shelf behind his desk. He poured a splash into a glass and then turned to hand it to Arphaxad, who accepted it woodenly.
Castez shook his head. “Who’d have thought the likes of you would end up marrying an Inetian princess?”
Cassandra’s body went cold. A strange roaring built in her ears, and she could see Castez’s mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. It was as if she were underwater, sinking slowly downward into a bottomless pool.
Marry the Inetian princess.
Arphaxadwas marrying the Inetian princess.
Her fingers pressed numbly against the fabric of her tunic. How could she have been so stupid? All this time she had just assumed it was the Mediran king who was marrying the princess. But of course, it wasn’t. It could never have been. The king had never shown much interest in marriage, and he was far too old to be thinking of marriage now. He didn’t have an heir, but his next oldest brother was well-positioned to take over if anything happened to him, and the king seemed all too happy to let him.
And Arphaxad. He was the perfect candidate. He was well-connected, handsome, charming, and far enough from the throne that it was unlikely he would ever ascend to it. The perfect man for the job. How had she not seen it?
Her gaze shifted from where it had been fixed on a knot in one of the floorboards, and she found herself staring directly into his eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
How could she have been so blind? The truth was so candescently obvious.
And then, in a blazing flash of clarity, she understood. She hadn’t wanted to know because then she’d have been forced to face the terrifying truth that she’d tried so hard to ignore: that she was in love with Arphaxad Ilin Serra. And she had been for a long, long time.
Her mind whirled. Her body thundered with the knowledge, and for a moment, the world was right and whole and good.
She was in love with Arphaxad Ilin Serra.
She remembered the way he had pulled her close as they danced in the Mediran palace, how much she had wanted that night never to end, and all the times before that when they’d clashed, and he’d made her feel more furious and more alive than she’d ever felt before. How his fingers had traced her jaw in the forest outside the enclave, and how much she’d wished he would just kiss her already and that they could pretend the complicated world around them didn’t exist, even for a few exhilarating moments.
But she had never allowed herself to dwell on it, to comprehend it, because it was too impossible. Too dangerous. He was not someone she could afford to fall in love with.
But it was already too late.
He would be marrying the Inetian princess in a few weeks’ time, cementing Medira’s relationship with Ineti. Forging an important alliance. And she would go home to Rendra. And what? Forget him? That would be impossible considering they were the only two people who knew about Amanakar and the enclave. And if this were truly the thing that would bring Rendra and Medira together, then . . .
“Yep,” was all Arphaxad said. He tried to catch her gaze, and there was something in it, a question, something she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. She jerked her gaze away from him. She couldn’t look at him—not now, not when she was sure her feelings were etched plainly on her face.
“I hear she’s quite a beauty too, you lucky man.” Castez grinned.
Cassandra stood up and walked out of the room.
Footsteps sounded behind her as she stepped out into the harsh midday sun. The sun was well above the horizon now, trudging toward noon. Soldiers lingered in the courtyard, a few sparring in one corner with short swords, their uniforms dark with sweat, but none of them spared her much attention.
“Cassandra,” a voice said behind her.
She stopped moving but didn’t turn around.
“Where are you going?” Arphaxad said tightly.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. She didn’t want to do this. Not with him. Not right now. “Home,” she said.
“Now?” His voice was tinged with confusion and frustration.
“There’s nothing more for me to do here,” she said shortly.
“You really think that’s true?” His voice was flat, but the simmering disappointment behind it was tangible.
Cassandra’s fingers clenched, and she swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat. She wanted so badly to tell him no, to turn around and follow him back into that room, to work side by side like they had in the enclave. But no good would come of it. Not for her, and not for Rendra. She had already overstayed her welcome. “Yes,” she said firmly, the broken pieces of her heart scattering to the wind. “I do.”
Silence stretched out behind her, and she wanted to turn around and shake him and scream at him and let him hold her while she sobbed that it was all so unfair.
“You’ll need this,” he said. She heard him fiddle with something, and she turned to see him pull a dagger from his belt and hold it out to her. “Take it.”
She hesitated a moment, and he sighed. “Don’t be stupid, Cass,” he said. Then, “Careful. There’s briar root in the handle.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she took it slowly, careful not to meet his gaze. The hilt was still warm from his hand. She sheathed it silently in one of the open slots on her belt, next to the dagger Karim had given her.
He stepped back, and his face was blank, devoid even of the infuriating arrogance she was so used to seeing there.
“Thank you for your help,” he said blandly, his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance.
“Thank you too,” she returned, her voice equally stiff. Her heart was shattering into a million tiny pieces. But it was stupid, stupid, stupid. She would get over it. She had to get over it.
Castez had been informed of Amanakar’s treachery. He and Arphaxad were already putting together a plan of action. Medira would know in due time and would deal with the ambassador. She wasn’t needed here anymore. Her duty was to Rendra.
There was a village at the head of the Malathi pass she could make it to before nightfall, a contact she could take refuge with. She was the queen’s shadow. She could disappear into the forest, where not even Arphaxad Ilin Serra could find her.
A dull ache settled in her chest. Before she could think better of it, she turned away from him, crossed the ragged cobblestones of the courtyard, and walked out the gate.