Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Antony
The scent of blood fills my head as soon as I open the door.
The man’s body lies beside the bed, his neck wrapped in the circlet, his face turned away so I can’t yet identify him.
When I burst back into the cabin, I was in a blood rage, driven by Thyra’s scream. I ran as fast as I could through the forest to reach her, my throat tight and my fear high. I didn’t care about the man’s identity.
I only wanted him dead.
But now I need to know if he’s one of Mother’s lovers sent to do her bidding.
Quickly, I kneel beside the body, holding my breath.
I recognize him.
But it’s with relief.
He’s the furtive lowborn man from the crowd at the markets today. There’s no mistaking his short beard, sallow skin, or the distinctive scar across his forehead.
As disconcerted as I am that this man was watching Thyra today, I allow myself a moment of relief that he isn’t a highborn from Mother’s Court.
If ever I’m to kill one of her men, it has to be public. There must be witnesses. I can’t be accused of cold-blooded murder, or she’ll have a reason to overthrow me.
I guess even Mother isn’t so reckless as to try to kill the Oracle. Or at least, not brazenly. It doesn’t mean she didn’t send this man, only that she doesn’t want to be tied to his crime.
Reaching for his weapon, I study its construction, finding it clean of markings that indicate its origins. I’m nearly certain it wasn’t constructed here in the Iron Kingdom because every weapon created in my forges, whether its blade is made of iron or not, is marked with my insignia.
The dagger’s hilt is simple, but the darkness of the wood intrigues me; its color is more charcoal than any tree grown in the Iron Kingdom. The Ember Kingdom is barren, so the wood couldn’t have come from there. Possibly from the Frost Kingdom. Maybe from the far northern wilds.
The grain consists of whorls, circling around and around to a finer point, almost like the swirls on the pad of a finger.
Slipping the weapon into one of the empty holders built into the armor at my waist, I search the man’s pockets.
A clink sounds as a single object falls from his pants.
An Ember coin clatters across the floor before I smack my hand down on it, stopping its path.
It’s silver, just like the Frost coin that struck me in the back.
I narrow my eyes as I contemplate what this could mean.
At first glance, it looks like this assassin was sent from Ember because he was paid in Ember coin, but Maxim would not be so foolish as to send a lowborn anywhere near me—their failure would be assured.
But if not him, then…who?
Someone killed Thyra’s father today. The same day that I was sent an anonymous note, drawing me to the village where she was hiding.
A silver Frost coin was at the scene, flung into my back.
Now, an assassin has come for Thyra, attacking her with a similar knife and carrying a silver Ember coin in his pocket.
All of these things must be connected; I just can’t see how yet. It’s like peering into a dark room through the narrowest crack of an open door, seeing only slivers of what’s inside.
I rise back to my feet, asking myself an unsettling question: Could there be another power at play?
I come back to my mother.
She could have hired lowborn assassins and paid them in different coins to deflect attention away from herself.
It would mean she knew where Thyra and her father were hiding and, instead of giving me the chance to claim Thyra first, she sent messages to the other kings to make it harder for me.
All without making it obvious she was acting against me.
I have no way to be certain. But I’m determined to find out.
Right now, I have to deal with the body.
For the next two hours, I set about burying the man and cleaning up the cabin.
By the time I’m done, the sky is lightening. My eagle hasn’t moved, and when I take a step toward him, intending to check on Thyra again, he cracks open one eye and glares at me.
“Fine.” I back away from him, telling myself she’s safe under his wing.
Dawn isn’t far away.
I don’t need much sleep. Far less than most highborn. An hour or two is enough.
Taking up a position on the porch where I can keep an eye on the clearing, I lean up against the wall next to the door, remaining standing.
I give myself permission to close my eyes. Just for a moment.
“Antony?”
My eyes shoot open, alarm flooding me.
I not only fell asleep, but it was so deep I wasn’t aware of Thyra’s approach.
She stands in front of me, dawn sunlight glowing around her silhouette, the ruby circlet held in her left hand, while she raises her right wrist toward me.
She must have gone back into the room to retrieve the circlet, also without me being aware of it.
“How do I get this back on?” she asks.
My focus flashes from her arm to her eyes, dull blue eyes, but the dullness is only in the color, not in the life that burns behind them.
She must have retrieved her boots and pants, too, because she’s fully dressed, although she’s still wearing the tunic I gave her.
She might have even rescued her bloomers from the bathing room.
I’m instantly reminded of the press of her wet skin to mine, the arch of her back into my hands, the curve of her breasts, her needy moan…
I shake myself, trying to clear my head. “Are you hungry?”
She purses her lips at the question she obviously wasn’t expecting. “I’m fine, thank you. I ate another thistleberry.”
She inclines her head to her right, where I left the branch last night. “I fed one to Blue as well.”
“Blue?”
“Your eagle,” she says. “Until you come up with a better name, that’s what I’m calling him.”
Behind her, my monstrous bird sneers at me, ruffling his feathers menacingly.
I narrow my eyes at him. Challenge accepted. It can’t be that hard to name a bird. But my more immediate focus is on Thyra and the remarkable fact that she fed my carnivorous eagle a thistleberry. It won’t make him sick, but he usually prefers food of a different kind.
“He didn’t peck you?”
“Not once.” The chain jingles as she draws my attention to it again. “Antony?”
My chest feels heavy as I consider the circlet. “You can leave that off for now. You don’t need to wear it until we get closer to the Constellation.”
Her forehead pinches. “Your mother has eagles and fae at her disposal, yes? She was sending them after us when we landed at the forge yesterday. Then she sent Lady Delphina to cause trouble in the street. I don’t imagine she’s sitting idly by, waiting for you to bring me to her.
I’d rather not be snatched away from you because we weren’t prepared. ”
Thyra’s right. Even now, Mother could have eagles in the air, waiting to escort us home. For our safety, of course.
We will need to evade them, but as for whether or not Thyra needs to wear the circlet so soon, my throat tightens.
I don’t want to put that fucking thing back on her.
It’s a startling realization.
She peers at me, as if she’s also having a hard time understanding my reaction. “Why the hesitation?”
I try to come up with a lie, but the truth pushes through first. It sounds so simple, bare and raw, as I speak it. “I don’t want you to wear it.”
Her face falls. Not the reaction I was expecting, and it shocks me. That damn hollow drains the light out of her eyes, and I can’t understand why.
She takes a quick step back from me. “You’d rather dangle me in front of your mother. That way you can play her game, make her think she can win—”
“No.” My hands close around Thyra’s arms, causing her to stiffen, but I’m suddenly aware it isn’t purely because of my sudden movement.
Now that she’s taken a step back, I can see the black bruises around her neck, the worst on her left side. Another bruise darkens the skin on her forearm, right below where I grabbed her.
Carefully, I peel my hands away, only to discover I was gripping another bruise.
Anger boils within me, and not only at myself. If I could kill that fucking assassin again, I’d tear him apart slowly and make him beg for mercy.
But whatever rage I’m feeling right now, I can’t let Thyra believe I’m directing it at her. As much as it might be to my benefit to intimidate her, and probably I’ll have to employ that tactic again…
I have to keep communication open between us.
“No,” I say again, softer this time, and it’s hard when my whole life I’ve shouted and commanded and reprimanded and threatened.
Even harder is the challenge of explaining my reasons to her when I don’t fully understand them myself.
I have no fucking idea why my chest feels heavy at the thought of wrapping her wrist in this chain or why I suddenly loathe the idea of her being constrained.
I try to put logic to it, to reason it through.
“I chose the ruby circlet to keep you by my side. I thought only of how it could play out at Court. Last night, it prevented you from escaping an assassin. I didn’t consider that scenario.
Even though I should have.” I grimace, although I know she can’t see it through my armor.
The only way she can read my emotions now is to search my eyes.
“I can’t anticipate every situation. On balance, the circlet is more likely to keep you safe than not, but it could become a serious liability. ”
Her lips softly part as she listens to me. “Oh.”
A little of the light returns to her eyes.
A little of the heaviness lifts from my chest.
“Well. I thought it through while I was eating,” she says. “Yes, the chain meant I couldn’t escape that man last night, but it was also a useful weapon. Without it, I’m not sure I could have held him off, so—”
“We need to do something about that.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“What combat skills do you have?”
She hesitates. Of course, she won’t want to tell me, a possibility I’m surprised she confirms a moment later.
“Although I’d prefer you didn’t know, because I’d rather you thought I could kill you if I wanted to…
I’m only trained in basic defensive combat.
” She demonstrates, jabbing at my armor without making contact.
“Eyes, mouth, throat, groin. I know how to hold a dagger and a sword and how to deflect a strike. I’m quick when I need to be, but fear has that effect on me.
” She tips her chin defiantly. “I can run. Fast. Faster than some highborn.”
My focus falls on the spot at the top of her right arm where she bears the scar from Ember fire.
“Running,” I murmur, fighting the boil of my blood again. I wonder who that Ember Fae was and hope I have the chance to find out. “You must have gotten good at it.”
She says, although hesitantly, “If it makes any difference, you should probably know the circlet won’t cut through my arm.”
I raise my eyebrows. And though she can’t see that, she reads my silence accurately.
“Look. No bruises.” She turns her wrist into the light, showing me both sides. “I was pulling hard enough last night that the chain should have split my skin. The blade protected this part of my arm.”
I saw how hard she was pulling, but while bruises mar other parts of her body, her wrist and forearm are completely unharmed.
“I’m not afraid.” She pushes the chain toward me again. “I need this on.”
She’s giving me permission to cage her. Demanding it, in fact. I can’t deny her reasons or…since she makes such a compelling argument…the chance to touch her, skin-on-skin.
Slipping off my steel glove, I catch the end of the chain dangling from her hand, latching it to my left arm again.
The first time I snapped it onto her, I flicked it fast, avoiding any lengthy skin-on-skin contact. Not this time.
My bare fingers find her wrist, the pulse beating there, sensing it quicken, my thumb grazes over her warm skin as I slowly wrap the chain around the blade’s cross-guard.
With the smallest prick of my finger, it clicks into place.
It’s done. I could open my hand again, but my fingers remain circling her wrist. “Cassia will train you.”
Thyra stiffens, extricating her hand from mine.
I’m not certain why she withdrew so abruptly until she says, “Your sister flew her eagle over the village yesterday. The Ember Fae who fought her burned innocent villagers. If she wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have been there either.”
I let Thyra step back from me, but I can’t let her misconception continue. “Actually, he fired at me. Without provocation. He burned half of my helmet off. And we hadn’t reached your village at that time.”
The furrow in Thyra’s brow falters before it deepens again. “But she had no problem scattering iron dust over the innocent.”
Iron dust? I’m not sure what Thyra’s talking about, but she’s already turning away from me, taking all of two steps before the chain pulls taut between us, and her shoulders slump.
“I’ll accept the training if she’s willing to give it.”
“Good.” I consider saying more, but for now, her agreement is what I need.
Of course, I ignore the fact that whatever Cassia teaches Thyra, Thyra could use against me, but I’ll face that challenge if it happens.
I consider the determined beat of her boots on the grass as we walk in near lockstep and the way her tangled hair, its strands as dull as any could be, catches the first rays of sunlight peeking over the trees.
Maybe I want her to try out any new combat skills on me.
Maybe I’ll enjoy tussling with her.
I might even make sure she’s wearing nothing more than a sodden tunic at the time.
My grin fades, and I put a halt to my heated thoughts as I focus on the flight ahead.
Evading interception won’t be easy. I can’t underestimate what Mother might have planned. She’s bound to send out the lords in her Court. Well, lords is a polite way of referring to them.
The men she fucks.
I didn’t realize soon enough that I needed to keep an eye on all highborn males and ensure they were assigned to my army before they came of age, when Mother could get her hands on them.
I lost one very important warrior that way. A hard lesson to learn.
Shaking off the past, I pick up my pace, scoop up Thyra from behind, and leap deftly onto my eagle with her.
He’s already spreading his wings, tension thrumming through his body as he takes to the air.
He knows as well as I do that we’re flying into danger.