The Bloodsworn (21 page)

Ide scrambled to her feet with a string of blistering oaths. “We gotta find him! Get your things, priestess. Hurry!”

“But why would he do that?” Vel snatched up her blanket even as she struggled to process what was happening. “Surely every drop of Rodrik's blood is precious now. Why would he waste it on this?”

“It's worth it if he can get Rodrik back,” Alix said. “Harvest his blood one more time before . . .”

“Before he
dies
,” Ide finished cruelly. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I told you we should have finished it. Now he's a thrall, on his way back to enemy hands. Already there, maybe!”

Alix didn't bother arguing; they hadn't the time, and she hadn't the heart. She just grabbed her things and started running.

Trees whipped by, branches snatching at her clothing and flaying her bare skin. Her mind barely registered the world around her; it was too busy playing out her failure from the night before.
He must have stolen away while you were doing your rounds. Your watch . . .

Rodrik had trusted her, just as his twin had. She'd promised to protect him, just as she'd promised to protect Erik.

And she had failed them both.

“T
he execution will be tomorrow,” Erik said.

The faces around the table were ashen. No one would meet the king's eye. That was to be expected, Erik supposed. Liam had been well liked before his treachery came to light; it was only natural that the council members would need time to accept the harsh truth. On top of which, personal feelings aside, the execution of a prince on the eve of battle was an ordeal a kingdom should never have to confront, let alone twice within a year.

Raibert Green cleared his throat. “Forgive me, sire, this must be terribly painful for you. But I have to ask—is this wise? A public spectacle, I mean. Prince Liam—”

“The traitor,” Erik corrected.

Green shifted. “His private agenda notwithstanding, he did well in the temple square yesterday. We were right to delay his arrest until after the speech. The people are evacuating smoothly. If we make public the situation with”—he faltered briefly—“with the traitor, all our careful measures to avoid panic will have been for naught.”

“Respectfully, sire,” Sirin Grey put in, “I agree with Lord
Green. The traitor must certainly face justice, but if we make his execution public, we may rue the consequences.”

A soft snort drew Erik's glance. Tom leaned casually against a pillar, arms folded, mouth twisted sardonically. “
We
. She is presumptuous, isn't she, my beloved? As though she or anyone else has a say in the matter.”

With an effort, Erik ignored the apparition of his dead brother. “I understand your concerns, my lords, but I have committed this error once already. Tom was executed privately, without spectacle. Most of the city did not hear of it until after the siege. And now, scarcely a year later, here we are again, in precisely the same situation.” He spread his hands, inviting them to draw the appropriate conclusions. “We may indeed rue the consequences of a public execution, but not nearly as much as we would rue the consequences of a private one.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Tom said languidly. “The danger is probably past. You've quite gone through your stock of brothers, I think.”

Erik fired him a withering look, but did not otherwise rise to the bait. “I will not take that risk again,” he told the council. “Instead, I will send an unambiguous message about what happens to those who would betray the crown.” His gaze did a long, slow tour of the table.
Including any of you.

Norvin Gold stroked his moustaches fretfully. “It will be a beheading, then?”

“I think it wise to make a stronger statement this time.”

The council stirred uncomfortably. Lady Stonegate seemed to be voicing the general sentiment when she enquired, “What could be stronger than cleaving a man's head from his shoulders?”

“The emperors of old had a way with such things.”

The shocked silence that greeted this statement was more than a little satisfying. It promised an even greater reaction tomorrow when he carried out the brutal act itself. No one would dare challenge him after that.

“My dear brother,” Tom murmured, “how you have grown.”

A log slipped in the hearth; Sirin Grey flinched as if startled from a nightmare. “Your Majesty . . .”

Erik waited for her to continue, but she just sat there, staring
at him in dismay.
She regrets herself now
, Erik thought, not unkindly.
This must be difficult for her, remembering Tom.

“Difficult and painful,” Tom said, reading Erik's thoughts. “Yet she does her duty anyway. You could learn much from her, brother.”

I have learned that lesson already, brother
, Erik retorted in his mind, and Tom conceded the point with a grave nod.

Raibert Green was the next to brave the silence. “What about Lady Brown, sire? I know you believe her to be one of the co-conspirators, but—”

“Chancellor Highmount and Lady Brown have committed high treason and will be punished accordingly. Eventually, Alix Black will have to be dealt with as well. However, it is my brother who is at the centre of this plot, and who corrupted the others. He alone will face imperial justice.”

Green winced. “But, Your Majesty—”

“The matter is decided,” Erik said, rising. “And now, my lords, it remains only for me to thank you for your loyalty and dedication in this difficult time. You will all be rewarded in due course. For now, I suggest you spend what little time remains with your families. This council is hereby disbanded, with gratitude for its service.” So saying, he headed for his study.

“You handled that well,” Tom said, falling into step beside him.

“Rare praise,” Erik said dryly, keeping his voice low so as not to alarm his new bodyguard. Thankfully, Meinrad kept a much more respectful distance than Alix had ever done.

“I judge things as I see them,” Tom said with a shrug. “My feelings have never had much to do with it.”

Erik started to reply, but a voice called after him down the corridor; turning, he found Sirin Grey sweeping toward him with all the haste dignity would allow. “A word, Your Majesty?”

Checking a sigh, Erik gestured for her to follow him into his study.

“I don't wish to intrude,” she said. “But I am . . . concerned. You don't look at all well, if you will forgive me for saying so.”

“I went several days without eating or sleeping, even longer without sunlight or exercise, and it certainly shows. That is why
I allowed the traitor to address the people in my place. The sight of me in this condition would hardly inspire confidence.”

“You are thin, it's true. But it's not only that. You seem very . . . inflamed. That's only natural, of course, given everything that has happened, but I wonder if perhaps you aren't allowing your anger to influence your decisions.”

“You believe my judgement is clouded?” Erik asked mildly.

Her gaze fell to her lap. “Forgive my impertinence. I only want what is best for the kingdom, and for you.”

“I know.” Reaching across the desk, he took her hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But I need you to trust me now. You know me better than anyone on the council. I ask you—have I ever struck you as a vindictive man?”

“Not at all. If anything, you have allowed your good nature to be taken advantage of.”

Erik's mouth quirked. “I hear Tom in those words. Nevertheless, you're not wrong. My rule has known too much of Farika and not enough of Rahl. I simply cannot allow that to continue.”

“I understand, of course. But imperial justice . . .” She shuddered.

“It's terribly brutal, I know. But don't you see? That's just the point. An act like this is a powerful deterrent. Done once, it need never be done again.” He squeezed her hand a second time, choosing his words as carefully as he had with Meinrad. “What happened with Tom . . . It is a wound I will carry with me for the rest of my days.”

A shimmer of tears came into her eyes. “I know.”

“You know because I let you see it. I let everyone see just how much it hurt me to execute my brother. I let them doubt my strength, my resolve. And now I pay the price. Had I dealt with Tom as I should have, Liam would never have dared to conspire against me. I will not make that mistake again, Sirin. This must be done, for the good of the kingdom.”

She swallowed. Nodded. “For the good of the kingdom,” she whispered, and she left him.

*   *   *

“Aina,” said Rona Brown.

The word pierced a silence that had lingered for . . . how
long? Liam had lost all sense of time in here. A small window had been cut from the stone—more like an arrowslit, really—but the walls of the Red Tower were thick enough that it was impossible to tell the angle of the sun. All Liam knew for certain was that it was afternoon, and most likely his last in this world.

Rona sat next to him in a pose identical to his: back to the wall, arms propped against her knees. They'd left the straw pallet to Highmount; he lay with his hands steepled on his chest, staring at the ceiling. Liam would have paid good coin to hear his thoughts, but the chancellor kept his own counsel. “Sorry,” Liam said, glancing at Rona, “what did you say?”

“Aina. She's barely seventeen. That's too young, don't you think?”

Liam wasn't following. “To be married?”

“She's already married, a few months back. No, I meant that she's too young to inherit the banner.”

“Don't think like that,” he said—a little more harshly than he'd intended.

It didn't matter; she was barely listening anyway. “I hope Raibert Green will take her under his wing.”

“You're not going to die, Rona.” It sounded childish even to him, like a petulant toddler refusing to be put down for a nap. Still, he persisted. “It's me Erik wants. If I go willingly, he should be satisfied with that.”

“Don't be ridiculous, this has nothing to do with King Erik.” Her tone was utterly flat, which only drew attention to the uncharacteristically sharp words. “It's what the bloodbinder wants that matters, and he'll take the opportunity to destroy as many prominent figures as he can.”

Liam wanted to deny it, but of course she was right. She would die too, and it was his fault. She was only here because of him, because of her loyalty to her commander. “I'm so sorry, Rona,” he said, dropping his head into his hands.

“Don't.” She grabbed his hands and pulled them away, forcing him to look up. “I know what you're thinking, but don't. It was my choice to make.” Her dark gaze roamed over his features as if she would memorise them. And then, for some reason he couldn't fathom, she smiled. “Well,” she said wistfully, “maybe not quite a choice.”

Liam didn't understand. Then she reached for him, fingertips brushing the side of his face, and all of a sudden, he did. And a moment he thought couldn't possibly get worse became
so much worse
.

He could feel the realisation blooming in his eyes; saw it answered in hers, with resignation and a deep, long-concealed pain. “Rona . . .” he began, and there was simply no way he could finish that sentence.

She smiled again, sadly, and slumped back against the wall. “I know. It's all right.”

He'd never heard anything so ridiculous in his life, because it wasn't all right—it was
so very far
from all right—but he couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Instead he closed his eyes, fighting off a flood of memories from the past year, every moment when he should have known but didn't, because he was a bloody
idiot
.

The thing was, it made no sense. That was why he hadn't been able to see it. How could someone like Rona—highborn, capable, one of the most powerful figures in the kingdom—be interested in a clod like him? He was having a tough enough time accepting that he'd won Alix. He'd written it off as a stroke of blind luck, spent the last year living in fear that his wife would wake up one day and realise she'd made a terrible mistake. But now here was another amazing woman with feelings for him. Feelings she knew he couldn't possibly return, and so she'd done her best to keep them hidden, at least until now.

Females, Liam decided, were utterly unfathomable. And wonderful. And he'd just doomed two of their most remarkable specimens to a traitor's death.

“Maybe it's not so bad,” Rona said.

Liam laughed, on the verge of hysteria. “How is that, pray?”

“The Warlord is coming. He's almost certainly going to destroy us. If I have to die, I'd rather it be by King Erik's hand.”

But it's not Erik
, Liam wanted to scream.
You just said so yourself!
He held his tongue. If Rona had found some scrap of comfort to cling to, he certainly wasn't going to take it from her.

“It will be tomorrow morning, I suppose,” she said.

“At dawn, I should think,” Highmount put in, choosing that moment to rejoin them. “It is traditional.”

Beheading. That was traditional too. At least it would be quick.

Rona straightened suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“Footsteps,” Highmount said, sitting up on the pallet.

Liam could hear them now, echoing off the stone stairs outside. A hasty step, as of guards. His insides slumped into ash.
Too soon
, he thought dully.
It's too soon . . .

Highmount rose, smoothing his doublet gravely. Rona stayed where she was. Liam closed his eyes, hoping to conjure Alix's face one last time.

The door squealed on ancient hinges. “Now is not the time for a nap, Your Highness,” said a rasping voice.

Liam's eyes snapped open. Saxon stood in the doorway, dressed in a servant's livery and looking decidedly put out. For a moment, all Liam could do was stare.

“We are in something of a hurry,” the spy said.

Liam scrambled to his feet. “What in the hells are you doing here?”