The Bloodsworn (2 page)

“Three White Wolves, as agreed. Rona Brown, Dain Cooper, and Ide. I haven't told them where we're going yet, or why, but I'll have to explain once we're on the road.”

Highmount grunted, but if he had any misgivings, he kept them to himself. “When will you depart?”

“Tomorrow morning. That should put me at the front in about five days. I'll spend a day or so with Rig, explain the situation.”

“How do you anticipate he will react? Your brother and the king are close. If there is any chance he will not support us in this . . .”

“Rig will support us,” Alix said firmly. “He'll support me.
And he needs to know. He's commander general of the king's armies. If we should fail, or if Erik were somehow to get word to him, my brother would obey whatever orders the king gave.”

“Which orders would very likely have been fed to His Majesty by the enemy through the bloodbond. I do understand your concerns, and I share them. But you must ensure that General Black fully grasps what is at stake here. It is imperative that he guard this secret with his life.”

As though Alix needed to be told. “My brother will do what is necessary,” she said coolly. “You can rely upon it.”

Highmount nodded again. “And then?”

“And then,” Liam said, “it's off to Andithyri, smuggling herself into enemy territory.” A scowl and crossed arms accompanied this interjection, in case either of them had missed the tone.

Highmount fetched a scroll case down from the bookshelf and rolled out a map of Andithyri. It had been updated recently, the borders redrawn in red ink along with a note in the chancellor's tidy hand:
Occupied by the Trionate of Oridia.
“Rodrik was raised here,” he said, “in a village called Indrask.”

Alix leaned over the map. Liam, she noticed, did not; instead he looked away, mouth pressed into a thin line. Alix didn't blame him for being unhappy—she'd feel the same if the situation were reversed and he was the one infiltrating occupied territory in search of Erik's captured twin—but sulking about it surely didn't help.

“As you can see,” Highmount said, “Indrask is in the middle of nowhere. That was by design; we needed the boy kept out of sight, living in anonymity in a place no one would recognise him as King Erik's twin. That should work to your advantage, Your Highness. Enemy soldiers will be fewer and farther between, and I doubt the Warlord has troubled to garrison the smaller towns, let alone villages. If you stay off the main roads, you may well travel unmolested.”

Liam snorted and shook his head, which Alix did her best to ignore. “Is this farmland?” she asked, running a finger along the map.

“Largely. A few bits of wood here and there, but the country is small and crowded, so most of the land is under cultivation.”

“Good. Open territory will make travelling faster.”

“It'll also make you easier to spot,” Liam put in.

“I'm a trained scout, Liam. I don't need you to explain cover to me.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his unruly hair. “I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a prat. I just hate this.”

“Of course you do, but that's not exactly new, is it? You hated it when Erik and I travelled to Harram too, just as I hated it when you were sent to Onnan. This is no different.”

He scowled. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Both of those missions ended in spectacular failure, on top of which, I seem to recall that we all nearly
died
.”

“This is who we are, Liam. That's not going to change until this war is over.” Turning back to Highmount, she said, “Go on.”

Highmount's glance cut between them, but he wisely let that part of the conversation drop. “There is not much else to tell. Your brother will know better than I which routes are safest, and which best avoided. All I can offer you is this.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his jerkin, Highmount withdrew a key and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. Inside was an iron box, unadorned, guarded by the most formidable padlock Alix had ever seen. Whatever was inside that box, Albern Highmount had taken great pains to ensure that it remained for his eyes only. He opened it and pushed it across the desk.

“Letters?”

“From an Aldenian royal guardsman, a man called Terrell. He was sent to live among the Andithyri, to join the cadre of guards assigned by our allies to keep watch over the boy. He posed as a farmer and sent these missives from time to time. As you can see, they are few, but perhaps you will find something useful in them to help guide your search.”

“Thank you.”

“And now, Your Highness, before you depart, there is something I would like you to consider. Another perspective, if you will, on the mission you are about to undertake.”

Something in the chancellor's tone made Alix wary. “All right.”

“Twenty-seven years ago, I gave a crucial bit of counsel to King Osrik. It went unheeded, to my lasting regret, a mistake that led directly to the delicate position in which we now find
ourselves. Had His Majesty followed my advice, his heir would not now be bloodbound and locked away in his own palace. Indeed, there is a very good chance we would not be at war at all.”

Alix regarded him coldly. “I presume you're referring to your suggestion to—how did you put it—
destroy the boy
?”

“Rodrik White posed a grave threat to the kingdom. He still does. More so, now that he is a man grown and Alden is at war. We know nothing about his character. It is not difficult to imagine that the enemy could persuade him to become a puppet king, or any number of other scenarios. I am sure I do not need to remind you how this country has suffered when a White brother, legitimate or otherwise, chooses to contest the crown. We have already known two such tragedies in our kingdom's brief history, the latest scarcely a year old. When you find Rodrik, you would do well to remember that, and consider carefully what comes next.”

“What in the hells does that mean?” Liam snapped.

Highmount met his gaze unrepentantly. “It means, Your Highness, that a rescue mission may not be what is called for under the circumstances.”

“He's joking. You're joking, surely? This is my brother we're talking about, Highmount.
My brother.
Do you understand that?”

The chancellor ignored him, turning his hawkish gaze back on Alix.
You know I'm right
, those eyes seemed to say. And a cold, logical voice inside Alix whispered,
I do
. But however much that voice might be in harmony with Highmount's, she could not heed it. Erik would never forgive her. And neither, judging from the look on his face, would her husband. “Erik told me once that he mourned his twin for his entire childhood. That's when he thought he had a stillborn sister. If he found out he had an identical twin, only to learn I'd taken that from him . . .” Alix shook her head. “It's Erik's choice to make, Highmount. Not mine, and not yours.”

The chancellor seemed to expect that answer, for he merely nodded, as if to say,
On your head be it
. He rose, signalling that the conversation was over.

But Alix wasn't through quite yet. She kept her seat, gaze in her lap.

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Highmount cleared his throat. “Is there something else, Your Highness?”

For a moment, she almost lost her nerve. But she couldn't hide from the truth forever; Highmount needed to know. “Before I go, there's something I have to tell you.” She glanced at Liam. “Both of you.”

Highmount resumed his seat.

“Varad's assassination,” Alix said. “It was me.”

Highmount's brows gathered. “What do you mean?”

“I killed him.” Alix stared ruthlessly ahead. She could feel Liam's gaze on her, but she couldn't face it. Not yet.

As for Highmount, he betrayed no emotion beyond a slight narrowing of the eyes. “I'm afraid I still do not understand, Your Highness. How could you possibly have killed the King of Oridia, particularly since you were on your way back from Harram at the time of his death?”

“I had my spy do it. That is, I ordered my spy to see it done. He has networks in Varadast.” She sat up straighter, forced herself to look Highmount in the eye. “It was a terrible error in judgement, and I take full responsibility.”

“I see.” Highmount's fingers formed a steeple, a gesture Alix had come to recognise as a sign of careful reflection.

Liam found his voice at last. “Allie, why would you—”

“I thought I was helping.” It sounded childish, even to her own ears. “The Priest was already dead. I thought if the King were gone too, the Warlord would have no choice but to back down, at least for a while. As the sole remaining Trion, I thought Sadik would be too weak to continue. That I could end the war at a stroke.” True, as far as it went, but not the
whole
truth. The real reason she'd done it was far, far simpler.

Vengeance.

She'd been exhausted. Afraid. Tired of feeling powerless. And then the news of the massacre at Raynesford, of the Warlord butchering children and women . . . So she'd done what she always did, acting without thinking, a true child of Ardin. It was just as Erik had warned her all those months ago:
One of these days, your recklessness is going to cost you dearly. Cost all of us, perhaps.
She'd played right into Sadik's hand. He was the sole remaining Trion, all right—and all the more powerful for it. If she'd bothered to consult Erik, she would
have learned that Varad had been a restraining influence on Sadik. On top of which, the Oridian public, outraged by the assassination of their King, had rallied in support of the war effort. With Varad out of the way and his people behind him, the Warlord of Oridia was free to indulge his ambition to the fullest.

She cleared her throat. “When Erik is . . . when he's better, he'll have to deal with me.”

“Deal with you, Your Highness?” Highmount lifted a bushy grey eyebrow. “What exactly do you believe His Majesty will do?”

“I don't know. It's hard to imagine what punishment could answer for what I've done. The Oridians were weary. They might have stood down. Only now, I've given them a martyr to rally behind. I've prolonged the war at the cost of who knows how many lives.” Saying it aloud made her queasy all over again, and she found she couldn't quite meet the chancellor's eye after all.

Highmount sighed. “You give yourself rather too much credit, I think. We cannot know what might have been. Your actions were ill-considered, Your Highness, and I do regret them. It is true that the Oridian people are united as never before. But the Warlord is not known for his . . .
democratic
inclinations. The views of the public are not likely to weigh heavily on him. Can we truly say you have prolonged the war?” He made a dismissive gesture. “Speculation.”

“But it's possible.”

“Perhaps.”

Alix waited for him to say more, but he only regarded her with that damnably closed expression, the one she could never read. “That's it?” she demanded. “That's all you have to say?”

He spread his hands. “What would you have of me, Your Highness? It is done. We cannot afford to dwell on it; we have more immediate concerns. Besides, I daresay there is little I could suggest that would be as severe as the condemnation you heap upon yourself.”

That, at least, was Destan's own truth.

“If you will forgive an old man some unsolicited advice,” the chancellor went on, “put this behind you—but do not forget. There will come a time when the memory of this regrettable
incident is all that stands between you and another rash decision. Forgive yourself, Your Highness, but do not forget.”

Liam reached over and squeezed her hand again, and when Alix met her husband's gaze at last, she found no judgement there. Her heart flooded with gratitude, her fingers tightening around his.

“And now, Your Highnesses, if there is nothing else, I suggest you continue your preparations. As for me, I have a great deal of correspondence to take care of. The council must be apprised immediately of His Majesty's terribly contagious fever.”

Alix didn't envy him the task. It would take a deft hand to convince the council that the king was ill enough to require quarantine, yet not so ill that they needed to be concerned. If anyone could manage the balance, it was Albern Highmount. “Will I see you before I leave?” she asked him.

“I should not think so. Your departure must be as discreet as possible. My presence would not aid that cause.”

“In that case, farewell.”

Highmount rose, smoothed his doublet. Then he folded at the waist in a grave bow. It was the first time he'd ever bowed to her. “Take care, Your Highness. And good luck.”

Alix thanked him, though she doubted there was enough good luck in the Nine Heavens to see her through.

“T
hat man is incredible,” Alix said, and even she wasn't sure if she meant it as a compliment. “I swear, you could tell Highmount the dragon was nigh and the world ending and he'd just look at you and say,
I see
.”

Liam threw the latch on their chamber door. “He's right, though. There's no point dwelling on it.”

Alix forced herself to meet his gaze. “I'm sorry, Liam. I am so sorry.”

“I know.” He put his arms around her. “It's behind us, love.”

That wasn't really true—it wouldn't be behind them until the war was over, and maybe not even then—but Alix loved him for saying it. She let out a long breath, tucked her face into the curve of his neck. The familiar scent of his skin was a tonic, soothing away the bitter trials of the day. Exhaustion crept into the spaces grief left behind. It wasn't even noon, and already she felt . . . spent.

Feeling her sag against him, Liam said, “Come on, let's lie down a moment. You need to rest.”

“There isn't time . . .”

“Just for a moment.” He led her through to their sleeping chamber, where they found Rudi sprawled across the foot of
the bed. Liam shooed the wolfhound off before starting in on the buckles of Alix's armour. She began another weak protest, but it felt so good when he lifted her breastplate away that the words died unspoken. They curled up together, Alix's body tucked neatly into Liam's.
A perfect fit
, she thought, not for the first time.

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like,” he murmured, “if the war had never begun? For us, I mean. You and me.” His fingers twined through hers, toying with the ring on her baby finger, the one that had once belonged to his mother.

She knew what he was doing, but she played along. The alternative was letting herself descend into dark thoughts. Whether she looked ahead or behind, there was only sorrow; better to steal a moment of peace in the small space between. “I'm not sure we would even have met,” she said.

“Sure we would have. You'd have done your King's Service anyway, right?”

“Yes, but I doubt you and I would have crossed paths. You'd have been a knight, after all. Entirely too important to mix with a scout like me.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, Arran Green only delayed your knighthood to keep you off the front lines. No war, no front lines, no banishment to the scouts.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Hadn't thought of that. Still”—his arms tightened around her—“we would have met.”

In spite of everything, she felt a smile tugging at her lips. “What makes you so sure?”

“I'd have seen to it.”

“We'd have been barracked on opposite sides of the compound. You'd never even have noticed me.”

“Oh, I'd have noticed, believe me. Have you seen you?” He twisted a lock of copper hair around his finger. “You rather stand out, my lady.”

“I see. My hair would have drawn your eye, is that it?”

“That, and your dulcet tones cursing out your opponent in the ring.”

“Bugger off.”

“Just so. Like a sweet songbird.”

She rolled over to find his grey eyes dancing with mischief,
mouth hitched in that crooked grin that had snared her so long ago. “All right,” she said archly, “you'd have noticed me. What makes you think I'd have paid any attention to you?”

“Are you kidding? I'd have swept you off your feet even sooner. With no war getting in the way, how could you resist me? Especially since I'd be extra dashing, what with the knighthood and all.”

“Extra dashing? One struggles to imagine.”

“You can be sarcastic all you like, but you don't fool me. I dash like anything.” Alix couldn't help it; she giggled. Liam rolled onto his back, hands tucked under his head. “Victory.”

He'd said that to her before, in this very bed, though under different circumstances. The memory brought a flash of heat to her skin. She climbed on top of him, hair falling around them in a copper curtain.

He reached up and brushed a thumb along her mouth. “I thought your mind might go there.”

“You hoped it would, you mean.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“It worries me sometimes, how easily you play me.”

The crooked smile again. “I am but a humble harper, my love.” He drew her head down into a kiss.

Smug bastard.
He played her body just as easily, and he was a relentless tease. Even now, as he kissed her, his fingers were ghosting up her sides, turning her skin to gooseflesh. His hands came to rest just under her breasts, but no farther—not yet. She knew from experience that if she shifted, tried to guide his hands where she wanted them, he would comply—but only for a moment. Just long enough to make it clear that he knew exactly what she needed, and would give it to her in his own good time.

She broke off from the kiss. “I mean it. Sometimes it's like you're reading my mind.”

“I'm not reading your mind, Allie. I just pay attention.” He raised her arms and pulled her shirt over her head. Then he rolled her onto her back and proceeded to prove his point. He knew just where to start, lips brushing behind her ear, thumb gliding over the bud of her breast. From there, he followed the cues, reading every hitched breath, every tensed muscle; a tracker on the hunt, answering with nips and kisses and firm fingers until Alix thought she would explode.

“Liam, by the gods, if you don't . . .” She gasped as his thumb moved in a slow, tormenting circle. “I'm going to kill you . . .”

She felt his laugh, hot breath on her skin. “Like a sweet songbird,” he said, and slid inside her.

*   *   *

Alix woke to an empty bed. She got up, put on a dressing gown, and stirred the fire. Then she padded off in search of her husband. She found him standing at the hearth in the sitting room, staring into the flames.
So much for our moment of peace.
Aloud, she said, “How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. An hour, maybe.”

“Thank you for that.”

He glanced over, firelight playing off his features. “For letting you sleep?”

“For all of it.”

He turned back to the fire. “I've been thinking,” he said.

Alix knew what was coming. She lowered herself into a chair, tucking her bare feet under her. “I have to go, Liam.”

“Hear me out . . .”

“I've heard you out, several times.” She said it gently, trying to soften the words. “Nothing's changed, love. Someone has to get Rodrik out of enemy hands, and you've got to stay here and keep things in order while Erik is”—she faltered—“while he's not well.”

“Highmount's managed on his own before. He and the council did a fine job when I was in Onnan and Erik in Harram. I don't see how this is any different.”

“Yes, you do,” Alix said patiently. “We could afford for you and Erik to be away at the same time because as bad as the situation was out there, at least things in Erroman were relatively stable. That's not the case anymore. The crisis is here now. There needs to be a White at the helm.”

“The crisis is Erik's twin. So let me manage it. I'll go to Andithyri with the Wolves. We'll rescue Rodrik and kill the bloodbinder, and Erik will be free. I used to be a scout too; I know how to sneak about. I can do this.”

Alix wrestled with mounting frustration. “I know you're worried, love, but—”

“Worried?” He turned away from the hearth, and it was as
if his eyes had absorbed some of the flames. “I'm not worried, Allie. I'm
petrified
. The more I think about this plan, the madder it seems. Four of you alone in enemy territory—”

“Three, actually. I've thought it over, and I've decided that Rona Brown should stay here with you and Highmount. She's a banner lady—you'll need her voice on the council.”

“Even better! Come to think of it, are you sure you wouldn't just rather go alone?”

Alix scowled. “Now you're being silly. There are no good choices here, Liam. No easy tasks. I've got to do my part, just as you do.”

“Your part doesn't have to be a suicide mission!”

“Let's not be dramatic—”

“I'm not. You
know
I'm not. It's insane and I can't let you do it.” The flame in his eyes cooled, hardening into resolve. “I won't.”

She paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“I should have a say in this. I'm your husband and your prince.”

For a moment, she was stunned into silence. “You can't be serious.”

But he was—perfectly serious. “I can't let you do it, Alix.”

She rose slowly from her chair. Something stirred in her belly, cold and constricting like the coils of a snake. She knew this feeling. She'd had it in Harram, in the moments before she'd written that fateful letter to Saxon ordering the assassination of a Trion. A feeling of powerlessness. Of being merely a witness, a window through which great men were glimpsed in the midst of great events. “You can't let me do it,” she echoed softly. “You think you can decide for me, is that it?”

“I can decide for the kingdom, can't I? Isn't that what being a prince is supposed to mean?” She heard the frustration in his voice, the desperation—just as he must surely hear the warning in hers. But neither of them seemed able to heed it, too caught up in the dangerous momentum building between them.

“So, what, now that you outrank me, I'm just your subject? Your wife? Property of Liam White?”

“Of course not. That isn't what I mean and you know it.”

She barely registered the words. A roar like an avalanche filled her ears, drowning out everything but the rage hurtling
toward her. It was as if something that had been looming over them for months had suddenly broken free, and now it crashed over her in a bitter torrent. “Aren't you forgetting something? Yours isn't the only claim on me. I'm also Erik's bodyguard. So I'm well and truly covered, aren't I? I belong completely to the White brothers!”

“Don't be ridiculous, you know that's not true . . .” Liam stepped toward her, hand outstretched, but she backed away.

“Isn't it?” Her voice spiralled ever higher, caught on the updraft of a mounting fury. “Ever since I came to this place, it's as if I disappeared, as if Alix Black were gone forever. And she is, isn't she? I'm Alix White now. If I'd married anyone,
anyone
else in the kingdom, I'd get to keep my name. But I marry into the one family that outranks mine, and suddenly I'm someone else entirely.”

Liam stared, thoroughly taken aback. “I had no idea you felt this way.”

“So much for
paying attention
.”

He stiffened. “Very nice.”

She regretted herself immediately, but as usual, that only put her more firmly on the offensive. “You used to be a squire. Surely you remember what it's like to live in someone else's shadow?”

“I don't even know what we're talking about, Alix. Is it being Erik's bodyguard you resent, or being my wife?”

“What? Neither, obviously—”

“Yeah, you know, for some reason I'm not finding it all that obvious just now.”

The hurt in his eyes pierced through the red haze. Alix drew a deep breath, tried to gather herself. “That's not what I meant. But you can't just order me around, Liam. I'm a grown woman.”

“Yes, you are, a grown woman who doesn't always make great choices.”

“And what's
that
supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Allie. How many times have you done something rash and nearly gotten yourself killed in the process? Hells, nearly gotten
me
killed? Not two hours ago, you were begging forgiveness for having your spy assassinate Varad. A sodding
Trion
, and you had him snuffed without even consulting
anyone! Can you blame me for being afraid of what you might do next?”

“You're going to throw that in my face?”

“I'm not throwing anything in your face. I'm stating a fact. I'm trying to make you understand that I'm
terrified
, Alix.”

She drew another breath, deep and shuddering, trying to cling to some scrap of control. “I understand that. What I don't understand is why you're saying any of these things. I have to go to Andithyri. You have to stay here and protect Erik's crown. We owe him this, you and I. We owe him everything.” And then, without thinking: “You, especially.”

A crushing silence followed this addendum. Liam looked at her numbly. Too late, Alix realised what she'd done. She'd stabbed him in the place it hurt most, the secret wound he'd been trying so hard to overcome. He was a bastard, nameless, worthless in the eyes of the world until Erik acknowledged him. Still convinced somewhere deep down that he didn't deserve the new life he'd been given. And now Alix had made it sound as if she agreed, as if it were a debt he could never repay.