The Beauty of Darkness Read online

  “Stop,” I said softly.

  Rafe pulled his horse to a halt, his eyes already sharp and alert. “Hold back,” he said to the others.

  Our group of eight clung together uncertainly, a tight knot in the silence. Eight pairs of eyes searched the nearby ruins and the narrow spaces between. Nothing stirred.

  I shook my head, thinking I had alerted everyone needlessly. We were all on edge—and tired.

  And then a shrill howl split the air.

  We spun to look behind us, our horses jostling and prancing for position in our constricted circle. At the end of the long road we had just come down, four horsemen sat poised, all equally spaced as if ready for a parade—or an advancement.

  “Rahtan,” Kaden said. “They’re here.”

  They were too far away to identify, but they clearly wanted us to see them.

  “Only four?” Rafe asked.

  “There’s more. Somewhere.”

  Orrin and Jeb unhooked their bows from their packs. Rafe and Sven slowly drew their swords.

  I swept aside my cloak and pulled both my knife and sword free. “Why are they just sitting there?”

  Another piercing cry rang out, bouncing off ruins and raising gooseflesh on my arms. We turned the other direction to find what was almost a mirror image of what lay behind us. Six horsemen, but these were much closer. They sat like evenly spaced statues, cold and planted as if nothing could get past them.

  “Bloody hell,” Sven said under his breath.

  “Untie me,” Kaden whispered. “Now.”

  “What are they waiting for?” Rafe asked.

  “Her,” Griz answered.

  “They’d rather take her alive than drag her back dead,” Kaden explained. “They’re giving you a chance to give her up before they kill us.”

  Orrin grunted. “They’re assuming we’ll be the ones who are killed.”

  It was a reasonable assumption. I recognized two of them by their long white hair. Trahern and Iver, the vilest Rahtan. We were outnumbered, their ten healthy well-armed men against our eight, three of whom were injured, including myself.

  Rafe glanced to either side, looking at the crumbled ruins, but it was apparent that none offered quick defensible positions.

  “If you make the slightest move, they’ll charge,” Kaden warned.

  “Anything else we should know?” Rafe asked.

  “You don’t have much time. They know we’re talking.”

  “Keystone formation,” Rafe ordered, keeping his voice low and calm. “We take the six first, then Jeb and Tavish double back with me. Only when I give the word. Griz, cut Kaden loose on my signal.”

  “Orrin—right,” Tavish said. “Jeb—left.”

  The horses stamped, sensing the danger.

  “Hold steady,” Sven whispered.

  They worked together like a smooth machine, exchanging a few more words, their chiseled focus remaining on the Rahtan as they spoke.

  Rafe finally turned to me, his weariness vanished, his eyes fierce with battle. “Lia, make a show of putting your sword away. You’re going to move forward as if we’re giving you up.” He turned to look at the riders behind us, then back to me. “Slowly. Ahead five lengths. No more. Then stop. Ready?” His eyes cut into me, a beat longer than we had time for. Trust me. It will be all right. I love you. A hundred things shining in his gaze that he didn’t have time to say.

  I nodded and moved forward. Time turned to syrup, every hoof fall amplified, one length becoming a mile. I steeled my eyes on the Rahtan ahead, as if that would keep them in place. They didn’t move, waiting for me to come all the way to them. Yes, Trahern and Iver, but now I could also recognized Baruch, Ferris, and Ghier, only cruel guards before, now elevated to ride with the Rahtan. The sixth one I didn’t know. But Malich wasn’t among them. If he wasn’t here, maybe he was the one ruling Venda now. I had sheathed my sword as Rafe had ordered, but the knife was still in my hand, hidden behind the pommel of the saddle. Two lengths. Their horses pranced, impatient. Three lengths. They looked between one another, victorious. Four lengths. I was close enough to see their faces. Each gleamed with satisfaction. Trahern moved forward to meet me. Another step. Five lengths. I stopped my horse.

  “Keep coming, girl,” he called.

  I didn’t move.

  A question crossed his face only briefly before the battle cry of a warrior prince rent the air. The ground shook with the rumble of hooves. Flesh and shadows flew past me.

  The Rahtan raced forward to meet them, Trahern leading the pack. Rafe maneuvered in front of me to block him. Swords flashed and axes swung. My horse whirled in the confusion, rearing back. I worked to regain control. Arrows flew, their smooth hiss singing past my ears. The Rahtan who had been behind now raced toward us too, but then Rafe and Tavish doubled back, arrows flying in the other direction, a circle of battle with me at the center. Dust rose in clouds, and the death ring of swords clanged against the air. Griz swung mightily, even with his weak side, bringing down Iver. Kaden fought beside him, his hands free for the first time in days. Blood spattered them both, but I wasn’t sure whose blood it was.

  Kaden whirled on his horse, killing Baruch with a vicious stab to his throat, pulling the sword free and, in the same motion, blocking an attack from Ferris. Ghier advanced on Sven from behind, and I threw my knife, hitting him dead center in the back of his neck. I circled, the melee coming from all sides and swung my sword into another Rahtan as he attacked Orrin. The blade glanced off his leather armor, but it was enough of a distraction that Orrin was able to knock him from his horse. I drew a second knife from my belt, but then, hidden in the ruins, a flash. Color. Something else turning my eye. Movement. Charging.

  A horse raced forward—with Ulrix guiding it toward me.

  I raised my sword, but he was already upon me, his horse’s side ramming my horse, the impact sending my animal stumbling and the sword flying. His horse was still butting mine, not giving me time to reposition or gain control, every part of us, saddle and stirrup, seeming tangled. I still had the knife tight in my grip, and I slashed out at his arm, meeting only with a leather wrist cuff. I slashed out again for something more vital, but he blocked me with his sword and yanked me onto his horse with his other hand in a single violent pull. The pommel of his saddle slammed into my stomach like a fist, punching my breath away, punching over again and over again as I straddled the horse on my stomach. I couldn’t breathe, but I knew, he was riding away. We were disappearing into the ruins. I tried to force air back into my lungs, to roll away, free the arm pinned beneath me, I reached desperately for something to hit him with. Where was my knife? Air. I needed air. His fingers threaded through my hair, yanking my head back. “All I need is your head, Princess. The choice is yours. Submit to me or lose it.”

  I gasped, my lungs finally filling, and I pulled my pinned arm free, something hard still in my grasp. I slashed upward. He struck at my hand, sending the knife flying, but it was too late. The blade had left a spurting line of blood from his collarbone to his ear. He roared with pain, grabbing my arm with one hand and lifting his sword with the other. I had no leverage to move, no way to push off, no way to protect my neck from his blade—and then he was gone.

  Gone.

  Ulrix’s crumpled body lay on the ground. His head tumbled down the incline into a rock. Rafe circled around, sheathing his bloody sword. He rode over, scooping me around the waist and pulling me sideways onto his saddle. His heart pounded against my shoulder.

  His breaths were ragged from the exertion of battle. I turned to look at him. Smeared blood and sweat streamed from his face. He pulled me to him, holding me so tight there was no chance of me slipping off.

  “You’re all right?” he said into my hair.

  My words choked in the back of my throat. “Rafe,” was all I could say.

  His hand stroked my head, crushed my hair, his breaths calming as he held me. “You’re all right,” he repeated, this time it seemed, more to himself than t
o me.

  * * *

  The Rahtan were dead, but our group had sustained more injuries.

  When we got back to the others, Tavish had a gash on his forehead that he waved away as unimportant, wrapping his head with a strip of cloth to keep the blood out of his eyes. Jeb was lying on the ground, his face wet and waxy. My heart clutched, but Kaden assured me it wasn’t fatal. When Jeb’s horse was struck by the blow of a sword, he’d been thrown and his shoulder was dislocated. Jeb shuddered as they cut away his shirt so they could see his injury.

  “That was my favorite shirt, you savages,” he said, trying to smile, but his breaths were strained and only agony registered on his face.

  I dropped to his side, brushing back his hair. “I’ll buy you a dozen more,” I said.

  “Cruvas linen,” he specified. “It’s the finest.”

  “Cruvas it is.”

  He grimaced and looked at Rafe. “Get on with it.”

  We all stared at his shoulder. It was more than just a dislocation. Something had ripped inside. The skin swelled purple and blue, and the previous injury that Tavish had stitched was bleeding again.

  Tavish nodded at Orrin and Kaden. They held him down while Rafe rotated Jeb’s arm off to the side, upward slightly, then pulled. Jeb’s scream was full and guttural, echoing through the valley. My stomach turned. Afterward his eyes remained closed, and I thought he had passed out, but when his breath returned, he looked up at me and said, “You didn’t hear that.”

  I wiped his brow. “I heard nothing but savages ripping off a perfectly fine shirt.”

  We made a sling for his shoulder from a dead Rahtan’s bedroll, and Jeb was helped onto one of the Vendan horses, his own now dead in the road and stripped of its belongings. We were on our way again, all of us spattered in blood, Griz favoring his wounded side again, making me fear he had pulled his stitches loose. The dead Rahtan lay scattered, a gruesome scene of butchered men, some of them stripped of their needed linens. As we took the supplies we needed from their dead bodies, I felt like a scavenger—the kind Gaudrel and Morrighan had feared. I prayed there were no more Rahtan lying in wait in another ruin. It seemed we would never be out of this hell.

  I cry out and fall to my knees,

  unable to go on,

  weeping for the dead,

  weeping for the cruelties,

  and a whisper calls to me from far away,

  You are strong,

  Stronger than your pain,

  Stronger than your grief,

  Stronger than them.

  And I force myself to my feet again.

  —The Lost Words of Morrighan

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RAFE

  I couldn’t banish the sight of the barbarian yanking Lia’s head back by her hair, his sword rising, and in the flash of that moment, I saw the bounty hunter in Terravin again, his knife held to her neck, but this time I knew she was going to die. I was too far away. Terror had gripped me. I would never make it in time.

  But then, somehow I did. Somehow I was there. My reach longer, my advance faster than it had ever been before. She rode with me now, settled in my saddle against me. When I told the others that she would ride with me, I didn’t explain why. No one asked. The extra horses were tethered behind us.

  We’d only been back on the trail for an hour when we saw dust in the distance, and then a squad. They spread out. They had spotted us too. Devil’s hell. How much more could we take on? There were at least thirty of them, and we were stuck on a wide open plain, the ruins far behind us.

  I raised my hand, and our convoy stopped. I heard the rumble of murmurs behind me.

  Blessed gods.

  Jabavé.

  Mother of demons.

  What do we do now?

  The order to turn around and try to make it back to the ruins was on my lips when I spotted something in the dust cloud.

  “Your Highness,” Sven said, impatient for an order.

  Something blue. And black.

  “A banner,” I called. “They’re ours!”

  Shouts of relief erupted, but then we all saw the same thing as they galloped closer. Lances pointed, weapons drawn. There was no mistaking their intent as they charged toward us. They didn’t know who we were. We waved our arms, but they didn’t slow.

  “Something white!” I yelled. By the time they realized who we were, at least one of us would be impaled. But there wasn’t a scrap of white among us to wave.

  “Our cloaks,” Lia said, and then louder, “Our cloaks are Vendan!”

  The saddle blankets we wore were woven in Vendan colors and patterns. As far as they were concerned, we were a barbarian squad. Who else would be out here?

  “Shed the blankets!” I yelled.

  The patrol slowed as if they were conferring, but their weapons were still aimed. When they were within shouting distance, we identified ourselves, with our hands in the air, as Dalbreck soldiers. They cautiously approached, then stopped six lengths away, still poised to run us through. I ordered everyone to dismount and to keep their hands in sight and off their weapons. I helped Lia down, then Sven and I stepped forward.

  “You bloody fools,” Sven yelled. “Don’t you know your own prince when you see him?”

  Between our grime and blood spattered clothes, I wouldn’t have expected anyone to recognize us.

  The captain squinted. “Colonel Haverstrom? Sven?”

  I heard a collective sigh from the others. My muscles went slack for the first time in weeks. We were almost home.

  “That’s right, you knucklehead,” Sven said, his tone full of relief.

  “And, as much as I look like a stray dog, Prince Jaxon,” I added.

  The captain looked at me strangely, then glanced at the soldiers on either side of him. He dismounted and stepped forward to meet me. His expression was grim.

  “Captain Azia,” he said, introducing himself. “The entire Dalbreck army has been searching for you…”

  Something about his expression was all wrong.

  And then falling down on one knee, he added, “Your Majesty.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The moment stretched as long and fragile as spider silk blown taut in the wind. Longer. Impossible. Sven’s eyes watered. Tavish looked down. Orrin and Jeb exchanged a knowing glance. Even Kaden and Griz froze, though I wasn’t sure if they understood what the captain’s words meant. The young soldiers on either side of the captain looked confused. Even they hadn’t known. A fierce ache gripped my heart as everyone waited to see what Rafe would do. A cruel moment. But it was his and his alone to finish.

  Your Majesty.

  I only had a crescent view of Rafe’s face, but it was enough. He stared down at the captain as if he didn’t really see him. Only the clenching of his jaw, still streaked with dirt and blood, revealed anything. And the slow curling of his fist. Every small controlled gesture told me the news hit him hard—but he was well-trained. Prepared. Sven had probably been preparing him for this moment since he was a child. Rafe would do what was required of him, just as he had when he came to Morrighan to marry me. After two measured breaths, he nodded at the captain. “Then you’ve done your duty.”

  A prince, in the turn of a moment and a few words, was now a king.

  Rafe motioned for the captain to rise and said quietly, “When?”

  It was only then that Sven put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder.

  The captain hesitated, looking at the rest of us, unsure if he could speak freely.

  Rafe eyed Kaden and Griz, then asked Tavish and Orrin to take them for a walk. He may have trusted them with a sword, but not his kingdom’s secrets.

  It happened weeks ago, the captain explained, only a few days after the queen had died. The inner court was reeling, and it had been decided to keep the king’s death a secret. With no one on the throne and the crown prince missing, the cabinet wanted to hold back the news from neighboring kingdoms that Dalbreck was without a monarch. They explained the king’s
lack of public appearances as mourning for the queen. The cabinet ministers ruled discreetly while a desperate search was launched for the prince. With top officers missing along with him, they assumed he was alive but ensnared in an unauthorized but well-deserved retaliation against Morrighan. The whole kingdom was still enraged over the breaking of the contract, and they wanted retribution. When they searched Sven’s office, they’d found messages sent to Sven from the prince about a meeting in Luiseveque but could turn up nothing else besides Sven’s orders to Tavish, Orrin, and Jeb to meet there too. They feared they’d all been found out and thrown into one of Morrighan’s prisons, but careful inquiries turned up nothing. It was as if they had all vanished into thin air, but hope was never lost. Their skills were known.

  When the captain finished, it was Rafe’s turn to explain. “I’ll fill you in as we ride,” Rafe told him, saying we were tired, hungry, and some of us in need of medical care.

  “And those two?” the captain asked, nodding toward Griz and Kaden in the distance.

  The corner of Rafe’s mouth pulled. I tensed, waiting to see what he would call them. Barbarians? Prisoners? He seemed unsure himself. I prayed he wouldn’t say Rahtan or Assassin.

  “Vendans,” he answered. “Whom we can moderately trust for now. We’ll keep a close watch on them.”

  Moderately trust? They had just helped save our lives. For the second time. But I knew they’d done it not for Rafe’s benefit or Dalbreck’s—only mine—so I reluctantly understood his caution too.

  The captain’s expression turned hard, and a deep line creased between his brows. “A platoon of ours has been missing now for weeks. We’ve been hunting down men like—”

  “The platoon is dead,” Rafe said flatly. “All of them. I saw their bloody weapons and valuables brought to the Komizar. Those two weren’t involved. As I said, I’ll explain as we ride.”