Her father. Terror struck her heart. “How did he find us?”
For the riders had been coming straight to the hollow, as if they knew where it was. But no magic had Yvenne felt before this morning. Not since the revenants.
Banek shook his head. He gestured forward, and she crept with him, behind another tent. Figures raced through the smoke. Yvenne readied her bow, but she could not see whether they were friend or foe.
Until two rushed out of the swirling smoke, helms gleaming. Instantly Yvenne loosed her arrow. One soldier fell dead, the other running two steps before realizing his partner had been killed. Then Banek was upon him, slicing open his gut before following through with the neck.
Yvenne readied another arrow. Sour fear climbed steadily up her throat, her mouth watering and stomach clenching. They slipped past another tent, then another, and past the body of a warrior with an arrow through her chest.
A breeze swept through, clearing the smoke in front of them—revealing a dozen soldiers gathered. Yvenne fired, then fired again, and then the smoke concealed the soldiers but she could recall where they stood. Another arrow. The soldiers rushed toward them. With a roar, Banek charged, his blade a striking snake, so fast and deadly. Yvenne loosed another arrow, then screamed as a soldier snagged her from behind. She fought, swinging her elbow, and heard the soldier’s grunt.
“Don’t kill that one! She’s the one we take!”
The shout came from another soldier, but Yvenne would not be killed or taken. Reaching down, she snatched her dagger and buried it in the soldier’s stomach.
“My lady! More are coming! We have to run!”
She could not run, but Banek could. Dragging her away from the dying soldier’s grip, he swept her up against his chest and ran. She clung to the dagger, shaking, before slipping the dripping blade into its sheath. All was chaos as they passed a bloodied warrior standing with his sword, snarling to Banek that he would hold them. Then an arrow caught that warrior’s throat and threw him back. Into the smoke they continued, deeper into the hollow, and Banek began to slow.
“To the pool,” the old warrior told her, his words a gurgling wheeze. “Seri will be waiting.”
“No.” In horror she clung to him as he stumbled. “Banek! Banek, my friend. We can make it, I will help you.”
Holding her tightly, he sank to his knees. “I am your shield. But you must go on alone now.”
No no no. Wrapping her arms around his thick torso, she tried to pull his heavy form with her—and felt the arrows in his back. So many arrows.
Silently screaming through clenched teeth, Yvenne eased him down onto his side. Frantically she tried to see if there was a way to help him, yet there was not. And his breaths were slowing now, the sound of each one shallow and wet.
She cupped his face. “Please, Banek. Stay with me.”
His bloodied hand reached up to clasp hers. “Go, my lady.”
She would not leave him alone. But so quickly silver-fingered Rani came for him, he was with her one moment and gone the next. Yvenne screamed against his still chest, her pain and rage all as one. Through the smoke she heard the approach of more soldiers, the soft clang and jingle of their armor. She reached back for an arrow—her quiver was gone. Lost when the soldier had grabbed her from behind and Banek had torn her from his grip.
But a warrior made use of what she had. Jaw clenched, she yanked the arrows from Banek’s flesh.
With burning heart, she waited until their shadows resolved through the smoke and she killed them, one by one, with the arrows they’d used to kill her friend.
Then no more arrows she had, and there was no one to see her cry. Tears streaming, she kissed Banek’s still cheek. Then she did as he’d bidden her, and went.
Pulling her dagger from its sheath, she crept silently forward, gaze searching through the smoke. A soft nicker from ahead lifted her heart.
Then a breeze slipped through the hollow and revealed her father holding a blade to Seri’s throat. A dozen soldiers stood behind him.
Zhalen smiled. “A fine morning this is, daughter. And you have a decision to make.”
The young warrior lifted her chin as if daring him to slice, defiant tears in her eyes. “Save yourself, my lady.”
By running? Or by killing Zhalen? Her grip tightened on the dagger. Four throws out of five, the pointed end of the blade found her target. She might kill him. But he might jerk in a death spasm, killing the girl. If her blade didn’t find the mark, for certain Seri would die. And she had not enough knives for all of the soldiers.
But she was not helpless. She would simply wait for her opportunity—and endure whatever suffering was to come. Because she was stronger than she knew.
Far stronger than Zhalen knew, too.
Yvenne tossed her dagger to the ground.
CHAPTER 41
MADDEK
Full dark it was when Kelir slapped Maddek’s face, yet barely did he feel it. So numb his cheek was. As if he were drunk. But never had Maddek drunk so much.
“Maddek!” the warrior roared into his face. “Yvenne is gone!”
The numbness vanished. Only pain now, filling his chest as he saw the bodies in the hollow, the burned tents. But Yvenne’s tent stood.
Hope only lasted until Ardyl and Kelir dragged him inside. Her satchel was spilled out onto the bed. A breeze blew through a slit in the hide.
“The wolves found her dagger,” Fassad said grimly from behind him. “And Banek.”
“Seri?” Kelir asked, voice taut.
“Taken with them, I think.”
Taken. By Zhalen. And she would suffer.
Maddek roared, strength surging through him, but it only carried him forward to the bed. There he fell to his knees beside it. Foam dripped from his mouth, and he wiped it away, gathering up silk that smelled of anise. Yvenne’s wedding raiments. He buried his face in them. His last breath would be of her scent.
Crouching beside him, Ardyl gripped his shoulder. “Vela said—”
“That I would lose her.” So he had. “And that she will suffer.”
“And she said—”
“That I won’t protect her. But I vow I will.”
Ardyl gave a sigh. “Maddek . . .”
“Do not kill me when I sleep,” he said raggedly, for he felt that darkness closing in now. “Aezil said that he gave the brainless beasts one thought. So I will have one thought—to protect her. Even after the poison takes me.”
Brainless he might be, but his heart . . . that would still burn true. And belong always to a queen.