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Chapter thirty-four

Aldric

A mere handful of hours later, Aldric awoke. It was late.

And he wasn’t alone.

Darkness still enveloped his bedchamber. Only the stars and a sliver of moonlight were visible outside the window next to the bed he refused to sleep in.

It was far too comfortable.

Down on the floor yet again, as he had been every night since his initial arrival at the Elmorian court, he watched a pair of legs stalking through the dark on the opposite side of the bed.

The world lay quiet after the revelries of the queen’s birthday celebration. And yet, there was an intruder.

If he had Soot with him, the usuru would have woken him before said intruder made it that far into the room. But with the unnatural chill in the air, he had sent the serpent to sleep in the Roost with the rest of his kind.

Aldric regretted that decision.

He had only a few seconds until the interloper knew he was awake and not where he was supposed to be. The very moment he moved and gave away his true position, they would surely strike.

But Aldric intended to strike first.

His hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around the pole of his glaive, which lay next to him on the floor. Rolling to his side, he stabbed beneath the bed, aiming for the intruder’s ankle. A muted cry of pain rang out in reply.

But his initial victory was short-lived.

Aldric scrambled to his feet, though his entire body ached in protest at being stirred back to life so abruptly. When next he turned to face his attacker, he found a blade arcing straight for his face—a mere blur in the darkness.

It swept entirely too close for comfort.

Bringing up his glaive, Aldric batted the dagger away and peeled his lips back into a snarl. An assassin .

That fool of a queen had sent an assassin for him.

But he knew he was the fool. He had let the girl distract him. With her smiles. Her heated glances. Her sweet perfume.

And now it might very well see him killed.

Adrenaline coursed through him, honing his senses to a razor-sharp focus. Here was a dance he had danced many times. But this partner was taller than him, as they all were, and the dagger stabbing toward him came with all the speed and accuracy of a striking snake.

Aldric retreated as he tried to find an opening in his assailant’s defenses. Twenty years ago, this whelp would have given him no issue.

But that was twenty years ago.

Now, Aldric could feel his steps flagging. His parries slowing. The assassin’s next strike was the one that finally broke through his own guard. A sudden fire scorched its way across his stomach and chest with the blade’s passing.

He was hit. He was bleeding.

An image of his current quarters flashed into his mind. He swiftly recalled its layout. There should be the writing desk and chair just behind him. The hearth to his right. A window to his left.

The desk was his best option.

Three steps .

Aldric counted them in the midst of his retreat, his glaive swiping away the assassin’s blade two more times as he went.

Two steps.

His torso burned. His parries grew even slower. He was swiftly running out of room to maneuver.

One step.

He would have just one opportunity to survive this.

There .

Aldric threw himself to the floor, teeth gritted. All air swept straight from his lungs when he crashed onto his back and shoved himself beneath the desk for cover. The assassin hesitated.

And Aldric took his chance.

He thrust his glaive upward and pierced the figure straight through.

The assassin’s death was a silent one—as soundless as their initial arrival in the room. Only the muffled thud of their dagger falling against the rug beneath punctuated their passing.

But now Aldric was pinned.

There on the floor, he strained against the weight of a body hanging limp off the end of his weapon. His arms shook with the effort. His jaw clenched from the strain.

He tasted blood in his mouth. Was it his own?

Aldric braced his right shoulder against the floor and sucked in a breath. He couldn’t worry about that right now.

His muscles screamed. His torso burned. Even so, he flung all his weight into the effort of rolling to the side and shoving the corpse off his glaive.

For a few moments, he simply lay there beneath the desk, breathing. Each inhale lanced painfully through his chest, but the air was sweet.

He was alive.

His nightshirt clung to him with a telltale wetness that left him rumbling with fresh irritation, though. Within the darkness, it was difficult for him to get a visual read on the wound the assassin had inflicted. But a quick probe with his fingers reassured him it wasn’t deep.

Rolling to his hands and knees with his left hand pressed against his abdomen, Aldric slid closer to the dead body. He soon added insult to injury by ripping a large swath of the assassin’s shirt free to use as a bandage for his own wound.

She tried to kill me.

That reminder struck him with all the force of a lightning bolt as he wound that makeshift bandage around his middle. She had just tried to kill him .

Foolish minx. Idiotic kirei .

Under his breath, he cursed her in every language he knew. The common tongue. Ancient Drakmori. Kunishi.

The Kunishi had particularly poetic curses.

She had nearly fooled him there for a moment with those tears of hers. With all her self-righteous sorrow for her wounded knight. With all of her talk of wanting to know if he was her ally or her enemy.

And now here he was, bleeding all over himself for it.

Idiot . He was the idiot. He knew better than this.

He knew when that woman first extended her hand to him on Nerina Reef that she was simply inviting him to partake in one of her games. He had entered this farce of an arrangement with his eye wide open, prepared for any of her trademark trickery.

And yet he hadn’t accounted for this . Finally realizing his fiancée was just as ruthless as he .

Aldric made a quick study of the assassin, but he didn’t recognize him. The corpse looked young. Lanky. Pox-scarred. Poor. But he couldn’t ascertain the dead man’s heritage within the low light. He could have been from anywhere.

Probably some mutt, like many of his Sons.

A bitterness coated Aldric’s tongue when he lurched to his feet and stalked toward his pack, which was still tucked beneath the bed. He had never bothered unpacking. He was ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

But now, he rifled through the bag until he found the narrow wooden box Edmund had given him back on Nerina Reef. Once, the idea of using the weapon housed within on any person at all had turned his stomach.

Now, the realization that sweet and innocent Seraphina de la Croix was out for his blood saw him flinging open that box without a moment’s hesitation to reveal the unnaturally dark blade nestled within.

Forged as if from black steel, the blade seemed to drink in what little light streamed in through his window. As if it had a hunger only luminescence could sate.

A witchblade.

Aldric had never seen one in person until his fool of a brother foisted this one upon him. But he had certainly read enough books in his youth to recognize it immediately for what it was.

He didn’t want to think too hard about just where Edmund had come by such a blade. Nor did he want to think too hard about just what was going to happen when he stabbed his betrothed with it to frame Arath for her murder.

He knew what he had to do. Tonight . His brother’s idiotic plans be blasted straight into the Underworld.

And yet, still, Aldric hesitated.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the accursed blade’s hilt.

Rumbling under his breath, he limped back to the dead assassin—ignoring the growing pain throbbing through his abdomen—and tore off more of the other man’s shirt. Only once the witchblade was wrapped in the bloody cloth did he finally slip the dagger into the waistband of his trousers.

Knowing the unholy blade was so close to his body was enough to make his skin crawl, but he had no other choice.

He needed his hands free for what he was going to do next.

From his pack, he retrieved one last bundle before making his way toward the window. That point of entry was still splayed open from the assassin’s attack. Cool night air poured in, ruffling the sheer curtains and prickling his skin with goosebumps.

He didn’t have a room with a balcony like the queen, but still the ledge outside the window was wide enough for a man to stand if he was careful.

And Aldric was always careful.

The iron-forged "bear claws" he slipped free of the bundle and fitted to his hands were old and worn but serviceable. Snugged tight over his knuckles, he knew they would help him keep his grip while he clung to the outer wall of the palace .

He had quite the trek ahead of him. The queen had placed him and his Sons on the opposite side of the palace from her person.

And there were exactly 120 windows between his bedroom and hers.

The night air whipped against him, plucking at his bloodied nightshirt as he eased his way out onto the ledge. The ground was but a distant memory this high up, but heights had never bothered him. Funnily.

He took a moment to gaze outward across the palace grounds toward the sight of Goldreach sleeping far beyond. Beyond that he knew lay the Straight with its stormy waters. And beyond that, home.

With any luck, he would be on a ship sailing that way in the morning.

I could just leave now. I don’t have to do this.

That thought pierced its way into his mind unbidden, leaving Aldric hesitating on the ledge while the breeze found all the damp places on his clothing. Shivering, he hunched his shoulders against the wind.

But the memory of his little brother’s final warning to him snuffed out that spark of hope. “I tell you I will kill your little forest nymph if you do not comply, and yet, clearly , you do not believe me.”

He couldn’t leave. He had to do this.

Gritting his teeth against the feral scream threatening to burst from his throat, Aldric gripped the window behind him and used that hold to gently ease himself about until he faced the wall .

Edmund wanted him to wait. He wanted him to marry the stupid girl and then kill her.

But Aldric was tired of waiting.

He was going to end this game tonight and get back to where he was truly needed—the Drakmori-Kunishi border, discovering just who this Bonesinger was and what fresh dangers the mysterious figure posed.

If Edmund wanted Elmoria, he could come and claim it for himself.

By the time Aldric reached the balcony that marked the queen’s private chambers, his muscles screamed, the pain from his knife wound little more than a dull memory.

Biting back a cry from the effort of his final push, he hauled himself over the railing and onto the balcony landing at last. Lying there on his back, he sucked in a series of glorious, deep breaths and stared at the stars overhead.

He had made it. He was alive.

Aldric wanted to laugh. He wanted to rage. He wanted to break down the balcony’s doors and strangle the kirei within with his bare hands.

As the seconds ticked past, his breath slowly steadied. But his legs and arms still trembled. He had just climbed a great distance.

But he had no time to properly rest. Not now.

Not when he was so close to his goal.

He eased the bear claws off his aching hands and unceremoniously shoved them into the small bundle of tools slung over his shoulder. From within that bundle, he retrieved a glass-cutting tool next.

Calix was better at this sort of thing—the creeping about. Picking locks. Shattering glass with no one being the wiser.

But Calix wasn’t there.

Aldric knew his second-in-command would have come without a moment’s hesitation had he only asked. But this was the sort of thing for which he would never ask for help.

Seraphina might have tried to have him killed in the most cowardly way possible—by the blade of another—but he would show her the way such things should be done.

Murder was a personal thing. It should be an intimate affair.

And though she didn’t deserve it, not after that little stunt with the assassin, he was still going to allow her to see his face one last time as he slid that witchblade straight into her heart.

Sneaking toward the double doors separating the balcony from the queen’s bedroom beyond, Aldric was just about to work on the glass next to the closest doorknob when a sudden thought gripped him. On a whim, he tried to open the door.

It swung open, unlocked.

For a few moments, all he could do was stare at the open door in silent disbelief. It was a wonder she hadn’t already gotten herself killed doing foolish things like that.

But at least she had the courtesy to make this easy on him .

Limping into her dark bedroom, he quietly shut the door behind him so the chill breeze wouldn’t awaken her prematurely and potentially save her life. If she called for her guards, he’d be done for.

Aldric slowly glanced about the room, noting its layout. He had never been within the queen’s bedchamber, of course, but Elmorians were boring creatures, used to their soft comforts and ornate adornments.

Though her bedchamber was easily four times the size of his, it was mostly empty space filled with soft rugs that framed the few pieces of furniture strategically positioned about the cavernous space.

Aldric paused, listening until he confirmed he could hear only one person breathing before he crept deeper within. Though the queen always so hotly denied any intimate relations with that puffed-up peacock of a man, Crestley, he still had the one eye with which to see.

And he had seen the way Crestley looked at her. He had tasted the flavor of the baron’s jealousy on more than one occasion.

But there she was, alone in her bed.

As his one good eye fell upon her face, he was struck yet again by just how devastatingly beautiful his kirei was. The streams of moonlight slipping in through the window caressed the soft curves of her cheeks, her throat.

Whereas the Lord on High had cursed Aldric with a stunted form, Seraphina was blessed. Physically perfect in every way. Beautiful .

But she wasn’t nearly as serene in her sleep as he had thought she would be. Her features pinched. Her breathing hitched. Her muscles twitched, as if she were caught in the throes of a bad dream.

He frowned as he watched her. It was strange to think that one who had led such a privileged life could even have a bad dream. What manner of nightmare did Seraphina de la Croix even entertain?

She tried to kill you , he reminded himself, shifting his thoughts back to the work he still had to do. His lips thinned as he crept closer still, wondering all the while just how he was going to make his way onto the bed without waking her and starting a ruckus.

There.

Beneath the table stood a low stool of all things, as if the Lord Himself had ensured he would have just what he needed that night. Except Aldric knew that was impossible.

The Lord on High had abandoned him long ago.

Aldric slipped forward and carried the stool all the way to the edge of the bed. Still, his fiancée slept on. Fitfully. Her breathing shifted further when he stepped onto the stool and crawled his way onto the mattress, joining her at last.

He had to move quickly. She might wake any moment.

But he hesitated.

Up close, it was so easy to see her distress. He was no stranger to nightmares. They had come to him often during all the long, lonely nights of his life .

For one wild moment, his fingers twitched with a desire to reach out and stroke her cheek, to try to bring her some comfort. But what would be the point?

There he stood, a nightmare made real.

She used you , he desperately reminded himself. She hates you. She is sleeping while she thinks you are being murdered in your own bed.

Aldric was acutely aware of the witchblade tucked against his waist, thrumming with some cold power all its own. Again, the nearness of it made his stomach roil in a way he didn’t like. He wanted to be rid of it. He wanted to get this over and done with and then never see such a dagger again.

But still, he didn’t yet draw the blade. He didn’t yet take it in hand and drive it into Seraphina’s heart.

Edmund was right. He hated it, but his brother was right.

He was growing soft in his old age.

And the thought of just what his Sons would do once they realized saw Aldric’s pulse quickening and his mouth going dry. He knew perfectly well what they would do if they ever learned the Crow of Drakmor was losing his edge.

They would abandon him. As all others had.

It was too late to turn back now, though. He had come too far. The timing was entirely too perfect.

He had an assassin in his room. He could say another assassin came for the queen, should anyone choose to question him about her death .

Who would know any different? She would be dead. And he intended to be long gone before anyone could question the matter further.

Swallowing hard, Aldric reached for the blade tucked into the waistband of his trousers. But just as his fingers brushed against the cloth-wrapped hilt, the room suddenly swam. He swayed on his knees as darkness threatened at the edges of his vision. His torso ached with the reminder of his wound.

Still he bled.

When the bedchamber finally came back into crystalline focus, he found himself staring down into his fiancée’s beautiful gray eyes, which swirled in those moments with a mix of confusion, anger, and fear.

She was awake.

“Aldric?” Seraphina gasped as he flung himself on top of her and crushed his hand against her mouth. No .

He didn’t want to do this.

He had killed many women before, but never an unarmed woman. Never a woman lying in her own bed.

She tried to kill you first , he reminded himself yet again while she thrashed beneath him. She sent a blade for you in the night .

Shifting his weight, Aldric straddled the queen’s waist and pressed his right hand against her mouth all the more tightly. His left wrapped around the witchblade’s hilt at last.

He had to do it. He couldn’t stop now. He’d be caught. He’d be killed.

And his Sons would be executed soon after .

Steeling his soul, hardening his heart, Aldric pulled the wrapped witchblade free. But before he could strike, he bit back a roar of pain as his kirei abruptly drove something sharp down into the meat of his left thigh.

Fire coursed through his leg, bringing with it a great agony. The witchblade tumbled harmlessly from his fingers and thumped to the floor. He stared down at the dagger now protruding from his thigh.

She had stabbed him.