Page 134 of Dance of Kings and Thieves

“I want you to know, I will fight for your land with the same strength you fought for ours.”

My instinct was to be trite, a little sarcastic. Perhaps make a comment about how she was with child, and everyone knew queens who were with child could not hold a sword correctly. Instead, my throat tightened at the underlying meaning of her words. Gods, I’d gone from being the feared shadow of the land to a man who could hardly contain emotion when prodded enough.

I cleared the scratch away and gave her a single, curt nod. “You have my thanks, Elise.”

She squeezed my arm. “Whether you like it or not, Kase, we are family; you are ours. So is Malin.”

I couldn’t voice it, but I did like it. I liked the belonging a great deal. It soothed the sharp, jagged pain in the center of my chest, a feeling deep inside that told me danger lived within this day.

The flap of the tent was tossed back. I didn’t turn around. Didn’t look even as my heart stuttered.

Valen stepped into the center of the tent with Sol and Hagen standing on either side. He looked at me, a gleam of darkness in his gaze. “Ari, Sofia, and Malin seem to have fallen into a troll burrow. They’ve been taken by the Black Palace.”

Unbidden, shadows gathered around me. My eyes turned their darkest black. I could not form a word. Death. Slaughter. Torture. It all awaited those who’d touched my wife.

I leaned onto my fingertips over the map table. My gaze bounced to the Kryv. Tova, Lynx, Isak, Raum, Fiske. They were ready. No questions. Hob stood beside Inge and Bard Strom. He’d taken a liking to setting the traps with Malin’s brother. But he kissed his lover’s knuckles and added a hunting knife to a sheath on the small of his back.

A hawker once, a thief. Now he was a man willing to die for his queen.

My gaze drifted to Ash and Hanna. Young as they were, they’d not gone a day this week without their drums strapped to their backs, blades on their belts, and battle runes marked on their young faces. I could not protect them from this. Frankly, this was their kingdom as much as it was mine. They deserved to fight for it.

Gunnar had his arm around Eryka’s waist. The deep gash down her face was red, and scabbed, but she had not hidden it, even asked Herja to braid her hair off her face, revealing a new viciousness in her gentle eyes.

Niklas fitted his gold rings over his knuckles. “Say the word, my friend.”

“This kingdom will burn,” I said, voice rough. “It is time for us to light the torch.”

I’d see it done, or I would die trying.

CHAPTERFORTY-THREE

THE MEMORY THIEF

Cherry liqueurs.Honey cakes drizzled in sugar glaze. Roasted quail in lingonberry sauce. The sweet and savory air struck me like a forgotten nightmare as the prison coach rolled into the masquerade courtyard.

Grand tables draped in satin linens lined every edge, and a lacquered wooden dais was in the center with two high-backed thrones cushioned in velvet.

Minstrels and playful fools rehearsed in the corner with lyres and lutes and rawhide drums. Familiar tunes of folk songs blared across the courtyard as the boisterous, masked jesters pranced around or balanced on stilts.

Serfs ran to-and-fro between tables, stacking gold plates and finely crafted drinking horns for a feast at the morrow’s sunset. Silver bells tinkled as the coach rumbled beneath a few low-hanging tree branches wrapped in ribbons and chimes. When the leaves shuddered, clouds of gold and silver dust billowed between the bars.

Ari sneezed and waved the dust away. “At least we shall have a marvelous set up for a celebration.”

I smirked. True, at least we would have that.

Every eye turned our way as we were driven past. Some serfs looked on with a touch of fear, of unknowns, others clapped and commended the skydguard for capturing whatever fiend was behind bars. A woman with a burlap bonnet atop her blonde curls studied the cart. Through the gaps, our eyes met. I wasn’t certain, but the way she lifted a hand over her mouth, I wondered if she knew who had been captured.

An imposing black stallion clicked its hooves, slowing beside the coach where my fingers jutted through the bars.

“Tell me something, did the Malevolent ever tell you why he despises me so?” Sabain crooned from his charge. “We were not always enemies, you know.”

I tilted my head. “What does it matter to me? If you are a current enemy of my husband, then you are also mine.”

Sabain chortled. “Without question? You simply follow the Malevolent blindly?”

“Ah, do not fuss. I know it must be difficult knowing you do not have a woman who gives you the same devotion.”

“Hardly.” Sabain slowed his horse so he could lean closer to the bars. “The Malevolent despises me because I did what he could not.”