Page 123 of Thorn Season
Erik barked a laugh that made the nobles flinch. “And what is your word worth,Wielder?”
Keil just kept guiding me backward—past the terror-stricken nobles, past the wary guards, past Carmen, whose incredulous eyes were shot through with red.
“If you pursue us,” Keil said slowly, “her blood will be on your hands.”
We backed out of the ballroom just as Erik growled, “Hurt her, and I’ll have your head on a spike before the night is over!”
Keil towed me through the grand foyer and into the cool evening air. The arm around my waist tightened, and I gasped as he lifted me clean off the ground to thunder down the steps. As he set me back down for the walk toward the gates, reality hit me. I began resisting in his hold.
He lowered the knife to keep from accidentally nicking me. “What is it?” he whispered.
“You can’t do this,” I said, knowing it was far too late. But I had no other words. No thanks or apology could ever make it right.
Keil’s arm became an embrace. His head nestled low, his breath flurrying against me as he whispered into my ear. I began twisting toward him but didn’t get the chance to respond. Because the voices from behind grew louder, and Keil released me, shooting like a dart into the night.
36
They wouldn’t leave me alone.
First the servants—steering me inside, fussing like nervous matrons. Then the gentry, converging in the grand foyer in a feeble show of solidarity.
“They’re dangerous creatures. I’ve always said so!”
“Holding a knife to the lady of Vereen! Can you imagine—?”
“I thought His Majesty would execute us all just for being there.”
“Fractured ribs, they suspect—”
“I saw him pop his own shoulder back into its socket. He was too enraged to feel the pain.”
Their babbling went over my head. The only noble I cared about was Junius.
I pulled Carmen aside, but she whispered without my prompting, “Junius took Quincy from the palace. Once Keil—the ambassador—pulled you away, Erik wasn’t interested in anything except getting you back.”
A small victory, at least.
The voices around us suddenly became hushed and uneasy. Even Carmen took a clumsy step backward. Then the guards marched from the ballroom, rushing past me like a stream around an island,the movement stirring my hair. I turned to see them tumble out into the night. When I turned back, Erik was blazing toward me.
I tried not to recoil as he clasped my chin and tilted my face upward.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked roughly, eyes pale with fury. Blood matted his hair on the left side.
“I’m fine,” I croaked, feeling every gaze upon us.
“My guards will find him. I will break every part of him that touched you.”
“No,” I blurted, then gulped and said, “I’m safe now. That’s all that matters.”
The muscles worked in his jaw. His expression softened as he looked me over. And with a tenderness I hadn’t anticipated, he lowered a kiss to my brow.
I was speechless as he reeled out instructions to the servants: to see me to my chambers, prepare my hearth, bring up hot stew and stir some nightmilk into the broth. I didn’t have time to think of Keil’s whispered words until the maids ushered me upstairs and dressed me in silk nightclothes. The moment they left, I ripped the clothes straight off.
Tari scrambled into my chambers minutes later, a sodden dishcloth tucked into her pinafore trousers. She said between wheezing breaths, “You had to save the theatrics—for the one night I was on—kitchen duty?!”
I told the story as I dressed, then nodded to my untouched tray. “Erik told the servants to give me nightmilk. They should think I’m asleep. But if he thinks to check on me himself—”
“He won’t get the chance.” Tari’s eyes flickered with a fast-forming plan. “I’ll sneak some nightmilk into his favorite whiskey bottle—the one he doesn’t let the courtiers touch. He’ll blame the weariness on hisinjuries and go straight to his own chambers to avoid passing out in front of the gentry.”
