Page 37 of Untempered
“Good. Come here.”
There was no refusing him. My feet found their own way down the steps, though my legs threatened to go out with every step. I slipped on the blood or the snow, once. I couldn’t tell which.
“I’ve a liege lord already,” the knight said, his words like gravel. The crossbows all turned, now, on him. Sullivan did, too. The mace in his hand was dripping. Mikus wasn’t twitching any longer. I looked away as the boy’s hands fisted hopelessly at his sides. “I’m sworn to Raider’s Ban.”
I waited for the sounds of his death, not tarrying. It didn’t matter what the Duke asked of me. I’d do it.
I always had.
“A Blood Oath will override whatever you’ve sworn to others,” the Duke said. Confused for a moment, I wondered who he thought I’d sworn to, then realized he was speaking to the big knight. “And I’m in a mood to ensure loyalty.”
I made it down to the road. My legs kept going. Good legs, they were. Great, even. I watched as Chay, standing like he’d had a spear shoved up his ass, took his sword. There was no threat in the movement. He’d have had rocks in his head to try anything, then, with half the garrison’s crossbows pointed at him. His horse stamped its feet impatiently behind him as I approached.
Blood Oaths were binding. I wasn’t scared of that. There was no magic, old or new, that would take my soul from my wife, and he already owned the rest of me.
I didn’t stand too close to the big knight, though. Because I didn’t know if he’d figured it out, yet.
Even as I thought that, he let out a breath between his teeth and ran his palm across the edge of his sword. He knelt. He offered his sword.
But he didn’t offer it to the Duke.
“I swear,” he said to the lady, the words full of piss and vinegar, “to serve you every day as I have this day, until my heart no longer beats.”
The Duke’s eyes narrowed. I saw Sullivan heft his mace. The lady’s attention flickered to her father, her cheeks white as death.
She was splattered in blood already. I’d seen her splattered with more, but never in her nightclothes, her eyes puffy with tears. She was taller than my Sandra, and older. She had no scar on her head, because her pa had never chased her around the dining table, laughing.
But he’d make sure none of those crossbow bolts ended up in her gut when the knight was executed.
Rather than give the order, though, I saw the Duke’s lips curve, as if he were amused. “Accept it,” he told the lady.
“I accept your pledge,” she said, the words so fast they tumbled over one another. The hand that she closed over his was still tied. “Stand, sir Chay, and serve long and well.”
Eyes swung toward me. I looked between the daughter and the father, disoriented. “Your Grace?—”
“My daughter deserves the best, most loyal men, don’t you think, sir Thomas?” the Duke asked me.
I fell down on my knees before her, gracelessly. I wasn’t a knight. Or I hadn’t been.
My hand wrapped around the spearhead. It sliced into my hand, but most of the blood wasn’t mine. “I swear to protect you,” I told the girl. Her feet were bare. It made tears rise in my eyes. “Until my last breath.”
“I accept your pledge.” Her hand was icy as it wrapped over mine. Icy, but surprisingly strong. “Stand, sir Thomas, and serve long and well.”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
ISOLDE
“You must forgive yourself before you can ask others for forgiveness”
~ Matri’sion proverb
My head still pounded like a war drum. Audrey had gotten us out of the Blackguard’s hands, straight back onto the Butcher’s block. We were being moved to the central spire, where her mother had lived—and died.
I took the washcloth and dipped it into the water, breathing in deeply the healing herbs that were steeping. Audrey crouched down to where I was kneeling, taking the cloth from my shaking fingers. The room pulsed and distorted around me with the drumming of the blood in my veins.
“Beatrice—I’m sorry, I know you’ve so much to do, but, please, if we could have some juice. Whatever those dogs used on Isolde still hasn’t left her system. She needs to drink.”
I saw the wary look thrown our way by the ’Ban knight—byherknight—from behind a dresser he was carrying. I met it, stare for stare. Drugged and sore-headed or not, I’d wear his guts for garters.
