Page 25 of Untempered
Chay was crossing the field. I recognized the way he held himself, the tight line of his jaw, and the way his mouth had opened to suck in small bits of air. I recognized it all too well, and it made me feel hollow.
“Congratulations on your win, sir Chay of West Grenvale,” my father said, and the crowd fell silent, waiting like dogs beside their master for scraps. “Your prowess today is a great honor to my daughter.”
My stomach rolled. Chay’s eyes cut to me, momentarily. The world seemed far away.
I waited for him to refuse, but he didn’t. He just bowed low to me despite the ribs I was sure were cracked, the movement stiff, his face set and pale. I felt the agony in my own chest and wanted to weep.
“Thanking you, Your Grace, my lady.”
But there was no gratitude in the words.
CHAPTEREIGHT
AUDREY
“Do not engage in unwinnable battles.”
~ Barloc’s Wisdom, compiled by F. Bergsoniir
Luca grabbed me before I made it into my chambers. I was exhausted all the way to my soul, and when I looked into his stormy gray eyes I just wanted to cry. All I wanted was what he offered, the gossamer dreams he spun.Dreams. Not reality. Not truth.
“Audrey,” he said, horrified. His arms went around me, and I just couldn’t return the embrace. I didn’t have any warmth in me. Not for him. Not for anyone. Hollow, I shut my eyes. “You warned him, didn’t you, that Mikus fights dirty?” He held me to him, rocked me. And despite myself, I relaxed slightly. He offered me everything neither of us could have, and so help me, I loved the hope he spun. But none of it was real. “He’s got a couple of broken ribs, but he’s alive. Thanking you.”
“Did you win much?” Isolde asked him, the words acidic as she forced herself between us. His fingers clung in fleeting protest, making my dress rake agonizingly against my flesh as it twisted. “Did you figure how much it’d cost her?”
I didn’t have the heart or the head for Isolde’s blame or Luca’s dreams. “Not now,” I said, but the words were small and weak.
“You don’t know,” he began, then shook his head, reaching for me. “Change is coming, Audrey. You won’t have to be afraid soon?—”
His hands were slapped away. Isolde planted a shove square in his chest and drove him back. “How dare you,” she spat, furious. Then I heard familiar staccato steps, the creak of leather, and the chime of metal.
Ice ran through my veins.
Isolde pulled me further behind her and spoke over whatever Luca was about to say. “The lady has had a long day,” she said loudly. “You may of course send word, and we can arrange a time?—”
My father rounded the corner, and I felt the world sway. Time seemed unusually slow, and the scene around him was blurry, but I could have replicated the simple, bold pattern edging his cloak and counted the studs in his belt.
The moment Luca saw him, I could tell. I watched from the corner of my eye as the color drained from his face like a jug of cider at a table full of knights. His cheeks went from red to pink and then almost gray. The transition took an eon. He fell back a step, eyes almost as wild as Vixen’s had been when we’d chanced upon that pocket of ’Ban bannermen.
My father’s lips moved, that long mouth that was so often a slash of displeasure in his square face imparting information I needed to hear but couldn’t. Out of time with his moving mouth I heard words erupt.
“Wise as ever, mistress Isolde. Escort lord Luca to his rooms, Wade. He has a banquet tonight.”
Before the words were done, Luca was being forced out of the corridor away from the family wing toward his rooms. He looked at me over Wade’s shoulder, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt. I felt nothing at all as I was swept along into the room with the fire burning and the piles of books Luca had lent me.
My father smelt of the oils used on his boots and scabbard. I noticed the familiar scents from far away. He opened his mouth. Words tumbled out, beaded and ran off my mind like I’d waxed and weatherproofed it.
I sat, because his hand gesture said, “sit.”
Neither of his black-clad personal guard—the La’Angi family guard—were Mikus. Isolde stalked in, her expression calm but her eyes stormy. My heart felt like a stone in my chest. It kept me from drifting out through the ceiling and getting lost in the clouds. She stood with her back to the fire. The poker was a finger’s breath from her hand.
In a few days I’d be in a saddle, headed east. We’d make a new home somewhere else. Adventures would ensue, of course.
“…with Luca to support a liegeman of Raider’s Ban,” my father said, the words cool. “But I don’t think you’re that gullible or foolhardy.”
I didn’t want adventures elsewhere, though. I wanted my home.
I needed to listen. I looked down at my hands. They were lying one atop the other in my lap, steady and calm. My heart beat slow, heavy, rhythmic. It felt like it belonged to a drummer deep in the city. Outside of me. Away. “No, Your Grace,” I said. My lips, my tongue, didn’t feel like mine. They were cold, thick, and squashy. Not mine. Not me.
