Bride by Midnight (26 page)

“If I kill you, those soldiers will have no one to command them.”

“You won’t kill me.” Volker took a step back, dragging Lyssa with him, using her as a shield for as long as he needed her. Once they were out of sight, he would no longer have need of her. “Drop those swords or I’ll cut her. Again. Deeper, this time. Not all wounds heal, not even for a witch with the gift of healing.”

Instinct and fear for Lyssa commanded that Blade to do as Volker commanded, but he did not. Without these swords at the ready, they were both dead. He reminded himself that for now, Volker’s fear kept Lyssa alive. That a dead shield was no good at all.

“Let her go,” Blade said calmly. “When she’s safe you can have the swords. And me.”

Volker shook his head, then shouted, “Drop them now!”

Once again Blade heard Lyssa’s voice, as clearly as if she were whispering in his ear.

Now.

He watched as, taking advantage of Volker’s surge of emotion, Lyssa jabbed her elbow into the man’s ribs and, when he reacted, twisted away from the knife and threw herself down. Blade watched as she hit the ground and a streak of blood bloomed on her throat. She’d been cut, but he did not know how badly or how deeply. He didn’t slow down to tend to her; not yet. Instead he raised the sword in his right hand and swung it toward Miron Volker’s head as Lyssa rolled away.

And the fight began. Volker drew his own sword as Blade swung his, knowing that, unlike Runa, Volker did not have the power to heal.

***

On her belly, low and bloody in the lushest part of the garden, Princess watched the two men fight. The man who had betrayed her and the blade. Which one did she hate more deeply? She held a hand to her almost severed throat, and tried to will the blood that flowed from her midsection to slow. But she was growing weaker by the moment. A human would be dead by now, but her demon blood, the blood she was spilling at an alarming rate, kept her alive.

The witch—Lyssa—rose slowly to her feet, her hand at her own injured throat. Her wound was small, insignificant compared to the gash that had almost taken Princess’s head.

Volker had taken away her name and called her Princess, making her feel as if she were special, as if she were the
only one
. But Princess now knew that she was not the only one, not at all. She was one of many to him, no better than the expendable soldiers he talked about.

Had he been lying when he’d told the blade that he’d planned to make Runa an empress?
Runa
?

Volker had always painted such a pretty picture of power and wealth and love. A father’s love, her sisters’ devotion. But he only wanted that power for himself. She and her sisters were tools, nothing more.

They did not need him. She saw that now with crystal clarity. United, she and her sisters could take the power and wealth—and love—for themselves.

***

Blade fought with everything he had; for Lyssa, for Runa... for himself. He did not think, did not plan every move, step, swing or jab of a sword. Instead he fought with an instinct he had not known he possessed. With a sword in each hand he held his own, he battled a man that was as much a monster as those demons he called his girls.

Volker was well practiced with a sword, but he was afraid. He had never intended to do his own dirty work. Blade saw the fear in the minister’s eyes. He swung with all his might and sliced Volker’s shirt and the skin beneath. Blood bloomed and Volker screamed—not in pain but in fury that he had been injured.

Blade understood very well that he was not protected; that he could be killed. If death came fast enough, not even Lyssa could save him. And as he fought, he also realized that he did not want to die. After years of not caring if justice cost him his life, he wanted to live. A life with Lyssa awaited him when this was done. His life was so much more than delivering justice to one man. So much more than avenging Runa.

Without warning Volker feinted to the side, stepped and turned, then swung his sword. Blade jumped back, and the tip of the sword scratched his arm. It was a deep scratch, but far from the killing blow his opponent had intended. And Blade responded with a swing of his own sword.

***

From her position low in the garden, Princess watched. If she could take in the life force of another she would be able to heal quickly. If she had not already fed well tonight, she would be truly dead, like Divya.

Princess mourned the loss of her sister. Divya had been silly and selfish on occasion, but she’d also been a part of the whole; a sister by blood and by bond. Runa was gone, too, but not in the same way. She lived, but she was no longer a part of the whole as she had once been. Her connection to her sisters—imperfect as it had been—had been broken by the witch. Runa would never be the same. She was no longer demon, but neither was she human. She would have nowhere to go, no one to call her own. No family. No place in the world.

She would certainly never be an empress.

Princess needed desperately to feed, and for a moment she considered that while the men fought she could take the witch by surprise, but knowing what Lyssa had done to Runa, Princess was afraid to touch her, especially in her weakened state. Did the witch have the power to strip away the demon? That green light was terrifying; it was death to her and her sisters. Was that why she and the others had been warned? There was more than one kind of death, and the idea of being permanently separated from her sisters, to have that connection stripped away... a true death was preferable.

Volker and the blade were evenly matched. Their swords met as they danced on the pathway and into the gardens. Each was wounded, but neither had fallen. Not yet.

Lyssa’s head snapped around; Princess heard what she heard. Several sentinels were coming, and quickly. Boots in the near distance; shouts, one soldier to another. The witch offered a sharp warning to her man. Volker faltered; and the blade took advantage of the lapse and ran his sword through the man Princess had sworn never to call Father again.

Minister Volker fell, half on the path, half in the garden. He destroyed flowers as he landed, and soft petals dropped onto his back and into his hair. Princess had the fleeting thought that she should be sad, that she should cry for him, but she did not. Perhaps she had called him Father, for a while, but no more. The witch Lyssa took her man’s hand, and they ran toward the rear palace wall, away from the approaching sentinels. In moments those sentinels would find their wounded minister. She had to act quickly, before they took him away.

Princess crawled toward Volker. Her bloody hand touched his, and with the last of her strength she pulled him toward her, off the path, into the shadows. Her lips hovered over his as his eyes opened. She could see his thoughts, feel his hope. Oh, how sweet. He believed she was going to save him, even now.

“Father?” she whispered. “I need you.” And then she placed her mouth on his before he had the chance to scream.

Chapter Twenty

They didn’t have much time, but Lyssa knew better than to run without preparation. This time she would have food, blankets, and a weapon of her own. And she would deliver a proper goodbye to her father. She didn’t know when, or if, she would return to Arthes.

Everyone would soon realize that she and Blade had been the ones to spill blood in Empress Morgana’s beautiful garden. Blade had lied to the physician and they’d escaped... what other logical conclusion could anyone come to? And if Volker survived this night, what kind of tale would he spin? Not a pretty one, she imagined.

They had work to do, a war to fight, and they would not begin it by running blindly into the forest with no preparation.

Though the forest was calling... whispering... singing....

Lyssa was certain she would have to bang on the door of her home in order to wake her father and Sinmora, but when she turned the corner of her street she saw them there, standing in front of the open door looking puzzled. Her father carried a lantern that caught the two of them in a circle of soft light, a beacon calling Lyssa home.

And they were not alone. Edine was there, just behind them. Without her children, without her husband. She carried a small cloth-wrapped parcel in her hand, and had leaned forward to whisper to Cyrus Tempest.

At once, all three became aware that Lyssa and Blade were approaching. They turned, stopped talking, and waited.

Lyssa could not take her eyes from Edine, who spoke first, as she took a long step forward to meet her... friend? Yes, friends still. Always.

“I had a dream... you were there and you were hurt, and you needed me and it was all so real, and I... Oh, Lyssa, I’m so sorry.”

Lyssa hugged her friend and felt a great rush of relief. Yes, friends always. No matter what.

“I was scared,” Edine said. “And such a fool! Forgive me. I do love you.”

“Of course I forgive you. I love you, too.” Lyssa stepped away from her friend. Tempting as it was, there was no time to linger here.

“Bread and dried meat,” Edine said as she handed over the cloth-wrapped package she’d been carrying. “I don’t know why, but when I woke from my dream I knew I had to come here, and I knew you would need this. Maybe I possess a little bit of magic myself.”

“I am positively starving,” Lyssa confessed. “We’ll make good use of this very soon.”

“I dreamed of you, too,” Sinmora whispered. “It was... horrid.”

“Unlike the ladies, I could not sleep at all,” her Papa added, “not after seeing you... hurt.” He shook his head. “My beloved daughter... I have been a terrible father. I love you dearly. Please don’t ever doubt that, and I did try... But there are so many things I should have told you, so many....”

“You were a wonderful father,” Lyssa said. “And you will be a wonderful father again.”

“How did you know? I... we... Never mind. I have so much to tell you, there’s so much I should have said long ago.”

Time was short, and she knew it, but she could not leave so much unsaid. “I was angry with you for not telling me about the baby, and then—not so long ago—I realized that I was just as much at fault because I did not tell you that I had overheard you and Sinmora talking about the baby. One kept secret does not make another right.”

Blade stepped forward. He still carried both swords, and his clothes—fancy as they were—were stained with blood, some of it his, most of it not. By moonlight and the one lantern her father carried, he was a frightful sight. This was the primitive man she’d first seen on the street, the man who’d rescued her from the tavern as midnight approached.

But no one was afraid of him. They all saw in him what she saw. He was hers and would protect her always.

“This is all very well and good,” Blade said sharply, “but we have no time for sentiment, much less conversations that should have been held years ago. Another time, perhaps. Right now we need blankets, a flint, food, and a water skin. We both need a change of clothes, and Lyssa will require a warm cloak.”

“And you?” Cyrus asked. “What else do you need?”

Blade hesitated for a moment. “Deliver a message to Hagan Elmar, if you will. Tell him... tell him it’s done.”

“That’s all? It’s done?”

“Tell him I found the man I was looking for and... tell him Runa lives,” Blade added in a lowered voice.

So much to be done, so little time... Blade’s words about a message spurred Lyssa to speak up. “You must tell Empress Morgana that the emperor has enemies all around him. His Foreign Minister is a traitor. I doubt Volker will survive the night, but if he does, Emperor Jahn needs to be warned. Even if Volker dies, there are others.” He had not been working alone.

“She might not believe me,” her father began.

“Make her believe,” Lyssa said sharply.

They gathered all they needed, all they could carry, and Lyssa enjoyed a last round of hugs. There were tears, but none of them were hers. As she and Blade headed away from the center of town, toward the forest, they heard a cry of alarm from the palace.

And they ran.

Blade carried the swords he’d taken from the sentinels who’d died at the hands of Ksana demons—now also dead—in scabbards that hung at his back. They each carried a large canvas sack of supplies; enough for a few days, at least.

Soon the woods swallowed them whole. Even though they could not see what lay before them, they moved quickly and easily, as if they were being guided to safety by unseen hands. Instinctively they leapt over fallen logs and around low lying bushes. Once, in the distance, Lyssa saw the glowing eyes of an animal, but it only watched and let them be. She was not afraid, even though she remembered all too clearly that chilling howl and wondered—for a moment—if those eyes were indeed those of an ordinary animal.

They were deep in the woods before she stopped to take a deep breath and look Blade up and down. They’d left in such a hurry! She was starving, and she was tired. Even though they had tried to prepare, there was so much to be said, still so much to be done. It occurred to her that she should have asked her father for bandages.

Oh, wait, she didn’t need bandages. She could heal every cut on Blade’s body, every scrape, with a touch.

He took her in his arms and pulled her close. It was nice; it was beautiful. She hid her face against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want this for you. I never meant to make you a part of my revenge.” He barely paused before he asked, “How is your throat?”

“Healed.” Completely. As soon as she washed the blood from her skin, there would be no sign that she’d ever been cut. “When I can see you more clearly I’ll take care of your wounds, as well.”

“No,” he whispered. “None are life threatening. They will heal on their own, in time.”

Her heart sank. They were meant to be together, they had a tremendous job ahead of them... but that didn’t mean Blade would love her; that didn’t mean they would be more than soldiers on the same side in a battle between good and evil. There were moments when she knew without doubt that he cared for her, that she was convinced he was hers in an elemental way. But then there were other moments when she doubted everything.