Blood Magic and Brandy, page 11
Just because she couldn’t marry Nevar didn’t mean she couldn’t have him. As soon as his agreement was signed and sealed, Nevar would leave and probably never return. An affair might be feasible. Stolen moments in the passageways. Meetings in the gardens. Expeditions to The Fiddle. She deserved true passion at least once in her life before settling into her role as heir to the throne and a loveless marriage.
The brush dropped from her fingers, clattering against the wooden dressing table. Rane inhaled deeply and smoothed her chemise over her curves. The blotchiness had faded, leaving a rosy glow on her cheeks. She touched her reflection and went to search for her fur-lined slippers, made to keep her toes warm on the cold stone floor.
Bash whined as Rane passed her but seemed to know she didn’t require canine company for this sojourn. On her way out the door, Rane grabbed a tightly woven shawl, her namesake flowers embroidered on a russet background, and the invisibility charm.
Rane knew where all the guards stood, the timing of their rounds, and the location of every nook and cranny large enough for her to hide. The corridors were deserted, and she had no use of the charm. Rane used the servants’ stairs to the guest quarters but hesitated before opening the door to the hall. What if he said no? He’d be a stronger person than she. It might be for the best. She couldn’t imagine any reason not to have an affair with the dashing young lord, but perhaps he could provide one.
Tiptoeing down the hall, Rane kept alert for any suggestion the Teruellan contingent stirred. Only silence and dancing shadows greeted her. The gaps under the doors were dark, except for one at the far end.
She stood outside, waiting a beat, building the anticipation. Rane giddily imagined the look on his face when he saw her standing in his rooms, almost naked.
“You can run, or you can turn yourself in to the Lorean guards.”
A woman’s muffled voice carried into the hall. Who was visiting him this time of night? What was she talking about? Why would Nevar turn himself in to the guards?
“Why would I choose either of those?” Nevar’s voice held barely contained rage, the heat of it seeping out of the crack under the door.
“Remember who has the power. If you choose not to take one of those alternatives, I will be forced to protect my interests. Your father won’t live past dawn, and your brother will face the same fate before he attains his majority.”
Alarm shot through Rane like lightning. She opened the door in time to see Alize fall to the ground, next to an unmoving body and Nevar, both surrounded by a pool of blood.
“Fuck.” She almost didn’t hear him. He scrambled up and stared at the bloody mess at his feet.
Anger and fear battled for dominance. What had happened? Was Alize well? Was Nevar?
“Oh, this isn’t good,” she said, her voice weak.
Nevar whirled, eyes wild, face ashen.
“I—I—I—”
He seemed incapable of completing a sentence, and his gaze captured hers. Nevar held his hands up in a placating gesture. Blood coated them and streaked him from head to toe on one side. The emotion in his eyes wasn’t guilt. It was fear. He glanced at the door.
Rane licked her lips and stepped toward the bodies on the floor. “I’m alone.”
“Why? Why would you tell me that? You found me with a dead body and an unconscious woman. How do you know you won’t be next?” His voice fluttered in panic, with maybe a hint of indignation.
“You didn’t do it.”
She knelt next to the two bodies. Alize’s chest rose and fell, but the man in Oteran livery was perfectly still, flesh unnaturally pale against the red blood. It took a long moment for what she saw to sink in, but the gaping wound on his neck meant only one thing. She sent a silent prayer to Idoya for a quick journey to the afterlife and turned her attention to her maid.
“You can’t know that.” Nevar lowered his hands.
Rane shook Alize by her shoulder, but the woman’s head lolled like a rag doll, and other than the pulse in her wrist and the movement of her chest, there was no response. Only the Mother of All knew what spell had been used on Alize and how much longer before she regained consciousness. “Yes, I can. My dog is an excellent judge of character. Bash approves of you, which is good enough for me.”
“You’re basing your belief in my innocence on the opinion of a dog?”
Rane stood, careful not to get the edge of her chemise in the blood. “Well, that and I caught the tail end of your conversation with Alize. She didn’t seem herself.”
Nevar let out a long sigh, mumbling about daft princesses and court politics. He moved toward the door, and Rane put out an arm to stop him.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the guard. I’ll turn myself in.”
“Why? You didn’t do it.”
“She gave me a choice: turn myself in or run.”
“But I was there. I can testify you didn’t do it. That Alize wasn’t in her right mind.”
“Please don’t tell anyone. If I don’t do as she says, she’ll kill my family.”
“Who?”
“My stepmother.”
Hot anger burned up her spine. “All the more reason.”
“Can you protect them from this castle?”
Pain wove through his words, carving out a hollow place in her chest. The baroness had threatened a child and an invalid. Nevar’s family. What would she do if somebody threatened hers? Anything.
“I don’t know. I could try.”
“I’m not risking their lives on maybe. I’ll turn myself in and take the consequences. At least they’ll be safe.”
“Will they? With you incarcerated or...” Rane couldn’t bring herself to say dead, but the word hung in the air between them. “You can’t protect them if you’re not there. She could change her mind at any time.”
“What do you suggest, Princess?” He spat out the words with a bitterness Rane had never seen before.
“Under the circumstances, you can call me Rane.”
He shook his head and the fight drained out of him. “What would you have me do? If I run, I look just as guilty.”
Possibilities ran through her mind. She grasped one. “Hyssop. My godmother owes me a boon. She can fix it.”
Nevar paled. “Please, don’t. I can’t risk it. I can’t. If Jocelyn catches wind of any interference, I will never see my father or my brother again. Please, Rane. Your oath to never speak of this.”
Rane bit her lip. She needed help to prove Nevar’s innocence. As a princess, she was trained to govern, not to investigate. If she didn’t give her word, he would turn himself in. The idea of him spending the rest of his days in a cell or his head on the executioner’s block for something he didn’t do was unbearable.
“What you need is time.”
“Time?”
“Time to prove your innocence. Time to find evidence. Time for me to help you protect your family.”
“And how do you propose to buy me time?”
A glimmer of a thought turned into an absurd idea.
“How do you feel about pixies?”
Confusion scrambled across his face, and his eyes darted around the room as though searching for any of the little folk.
“Pixies?”
“Never mind. Clean up, and pack a change of clothes and whatever else is helpful.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not until I have your word. Orom is the only person in the world I care about, and I won’t have my father’s death join my mother’s on my conscience. Your oath, Princess Ranunculus.”
Rane gave in to the inevitable. “You have my word. On my honor as the Crown Princess of Lorea, I will keep what happened here a secret until we can bring Jocelyn to justice.”
He nodded tersely, and some tension bled from his shoulders. She turned her back, giving him what privacy she could. Clothes rustled and water splashed, and Nevar cleared his throat a few minutes later.
“You can turn around.”
He walked carefully through his bedroom, avoiding the pooled blood. Pulling a satchel from his trunk, he grabbed a tunic and breeches and shoved them into the bag. Nevar crossed over to his dressing table where a few plums, a loaf of bread, and a chunk of cheese sat on a silver tray and put everything that fit into his bag. He reached for the sword hanging in the wardrobe.
“Leave it,” Rane said. “If you take your weapon, they will assume you mean to fight and will answer with equal force.”
“But I’ll need to protect myself.”
“I’ll give you one of mine. They won’t check to see if I’m missing a blade or two, so they won’t assume you’re armed.”
“Then I’m ready.”
Rane held a finger to her lips and eased open the door. Only shadows greeted her. Nevar covered the lamp in the sitting room and joined her at the door. She twined her fingers in his. He pulled back, but she held tight and whispered a word. The world shimmered slightly as the invisibility charm worked its magic, and she pulled him after her. Quickly and silently, she led the way out of the guest quarters, through the castle, and to her room.
Bash’s ears pricked up when they snuck in the door. She rose and calmly greeted Nevar with a snuffling kiss on the hand as if sensing the need for quiet. Rane uncovered a lamp and pulled a long, flat box from under her bed. Though her mother frowned on her fighting skills as she neared her majority, she hadn’t stopped Rane from collecting a few blades of her own. Her favorites were hung on the wall, always at the ready, as Jadran had taught her. Many other weapons filled the box. Some were exotic swords, curved and etched with strange designs. Some were sturdy, but plain, blades. Some weren’t blades at all: clubs, flails, even a war hammer. Gifts from nobles near and far.
She stood and met his eyes, twin points of molten bronze in the dim light.
“Help yourself. No one will miss anything.”
“Why are you doing this?” His voice was rough and his body stiff, a heightened sense of awareness about him.
“I don’t like the men I kiss to end up on the headsman’s block,” she replied flippantly, desperately avoiding her own reasons for helping him. The connection they had was strange in its strength after only a few days.
Nevar blinked, and a wry half-grin flickered across his lips, gone before she could return it.
“I’m a good kisser, Highness, but not that good.”
Rane swallowed and gave him part of the truth. “I would do anything to protect my family. You were willing to turn yourself in, knowing you’d likely face the executioner. I respect that, but I also believe in justice. You deserve justice, as does your family.”
Nevar’s gaze met hers, his eyes searching for something.
“I appreciate you want to help, but I’m not sure it will do much good.” He dug through the trunk, hefting the weapons. “I have long suspected my stepmother of poisoning my father. He fell ill not long before my majority, enabling her to maintain control of Otero and secure a place in court as a trusted advisor and ambassador.”
“Do you have proof?” It was a serious accusation.
Rane moved into the bedroom and picked up her discarded clothes, leaving the door cracked so they could converse. She wasn’t leading this man from the castle in her chemise. No telling what they’d run into while fleeing. Ease of movement and the ability to blend into a crowd may become important. She pulled the chemise over her head and folded it neatly on her bed.
“If I did, she wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be in this position.”
Good point. The thought of living with somebody who could have done such a heinous thing stuck like an arrow in her gut, ripping and tearing her up. Her parents respected each other and loved their children fiercely. She might not always appreciate her siblings, but she loved them and would ruin anyone who offered them harm.
It proved Nevar was not all he seemed. He was stronger and braver than she had imagined.
Dressing quickly in her tunic and breeches, she grabbed the worn leather jerkin and pulled the door open. Nevar made a forbidding figure in the flickering light, swinging around the strangest sword in her collection. On first glance, it was a typical long sword. Ribbons of iridescent metal swirled through the cold gray of the steel. The hilt was formed from the same shimmery metal, wrapped in sapphire blue leather.
He dropped the point to the floor when she entered.
“Like it?” Rane pulled the stockings out of her boots. They smelled a little ripe, but time was of the essence. She could worry about clean stockings tomorrow.
Puzzlement drew a crease in Nevar’s brow and pursed his lips. His highly kissable lips. Rescue first, kiss later.
“It’s perfectly balanced, light and heavy at once. It’s almost like it was made for me.”
“It’s fairy-wrought. Very unusual, as fairies rarely work with iron or steel.”
Nevar almost dropped the sword. “I can’t take this,” he said, moving to put it back in the trunk.
“I insist. Besides being an excellent blade, it will warn you when danger is near. Every little bit will help you.”
He regarded her, his eyes shimmering with too many emotions. Nevar slid the blade back into its scabbard and belted it on, treating it as a dangerous animal, his motions smooth and slow. He picked out a plain but serviceable dagger and tucked it on the other side.
Rane slipped on her jerkin and laced it. Snatching an apple off her desk, she tossed it to him. Nevar plucked it out of the air with extraordinary grace. Under other circumstances, she might have swooned.
“Take the rest of it while I write a note.” She gestured at the remaining apples, a hunk of cheese, and a flagon of wine.
Nevar packed away the food, and she scribbled a hasty word to Lark on a scrap of paper she pulled out of the desk drawer. While it dried, Rane tucked her own sword and dagger into her belt. She folded the note and placed it in the pocket of her jerkin. Walking past him, she stopped at her dressing table and rummaged around in the silver tray on top. A small, plain stone encased in gold joined the folded note.
She grabbed an old bridle hanging on the wall. It was almost worn through, and she’d brought it back to her room to fix it days ago, maybe weeks. With any luck, it would do for tonight. Nevar joined her as she dug a saddle blanket out of a chest, all the accouterments she would need to help the young lord escape in her arms.
“Ready?” She stood to the right of her wardrobe with the blanket thrown over her shoulder.
He looked around the room once more, as though memorizing it. “Yes.”
Rane ran her fingers over the bricks. Where was it? Ah, there. She found the tiny R carved into one. The wall swung open, revealing a tight, winding staircase.
“Grab the lamp,” Rane said.
Nevar lifted the small lamp from her dressing table and walked through the door without question. She appreciated that.
Bash whined, and her tail thumped against the wardrobe.
“Sorry, girl. You need to stay here. I’ll be right back.”
The dog whined again, but curled up at the foot of the bed, keeping her snout pointed at the opening in the wall.
“She’s a good dog,” Nevar said.
“The best. Go.”
She followed him and pushed the wall closed behind her, waiting until the mechanism clicked. The rich smells of the kitchen wafted through the tight stairwell. They kept descending until a dank odor replaced the spices and bread of the kitchen. At the bottom, Nevar stepped out of her way, handing her the lamp.
Rane led the way through the escape tunnels deep below the castle. An ancient ancestor had constructed them in a time of war and surprise attacks. The tunnels hadn’t been used in an emergency for at least decades, maybe even a century. She’d used them a time or two to make a liaison at an inn, or a barn, or—okay, maybe more than a time or two.
They arrived at the end of the tunnels, and Rane pushed open the door. A field of barley shifted in the wind, the moonlight turning the golden grain to ghostly tendrils, sighing a spectral song. She was unable to suppress the shiver of unease that traveled from the base of her spine to her fingers and toes.
“Are you cold?” Nevar’s warm breath tickled the hair on her neck, causing a different kind of shiver; this one she was able to suppress.
“No. Just... a strange feeling.”
“Now what?”
Shoving the stone door closed, she turned to Nevar with a wide, wicked smile on her lips.
“Now, we steal a horse.”
Chapter 12
“We’re going to what?”
Nevar didn’t need to add an actual crime to the one Jocelyn had framed him for. What was this woman thinking? But the trust he’d placed in her had paid off so far. He wouldn’t be spending the night or the rest of his life in a dungeon. Trust was hard for him, but his gut told him Rane was worth it. He followed her to the enclosed area next to the barley field. Rane stepped on the bottom rung of the fence.
“Give me some fruit.” She ignored his question.
He had nothing left to lose. Nevar pulled the smallest apple he could find from his satchel. Rane snatched it out of his hand before he could ask any more questions. She whistled, low and slow, a series of notes that almost sounded like a familiar tune and blended into the night wind. No human would hear the whistle if they were more than a hundred paces away. He saw no buildings, no movement within that radius.
Rane pulled out her dagger and cut up the apple. She repeated the whistle, and a faint whinny carried over the breeze. A large, dark horse trotted to the princess, his hooves thudding in the grassy field. She stroked his neck as he delicately ate the piece of the apple from her hand.
“Hello, Grunnin. Long time, no see.” The horse gave her a low whinny and nudged her hand with his head, searching for more apple.
