Brishen listened to it all, or thought he had, until a sharp push on his shoulder startled him awake. Despite his assurance that he couldn’t sleep, he’d drifted off.
Anhuset stood over him, both frown and smile warring for a place on her features. “Don’t panic. You haven’t been asleep long. Dendarah’s awake and ready. We can go.”
Dendarah’s tracking took them toward the edge of the forest which later gave way to open fields and the hills in the distance. It was slow work as they picked their way through woodland terrain, moving forward, then backtracking as they searchedspoor in front and behind them, gradually working their way toward the forest’s edge.
Dawn was just cresting the horizon when the royal guard pointed toward an opening in the trees where one could see the slopes and the vague outline of structures perched on the peak of one hill. “They’re no longer putting in much effort to hide their tracks. What I’ve seen so far tells me they’re headed that way, toward the village of dead mages.”
Something about that rang ominous to Brishen. Why there? What nefarious plan had the kidnappers enacted that required they drag a woman and a baby to the forgotten grave site of human sorcerers? “How sure are you they’re headed there?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Quite sure at this point. This track is so obvious now, it’s as if they want us to see where they’re going.”
Dendarah halted when Anhuset suddenly raised a closed fist to signal quiet. She pointed to a spot hidden within the depths of the trees and nocked an arrow against her bowstring. Brishen did the same, and all three crept toward hiding spots as the sound of an approach grew closer and louder. Whoever it was made no attempt to quiet their steps, crashing through the brush like a spooked boar.
His heart stopped at the strident wail of a child, then hurtled into his throat when a ragged, bloodstained and barefoot Ildiko lurched into the small clearing, holding a squirming Tarawin with one arm and a hefty stick in her free hand.
In that moment he forgot caution, forgot battle training. “Ildiko.” He uttered her name as a prayer and rushed toward her, uncaring that he might be hurtling straight into an ambush.
Her eyes widened when she saw him. “Brishen,” she cried in a hoarse voice and stumbled toward him. “My gods, Brishen!”
He crossed the clearing in two strides to scoop her and Tarawin into his embrace. The stick Ildiko held fell to the ground as she wrapped her arm around him. Tarawin squawkeda protest at being squashed between them. Brishen eased his grip, running a frantic gaze over both woman and child, noting Ildiko’s numerous cuts and scrapes, the darkening bruise on her cheek, the dried blood smeared across one arm and spattered across her face and clothes. Even her hair was matted with it. By contrast, Tarawin appeared unharmed. She’d managed to free her arms, and her tiny hands reached out to Brishen, catching one of his braids as she lunged toward him.
As much as he wanted to continue holding both woman and child in his arms, the exposed space of a forest clearing wasn’t the place to do so. He hustled them into the relative protection of the trees, with Anhuset and Dendarah hemming them in on either side, acting as shields.
He shouldered his bow to free both hands and turned all his attention to his wife and daughter. Dappled patterns of shade cast Ildiko half in shadow, half in morning light, revealing and obscuring by turns the tell-tale marks of her ordeal. Brishen hugged Tarawin close and raised a trembling hand to stroke Ildiko’s tangled hair. “Woman of day,” he said. “Were you followed?”
Her strange human eyes were huge, the dark shadows beneath them hinting at her exhaustion. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. They were hard into their cups. It’s the reason I was able to grab Tarawin and run away.”
While Ildiko sported obvious injuries, any Tarawin might have had were hidden by the blanket wrapped around her. Brishen checked her first, unwinding the dusty swaddling and tossing it aside. He breathed a relieved sigh when he didn’t find any wounds, a sigh that turned to a low growl at the discovery of a small slash on her right heel. Already scabbed over, it was crimson and fresh. He glanced at Ildiko who silently watched him with an oddly intent gaze. “Who cut her?”
Ildiko paled a little. “I don’t know. She already bore the mark when I came to. None of our captors spoke, or if they did, they made sure to do it beyond my hearing so I wouldn’t learn names. I didn’t recognize any of their faces, even when they pulled back their hoods.”
Anger over Ildiko’s state already coursed through his veins like a hot river, one that started to boil at discovering proof the abductors had not hesitated to injure a defenseless child. He motioned to Dendarah to join them. The royal guard disarmed before taking the baby from him, displaying a rare smile as Tarawin went willingly into her arms with a gurgling laugh. “Check my road rations,” he said. “There’s food in there and a flask of water. She’s likely hungry and thirsty.”
“I’ll stay with them.” Anhuset still had her bow at the ready, her gaze sweeping their surroundings numerous times, pausing briefly on Ildiko. Her eyes narrowed. “We’re glad you’re returned to us, Hercegesé.” Her formal tone startled Brishen. His former second usually addressed his wife in a more casual manner.
Ildiko gave a brief nod and small smile. “Thank you, sha-Anhuset,” she said in an equally formal voice. She didn’t acknowledge Dendarah at all.
That truly surprised him. Whether or not Ildiko simmered with anger over Dendarah’s failure to protect Tarawin, she would have still asked after her well-being, asked her to relate what happened during the queen’s abduction. Ignoring her completely, except for a quick glance, was an odd thing. Ildiko’s ordeal must have been far worse than her surface wounds suggested. His rage burned even hotter. Dendarah’s mouth tightened, and while she didn’t speak, she did offer a shallow bow before walking toward Brishen’s horse, Tarawin nestled in her arms.
He carefully cupped Ildiko’s bruised and blood-spattered face, feeling the swollen softness of her skin. “I’ve failed you and Tarawin, Ildiko.”
She reached up to encircle his wrist with her fingers, the nails broken and jagged with dried blood coagulated under their tips. Her thumb glided over his knuckles, and she offered him a much wider smile than the one she’d given Anhuset. “You’ve failed at nothing, Herce…Brishen.” Her eyelids fluttered down for a moment, and her thumb pressed hard into the back of his hand. “You came for us, and we’re here now.”
He resisted the urge to crush her against him, mindful of her injuries, and settled on leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. Just before he closed his eyes, he caught a glimpse of her expression: wide eyes and a hesitancy that was gone so swiftly, he was sure he imagined it. She turned her head at the last moment, and his kiss landed between the corner of her mouth and her jawline. Her slender shoulders were stiff under his hands until they abruptly relaxed as she sagged in his arms and pressed her face to his neck.
It was a small peculiarity, one he didn’t dwell on as he, Anhuset, and Dendarah made haste to get their precious cargo back to Saggara. They traveled back along a different path through the woodland, one that offered more safety and was easier to defend when they stopped for Ildiko to rest. Morning was fully upon them, promising a bright, sweltering day.
They stopped briefly when Ildiko complained of pain, and Brishen’s heart lurched. His wife rarely complained of any ailments. He held her close after helping her down from his horse. “I can carry you,” he said,” scowling at the sight of her bare feet, dirty and bruised. No doubt her soles were in much worse shape, and she stood gingerly, shifting from side to side to keep her weight off each foot for as long as possible.
Her expression brightened. “Thank you, Brishen. It hurts without shoes.”
“Do you need help?” Anhuset was suddenly beside them. Once more her eyes were narrowed as she studied first Ildiko, then Brishen.
Her question puzzled him. His human wife weighed as much as a feather compared to a Kai and was far more fragile. He’d have to be an invalid on his deathbed to find it a challenge to lift her. “Just keep watch, cousin.”
She nodded before stepping away, still wearing a guarded look.
He lifted Ildiko in his arms and carried her to a spot sheltered by thick low-hanging branches. Sunlight filtered down through the trees, painting the silhouettes of leaves across the forest floor and over Ildiko’s torn shift. The blood splatters on the once-white linen were crimson splotches on the dirty fabric, and Ildiko was as pale as the shift itself. He crouched down beside her. “Give me a moment to fetch you water and food.” She nodded, her hand on his arm a reassurance and reminder that the gods had smiled upon him by returning her to him. Bruised and battered, but alive.
