I stood up and started toward the passageway. Lute took a step to follow. The sentry knight moved, and Lute stared at the blade of a sword blocking his path.
“Just the lady.”
Lute glanced at the three knights. The odds were bad, but his eyes told me he was game.
“Please wait here,” I said.
Lute’s eyes widened. Crap. I shouldn’t have saidplease.
He dropped into a bow. “As you wish, my lady.”
I looked at the young knight. He indicated the passage with a sweep of his hand, and we began walking.
The long bridge rose slightly, probably to make it easier for the molten pitch and burning oil to roll down at potential invaders. In the second book, a mob tried to storm the Citadel, egged on by a former squire that had been cast out. He’d told them that only ten knights remained inside after Arvel and most of the Defenders had left the city. The knights had let the mob get three-quarters of the way up, and then they dropped a ball of flames onto the bridge. The narrative never explained what it was made of, but it was heavy and the fire coating it was white-hot. Those who weren’t crushed or burned fell to the Defenders’ arrows. All of the military orders acknowledged that Arvel’s knights knew no equal in archery. Nobody made it off the bridge.
My feet really hurt.
Finally, the bridge ended. The heavy metal gates swung open at our approach, their motion silent and smooth. A long chamber stretched before us, narrow and high, its ceiling supported by colonnades running on both sides. A walkway traced the walls above us, accessible only by interior doors I couldn’t see. No stairs. If attackers did manage to make it through that door, this chamber would become a deathtrap.
We passed through the chamber into a wide hallway with doors branching off. Men and women walked past us, moving with purpose. Everyone wore light brown, close-fitted pants with brown boots, white tunics, and white tabards with a golden Defender shield embroidered on the chest. They came in all sizes and shapes; tall, short, bulky, slender, some young, some older, but all of them ridiculously fit. They looked healthy, strong, athletic, and ready to spring into action. It was like walking into a medieval version of one of those firemen pet-charity calendars, except that everyone kept their clothes on and there was a distressing lack of kittens.
The hallway ended in double doors propped wide open. Outside, a beautiful courtyard waited. Paved with beige stone and bordered by tall walls on the right and left sides, it was about twice as big as a football field. At the other end of it, across from us, a majestic keep propped up the sky, accessible by a wide staircase.
“This way, my lady.”
My guide turned right, and I followed him across the stone tiles toward the keep. The center of the courtyard was clear, probably so the knights could assemble there. To the far left, a long structure running along the wall was likely the stables. On our right, we were passing what could’ve been a spectator gallery, complete with benches and a white-and-gold overhang.
We reached the keep and kept going around it.
My feet felt like painful pancakes. The next time Everard suggested a carriage, I would take it, Shears or no.
As we passed the keep’s staircase, a blond man in ornate white armor stepped out of the doors at the top and began walking down the stairs as if he owned the entire place. A beautiful blue cloak draped his shoulders. Another knight followed him, keeping a respectful distance. Arvel. Had to be.
“Is that Lord Arvel?” I asked.
“Yes,” the knight said, his voice clipped. “Lord Arvel does not receive visitors unless there are special circumstances.”
Perhaps he thought I would charge up those stairs to fangirl-rush Arvel.
“No worries, sir. I have no plans to ambush the Lord Commander.”
Drawing unnecessary attention from the members of the Eight Families wasn’t on the agenda today. I already had Everard at home. One terrifying magical knight was enough, thank you. Putting myself on Arvel’s radar in any way would only bring disaster. It was much better to let Berengur play the middleman.
I wouldn’t have minded a glimpse of his face, though. Oh well.
The damn fortress kept going and going. How did they heat this place in the winter?
Finally, we rounded the keep, and the back courtyard came into view. Long rectangular flower beds spanned its length, filled with white flowers. Their blooms, with five petals and bright yellow centers, reminded me of jasmine flowers except they were the size of large tulips. A strong scent filled the air, bringing up memories of honeysuckle.
In the center of the courtyard, between the two rows of flower beds, a lone knight raised a big bow. His broad back was to us and as he aimed at a straw target near the far wall, the muscles on his shoulders stood out under the sleeves of his white tunic.
At least eighty yards. The red circles drawn on the straw were barely visible, and the bright red bullseye was the size of a small apple.
The bow string twanged. The arrow sliced through the air, biting deep into the bullseye, above the other two arrows already in it. He’d made a perfect triangle.
“Please wait here,” my guide murmured and headed toward the knight.
The knight nocked another arrow. His muscles stood out again and he let it loose. The arrow thudded into the center of the triangle. Impressive.
