He moved on to the next room, further away from the king, hardly caring what he was doing, what destruction he was wreaking. Knowing all the while that Nim wasn’t there.
The weight of time pressed heavily. Each passing second meant that Nim was that much closer to being discovered. And not by him.
But each room took them a few precious paces further away from the king and Grendel.
A guard emerged from yet another destroyed room and shook his head. The king, flanked by Grendel, turned away to face the soldier, his back rigid with rage as he ranted and swore.
And Tristan knew that it was their best chance. While the king was distracted. Before someone got it together enough to start questioning why they were there. Tristan nodded to his men, and in seconds they had ducked around the corner and started to run.
They sped down the stairs, passing troops and staff as the search spread out, and back through the marble foyer.
Around them men were shouting. A horn blew loudly, and orders were called. By the sound, a fresh team was just entering the great hall.
And then he heard the sound he had been dreading. A roar went up in the distant courtyard.
They’d found her.
Too far away. Too late. There was no way through the troops. Their only hope was to turn back and take the king’s personal entrance into the hall. And pray that they got there before the rest of the guards.
He spun around and sprinted down the empty corridors where the court met and the stewards, chaplains, and marshals could be found during the day.
He pushed himself harder, flinging orders to the Hawks as they skidded to a stop just outside the door to the king’s private study. There was no time for finesse, he simply drew his sword with one hand while reaching out to throw the door open with the other.
The sword in his hand saved him.
The sword and reflexes born of thousands of hours of training and battlefield experience, combined with that deep, primal awareness.
He flung his arm up and deflected the crushing downward strike whistling toward his head, swinging both swords in a locked arc down and away.
As he swung, he stepped forward, meeting the attack, combining the momentum of the descending swords with a sharp flick that sent the enemy sword spinning away.
The whole thing happened in slow motion. The swinging swords. His horror as he realized that it was Nim and Keely behind the attack. The jarring shudder as the swords met in the air. The wrench that traveled through the two swords as someone, Nim, tried to pull back, to check the blow. The crash as the women’s sword smashed into a table. The tinkling crackle of broken glass falling to the stone floor.
And then silence.
Nim stood frozen, a chain stretching between her and Keely. Both women were bone pale, their eyes wide with shock and prolonged terror. Val was behind them, on his knees, swaying, seconds away from complete collapse.
It all happened in slow motion, and then stopped. And he froze too. Fully battle scaled, sword still tightly gripped in his hand, he froze. For the first time in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do.
Then Mathos was there, pushing past him. “Thank the gods! Nim, we’ve been looking for you!”
She turned to his friend, still silent. Stunned.
Mathos threw his arms around her, and Tristan saw her soften against him, just a fraction.
He wanted to rip Mathos’s head off his shoulders. Wanted to snap his neck and fling his body into the Abyss. But Mathos was comforting Nim, and gods knew, he’d lost that right when he took the blue tunic and walked away from her while she called his name.
He looked away, focusing on Jos as he followed them into the study. He jerked his chin. “Get Val. Everyone else, move out.”
Mathos wrapped a firm arm around Nim. “Come on, darlin’, time to go.”
Nim took a hesitant step forward, bringing Keely with her on their chain. Fuck. They’d been chained. His inner beast howled in fury.
But then Nim stopped dead, her breath going shallow and uneven as she stared in dismay at the doorway. Tristan spun round, lifting his sword once more, ready to rain down hell on whoever had threatened her. And then hesitated. It was Tor she was staring at.
Tor’s face was like granite, his massive shoulders rigid with tension.
“No. No, it’s not like that,” Mathos was murmuring to Nim, trying to drag her forward as she locked her knees. Keely took a shuddering step back, tangling them all further.
