He wanted to keep hating them. But how could he?
Garet’s heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Then Jos’s on the other side. They were in this with him. And, finally, he found the words he needed. “Thank you.”
Jos chuckled as he checked his weapon. “Go get your girl. Thank us later.”
“Not my girl,” he muttered as he turned and cast one more long look over the crowd, noting the array of guards now standing, backs to the platform, staring out over the crowds. Their eyes never lifted.
Two squads, at least, stood at attention around the king, focused on the crowds. The archers lining the palace walls on the other side of the square were also focused down into the square. Tristan was right; the idiots never looked up.
No time to think about any of that. The executioner was tying the noose. He had to go. Now.
He took a breath and launched, off the ramp and down, wings half folded behind him like a bird of prey hurtling toward its victim.
He plummeted through the air, faster than a heartbeat, and at the last moment spread his wings wide to catch the air and swooped up in a brutal reversal, his wing muscles screaming as he hauled himself up and onto the platform.
Alanna’s eyes were wide and shocked, and he expected her to flinch or fling herself away. But instead she took a tiny staggering step forward, toward him, her lips forming his name, although no sound came out.
And then her eyes rolled back and she started to drop.
Before she could fall, he swept her up, one arm under her knees, the other firmly around her shoulders, doing his best to cradle her despite the way her arms were tied behind her back. He bent his knees and launched back up, straight into the air.
He had no momentum, no lift, and he beat his wings hard, grunting with the effort of trying to get them both airborne.
There was a moment’s stunned silence, and then an outraged roar from the crowd, almost drowning out the guards’ bellowed orders, Ballanor’s apoplectic howl, and the twang of bows as the first arrows took flight.
Sharp metal stung as it embedded into his back and arms through his cloak and armor, and his heart nearly stopped when an arrow ricocheted off him and tangled in Alanna’s long hair.
And then Jos and Garet were there in the air with them. Guarding the unconscious woman in his arms with their bodies as the crowd bayed and commands were shouted below them.
They hauled him up, lending their strength to his, helping him to climb the last few feet through the air, and then up to the roof of the building flanking the Clock Tower.
Jos caught his arm, stabilized him, and then, without pausing, all three launched up, wings spread in heavy beats as they flew between buildings, crashed onto slated roofs, ran along the tiled crests, and then launched away again.
They landed heavily onto a flat roof somewhere in the jewel district and stopped to catch their breath.
In the distance, horns blew the alarm and officers shouted orders. Horses neighed and hooves pounded on cobbled streets. But no one followed through the air.
Val almost wanted to laugh. When Tristan had said that Ballanor had entirely replaced the Blues with his cronies, none of whom were Mabin, and that the new men recruited into the Guard were so poorly trained that they never looked to the air, he almost hadn’t believed it was true.
Gods, how he hated Ballanor. And how thankful he was for the king’s gross incompetence.
He looked down at the woman in his arms, her limbs lax and head rolled back against his arm. She looked as if she was sleeping. Would have looked like a porcelain doll if it wasn’t for the layers of swollen purple and blue marring the side of her face. Her lips were cracked and split, with dried blood staining her pale skin.
He was wrong. He didn’t hate Ballanor. Hate didn’t come anywhere near to the depth of revulsion he felt for the man he had sworn fealty to.
He wanted to swoop back down and tear the king limb from limb. He wanted to beat him until there was nothing left but pulp.
“We need to go.” Jos broke into his thoughts, watching him with dark eyes. “Give her to me.”
It was the plan. He knew it was the plan. There was no time for vengeance now. He had to get Alanna to safety. And while a few Mabin could lift another while flying, no one could carry another adult while flying at speed for any length of time. Especially not while still weakened by torture and fever.
And yet, when Alanna whimpered in his arms, he held her tighter and took a step back.
He knew he should give her to Jos. Knew it with every rational thought he had left. But he couldn’t do it. Watching her stand so alone, so fragile, hurt but unbroken, waiting to die. His name on her lips. It had ripped what was left of his soul apart.
He knew he would have to let her go eventually. She would wake up. She had never wanted him before, and she wouldn’t want him now.
But not yet. He couldn’t do it.
