Her hands released his arm and dropped to her sides as she stood, alone, head bowed, with the rain pouring down her slim body.
And then she lifted her chin and looked right at him, green eyes blazing. There she was. The strong, amazing woman he had fallen in love with.
“I love you, Val,” she whispered, and then turned and leaped into the nearest tree, a sprawling beech still covered in autumn golds and reds, and started to climb. He watched for a few seconds as she hauled herself up the branches and disappeared into the lofty heights. She didn’t look back.
He clasped the bundle to his chest like treasure, and then he started to run, hauling the limping horse behind him.
There was no way to know how long he ran for. Maybe minutes, maybe only seconds. His breath rattled in his ears as they stumbled together, lame horse and fractured man, sliding on the sodden path, blundering over gnarled roots and past ancient twisting trees.
And then they were on him, their whistles and shouts triumphant as the Blue Guards circled, sliding off their horses to draw their swords as they stalked ever closer.
“Take them alive!” The harsh shout cut through the pouring rain, and he backed up into the trunk of the nearest tree and carefully lowered his burden between the roots, tucking the cloak over the still form, keeping the braid exposed. Then he turned, pulled his crossbow from his back, and faced his attackers.
The first guard went down with a gurgled scream and a bolt through his throat. The second shrieked loudly as he fell clutching the gaping wound through his shoulder.
And then they were too close. Val flung the crossbow to the side and drew his sword, whirling to meet the soldiers as they fell on him, slashing and blocking as they forced him further and further back, until he was almost on top of the bundle, the icy rain streaming down his face as he fought for every extra second.
There were too many, and he was tiring as they came at him again and again in a never-ending flood of men and swords. He’d done everything he could. It was time.
He bunched his legs and launched himself with a massive heave, leaping into the air. He beat his wings hard, trying to get airborne, fighting the rain and his exhaustion.
“Now!” the harsh voice bellowed over the grunts and screams.
And then he was falling, falling and tangled, his wings held trapped in a net of iron beaded rope. At the worst possible time, someone in charge had started respecting the abilities of the Mabin.
He fell to his knees, bound and weakened by the net, and let his head drop to his chest. Beside him, someone chortled nastily and nudged him with their boot. “Looks like he didn’t love her that much after all”—the nudge turned into a malicious kick—“flying off like a coward.”
Val didn’t bother to reply.
“Ah… Sarge….”
“What is it?”
“It isn’t her.”
“What do you mean, it isn’t her?”
The soldier pulled the cloak, and the entire parcel unraveled, the roll of tent canvases falling slowly to its side among the ancient tree roots as the braid, now fraying into wisps of golden hair, fell into a puddle of dirty water.
Val’s heart hurt at its loss, but he couldn’t help a grim smile at the shock and outrage spreading over the faces of the men around him.
Their leader, a huge Tarasque soldier with scales the dark gray of wet slate, leaned over and gripped him mercilessly around the throat, grinding the iron beads into his skin. “Where. Is. She?”
Val twisted his head back, letting the rain run over his burning eyes, and laughed.
The soldier shook him savagely, cutting off his air until his laughter faded into painful wheezes, and then threw him to the ground in a sodden heap of ropes before kicking him violently once more.
Val lay on the cold ground, chuckling brokenly through his gasps for air. Did they think they would break him? With a kick? A kick that hardly even touched him through the iron-spun rope they had bound him in? Fools.
He had been a prisoner for weeks, had hung on Ballanor’s back wall for days on end without giving an inch.
And that was before he’d held her in his arms. Before he’d tasted her. Before he’d known what it was for her to look up at him, her eyes wide with love and trust. Nothing they could do to him would make him betray her.
They hauled him to his feet and forced him to walk at sword-point, still swathed in the net they’d caught him in. He wished he could have picked up the braid, but he didn’t want the guards to have it, so he left it, sunk in the mud at the base of the tree.
A guard whistled, and a runner arrived to take a report as they made their way out of the woods and onto the West Way.
The clouds slowly brightened, and the rain eased and stopped, leaving only the steady drip from the autumn leaves as they walked.
