With every thrust of his weapon, visions of my guts splattering the rug flashed before my eyes. I parried, but the restless guard kept coming. Another minute of this, and he’d holler for backup. The axe jiggled against my thigh, and well, desperate times called for desperate measures.
With my back turned, I ripped out the hatchet, extended the blade, and vaulted it behind me. The stunt caught his weapon before it impaled my throat, the collision hooking us together, pangs shooting through my limbs. I spun while retracting the blade to a shorter depth, then flipped the axe to confuse my opponent, and slammed the knob into his skull.
The sentinel hit the floor like a rag doll. Blessedly, this occurred in a recess, and blood hadn’t sprayed the wainscoting. Although waves of guilt snuck through my ribcage, he’d have speared me like a hog for tonight’s supper if I hadn’t acted.
My voluptuous shape was one discerning factor. But with darkness pouring through the halls, the chances were low that he’d seen my face or the hatchet. No spectators roamed to watch the action. Plus, crooks usually concealed themselves in hoods, so this wouldn’t directly point to me. Last, I had no motive orresidency in this castle, and the harness replica would do for now, in case security checked the vault.
Our shrewd clan might make the connection. But it would take time. Hopefully.
When looting a castle, a smuggler never fled through the same route from whence they came. I darted to the servant’s wing, stole through a nondescript exit, and spilled into the eventide. Atop the towers, belts of wind shoved Autumn’s flags back and forth, and hay bales abutted a vegetable plot.
Horse hooves slammed across the yard. A dark silhouette powered their stallion in my direction, the tail of his long coat flying behind him. My heart galloped faster than the equine’s limbs. I knew the style of that rider, how those strong thighs gripped his mount, how his gloved hands steered the reins.
Seething, I clambered behind the nearest hay bale and flung myself to the ground. Not a good idea. I landed in a bed of errant straws, the tips poking through the cloak and turning my ass into a pincushion. Slapping a palm over my mouth, I muffled the yelp.
Scooting off the stalks, I peeked around the corner. Moonlight leaked onto a crown of ashy hair as Aire dismounted. The breeze rustled beneath his coat as he patted down the horse’s neck and murmured something.
His presence here didn’t track. At this hour, Aire was supposed to be keeping vigil in the south wing.
Backdropped by the castle’s firelit windows, he tensed. And really, I should have known better. This knight might not sense me, but the man had the eyes and ears of a hawk.
Aire turned, twin broadswords rotating in his hands. Those blue irises prowled the vicinity, the lines of his face rapt in concentration.
“Where are you?” he muttered.
Fuck. I shrank back, stapling my spine to the hay bale, the axe trembling against my thigh.
Aire’s boots stalked forward. I braced myself, reaching beneath my skirt for the hatchet, then stalling as he paused just shy of my hiding spot.
Glimpsing his profile, I frowned. The knight scanned the clouds, locating one of the watch hawks. He sheathed both swords, signaled the bird-of-prey with two fingers, then clicked his head toward the fortress. In response, the avian broke into song, its call pealing across the land as it sailed toward the highest tower.
Foreboding gripped my lungs. Then a great horn bellowed from where the hawk had flown. The deep, hollow sound traveled across the grounds, soaring to the lower town and over The Wandering Fields. The instrument resonated, the rhythmic sound cuing an alarm.
However, the coded tempo didn’t signify a thief on the loose. No, this blare indicated a possible abduction.
Aire scrutinized the yard once more. Then he whipped around and strode into the fortress, the coat striking his calves.
Flummoxed, I watched the knight leave. Pivoting from the door through which he vanished, I swiveled back around. Then I stifled a scream.
Through the murk, a face hovered inches from mine. Wide-set eyes stared back, the green irises glowing like clovers.
A gasp leaped from my mouth. “Nicu.”
13
Aspen
Like a member of the fauna, he hunkered on all fours. Messy dark layers fell around his head, those faeish features prominent, always leaping out at the world.
Although Nicu fancied vibrant clothes and heavy patterns, pewter grey concealed his slender frame from neck to feet, the standing collar of his coat brushing the tips of his shoulder-length hair. Only the red ribbon bracelet and the vivid green of his eyes burst through the murk.
We gawked at one another. “It’s not what you think,” both of us whispered at the same time.
Stumped, I veered back. He should be asleep, wrapped in sumptuous bedding of a high thread count, dreaming every good dream in this world. He shouldn’t be out here, well past midnight, unattended by an entourage.
With the horn blaring, discretion wasn’t necessary. I could have shouted until my tonsils exploded, and no one would have heard me.
Nonetheless, I took zero gambles.“What are you doing here?”I mouthed.
