“And are they enough?” I ask quietly.
He smiles—not sadly, but with a kind of settled certainty. “They must be. Because for those who live them, there is no other measure.”
I smile, a little sadly. “Then it is not for me.”
He studies me. “You could take a lover,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “There is no one I would want. And even if there were, no one would dare risk Charles’s displeasure.”
Before he can reply, something whistles through the air.
There is a sharp, sickening sound—impact, breath driven out of a body—and Tassilo gasps. An arrowsprouts from his chest. He pitches sideways and falls from the saddle, hitting the ground hard.
I scream.
The mare rears, panicked, and bolts as another arrow thuds into the earth where Tassilo lay. I clutch the reins, tears blurring my vision as the forest explodes into motion—shouting, hooves, the hiss of arrows slicing the air.
And the serenity shatters.
Chapter 18
Ipull hard on the reins, but the mare does not slow. Panic has taken hold of her, lending her a speed I would not have believed possible in such an old body.
The world blurs.
Trees, light, shadow, and I twist in the saddle, just enough to look back.
Tassilo lies on the ground.
Relief and terror crash into me at once. He is moving. Thank God, he is moving. Arrows still cut through the air, dark flashes against the green, though none seem aimed at me now. Or perhaps I am simply outrunning them.
The mare stumbles suddenly over a root, and my heart lurches. I pitch forward, barely keeping my seat, my fingers burning as I cling to the reins. I have to stop. I have to get down, turn back, do something-
Another sharp whistle splits the air.
Chamomile screams.
The sound tears out of her, raw and panicked, as an arrow buries itself in her flank. She surges sideways, wild now, no longer following the path but plunging straight toward the thick brush. Branches claw at me. I scream, sick with fear, my body jolted and thrown with every frantic stride. I amslipping, seconds from being crushed beneath her hooves.
“Fastrada!”
The sound of my name cuts through the chaos.
Out of the woods, a black stallion explodes into view, thundering toward me at impossible speed. I barely have time to register the rider before he is beside me. Lord Ashford. The Broker?
He reaches for me without hesitation. An arm wraps firmly around my waist, iron-strong, and with one decisive pull, he wrenches me from the saddle. The world tilts violently, and then I am pressed against him, seated sideways in front of him, my legs dangling as his horse surges forward.
Chamomile disappears behind us, her screams fading into the forest.
Ashford turns the stallion back toward the path, riding hard. I cling to his arm, shaking, my breath coming in broken gasps.
“We need to go back,” I manage. “Tassilo—he’s been hit.”
“My men are already on their way,” Ashford says, his voice calm, cutting clean through the noise of hooves and pounding blood. “They’ll recover him and take him back to the estate. You’re not safe here.”
I want to argue. I can’t find the strength.
The forest thins at last. When we clear the tree line and the world opens into light and space, Ashford slows the horse. Only then do I realize how violently I am trembling. My hands will not stop shaking.
