Riding is easier now. He’s probably getting ahead of himself, being so pleased at being able to sit the walk, but he’s getting used to the steady movement beneath him. He doesn’t have to put as much thought into just moving with Duchess’s gait, and he’s able to pay more attention to his surroundings as they set off.
They’re only about a week from the border. This far north, the lush Charaini forest gives way to darker, taller trees, their trunks thin enough to bend with storm winds instead of breaking, their whiplike boughs held close together. The road is clear and mostly level, but the hills grow rockier around them. The weather’s still warm, probably, though Shae can’t differentiate between the weather and the warmth of Arthur’s aura.
“How long have you had Duchess?” Shae asks, because he’s greedy for the sound of Arthur’s voice.
Arthur grins and pats the mare’s glossy neck. “Five years. I’ve had her since the day I took my oath. She was a graduation present from some of my friends in the order. Bernard and Freya knew my family wasn’t as well off as theirs were, and they took me out horse shopping as soon as the vigil was over.” He laughs. “I learned not to ride her around town if I wasn’t in uniform, at first. The rest of my wardrobe was so cheap, I got stopped a few times by guards who thought I’d stolen her.”
Shae finds it difficult to imagine Arthur looking anything less than perfectly in place. People like Shae are the ones who get stopped by the guards, not golden boys like Arthur. The image makes his lips twitch in a smile. “They sound like good friends.”
“Don’t misunderstand, they’re terrible troublemakers,” Arthur says quickly, but he still smiles too. “But good friends, yes.”
“And where’s your family from?”
“Port Charain,” Arthur says. “My brother’s a sailor now, like Ma used to be.”
He continues talking about his family, needing little prompting from Shae, and Shae settles back to listen. He used to hate hearing about parents and children, brothers and sisters, furious and heartsick thinking about his own losses. But over the years, that’s faded to wistfulness. He’s glad there are happy families out there.
Arthur sighs at one point, reaching out to pet Duchess again. He’s looking at the road ahead, not at Shae. “I haven’t spoken to them in a year, though. Not since the incident with Ronan.”
“Is that the guy—your friend who stole the relic? Was your family upset about that?” Shae’s not used to feeling indignant on someone else’s behalf. It’s one thing for the Radiant Order to punish Arthur for someone else’s mistakes, but his own family turning on him? Shae’s parents had at least resented him for something he’d done with his own two hands.
“They don’t know about it.” Arthur’s next smile is hollow, and Shae almost regrets asking. “Maybe it’s cowardly of me, but I wanted to wait until after my sentencing, so I could tell them whether or not it turned out okay.” Shae wants to tell him it is okay, that he isn’t cowardly, but he doesn’t manage to pull together the words before Arthur continues. “And Ronan wasn’t just a friend. We were lovers.”
Shae’s hands tighten instinctively on the reins, and Duchess slows until Shae forcibly relaxes. “Oh.”
He’s not like Arthur. He’s not good at listening, and he’s not good at saying the right thing. Arthur’s gotten him to confess things he’d never confessed to anyone before, and it hurt but he felt safe. Now that the tables are turned, all Shae can think about is how jealous he is of a priest-killing thief.
“I’m sure your family would—”
His magic twinges within him. Seconds later, one of his rings flares cold on his right hand, sharper and more intense than he’s ever felt. He chokes, the pain buckling him over in the saddle.
Arthur swears, the sound more distant than it should be, and blazing heat briefly steadies Shae—then absence. There’s a tug on the saddle, and Duchess suddenly backs up. Clutching her mane for balance, Shae looks up through the pain. Panic freezes the scene around him, slowing down time.
He sees Arthur drawing his sword. The path curves sharply ahead, rocks rising tall around them, and the unmistakable malformed shape of a vaidkos stalks through the dark treeline. This one has only four legs, but four hideous vestigial wings stretch from its spine.
A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. Another to the north. They’re surrounded, and Shae’s ring alerted him far too late.
“Stay back,” Arthur tells him, his blade gleaming like a torch in the sunlight. Then the first vaidkos lunges for him, and they meet in a crash of steel and fang. They part, both unharmed, and circle each other a few steps before lunging together again.
Shae can’t do anything besides try to stay on as Duchess dances beneath him. His heart pounds in his throat. He feels sickeningly helpless. Vaidkos aren’t dead. His power has no control over them, and that’s part of why he hired a sword in the first place. This is why Arthur’s here.
But it’s different actually seeing Arthur in danger.
The second vaidkos barrels from the trees. “Look out!” Shae yells on instinct, and Arthur barely dances out of the creature’s way. Both vaidkos fix their many-eyed gazes on Arthur. They’re more intelligent than mundane animals. They know the man with the sword is the true threat, and they’ll take him down before turning on Shae.
“Ride back to the last crossroads,” Arthur calls hoarsely. He swings his sword, fending off another blow. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I’m not leaving,” Shae snaps.
Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could control Duchess in such a state. She flinches back a few steps, knocking Shae sideways in the saddle. Her ears flick from monster to monster, and Shae can feel the instinctive, primal fear shivering through her body.
But she hasn’t abandoned her master, and Shae won’t either.
He can’t do anything while he’s trying—badly—not to fall off a horse. He leans forward and swings his leg around to dismount before he falls. But his previous dismounts didn’t involve another monster crashing through the trees right next to them. Duchess shies away as he moves, and he falls the rest of the way to the ground. He drops to one knee, scrambling backwards, out of the way of the mare’s hooves.
His new bruises and scrapes barely register. All his attention is focused on Arthur, dancing like a golden flame between leaping shadows. The paladin moves as if his blade is an extension of his body. The golden streaks through the air aren’t an illusion of sunlight and dust; they’re magic sharpening his sword, shielding his back.
But there are three vaidkos. No, there are four. And Arthur is only one man.
