They’d agreed that Koldo would deal with Ferdinand, but staring him down, this ghost of the tiger who prowled the grounds of his childhood, keeping him safe, planning his destiny, all the while bearing the guilt for destroying his family—it was much for Luca to take in.
The strap of linen covering Amarande’s injured hand fluttered in the breeze. A reminder of what Ferdinand could do, even to someone as strong as her.
Luca’s palm flattened across the hilt of his sword.
“I—Mother, please stop. It is unnecessary.” Ferdinand’s eyes swept about the group. “As an effort of good faith, please see who I’ve brought with me.”
The boy king advanced, straight-backed and regal on a black stallion—Marcel, sibling to Amarande’s beloved Mira. It was possible the boy knew this, and if not, the coincidence was stark. No cadre of guards flanked him. Rather, a thin rope ran around the bend, and within a few breaths another horse made the turn—Ana, the gray mare, with two riders smashed together atop a single saddle.
One, a head taller, all dark curls and burnished brown skin. The other, dark haired and petite.
Urtzi. Osana.
Both gagged, bound, and summarily led.
Luca’s pounding heart plummeted to his boots. On his order, they’d gone to the castle. And, even though he was not yet sure of Osana’s loyalties, they’d paid the price.
Ula drew her sword with a deadly clang and a whisper of Urtzi’s name. The king threw up his hands, the sword and dagger about his hip scabbard untouched. “Understand they are not my captives. They only appear to be.”
To punctuate the point, Osana reached for her gag and pulled it down easily. Either it had been poorly tied or it was just as much for show as Amarande’s own ropes. “We’re better than we’ve been in days. Please, listen to Ferdinand.”
The pronouncement of his given name from Osana was a surprise and a confirmation.
Osana. The watcher. Sister of the regent Warlord. Of course she knew Ferdinand. Luca was still not sure of her loyalties, and yet here she was, begging.
Next, Urtzi shrugged out of his gag. “Ula. Listen, please.”
That was… unusual coming from him.
“My king,” Koldo said, “we are listening.”
His green gaze swept the four of them, clearly picking up muchfrom their glances beyond him, to the bend, and through the junipers pressing in along the road.
“First and foremost, I am alone. We can speak freely. And to prove it, I will start.” Ferdinand took a deep breath. “I was sent by Geneva to meet the Warlord. A fact I assume by how you are dressed you already know, along with the fact that Geneva was and still is the Warlord. The one with the caravan, Celia, is a mere puppet.”
No one answered him.
“I was to negotiate with her for Amarande, dangling her sister’s life before her. As, again, I assume you can guess by Osana’s presence.”
Osana and Urtzi meant nothing to Koldo, but everything to the rest of them. At Luca’s back, Amarande swallowed, her arms squeezing his sides, as if shielding him.
“Geneva had no real intention of negotiation. I was to come with soldiers at my side, and slay Celia and her guards for her insolence in believing she could siphon power with blackmail.” He caught Amarande’s eyes over Luca’s shoulder. “And then I was to march my sister back to the Itspi, to be dealt with after the coming attack from Queen Inés, who is hovering like a storm cloud in our port, shuttling demands in a way that makes it clear she believes Ardenia is already hers.”
All the air left Luca’s lungs.
They were too late. The resistance would be too late, as well. War was at Ardenia’s shores.
“She’s here?” Amarande asked.
“Yes, Sister. But the good news is you are, too.” He looked to Koldo. “And you, Mother. I cannot emphasize how much we need you.” Ferdinand caught eyes with each of them. “We need all of you.” Now he looked to the girl holding the single drawn weapon. “I can only assume by that sword and palpable vengeance that you are Ula.”
Ula’s blade did not waver.
“A handy double for Celia, for sure,” he continued. Osana read Ula’s hands. “And if Celia is not here, and her clothing is available, am I correct in guessing you, my good sir, are none other than Luca, the Otsakumea?”
In answer, Luca drew his own sword.
A smile tugged at the king’s pursed lips. “My sister hugging you as tightly as life itself is a dead giveaway.”
