The man accepted Luca’s accusation with a smile. “If the knife had gone an inch either way, I would be.”
The man took another painful step forward, his whole left side immobile. Luca remembered the looseness of this man’s body as he fell at the campsite as he fought himself and Amarande. Just collapsed, a puppet with his strings cut—Luca’s dagger protruding from his back.
The ghost turned and whistled. “It’s him.”
Four men materialized out of the rock face. Along with a black wolf.
Luca blinked, unbelieving as the famed sigil of the Otxoa struck out ahead of the rest. Its snout was drawn into something of a confident grin, its golden eyes still and pinned upon him.
Like him, it should’ve been extinct.
And yet, it looked him right in the face, let loose a low growl.
Ula stowed her sword and dismounted as the wolf trotted back to the oldest man in the group, settling down on its haunches beside him. “Hitz ematen dizut,” she said, baring her paw print tattoo and offering her word of honor.
The old man smiled, lips stretched across his dark-stubbled face, his bearing proud and upright in spite of his age. His presentation was simply another sign, along with the wolf’s heel, that this man was plainly the leader.
He nodded at Luca and gestured at the wolf. “Hitz ematen dizut, my Otsakumea. Beltza recognizes you. As do I. Follow us now. Quickly.”
Osana and Ula stowed their weapons, as Urtzi gaped as if he’d witnessed a magic trick. “I—I checked everywhere. How did I not see you?”
The ghost answered. “We live only because we cannot be seen.” The four men and the wolf—Beltza—turned. Ula remounted and kicked her horse into gear, still in the lead, but Luca did not budge. “But what of Erfu? We cannot leave him here—like this.”
The leader nodded. “After dark, we will remove him and bring him to his wife. He was a good man and to ensure his sacrifice was not in vain, it is imperative that we go. Now.”
“But his farm is destroyed. The Warlord’s men found us and burned it. His wife is displaced and—”
“My Otsakumea, I assure you, we will see to it that all debts are paid,” the leader replied, calm but firm. “Come, please. Now.”
Distrust was not a natural emotion to Luca, but now that he’d been made aware of its presence, he could not shut off the sour churn of it in his gut. These people had stayed near Erfu’s body. Clearly waiting for an encounter like this. A face like his. And this ghost man provided the identification—Luca had yet to show his own tattoo.
And yet, he still did not move.
“Your Otsakumea has one final question. Please.” Luca addressed the man from the Hand. “You are part of the resistance?”
The man turned on his good leg, very nearly toppling over. In answer, he bared his own paw print, as did the others. The wolf simply sat and waited patiently, gold eyes brilliant and unblinking. As the ghost’s tunic slipped back into place, Luca tried in vain to picture the man as a friend, failing. The man at the Hand had come to take him captive. He was sure of it. Amarande was sure of it. And he’d initiated the fight that, until this very moment, Luca thought had led to this man’s death.
When he hesitated, his entire group did, too, eyes moving from Luca to the ghost and back. Finally, Luca said, “You threw a knife at me.”
The same crooked smile spread across the man’s face. “I aimed to miss and distract your captor.”
“Not here,” the leader said, some of the calm in his voice sheeting away. “The longer we stay in the open, the more danger we are in.” He tipped his head toward Erfu. “We’ve already lost one today; let us not lose anyone else.”
All eyes found Luca—but he looked to the wolf. This creature who saw him for what he was, as impossible as they both were. In that moment, the wolf stood and approached the cleavage of the space between vertebrae in the stone spine. Once there, she looked back over her shoulder, as if saying,Follow me.
As his eyes met Beltza’s golden ones, the last Otxoa nodded. He nudged his horse forward into the gap, and the others followed.
CHAPTER13
THEcrowd anticipated a wedding announcement. What it got was a coronation.
The princess was missing and presumed dead at the hands of Pyrenee. The king was introduced, explained away, and crowned. The former Runaway Queen lauded for keeping her son safe and protected.
Because of this turn of events, Ardenia was stable and deadly—Pyrenee would be lucky to avoid a swift rebuke from the superior Ardenian army.
That was the message, anyway.
And General Koldo, in her best garnet-and-gold regalia—watching the commoners exit, first from the arena, and then from the castle grounds—hoped the people of Ardenia would accept it at face value as the gates were sealed at their backs.
