It had been two days since the king’s ball and Clare was mostly recovered from the Vaerue poisoning, though she was still quick to tire, and a bruise still marred her cheek from when she’d fallen. During training this morning, Bennick had suggested she remain at the castle to rest, instead of going to the orphanage. She’d snatched the wooden practice knife out of his hand and stabbed him with it. She refused to miss this trip into Iden. Even if she didn’t see her family, she longed for a momentary escape from the castle.
Serene had planned to visit Lower Iden’s orphanage weeks ago, and she was adamant about doing the charitable visit as planned—without a decoy. King Newlan was eventually persuaded to agree, though he’d insisted on a larger guard. All of Serene’s bodyguards were present as well as a host of palace and city guards. The maids had been invited to help unload the wagon of supplies, but nothing about this felt like work to Clare. Seeing children laugh and dart through the crowded streets, smelling the fry bread and spices in the market, hearing the regular shouts and haggling—it assured her that life continued. Ordinary people lived ordinary lives, unaffected by the danger that stalked the castle.
Vera had told Clare that Serene’s mother established the orphanage years ago, modeling it after the successful orphan homes in Zennor. Out of all the charitable work Serene did, she had a special place in her heart for the orphanage.
When they reached the large building that housed Iden’s orphans, Clare did a final scan of the crowd. Soldiers were gently pushing the crowds back so Serene could dismount and Cardon, Bennick, and Wilf remained close as orphans swarmed the princess, carrying handmade gifts and begging for attention. Serene laughed and tried to greet them all individually at once, and it surprised Clare how well she managed. She even knew some of the children by name.
The sight warmed Clare, but she was still distracted as she craned her neck, searching for Thomas or Mark on the edge of the crowd. They didn’t know she was with the princess, but the hope that they might still show up burned in her chest.
Vera nudged Clare’s side with her elbow. “Are they here?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” But she continued to look.
The children moved inside with the princess, leaving the maids, soldiers, and some of the orphanage staff to unload the wagon. Clare helped carry food, toys, and other supplies into the orphanage, and each time she returned to the wagon she searched the crowd lining the street.
Clare was lifting down a couple loaves of bread wrapped in linen when she turned from the wagon and nearly slammed into Gavril.
He snatched her arms, steadying her. “Sorry!”
An embarrassed flush warmed her cheeks. “Sorry, I was distracted.”
A snigger burst beside them and Clare turned to see two city guards shooting her and Gavril looks, harsh smiles on their faces as they strode past.
Gavril tensed and released Clare, eyes dropping as he slid back a step. “Apologies if I frightened you.”
“You didn’t.” Clare’s fingers tightened on the bread. “Gavril—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted quietly.
Her chest squeezed. She didn’t know Gavril well, but he was often stationed outside the princess’s suite and had always been polite to her. And Clare knew his father—Master Lank—worried about him. Compassion rose inside her and she stepped closer, forcing him to meet her gaze. She kept her voice low but even. “You’re not your scars, Gavril.”
He eyed her, the lines on his face deepening. “Sometimes that’s all I think I am.” He turned before she could form a response, lifted down a crate of food, and disappeared into the orphanage.
Clare followed more slowly, and when she’d deposited the bread and ducked back outside, she caught sight of Gavril stalking past the wagon to join the soldiers securing the perimeter. Clearly, he didn’t want conversation right now. She sighed and stepped up to the wagon, dragging a wooden crate of books toward her.
Bennick leaned suddenly around her, snagging the crate before she could pull it down.
Her heart tripped at his sudden nearness. He’d been busy settling the princess inside, but apparently he trusted the other bodyguards to keep an eye on her now. “I can carry a crate of books,” Clare told him.
“So can I.” He tossed her a grin and shifted the crate in his arms. He ducked his head, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Besides, you need your hands free.”
She frowned, forehead creasing. “What?”
His attention shifted behind her and she twisted to follow his gaze.
Her heart stopped. Everything in the world stopped.
Thomas and Mark stood in the cleared street, only a few paces away. They grinned at her and Clare couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
Mark broke the stillness when he threw himself at Clare. She grabbed him, his ten-year-old arms nearly crushing her as he squeezed her middle.
She held him just as tightly, a laugh and a sob tangling in her throat. Thomas grabbed her, too, the three of them embracing, crying, and laughing. “I didn’t know if I’d see you,” Clare managed to say through her tears. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”
Thomas gripped her harder. “Captain Markam came to the house this morning, telling us you’d be here. A soldier even escorted us!”
Bennick met her quick look with a half-grin. He’d set the crate back on the wagon. “I thought you’d appreciate the surprise.”
She kept her arms wrapped around her brothers, emotion tightening her voice. “Thank you.” The words were inadequate, but Bennick seemed to feel the fullness behind them.
“What happened to your face?” Mark demanded.
Clare’s hand fluttered to the bruise on her cheek. “Nothing, just a small accident. I’m fine.”
Mark frowned, and Thomas looked like he might question her further, but Bennick stepped in. “We didn’t get a chance to really meet this morning.” He held out a hand. “You must be Thomas.”
Her thirteen-year-old brother shot a last look at Clare’s bruise before he shook Bennick’s hand. “Yes, sir.”
Bennick stooped a little, putting himself more on Mark’s level as he extended his hand again. “And you must be Mark.”
Mark continued to lean against Clare, but he took the offered hand. “How did you know?”
Bennick’s mouth twitched. “Clare told me all about you.”
“She did?” Mark twisted to look at her and she nodded.
Bennick straightened. “Why don’t you all come inside? I’m sure there’s a quiet corner where you can visit.”
Clare’s heart was so full, she thought it might burst as she guided her brothers toward the orphanage. Fates. Bennick had brought her family to her. He’d gone to them that morning, which meant all through training he’d known she would see them in mere hours. He had kept his secret—even teased her about remaining at the castle.
She didn’t want to stab him again with that wooden blade. She wanted to kiss him—a real kiss. And that thought burned her cheeks.
They stepped into the orphanage and her brothers were momentarily distracted by the sight of Princess Serene seated on the floor surrounded by children. She was weaving an old Devendran folk tale, her low voice hypnotic. Her skirt pooled around her and some of the younger children even leaned against her sides. Cardon and Dirk had taken up positions directly behind Serene, but even they seemed swept up in her storytelling. Serene looked up at the Ellingtons and gave them a small smile, though she didn’t break from her story. Thomas blushed and grinned, but Mark just squeezed Clare’s hand.
Clare led them to the back corner of the room, and she could have sat on the hard floor with her brothers tucked beside her forever. They talked quietly with each other, and though Clare shared some details of living at the castle, she questioned the boys constantly about their new lives. When conversation finally ebbed, they listened to Serene’s latest story. Clare rubbed a hand up and down Mark’s back, an arm around Thomas’s shoulders. Clare glanced acro
ss the room and saw Bennick, Venn, and the matron of the orphanage standing off to the side, speaking in low tones. Bennick caught Clare watching and he cast her a small smile, but the alertness in his eyes sent a needle of unease through her.
Thomas spoke lowly beside her, his eyes on the princess. “It’s too bad we have to lose her to Mortise.”
Mark straightened beside Clare. “No, it’s not. When she goes, Clare can come home.” His blue eyes turned to her. “Right?”
Clare hesitated, casting a look at each of them. “I’m actually going with the princess.”
There was a short silence in their corner, Serene’s story continuing to enthrall the rest of the room. Thomas blinked. “You can’t go to Mortise. It’s dangerous, and too far away.”
“I know, but—”
Mark shoved away from Clare, coming to his feet with a jerk. He glared down at her, hands fisted at his sides. “You can’t go.”
Sharp pain cut into her chest. “I have to, Mark.”
Fury bled into his eyes, tightening his face. “No,” he snapped.
Clare shifted to her knees in front of him. “I don’t want to leave,” she said softly, pleading for him to understand. “But I don’t have a choice.”
“You keep leaving us,” Mark ground out. “You don’t love us anymore.”
“That’s not true—”
“I hate you!”
Clare flinched.
Thomas tried to grab Mark, but he shook free of his brother. He turned as if to bolt, but Venn stepped into his path, a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy there,” he murmured to the boy, before locking eyes with Clare. Tension lined his dark face. “We need to leave. Now.”
Instinct and training converged, pulling Clare to her feet. “What’s going on?”
Venn glanced toward Bennick, who still stood near the pale matron. Bennick wasn’t looking at her, but speaking hurriedly to Wilf, their eyes roving the room. Clare’s gaze swept the crowded space as well, but she wasn’t trained enough to pick up what they were seeing.
Venn grasped Clare’s arm. “There’s going to be an ambush,” he whispered. “Men came last night; the matron had no choice but to hide them, or they’d kill the children. Bennick figured it out and he told me to get you—”
Bennick bellowed a warning, snapping Cardon and Dirk into full attention a second before crossbow bolts flew from the sides of the room. Serene’s story cut off as Cardon dragged her to her feet, he and Dirk shifting into position around her. Children shot up from the floor, screaming, and orphanage staff tried to herd them toward the door as soldiers pulled out their weapons and made a path for Serene’s exit.
Clare shoved her brothers toward Venn. “Move!” she shouted, guarding their backs as they pushed to reach the front door. When Mark stumbled, she grabbed his arm. Horror washed through her as bodies fell, screams of death piercing the air. People were everywhere, shoving and hitting in their efforts to find safety outside. In the frantic press of bodies, Clare lost sight of Thomas, though she prayed he was with Venn. She clung to Mark, refusing to let go as they forced their way to the exit.
She couldn’t find Bennick in the chaos, though she spotted Cardon and Dirk as they shoved Serene through the open door, Cardon in front and Dirk shielding her back.
Clare wrapped her arms around Mark, shielding him too as they pushed through the narrow doorway and spilled onto the street. She tugged him aside, away from the worst of the rushing crowd, taking a second to gain her bearings. Her heart was hammering, but training kicked in, keeping her muscles loose and her thoughts firing.
Serene was nearly to Fury’s side. Cardon shouted orders at the soldiers in the street and, in his momentary distraction, Serene ducked around him.
Dirk shouted, but Serene didn’t stop.
A young boy, no more than three or four years old, was running right at Fury in his haste to escape the danger. Clare’s breath caught—the anxious horse would trample him.
Serene snatched him up a split second before Fury reared. The same moment she bent to grab him, a crossbow bolt shot into the ground behind her.
Cardon threw himself at Serene—little boy and all—and hauled them behind the nearby wagon, covering them with his body.
If the princess hadn’t bent to grab the boy, the bolt would have struck her chest.
New screams sliced through the air and bodies hit the ground as the hail of bolts continued. There were shooters on the surroundings roofs, even atop the orphanage. Clare tightened her hold on Mark as she screamed for Thomas, but she didn’t hear anything. She couldn’t see him, and she’d already been immobile for too long. She had to trust Venn was with him, protecting him. She tugged Mark with her as she darted for the alley beside the orphanage; it was the only shelter she could see.
When they were shielded around the corner, Clare pressed Mark against the building’s wall. His eyes were wild, his face pale and terrified.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said, squeezing his narrow shoulders. “I promise.”
He stared at her, chest heaving for breath. The sight of his fear cut her, but her determination to keep him safe kept her head level. She peeked around the corner, trying to assess the danger, and her gut rolled. The street was a scene from a nightmare. Horses had bolted. Soldiers were lying on the ground, twitching and crying out with bolts sticking out of their bodies. Some were horribly still. Children screamed, and some of them were on the ground, too. Tears stung Clare’s eyes and a trapped scream burned her throat.
Mark cried out and Clare spun. Fear blasted through her at the sight of a hooded man at the end of the alley. He must have come from behind the orphanage.
Clare slid in front of Mark and tugged free the knife strapped to her leg. Her mind blanked when the man lifted a loaded crossbow and aimed it at her chest.
She froze. She couldn’t reach him before he killed her and if she moved, even to dodge the bolt, she’d expose Mark.
The attacker’s voice was gruff and muffled behind the cloth mask. “Move, and I won’t—”
A form dropped from the roof and slammed into the masked man. He wore a blue uniform, and Clare recognized his dark-blond hair even as he fell.
Bennick and the masked man crashed to the ground. The crossbow bolt released and fire ripped through Clare’s arm before the bolt pinged against the bricks behind her. She slapped a hand over her bicep with a gasp. Blood oozed between her fingers and a tremble shook her body even though she knew it was only a flesh wound. Mark screamed her name, the shout ringing in her ears.
Bennick and the man rolled, fighting hand-to-hand, but it became clear the attacker was losing. He seemed to notice at the same time Clare did, because a knife suddenly flashed in his hand. The sight of it made Clare’s heart lodge in her throat. She cried out, but too late. Bennick hissed as the blade sliced over his chest. He twisted away—right into the fist swinging toward his temple.
Bennick crumpled and the masked man bolted, disappearing behind the orphanage.
Clare shouted for Mark to stay back as she ran to Bennick and dropped beside him, still gripping her wounded arm with one hand. Her free hand swept under the cut on his chest—it wasn’t deep, but there was blood. Blood also trickled from his temple, and he was unconscious.
“Clare!” She jerked around at the shout. Venn was at the head of the alley, his sword drawn and bloody, his chest heaving. Thomas was behind him and Clare let out a shaking breath—they were both safe.
Venn’s eyes fell to Bennick and he stumbled. “Fates, no.”
“He’s alive,” Clare said. “The princess?”
Venn hurried forward, kneeling beside Bennick to inspect the growing lump on his temple. “Cardon and Dirk got her out. They’re probably halfway to the castle by now. The fight’s over—the city guard rallied.” Venn noticed her bleeding arm and swore.
“It’s just a graze,” she assured him. Her eyes darted to her brothers. “Thank you, Venn, for keeping him safe.”
He no
dded once, his eyes still on her arm.
Bennick groaned and Clare’s attention snapped to him. “Bennick?” She called his name again and he blinked. His eyes rolled from Venn to Clare and he stiffened. “You’re hurt,” he slurred. He pushed up, one hand reaching for her.
Venn caught his shoulders when he swayed. “Easy.”
Bennick’s focus narrowed on Clare’s bleeding arm. His fingers curled around hers, peeling them back so he could see the wound. His jaw worked, but after a moment of intense study, he glanced at Venn. “Serene?”
“Secure,” Venn assured him.
“Fates,” Mark breathed. They all turned to look at him, but Mark stared right at Bennick. “You jumped off the roof to save us.”
“I did.” Bennick swallowed, shifting on his knees. “Are you all right?”
Mark nodded, still looking a little awed.
Gavril burst into the alley. He was limping a little and his eyes were frantic. “Clare? Bennick?”
“They’re fine,” Venn said, coming to his feet. “So am I, in case you were worried.”
Gavril paled at the sight of Clare’s bloody arm.
“It’s nothing,” she assured him. “The attacker missed.”
“Mostly,” Venn said.
Bennick shot him a glare. “Not amusing.” He focused back on Gavril. “Coordinate with the city guard. I want any surviving attackers rounded up immediately.”
Gavril bobbed his head and hurried away.
Mark’s eyes were still on Bennick as he eased forward. “You’re going to Mortise too, aren’t you?”
Bennick half-nodded, wincing as his head must have flared with pain. Still, his voice was kind as he answered Mark. “I am.”
Mark pursed his lips, but that couldn’t hide the slight tremble. “Will you keep Clare safe?” It was a plea, and Clare’s heart burned.
Bennick’s focus was entirely on the small boy as he sank to his knees and took Mark’s hand in his. Promise throbbed in his serious voice. “I give you my word—I’ll protect her and bring her back to you.”
Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1) Page 22
