As if intended by the Virtues to further enhance the bedlam surrounding them, a large, rusted catapult came crashing down off the seventy-foot-tall ramparts, having succumbed to the flames that had reached the outer defenses of Fort Vyndheim.
Prelate Brath cursed under his breath and took off running to assist two acolytes who had been trapped underneath the carcass of the fiery catapult.
Without an answer, George weighed his options. “We’ll see if we can barricade the horses in the back of the compound for now. Behind the main tower.”
Ivan tossed the buckets of water he still held on the roof of a small outhouse. “I can’t believe this fort was built without a back exit.”
While George had to agree, he knew the logic behind the security measure. “The Children of the Virtues were outnumbered greatly in the War for the Rebirth. With only one entrance built into the ramparts of Fort Vyndheim, they were able to manage their resources more effectively, should the enemy attack the garrison. The place was designed for siege.”
Ivan scoffed as they made a mad dash for the nearby stables, the cries of the horses carrying in the wind.
While the breeze was a cooling relief, its presence only put George more on edge. If the wind picked up any further, it would spell disaster for what little progress they’d made combating the fire.
Each captain murmured words of reassurance as they gathered the nervous horses on their leads. Leading four animals out of the stable at a time, George and Ivan made haste toward the rear of the fortress grounds.
They passed rows and rows of shacks and sheds as they urged the animals onward. George scanned the small, sturdy buildings. No doubt, centuries ago they had provided shelter to the rebels who’d risen against the corrupt oppression of the Ancient Faith. Now, the storehouses contained everything from food to weapons, as Darian Fangard had obviously planned to convert Fort Vyndheim into a fully functioning military garrison once the War Council had concluded. Yet, all these resources now served a new purpose: fuel for the growing fire.
Another twenty minutes had been lost to them by the time they secured the last beast. George had to give the animals credit. Despite their fear, they seemed to sense that panicking would do no one any good. Giving his mare a fond pat, George sought out Mortimer and checked on the midnight stallion. Jax would be heartbroken if anything were to happen to her dear friend who’d seen her through so many adventures.
Mortimer anxiously dug a hoof into the packed ground, his nickering ceasing slightly upon George’s arrival at his side. Wishing there was more he could do to assuage the horse’s unease, George simply stroked the long, raven mane with his soiled palm.
He remembered the first time he’d met the Crepstian stallion. Jax had been so proud to show off the majestic creature, and for the first time in his life, George had been truly envious of her. Yes, perhaps when he was young and naive, before coming to the palace, he envied the wealth and prestige of the Xavier family. But shortly after he’d joined the Ducal Guard and met Jax, he’d come to realize just how isolating and lonely a life she led. For all her wealth and power, her happiness seemed fleeting, for riches and influence did not bring the same joy as friendship, loyalty, family, and love.
Why is it so hard for you to believe I want to be with you? Why is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t want to live a life where you’re not by my side? The Crown…it means nothing if I can’t be with the one I love. You matter most to me, George. Please…
The memory startled him, her haunting confession still echoing in his mind after all these years. George’s jaw clenched as he pictured the beautiful young woman standing before him in the palace gardens, her caramel hair glistening in the moonlight, a sheen of desire and longing perspiring all over her flushed face. She was willing to give up everything for me. Why didn’t I let her? The question plagued his thoughts every night as he lay alone, thinking of the life he could have had with Jax as his partner, his wife, his love. Even after all this time, as their passion grew into deep, unyielding friendship, she was still the queen of his heart.
A soft whinny pulled him from the chasm of despair opening within his wearied core. Mortimer’s steadfast gaze calmed George’s racing heart, bringing him a measure of comfort he didn’t know he’d been seeking. His muscles loosened at the base of his neck as George ran his hand along the stallion’s sturdy yet refined back. “Be safe, my friend.” He patted the animal one last time before joining Ivan, leaving the tormenting memories of his past behind for now.
“The wind is picking up even more,” his Pettraudian counterpart announced with grave concern.
George ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “We’re already struggling to control the fire. If it continues to pick up steam, I’m not sure we stand a chance.” He surveyed the numerous small buildings scattered around the back of the compound, noting the flammable elements of each one.
“The prelate has called all the Knights into action and sent a rider to Fort Uhstal for reinforcements.” Defeat rang in the air. “What more can we do?”
George calmed his warring anxieties stoked by Ivan’s despair. Fort Uhstal was over a two-hour ride away. They didn’t have that kind of time to wait for aid to arrive. He also didn’t want to think about the sovereigns of the realm having no one inside protecting them. Imagining Jax sleeping in her room without a guard posted at her door sent his muscles into a tight spasm. Pushing her serene face aside, he stared at the inferno raging in the courtyard. He had to focus on the real threat at hand: the fire.
His fist clenched at his side. “We can give up and let the fire win.”
Ivan did a doubletake, his expression incredulous. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Because we have to think about the bigger picture. This fort can be rebuilt once the fire has run its course.” George felt his resolve grow. “What we cannot rebuild is the power currently trapped inside those walls.” He pointed to the central tower, the main building of Fort Vyndheim. “We need to retreat and get the sovereigns out of here. To safety.”
“But how?” Ivan frowned. “You just said it was too risky to open the gates. Even the slightest movement could bring that whole chunk of wall crashing down.”
George pointed a finger at Ivan, indicating he’d hit the mark. “And that’s exactly what we need to have happen.”
‡
Prelate Brath lifted a skeptical eyebrow as George outlined his plan. “You want to bring down the entire front gate on purpose?”
“Once it’s down, we can guarantee the Dukes and Duchesses safe passage through the ramparts.” George pointed to the fiery gate with urgency. “With the wall breached, we can get them out of here without risking anything else falling on top of them.”
Brath bristled at George’s tone. “And what, we’re just supposed to leave Fort Vyndheim to smolder?”
“You were hired to protect the War Council, were you not?” George countered. “The War Council is a people, not a place. I’m sure Duke Cetachi would rather have his life saved than a repairable garrison.”
The prelate’s brassy gaze raced along the courtyard, assessing the futile attempts to contain the wayward fire. “If we’re to bring down the gate, we first need to secure a safehouse outside the fortress for the sovereigns to hide out in while we wait for assistance from Fort Uhstal.”
“The Captain of the Cetachi Ducal Guard must be familiar with these lands,” Ivan interjected. “He could provide us with a secure location.”
Brath scratched at his soot-streaked beard. “I’ll have my men work on bringing down the gate and the surrounding wall. You two are charged with coordinating with the Cetachian and finding us a safehouse. I can’t allow the sovereigns outside the security of this fort only to be picked off by wild beasts while sitting out in the open.”
George gave the man a curt nod. He knew the deadly predators that stalked the wilds of the north. He didn’t want that, either. “Understood, Prelate. How soon can you have the entryway down
for us to pass?”
“Give us an hour.”
George’s chocolate gaze surveyed the growing inferno, flailing fiery arms reaching into the waning night sky. He prayed they had that long.
Chapter Twelve
With Katalina’s words echoing in her feverish mind, Jax followed Ziri along the first-floor passageway. The trio hurried to Waylon Beautraud’s chamber, passing by Duke Savant’s room for now. Given that they’d already questioned Qylvard and Delphinia and hit a dead end, Jax hoped to learn something from Savant’s other allies that might explain why Florian had been silenced so gruesomely. While Savant appeared to have no injuries as well as an alibi for Florian’s time of death, that didn’t mean he hadn’t somehow orchestrated the Duke’s demise for a nefarious reason.
Perry matched her quick strides, his gaze laden with concern. “Waylon was part of the Ogdam Oasis plot to poison you, dearest. Are you sure it’s wise for us to confront him without adequate protection?”
Jax scowled at her husband. “I am going to pretend you didn’t just say that. We’re under the guard of the future Prelate of the Knights of Grace, or have you forgotten?”
Perry’s cheeks flushed with ripe shame, his lavender eyes darting over to Ziri Axesinger. Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t think that Ziri alone was sufficient enough to defend against the wily Duke Beautraud. “I mean no offense to our new friend, but—”
A ring of smooth steel sang throughout the corridor as Ziri twirled, leveling a glinting dagger at Perry’s throat. Before either Jax or Perry could shout or cry out in response, she leaped away, sliding her blade back into the folds of her tunic. “Offense was taken, Duke Pettraud. Please do not underestimate my effectiveness when it comes to protecting my charges.”
Stunned, Perry rubbed his pale neck, his swallow audible.
Jax regained her senses first. “In the future, Ziri, should you ever feel the need to demonstrate your impressive prowess, I’d appreciate it if you’d forgo using my husband as a target.” Her reprimand was cool, yet veiled with dark humor.
The acolyte merely dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “Given Duke Pettraud is a former knight, and Duke Beautraud has not taken up a sword himself in decades, are you satisfied there is no immediate threat in questioning the Duke that I cannot handle, Duquessa?”
A smirk stretched across Jax’s lips. “I didn’t need any persuading to begin with. But I suppose my husband has learned his lesson.” She eyed Perry, hoping this would be the last time he would ever miscalculate a woman’s power.
“Lead on,” Perry managed to croak out, strangled by his own embarrassment.
With leonine grace, Ziri took the lead once more, escorting them down the expansive tower hallway. The light of the moonstone had completely faded by now, waiting and ready to be recharged by the light of dawn, which was likely not far off. Instead, Perry wielded a torch to banish the looming shadows around them.
Waylon’s chamber was located in the northwest wing of the fortress. Wondering what kind of thought Darian had put into the room assignments, Jax waited while Ziri unlocked the door with her master key. A resounding chorus of knocking summoned Waylon Beautraud to the doorway, his eyes as wild as his mane of auburn hair.
“What’s the meanin’ of this?” In his groggy state, his thick Beautraudian brogue danced off his tongue. His bare chest puffed out in defiance when his regal eyes settled on Jax, his appearance making it impossible to miss the bandage wrapped around his left bicep. “What are ye doin’, wakin’ me up like this?”
Perry and Jax shared a knowing look before answering. Based on the blood they had found on Florian’s sword, he’d managed to injure his attacker, and here stood Waylon before them with a bandaged arm.
“Duke Beautraud,” Ziri said in a seductive murmur, “I’m afraid we have some unfortunate news to report. Duke Florian Hestes was found dead in the grand hall a few hours ago.”
Waylon scoffed as he leaned against the doorway. “Yer jokin’.”
Jax stepped forward. “Unfortunately not, Waylon.”
“And yer lookin’ into the matter, are ye?” The burly Duke folded his arms across his broad chest. “What’s to say ye didn’t kill Florian for turning his back on ye?” Rounding on the Knight of Grace, Waylon pointed at Jax’s chest. “I think yer culprit’s right there.”
“Duchess Xavier and Duke Pettraud both have alibis during the time Duke Hestes was slain.” Ziri stood at her full height, tipping her chin upward to meet Waylon eye for eye. “Which is why they’ve been tasked with assisting me in this investigation.”
Jax ignored Waylon’s grumbling sputters. “Upon examining the body, we found evidence suggesting Florian wounded his attacker.” She openly eyed his bandaged arm.
Waylon followed her gaze, and a fleeting look of shock danced across his face. His expression then hardened.
“Care to show us exactly what you are covering up?” Jax raised an eyebrow.
The Duke growled, reminding her of a surly lion. “How dare ye imply I’d kill Florian. The man was an ally of the Coalition o’ Right.”
Perry took a protective stance next to Jax. “An ally who failed in his task to deliver shipments of poisoned Hestian wine to our ducal forces.”
Jax recalled Waylon’s quiet rage at the Coalition’s plan being foiled. Perhaps he blamed Florian for not delivering the laced wine to their enemies sooner?
The Beautraudian bared his teeth at Perry’s suggestion. “If anyone should be punished for that plot going awry, it should be Qylvard, spouting off our plans like he did.” His meaty fists clenched at the mention of Savant’s name. “He’s always underestimated ye, Jacqueline. Don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell him yer not to be trifled with, but the bloody bugger still hasn’t learned.”
Jax suppressed a smile, finding it strange to be oddly complimented by the man who’d had a hand in one of the attempts made on her life.
“Florian was a good man. He didn’t deserve the gruesome hand life dealt him.” Waylon spoke with surprising sincerity, a haunting look in his gaze. “What happened to his children was horrible.”
When she’d been informed of the news, Jax had lost her breath. So many young lives, so much potential…snuffed out by the waves of the cruel sea. Yet, here Waylon Beautraud stood before her, displaying more sympathy for Florian in death than Jax had in life. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to reach out to Florian in the weeks following the loss of his children. If she had, maybe he never would have left her flock. She cursed her self-preserving cowardice, for she had remained hidden away in Saphire, afraid of who might try to kill her next.
“The death of his heirs was tragic,” Jax finally agreed, eager to move on from the subject. “And from what we hear, he decided to join the Coalition of Right shortly after their passing.”
The skin around Waylon’s royal eyes twitched. “That he did.”
“The timing seems rather curious,” she began, folding her arms across her chest, “doesn’t it?”
Waylon gave an unaffected shrug. “I’m sure a lot o’ things were put into perspective for him, losing his family such as he did. Qylvard’s powers of persuasion rarely fail him.”
Jax pressed her lips together, annoyed. He was hiding something; she was sure of it. Waylon’s aloof remarks made her wonder if Savant had managed to orchestrate the deaths of the Hestian Crown Prince and his sisters. Had Florian found out his allies had a hand in the deaths of his heirs? Had he confronted Waylon about his suspicions and lashed out? Maybe Waylon had simply killed the man in self-defense…
Ziri interrupted her line of questioning. “Duke Beautraud, since we know Duke Hestes managed to injure his attacker, I must examine your wound.” She glanced at Jax out of the corner of her shrewd gaze, speaking to her as much as Waylon. “There is a killer running loose, and time is of the essence. For the safety and security of the War Council, I’m afraid I have to insist.”
Waylon stepped back from the acolyte, hi
s expression contorted with rage. “I did not kill Florian.”
“Then you shouldn’t object to us confirming your bandaged wound was not made by his blade,” Jax countered.
With a grunt of defeated acquiescence, Waylon set about unwinding the bandage clinging to his arm. As he peeled away the last layer of cloth, a breathtakingly elaborate coat of arms revealed itself, inked into the man’s broad shoulder, the family crest of Beautraud proudly on display.
While beautiful, Jax noted a distinct redness where Waylon’s pale skin fused with the edges of the ink. “A recent tattoo?”
He gave her a gruff nod. “Right before I left for the War Council. I figured, should my body become separated from my head, I wanted each part o’ me to be identifiable.”
Jax did not shy away from his poignant glare. “You’ve always struck me as someone who likes to be prepared, Waylon.”
The corner of his lips curled upward at her dark humor. Seeing it brought a wave of sadness down on her. Virtues, it hadn’t been but five years ago that she’d attended a grand Beautraudian gala, laughing at the Duke’s clever jokes all evening. My, how times have changed.
“Anything more ye need?” Annoyance returned to Waylon’s features. “Or may I get some more shut-eye before morning arrives?”
Jax inwardly sighed, having hit yet another dead end. She’d known the moment Waylon had started to unwrap his shoulder that he wasn’t their killer, despite the self-defense theory she’d concocted. If Waylon had been the one Florian attacked, he never would have revealed his wound so quickly. “We’re sorry to have awakened you. Good night.” She dipped her chin and departed, Ziri and Perry trailing behind her.
“Duke Henrik Crepsta’s room is next,” the acolyte announced.
Jax waved for the warrior to lead the way, her thoughts a tangled mess from what had befallen Florian. She and Perry hadn’t come across anyone when they’d left their rooms earlier to find the source of the outside commotion. But based on the warmth of Florian’s body when they’d found him, he’d only been dead a short while, minutes even. How had the killer navigated the fortress unseen?
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