by E. D. Walker
Guillaume frowned but did not probe further.
Thomas casually picked up the thread of the story after the shepherd’s hut. He’d fudged the details there too, she’d noticed, so that Guillaume would not know they had ever been alone together.
Indeed, no one could ever know she and Thomas had been alone together for so long or Aliénor would be utterly ruined. So many traps in this interview with her cousin, so many details to distort and conceal.
Of course, some foolish part of her did not wish to conceal her indiscretion with Thomas. Why should that thought tempt her so? To tell Guillaume everything, to scandalize and shame her kinsman so Guillaume would force Thomas to marry her. Perhaps it was because she could feel Thomas slipping away from her. He’d already let her go on the road outside Anutitum, already switched from calling her “Aliénor” to calling her “Princess.”
Each moment they spent in this city, in their real world, it felt like Thomas was being taken away piece by piece. It made her anxious, desperate, but she had enough good sense left that she did not speak. Guillaume was just as likely to kill Thomas to avenge her honor as to order them married.
No, she had to find another way to keep Thomas. They would be together on the boat up the river. Perhaps that would be enough time, enough privacy for them to figure out a way to keep each other. She smiled a little. Jerdun and Lyond surrendering to one another.
“I do hope you will look at my arrangements on the wall before you take ship, King Thomas.” Guillaume nodded graciously. “Your strategic maneuvers at the siege of Tanab are legendary, and I would appreciate any suggestions you might have for improving the city’s defenses.”
“Of course.” Thomas shifted in his seat and looked suddenly over at Aliénor.
She beamed at him, as warmly as she dared with Guillaume watching, but Thomas’s eyes remained unaccountably sad as he gazed at her.
Thomas wet his lips. “I thank you for all your generosity, Lord Guillaume, but I must tell you that I do not plan to take ship with the princess tomorrow.”
“No?”
“What?” Aliénor half started from her chair before she remembered herself. Heart in her throat, she clasped her hands together in her lap. “King Thomas, what do you mean?”
He turned from her. “I mean to stay in Anutitum. Lord Guillaume, I mean to help you defend your city.”
Chapter Nineteen
Guillaume’s face split wide in happy shock, his teeth shinning as he grinned at Thomas. “This is generosity unlooked-for, King Thomas. I thank you and most humbly accept your sword to help me defend Anutitum.”
Aliénor’s body felt frozen and on fire all at once. She could not move, could not speak. Inside it felt like her entire body was a tumultuous mess. As if Tiochene raiders were tearing and looting through the chambers of her heart. Burning everything in their wake with spell-fire. “Thomas, no. You can’t. You mustn’t.”
His chair creaked as he gripped the arms tight. He did not look at her. “I set out to defend my people from the Tiochene, and I miserably failed at that. I would like now to help Lord Guillaume defend his city. I am a soldier and a knight. I am an old soldier, but my arm is still strong, my sword sharp. I can be of use here.”
Guillaume cleared his throat and made a show of shuffling the papers on his desk. “Cousin Aliénor, perhaps you would like to eat and wash up. I will let you know what arrangements have been made to get you and your ladies safely away.”
Aliénor shoved to her feet, her chair clattering behind her. Accepting her dismissal with lowered eyes and a raging heart, she walked out of the room. Oh, Thomas, you fool. You stubborn, honorable, wonderful fool.
***
Thomas and Guillaume stayed closeted together another hour or so, discussing how best to get Aliénor and her ladies safely away. After that was settled, their talk turned to how best to deploy the limited number of troops available, what precautions to take against magic, catapults, fire, disease…
Guillaume was an intelligent enough soldier, conscientious but unimaginative, and his prejudice against magic seemed to Thomas to have left Anutitum dangerously vulnerable. Nothing to do about that now.
Thomas was exhausted by the time their talk wrapped up. He read a similar weariness in Guillaume as the younger man pushed away from his desk and stood. Thomas clapped Guillaume on the shoulder. “You should rest, Lord Guillaume. And eat.”
Guillaume waved a dismissive hand. “I will by and by. Once I’ve secured the boat for Princess Aliénor. I do not wish to waste a moment in getting her away to safety.”
“No. Nor I.” She’d looked so hurt, so betrayed when Thomas said he meant to stay behind. He’d hated to do it, but he was a knight. A solider. He could not walk away from this fight and still call himself an honorable man.
Guillaume was watching him and opened his mouth as if to speak.
Thomas raised an eyebrow in challenge.
The younger man snapped his mouth shut with a small, self-conscious laugh. “Until tomorrow, King Thomas.”
“Until tomorrow.”
When Thomas stepped into the hall, he was tired enough that a small growl of irritation escaped him at the sight of Llewellyn waiting for him there. “What?”
“We’re staying behind, my lord?” The magician’s voice was bone-dry.
“No. I’m staying behind with any of our other knights who wish to fight. You are going on ahead with Princess Aliénor to make sure that she gets to safety.” Thomas started down the hallway in the direction his guest room was supposed to be in.
Llewellyn fell in step beside him. “And I don’t suppose you’ll see her again before she leaves.”
“Perhaps in passing.” Thomas clenched his fists at his side. Llewellyn must know this was a fresh wound for him, so why the devil did his magician insist on poking it? Too tired to pretend this conversation was about something else, Thomas huffed out a gusty sigh. “I’m too old for her anyway.”
Llewellyn snorted. “She has the makings of a queen, sire. A great queen. You’re a fool if you let her go.” The magician said no more, merely stomped ahead of Thomas down the hallway, and pushed one of the doors open ahead of him. “This is your chamber. Rest well, sire.”
“Llewellyn.” Thomas caught his friend’s arm. “You were the one who warned me away from her. Political consequences. A possible war with Jerdun. What has become of your objections now?” Thomas shouldn’t have been so mad, but hot anger spiked inside his veins all the same.
Llewellyn shook his head, a muscle ticking in the magician’s jaw. “You think any of that matters now with the Tiochene army about to fall on our heads?”
“What?”
“You want to stay behind and do the honorable thing. I understand that, and I would stay behind to die bravely with you if you would let me.”
“No. You’re to go with the princess.”
“I know. I am.” Llewellyn fisted his hands and shook them in front of his face with a low growl of frustration. “My king, I know what it is to lose someone. So do you. Don’t double your regrets and hers.”
Thomas winced. “Do you really think it would be a kindness for me to speak to Aliénor now? To tell her now?”
“You think it a kindness never to speak?” Llewellyn swallowed. “Go to her, Thomas.”
Thomas ached inside, as if iron bands were slowly constricting around his chest. “I thank you for your wise counsel.” Llewellyn’s mouth snapped open to retort, but Thomas held a hand up to forestall him. “No. Really. Thank you. I will consider what you’ve said. Good night, my friend.”
Llewellyn bowed. “Good night, my king.”
Thomas stood for a long time staring at the open door to his chamber, thinking. At last, with a sigh, he went inside and firmly shut the door.
***
Aliénor bathed and ate and changed into clean, dry clothes—three things that she’d been dreaming about for months, and she barely noticed, barely cared. Thomas was staying behind. Thomas was
abandoning her. Still she felt only a melancholy resignation. This is who he is. This is what he does. She would not care so much for him if he were not so admirable and good. It was wrong of her to wish him to betray his honor just to be with her.
That didn’t stop her from wishing he would, though.
She slept but little that night and woke early to an urgent summons from Guillaume. Her river boat was ready, and she had to leave at once for the docks. She and her ladies all helped each other dress in the near dark, Noémi braiding her hair and Violette’s since the girl’s wrist was still too injured to use. Aliénor doing up Noémi’s gown and Violette’s. Aliénor was getting quite deft at all the chores her ladies used to do for her.
The ladies had nothing of their own, so there was nothing left to pack. They made impressive speed out of the palace and down to the docks. Indeed, they moved with such haste and bustle that she hardly had time to think about the fact that Thomas had not come to see her, had not even said good-bye.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Violette asked.
“Just tired.” True enough, if incomplete.
“Aren’t we all,” Noémi drawled.
The smell of the river reached them first, a surprisingly clean scent. Rich and earthy. The gurgle of the water sloshing against the dock made Aliénor wistful somehow.
“I wonder if your cousin will be at the docks to say good-bye. He’s quite handsome.” Violette dimpled at the thought, and Aliénor couldn’t quite tell if the girl was thinking of Guillaume for herself or as a match for Aliénor. It hardly matters. If the Tiochene take the city—but Aliénor shook her head, unwilling even to finish that thought.
Guillaume was indeed waiting for them, and Llewellyn and—her breath caught—Thomas. He must have taken the time to clean up and borrow clothes from someone, for he looked magnificent. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his long, muscular body showed to advantage in the chain mail and crisp green surcoat he wore. Someone had given him a sweeping white cloak with a tasseled hood. A very dashing style. He looked like a king out of one of the old story collections her father used to read to the household at night. She wanted to fling herself toward Thomas so badly that she had to curl her fingers into balls, crushing the fabric of her skirts to stop from reaching for him.
“Cousin.” Guillaume led her forward by the hand. The river churned ahead of them, looking like molten gold in the gentle pink dawn. Her ship was of simple design with a flat bottom almost like a skiff’s, one lone sail, and a small, squat box, which was to be her cabin on the trip. “Forgive the simplicity, cousin. You understand I have no grander crafts to offer you.”
“It’s fine, Guillaume.”
“Princess Aliénor.”
She actually flinched at the sound of Thomas’s voice, and it took all her self-control to turn and look him in the eye. “Yes, King Thomas?”
“I will pray for your safety every moment.” He lowered his voice, and his gaze fluttered away from hers. “I am sorrier than I can ever say to part from you.”
Of a sudden, anger flared inside her, a burning resentment that he should send her away, that he would deny what was between them at such a time as this.
Thomas must have seen some of this in her face, for his forehead crinkled, and he actually reached over to cup her elbow. “My lady—”
“Fire,” Violette screamed, pointing. “The ship is on fire.”
Aliénor whirled around, gaping in shock and dismay as the little ship went up with a whoosh of flame.
Guillaume was yelling for a bucket line when an arrow slammed into his shoulder, spinning him to the ground. Screams and cries erupted on the dock, and Aliénor’s blood went cold as she heard the high, familiar war cry of the Tiochene. Two dozen of them came running out of one of the side streets, swords drawn and already bloody. A few of their archers stayed behind a sheltering wall and fired their deadly bows at the crowd on the dock. No spell-casters yet, though.
“Rally to me!” Guillaume roared as he pushed to his feet, one hand clasped around the arrow in his shoulder.
Someone hauled on her arm, yanking her away. “Run, Aliénor.” Thomas shoved her in front of him, his face a mask of panic. “Run.” An arrow stuck out of one of his arms, and even as she watched, he snapped the end off and tossed it away. “Go. Please.” His voice was hoarse, frantic.
Aliénor tried to go toward him, wanting to help, to keep him close. She dragged her fingers through her hair, looking for the damn cursed hairpin, ready to stick all the Tiochene with it if she had to—
“My lady, let’s go.” Llewellyn caught her around the waist, bodily lifting her up, and dragged her away from Thomas.
She screamed and kicked, her heart in her throat, the hairpin forgotten. “Thomas.”
“Peace,” Llewellyn snapped out and tapped her temple. A little spark stung against her skin. Black clouded her vision as her body went limp in the magician’s arms. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was Thomas cradling his injured arm as his sword clanged against that of a Tiochene warrior. Thomas grunted and lifted his arm for another swing. The Tiochene slashed with her own blade—
Aliénor fought to stay awake, to see, but at last the blackness snatched her away, and she knew no more.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m sorry, Princess.”
Aliénor blinked and stirred. Her head felt foggy, her limbs sluggish. She stretched, trying to warm her body up, to make her mind kindle with something besides fatigue. “What happened?”
“A small force of the Tiochene were let in by a traitor on the walls.” Llewellyn’s voice. “We fought them off at the docks, but the assault on Anutitum has begun in earnest. I’m sorry, Princess, it is probably too late for you to get out of the city.”
As memory returned, she sat bolt upright in bed and gripped the magician's arm tight. “Thomas?”
“The king lives. He went with Lord Guillaume to check the wall, but he'll be back later to see you.”
“Good.” That done, she cuffed Llewellyn hard across the face. Crack. “You bastard.”
He sat there a moment with his pale cheek flaming red, not moving. Then he sighed and worked his jaw, wincing. “Fair enough.”
“Do not ever, ever use your magic on me again, do you understand?”
“I had to get you to safety.”
“And carrying my lifeless carcass is, of course, much easier than simply directing me where to go.”
He gave her a deeply sardonic look. “You would have left the king to fight then? If I had asked you nicely?”
Aliénor primly clasped her hands in her lap. “How’s this: I will endeavor not to panic in the future if you will promise to treat me as a rational, useful adult and not an idiot child who needs protecting even from herself. Deal?”
Llewellyn winced and looked away. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good.” She glanced around at her surroundings. The room was an opulent bedchamber with silken curtains and a heavy jacquard blanket over the feather mattress. “Where are we?”
“A nobleman’s house near the dock. Guillaume is still hoping to get you out on a boat, I think. Anyway, the palace isn’t safe anymore. If the city is overrun, that is the last place any of us want to be.”
Panic flared inside Aliénor like lit tinder. “Noémi? Violette? Are they—”
“Safe below, tending the wounded. After I carried you here, it became a sort of field hospital for those injured at the dock.”
Aliénor sagged with relief that her ladies were all right. If ever she made it safely home to her own castle, she would kiss the stones beneath her feet with gratitude.
“Master Llewellyn?” Violette’s voice called up from downstairs.
“Yes, Lady Violette?” Llewellyn yelled back.
“King Thomas has returned. Did you take your nasty curse off my lady yet?” Violette’s voice was unmistakably surly.
Aliénor bit back a laugh. “I’m all right, Violette. I’m coming down now.”
“Aliénor.” The low timbre of Thomas’s voice filled the crowded space.
Tears stung her eyes as she wheeled around to face him. His white cape was torn, his chain mail bloodied. A smudge of dirt stained his nose. A cut bled down his cheek.
She flung herself at him and gripped him tight around his waist. He embraced her just as hard with one arm. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and took a deep breath, whispering, “Aliénor, Aliénor,” over and over like a benediction.
“Come upstairs and let Llewellyn see to your wounds.”
Thomas leaned heavily on her as they staggered up the stairs together with Llewellyn following behind.
The arrow of that morning was still stuck in Thomas’s arm, the barbed head caught with the links of his chain mail and half sticking out of the meat of his bicep. Llewellyn growled and swore when he saw the wound. “Lord Guillaume came earlier to have the arrow taken out of his shoulder. Why did you wait so long for yours?”
As the magician prodded his wound, Thomas grunted. “I took command so that Guillaume would have time to have his wound seen to. He was hurt much worse than I.”
Llewellyn made another impatient tsk. He’d brought his kit with him and began stripping away the links of broken chain mail with a small tool.
Thomas hissed and flinched. Aliénor squeezed his hand and smoothed back his sweat-soaked hair with a cool cloth. Thomas closed his eyes and hummed with pleasure. “Thank you, my lady.”
Aliénor’s heart hurt, pounding so hard with fear for him that she thought she might be sick. Still, she sponged his brow, singing a little under her breath. She smiled when she realized it was that song he'd been singing in camp all those weeks ago. That song about the maiden of spring with flowers wound in her hair.
