by Gaelen Foley
“I’m happy to do my part, but I want one alteration to the plan,” she said.
Reynulf’s lips twisted at this new attempt to get her way.
“After I get you into the palace, I want to go to the library before coming right back to the Eldenhold. I need to research this plant.” She showed him the thistle insignia again. “I just know in my bones that it has something to do with whatever’s affecting Lord Eudo.”
Thaydor narrowed his eyes at her, considering her request with a smile toying at his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”
“Well, I am the daughter of a great merchant, aren’t I? Come, it’s a library, Thaydor. How much trouble can I really get into amongst the bookshelves? It’s not as though the Urmugoths are going to be there studying. Plus, it’s on the opposite side of the city from Concourse Square.”
“She might be right about the plant,” Jonty pointed out with a shrug. “Maybe it is poison. Stranger things have happened.”
“Very well, if you think so, then you can go with her,” Thaydor said to the bard. “You boys, as well.”
The squires were horrified at this assignment.
“Oh, sir!” Kai protested. “Play nursemaid?”
“And miss the battle?” Petra cried.
“Please, no!” Jeremy begged him.
“You heard me. This is a very important mission, keeping my lady safe. Serve with honor and I will remember it for next time.”
The boys glanced at one another, looking completely disgusted. Wrynne hid a smile.
“I’ll never get to kill an Urmugoth,” Jeremy huffed under his breath.
Reynulf leaned over and gave the lad a mild smack in the back of the head. “Just shut up and follow orders.”
Thaydor then chose three very large and scary-looking knights as her bodyguards. Unlike the boys, these stood stoically and did not argue with their orders.
Only Reynulf was annoyed. “We can’t spare three of our best men for this. Let her wait until afterward.”
“I’ll give the orders,” Thaydor said matter-of-factly. “Or maybe we just need one, Bloodletter. Care to volunteer?”
“No!” Wrynne and Reynulf exclaimed in unison.
Thaydor snorted. “I thought not.”
Reynulf sighed and looked away, shaking his head, but Wrynne touched her husband’s arm softly. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps if all goes smoothly, you won’t even need to return to the Eldenhold. Then you’ll be closer at hand when the battle’s over,” he murmured with a meaningful stare.
She blushed and dropped her gaze, well aware of his preferred way of celebrating a victory. Cheeks blazing, she peeked at him from beneath her lashes, more than happy to oblige. It seemed they’d have to wait until later to really make up. He gave her a discreet wink that assured her he’d be looking forward to it, too.
* * *
Before long, it was time to go.
As the wee hours of the night crept on, they carried out the plan just as Thaydor had described it. The loyal sentries posted at the city’s West Gate let them in; the company of rebel knights streamed through without a word.
Once inside the city, they split up into their designated teams. Wrynne took Thaydor, Jonty, the boys, and her three designated bodyguards to her father’s office. They slipped into the building quietly. Wrynne moved around the offices in the dark until she located her father’s vault key under a loose brick in the fireplace in his office. In all these years, he’d never moved it, she thought in amusement.
Oh, Papa.
While her guards kept watch around the building outside, the boys carried in Thaydor’s suit of armor, a couple of shields, and extra weapons for safekeeping.
Thaydor meant to leave the items here until they were needed tomorrow. The location of her father’s company offices was close to Concourse Square. It would serve as a convenient retreat once he had played his role disguised as the executioner and rescued the king.
He intended to bring Baynard here as a brief first stop to get him out of immediate danger. Then he would quickly don his armor before conducting His Majesty to the greater safety of the Eldenhold, if necessary.
The boys marveled over Hallowsmite in the midst of their task, while Wrynne led Thaydor and Jonty down into the cellar to open her father’s vault.
Once they were below ground, Jonty lit a candle and held it up for her so she could see what she was doing. Thaydor had forbidden it upstairs, fearing the light would shine out between the shutters and their presence would be noticed.
Unlocking her father’s strongbox, she quickly sorted through the papers inside and unrolled several scrolls until she finally found the one she was looking for. “Lionsclaw Keep. Here it is.”
“I’ll bet he wasn’t supposed to keep this,” the bard remarked.
“Probably not,” she admitted as she unfurled it fully and laid it on the rough worktable in the center of the dim room. “But men like my father have a way of looking out for their own interests.” She put paperweights around the edges of the architectural drawing to keep it from rolling back up again.
Just then, the boys joined them, noisily clambering down the wooden steps to the cellar.
“Did you find it?” Kai asked, joining them at the table.
“We did,” she answered, while Thaydor spent a few minutes scanning the sketch and memorizing the castle’s layout.
“All right. I’ve got it. We’ll go to the wall right about here.” He tapped a particular line on the drawing and then looked at Wrynne.
She nodded, and they set out once more.
The city was dark and still and eerie, the moonlight silvering the outlines of buildings and walls. Wrynne found the silence of the normally bustling capital unnerving, but it was nothing compared to the dread that stole her breath when they spotted a pair of Urms on patrol farther down the very street where they were headed.
Their whole party ducked out of sight. Wrynne shrank into the shadows behind Thaydor, who put his arm out to guard her, but the creatures marched past without even noticing them.
Exhaling en masse, they pressed on.
A little farther along their stealthy trek through the sleeping city, they passed one of the streets leading into Victory Plaza, where the queen’s body would lie in state, just a few blocks away from Concourse Square.
Wrynne stopped in her tracks at the sight of two white banners erected on posts on either side of the lane feeding in to the plaza. The banners bore the same silver thistle-shaped symbol as the Urm’s armband.
She poked Thaydor in the side and pointed at them. “Now do you believe me?” she whispered.
He furrowed his brow, glancing at her with an air of distraction. “Come on, we’re almost there.”
She said nothing more as they hurried on.
At last, they arrived at the spot by the wall that he had chosen for his entrance point. Thaydor gave a few final instructions to the knights assigned as her bodyguards, and then offered the trio of squires a brief word of sympathy. “Don’t worry, they’ll be plenty more battles to be fought when you’re older.”
“Yes, sir,” they said, still rather crestfallen.
He turned and offered Jonty his hand.
The bard clasped it heartily. “Good luck in there.”
“Thanks. Look after her for me, would you?”
“Do my best.”
Thaydor clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to Wrynne. “Ready?”
Now that the moment was upon them, she had to bite her tongue against the urge to beg him not to go. But she knew he had to do this. He was the Paladin of Ilios.
Somehow she found the strength to give him a cheerful nod, and spine straight, she walked by his side over to the massive outer wall of the castle. Based on her father’s plans, they had determined the dungeon lay just on the other side.
They looked at each other as they stood in the moonlight.
“Well, here we go again,” she said. “Two wanted fugitives br
eaking into another dungeon. We must be mad.”
He smiled back with far more feeling in his eyes than there was time to express. “This time it’s my turn.” He took her hand, the moon’s glow shining around his golden hair like a halo. “Are we all right, then, you and I?” he asked.
“You tell me. I’m not angry anymore,” she confessed in an earnest whisper.
“Neither am I.” He paused, searching her face. “I’m sorry if I was too hard on you. I can be such a Clank sometimes.”
“No, no, you were right, anyway. You always are.”
“No, I’m not. Not always.”
“Usually.”
“Usually,” he admitted, one corner of his mouth lifting in a rueful smile. “As long as you still love me. That’s all I care about.”
“Thaydor…I’ll always love you. No matter what.” She moved closer and embraced him.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, resting his head on top of hers. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering how she could help him do something so suicidal.
“I love you so much,” she breathed, her cheek pressed to his chest. “I know you have to do this—it’s who you are—but please be careful. You’re everything to me.”
“You’re everything to me, too, my sweet demoiselle.” The fierce intensity in his whisper belied the softness of the kiss he placed on her head as he held her. “Don’t worry. This will be over before you know it. But in the meanwhile, just know how much I love you.”
He pulled back just a little and lifted her face with a tender touch under her chin. She looked into his eyes.
“You are my joy, Wrynne. My vision of all that’s beautiful in the world. You’re the very embodiment of everything I’ve spent my life fighting for. That’s why you have to promise me that you’ll be careful, too. I need you as I need no one else.”
Tears sprang into her eyes at his heartfelt words. It took a moment to find her voice.
“Ah, don’t fret for my sake, husband,” she forced out with a teasing smile. “I’ll be wary of all those menacing books.”
He tapped her on the nose. “I mean it. If you run into any trouble at all, hasten yourself out of there. Don’t stay behind to see about the men—not even those idiot boys. They’ve got training. They can fight their way out if it comes to it. You’re what’s important. As long as I know you’re safe, I can do whatever needs to be done.”
She held his gaze, her arms around his lean waist. “I’ll be safe, I promise. Just get through this in one piece, all right? Then we’ll celebrate your victory. Privately.”
“Mmm, you do know how to bribe a man.” He bent his head and kissed her. The silky glide of his tongue parted her lips, then plunged into her open mouth, deep and hot and wet, an unspoken promise of what he’d do to her later.
When he finally released her, she leaned on her walking staff to keep herself upright, dizzied with delicious arousal.
A breathless giggle escaped her. “Well then! Let’s get this over with, shall we? Go save the king and win the battle so I can give you your prize.”
“You are my prize,” he growled, running a smoldering glance over the length of her body. “And don’t you forget it.”
She turned bright red. “Such wickedness from the paladin!” she whispered.
He raised a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
She shivered with anticipation at the hunger in his eyes.
“And now I become Monsieur Death. Don’t scream,” he added wryly. He pulled the grim black hood of the executioner on over his head and presented himself. “How do I look? Scary?”
She arched a brow. “Terrifying, dear. Here. Take my hand.”
He did, firmly.
“Into the dungeon with you now.”
“And for you, right back out again and straight on to the library. Either head back to the Eldenhold as soon as you find what you’re looking for, or just stay there till I send for you. Your guards can decide which seems best at the time. They’re seasoned warriors, Wrynne, and good men—despite their antics at Fonja. Either way, you’ll be quite safe.”
“Which of us are you trying to convince now? Stop worrying, I’ll be fine.” She paused and looked at him. “Except for missing you.”
“I love you,” the new executioner replied from beneath his ghastly death’s hood.
Wrynne gazed at him, a little unnerved by his costume, then shook her head at the strangeness that had become of her life.
“Ah, well. Here we go.” Holding tightly to his hand, she banged her staff on the ground and put their plot into motion with a whisper. “Hasten.”
Chapter 17
Fidelis
Once Wrynne had gone, safely whisking off back to her bodyguards outside the castle walls, Thaydor glanced around at the torch-lit dungeon.
Thankfully, the corridor where they had landed was empty. He adjusted the executioner’s hood a bit to improve his field of vision, then stalked down the dim stone aisle to get his bearings. His pulse pounded with a dark excitement at the danger. Dawn was just an hour away. It wouldn’t be long now.
He found his way to the dungeon’s small armory, which the real executioner had described. He stepped in and scanned the array of axes and swords for him to choose from for his supposed task. He took a nasty-headed axe off the wall and tested it.
He had a dagger in his boot and another on his waist. He wished he had Hallowsmite, but to bring his famous blade on this mission would have, indeed, been pushing his luck. The axe would have to serve as his weapon of choice on the platform. Satisfied, he took it with him as he walked through the mostly empty dungeon searching for the royal prisoner.
Any questions about how Baynard would meet his death were answered when he found the king’s cell.
The man he had served, the man who had made him royal champion only to betray him, lay sobbing quietly on his ratty cot. Thaydor wondered which loss His Majesty regretted more—his wife or his throne.
Staring at his disappointing liege lord through the eyeholes of the black hood, he indulged a moment’s brief, bitter musing. How satisfying it would be to actually drop the axe tomorrow and take that traitorous, empty head off Baynard’s shoulders.
The king suddenly noticed him standing there outside the bars of his cell. Perhaps lurking was the word.
He left off sobbing with a small gasp. “Is it time?” he spluttered, sitting up in his wrinkled nightshirt, looking bewhiskered and quite common, frightened and aged by several years overnight.
Thaydor shook his head but said nothing. He did not want His Majesty to recognize him by his voice. Oh, it would be an act of mercy to let the royal captive know that his rescue was at hand. But he didn’t want to risk the fool inadvertently giving him away. That could ruin everything.
Besides, at the moment, he wasn’t feeling all that merciful, considering that if the king had got his way weeks ago, it would have been Thaydor in that cell. His head destined for the chopping block.
And Wrynne’s.
His eyes narrowed behind the hood, and he thumped the handle of the axe against his opposite palm, enjoying the king’s wide-eyed look of dread.
Just a whiff of revenge.
Then he pivoted slowly and stalked off to wait in the shadows for the executioner’s summons.
* * *
“Finally!”
When the Great Library of Veraidel opened its massive, carved doors later that morning, Wrynne and her unlikely band of armor-clad research assistants rushed in.
The old librarian watched them pass in surprise.
Wrynne led the way, her staff in hand, her cloak flowing out behind her. Jonty strode confidently beside her, followed by the knights. Bearded Berold, scar-faced Sagard, and Humphrey, with the long, gold, Norse-style braids, could no doubt kill anything that came at her, but somehow she got the feeling they had never set foot in the library before.
She flicked a glance over her shoulder at them. Prowling along behind her, they scanned in all dir
ections as if they were walking into hostile territory. Fortunately, it appeared they had the place to themselves today.
And no wonder. Most of the populace was swept up in the great matters of the day—either weeping over a queen they had not cared about till now or seeking a good spot from which to watch King Baynard’s execution.
The one that wasn’t going to happen.
Meanwhile, in the back of their party, the three young squires were still mumbling complaints about the unfairness of having just completed their studies, only to have to return here again.
“Pardon.” Jonty stepped toward the clerk’s desk. “Could you point us to your section on matters botanical?”
“It’s all right. I already know exactly where it is,” Wrynne interrupted. “Follow me.”
The men obeyed, hurrying deeper into the library.
The morning sun lit the vast atrium from on high, shining through windows six lofty stories above them. Mighty stone pillars spanned the length of the place on all sides, from the marble floor up to the vaulted ceiling. Lacy iron railings ran between the pillars, and behind those lay endless rows of shelves packed with priceless books and scrolls on all realms of earthly knowledge—and a good deal on unearthly realms, as well.
“This way.” She led bard and bodyguards into the stairwell, where they hurried up the zigzag stairs to the third floor.
From there, she wove through the labyrinth of bookshelves until she reached the aisle filled with all the classic tomes on botany that she had studied day and night as a student.
“Here we are.” Stopping midway down the aisle, she began busily pulling reference texts off the shelves and handing them to her helpers before it occurred to her that perhaps not all of them could read.
But it turned out they could, so she put the head-loppers to work, too. Berold got The Compendium of Plant Life, Beneficent and Baneful. Sagard took The Herbal Arcana. Jonty helped himself to Fey Wisdom of the Flowers, while the boys perused Secrets from an Apothecary’s Garden.
For herself, Wrynne reserved Botanical Brews for Witches & Healers. She quickly opened the thick book. “What we’re looking for is probably in the same family as thistles and artichokes,” she told them.
