by Cate Dean
He rounded the corner, and halted. Thomas should have been in front of the door, bored but stoic. Ari stalked forward, one hand on his sword hilt. Micah might have sent him on an errand, and was sitting in the office, hunched over that bloody proposal, the time running away from him.
He saw the rolled paper tucked behind the latch and plucked it out. It was a note from Micah—to Thomas.
Dread pushed out the frustration as he spun and ran toward Micah’s workshop. It was the place he’d go for the break he spoke of in the note. Why Thomas wasn’t in front of the office to receive the message laid another emotion over the dread, one Ari had forced himself to banish years ago.
Fear.
He saw the blood first.
The trail ended with a hunched figure. “Thomas—” Ari crouched next to him, and saw the knife embedded in his chest. “Who did this?”
Thomas fought for breath, and whispered. Ari leaned in, until he could hear the man’s raw, cracked voice. “Joseph—has Micah—” Harsh coughing cut him off.
Ari gripped his hand. He knew the signs; he’d seen them too many times in the Arena. Thomas was dying.
“Can you tell me where Micah is?”
Thomas nodded, the movement so slight if Ari had not been looking for it he would have missed it. “Workshop—” He clawed at Ari’s wrist. “Elena—”
“What—Elena is involved?”
Thomas lunged up, knocking into Ari—right before pain exploded in his left side.
He found the hilt of the knife—and fought a scream when the hand still holding it shoved it deeper.
“I suggest you don’t try to remove it, Captain.” He lifted his head, met the furious, dark blue eyes of Elena Brachon. “None of your loyal guards will be around to keep you from bleeding out. You chose the wrong side, and I am officially releasing you from your duties.” She leaned in until her breath heated his skin. “I learned more from my late husband than even he knew.”
Ari arched away as she drove the blade in to the hilt, and fought the approaching darkness.
Micah needed him—and he would not let the boy down again.
~ ~ ~
Micah stopped again, the agony in his leg shredding his strength. He took a raw breath, and forced himself to move forward. Raine needed him to do this—and he refused to leave his city to the machinations of Joseph and Elena.
Just when he reached it, the door opened, and the voice he had already learned to hate froze him.
“Look at this. My precious son is trying to escape.”
Strong hands yanked him to his feet and dragged him into the workshop. He bit back a scream when one of his captors brushed against his leg. Before he could avoid her, Elena gripped his chin, and turned his head.
Raine stood behind her, still shackled and gagged, a knife at her throat.
“Leave her out of this—”
“She dies, right now, unless you do something for me. A small favor, to show your willingness to cooperate.”
“What?”
“Step down. Tell the council that I am in charge—until their precious Duke returns, of course. We must keep the illusion of hope.”
“What—” He closed his eyes, focused through the pain. “What excuse do I give them?”
“That your recent illness has left you unable to continue, that I will take over, be by your side, help you recover your health.” She tightened her grip, her fingernails digging into his lacerated cheek. “The people of this city love you, for your eccentricities, I imagine. Regardless, because of that love, I must keep you visible, and alive. At least until the new laws are established.”
“Then what, Elena?” Her lip curled at his use of her name. “I end up in one of the cells below, or on my way to the desert, like my brother? Or will you have one of your paid men slit my throat, and claim that I was murdered by enemies?”
“You ungrateful—”
“They will never accept what you’re planning. You may think you know them, but you don’t—neither of you. Your grand plans will backfire, and you will have the people of Palamar beating down the doors to express their opinion.”
“You will do this.” She let him go, and took the knife from the guard holding Raine. Micah stilled when she pressed the edge of the blade into Raine’s jaw, a line of blood sliding down her throat. “Or watch her die.”
“It will have to be a written announcement. Unless you have an explanation for the knife in my leg.”
After endless moments she lowered the knife, and shoved Raine toward the guard.
“I think that will be sufficient.” She pointed the knife at Raine. “You will bind his leg enough to keep him from bleeding out. I know you keep basic first aid supplies here, Micah.”
He nodded, and met Raine’s eyes. “On the lower shelf, in the mahogany box. She needs her hands free to tend me.”
Elena glared at him, but finally nodded. “Let her go. But one wrong move, from either of you, and my plans will change to mourning your untimely death.”
The guard unlocked her shackles, and she pulled off the gag as she walked over to his worktable, and picked up the long, narrow box off the bottom shelf. She looked at the guard holding Micah. “Please bring him to the stool. I need him sitting, so I can assess the damage.”
The guard glanced at Elena. “Fine. Just—stay with him.”
He dragged Micah to the stool, and hovered over them, so close Raine snapped at him.
“Give me room, or hold the box, since you’re standing on top of me.”
The man grunted and took a step back, but he drew his knife and had it ready. Micah decided to keep his movements slow and careful.
“Are you all right?” he said. His voice was raw, and he flinched when it rasped up his throat.
“Still breathing, which is more than I expected.” She flashed him a smile. It faded when she bent over his leg. “How bad?”
“I can’t put any weight on it.” He did not want to sound like he was whining, but this was Raine—and she needed to know the truth. “I’m afraid the damage is already beyond what the physicians can repair.”
“Give me the chance before you make such dire statements.”
Her hands were gentle, but each touch shot fire though his leg.
“Please—stop—” He reached for her, needing a release from the constant, nerve shredding pain. “Raine, please—”
She gripped his hands, tears glinting in her blue green eyes. “I know how much this hurts you, but I have to make certain the blade doesn’t disappear into your leg. I’ll use the bandage to anchor it, and I am not going to lie—this will hurt you, Micah. Please trust me.”
“Always,” he whispered.
The tears slid down her face. She wiped at them with her right hand, cursing under her breath. Micah started to smile—then she touched his leg and he forgot everything in his battle to stay conscious.
~ ~ ~
Raine worked as fast as she could, aware that every touch drove more pain into Micah’s leg.
He clutched the edge of the stool, his head lowered, sweat sliding down his shock-white face, the ugly gashes on his left cheek bleeding. His wrists were bloody as well, and she had a feeling Elena wouldn’t give her time to bandage them, or treat his cheek. The woman had clearly gone over the edge.
“Enough.”
Raine jerked at her near shout. “I am not done with—”
“I said enough.”
Heart pounding, Raine stood and faced off with Elena. “If you want him alive to play your games, then I need more time.”
The older woman’s eyes widened, and Raine braced herself for violence. “Fine. Finish quickly, Shira.”
The muttering from the guards left Raine on alert, ready to defend herself. The part of her life she thought she put behind her for good reared up, every instinct that saved her life countless times honed and ready. As if she had not spent the last two years as a bar maid in a gambling house.
After checking Micah, she started on th
e most painful part of binding his leg—tying off the blade. Elena used a hook blade with virtually no hilt. It was the nastiest type of an already ugly blade, one designed to sink all the way into a victim and inflict the most damage.
“Micah.” He lifted his head, his eyes glassy. “I want you to hold on to my shoulders. Don’t be afraid to grip as tightly as you need. This will hurt.”
“I don’t—”
“Now, Micah.” Swallowing, he nodded, and grabbed her shoulders. “All right, hold on—now.”
She closed her hand over the hilt and quickly tied the bandage around it, as close to Micah’s leg as she could get. His fingers dug into her shoulders, his breathing ragged. Raine wrapped the bandage around his leg, then wound the hilt in the other direction before tying it off.
Before she could recover from the trauma of hurting him strong hands yanked her to her feet.
“I’m not—” The knife pressing against her throat cut her off.
“You are done.” Elena gestured to the guards, who pulled Micah up. He gasped, pain twisting his face, but he stood straight, all his weight shifted to his left leg. “Now, my son, it is your turn.”
“Elena.” Joseph stood in the doorway, shock on his usually neutral face. “What have you done?”
“Taken care of the opposition. Come here, Joseph, and find your manhood. You knew people would be hurt before we were done with this part of the transition.”
Raine understood then that Elena had been the one in charge all this time. By the shock on his face, Micah realized it as well.
“How long?” Micah whispered. “How long have you been plotting this?”
“Since your father decided to betray me, and give rule over to Liam.”
“He was always going to be Duke—”
“Your father promised the throne to me!” Elena stalked forward, hand raised to slap him again. Joseph caught her arm. “Let me go—”
“You have done enough damage, Elena. If the council demands to see Micah, we cannot produce him like this. Our coercion will be obvious, even to them.”
His words seemed to calm her, and she dropped her arm. “Fine. Get the Shira out of my sight. You will write that letter now, Micah, or watch your precious half-blood die.”
“I already agreed. Elena.” He met her anger with a calm gaze, more of a natural leader than he thought. Raine would do whatever she needed to keep him alive to realize that potential. “Hurt Raine, and you will get nothing from me. Are we understood?”
“You dare—”
“Elena.” Joseph stepped between her and Micah. “I will already have difficulty providing explanations for what you’ve done. As much as you may disagree, we need Micah, and we need him alive.”
“Then you will deal with him. Once he has served his purpose, I want him out of my home.”
“Of course, my love.” Joseph rubbed her arms, and she settled under his touch. “Will you have the council assembled? As soon as I have the announcement, I would like to deliver it to them, let them know that you will be the only authority from this moment.”
“I do like the sound of that.” She kissed Joseph, not looking at Micah again. Raine braced herself when Elena paused next to her. She kept her voice low as she muttered to the guard, under the guise of adjusting her sleeve. “Take her out and slit her throat.”
“Yes, Duchess.”
Raine lowered her head, gathering herself for the coming fight, and spotted the blood on Elena’s sleeve. Whatever damage Joseph had been talking about, Elena had hurt someone else, maybe killed them. Which told Raine the woman would have no issues with killing her own son, not to get what she wanted.
Raine wanted the chance to stand in the woman’s path and show her that she wasn’t the only dangerous female in the castle. All Raine had to do was survive her death sentence.
~ ~ ~
With Joseph standing over him, Micah wrote the announcement, handing over the daily running of the castle to Elena until he was recovered.
Joseph read over his words, apparently satisfied. “I am sorry, Micah. I never meant for it to go this far.”
“What were you expecting, Joseph? Treason is always messy, especially when a volatile woman is in charge.” He grew up with his mother’s temper, so he understood just how hot it could burn.
Joseph paled. “This is not treason, Micah. We are attempting to—”
“Replace established law with your own. By violent means, and using strong arm tactics to push out the current leader. I consider that treason. Or have you conveniently forgotten what you did to Liam?”
“Of course not. It was a decision I did not make lightly. I gave Liam every chance, but he refused even to hear my thoughts.” Joseph paced as he talked, his voice strengthening in a way it didn’t when Elena was present. “Palamar is a backwater city, drowning in its tradition. I want to bring it into a future where its leader can one day vie for the throne in Veran.”
King of the greater kingdoms. Or in Elena’s case, Queen. Her ambitions were even more lofty than Micah thought.
“Liam’s life was forfeit either way, wasn’t it?” When Joseph flinched, Micah had his answer.
“I will keep you alive as long as I can, Micah. You need to cooperate with your mother, and stop antagonizing her.”
“Thank you for the advice.”
“Take it to heart. She has already—” Joseph cut himself off. But he hardly needed to complete his sentence. Micah had seen the blood on Elena’s sleeve. She had wounded, or worse. “Rest, as you can. We will be back once the council has agreed to your announcement.”
Micah slumped on the stool, his shoulders hunched. He waited for Joseph to close the door—and pushed himself up, reaching for the wood box. It would make the perfect container for a bomb.
His hands shook, and he had to set the box down, taking a deep breath, then another.
He refused to allow them to take over, in secret, without retaliation. But he would have to create a distraction, one big enough to draw attention from the city below. It meant blowing up his workshop, and the tower along with it.
If he timed it wrong, he would be trapped in the explosion—
“Stop,” he whispered. “Just get to work.”
This time he had more control over both what he used and how he would set off the bomb. He reached for the small bottle of fire oil Liam never confiscated, soaked most of the bandage with it, and stuffed it into the end of the box. If he set it at the far end of the long table, the blast would focus out, away from the rest of the castle. He filled the rest with bits of metal and wood from half-finished experiments, stopping every few minutes to catch his breath.
His leg burned, the blade shifting every time he moved his right side. It left behind an intense pain that threatened to drop him. Even perched on the stool, all the weight off his leg, it hurt—a bone deep hurt that he knew meant irreversible damage. He could not afford to let it distract him.
Using the length of dry bandage, he created a long fuse. Hopefully long enough to give him time to escape. He searched for a spot to wedge it for the best result, and his gaze landed on the wings.
A crazy idea started forming. An idea that would most likely get him killed—but it would also give him the best chance of escape. Him and Raine. He refused to leave her behind, even if he had to kill to get to her.
He stared at his hands, and wondered just when he had fallen in love with her.
~ ~ ~
The guard hauled Raine down the corridor that joined the tower to the rest of the castle—and jerked to a halt when she saw the bodies.
“Gods—” She tried to jerk out of the man’s grip. “Let me help them—”
“Too late, for all of you.” He pulled her past them. She recognized Thomas, curled around the blade in his chest. Ari, was beside him, a knife in his side. Blood pooled around them. Too much blood. The guard swung her around and pinned her to the wall. “Too pretty to be a witch. You wouldn’t curse me, for doing what I was ordered to
do?”
“I’m not a witch.” The response was almost automatic. She looked up at him, trying to gauge just how much she could push him. The glaze of attraction dulled his blue eyes. “Maybe I can offer you something, as an incentive.”
Attraction changed to lust. “I’ll hear your offer, my pretty witch.” He pressed himself against her, and she lowered her head, letting him think she liked his attention. His free hand inched her skirt up, and she closed her eyes when his fingers found bare skin. “So soft. Not like other bar maids I—touch.”
She forced herself to smile up at him. “A requirement. Most gamblers enjoy the finer things. We must please, whenever we can.”
He groaned, sliding his hand up her leg. Raine let out a sigh, and wrapped both hands around his waist. It prompted him to grind himself into her, and she let him, using his distraction to run her left hand up his chest, down his arm. She waited, until he was completely focused on her, and closed her hand over the knife.
Before he realized it was gone she had the blade at his throat.
“What—”
“Do what I tell you, and you may live through this.”
He stumbled backward and she cursed. The man had size and strength on her, never mind that she was hindered by her injured arm. She had to silence him, and quickly.
“Bitch.” He snarled the word, and rushed her.
Raine danced to the side, watched him smack into the wall. He whirled, more furious than before. She stumbled backward, let out a cry when her left shoulder clipped the sharp corner of the wall. The guard tackled her and they hit the stone floor.
He grappled for the knife, nearly wrenched it out of her grip. She sank her teeth into the edge of his hand. Blood filled her mouth, and he took a breath to scream. Hating herself, she twisted her wrist and shoved the knife into his side.
Blood spilled, hot and thick. The coppery scent flashed up memories she didn’t want or need right now. She eased the guard to his side, spit out the blood in her mouth, and caught his wrist when he tried to pull the blade out.
