by Lorna George
His reaction wasn’t what she’d expected, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. Perhaps he was just grateful not to have Lord Rayan’s death on his conscience. She certainly wasn’t about to admit she had a mental link to the man they were all looking for.
The young guard looked back up at her, but she kept her face perfectly blank. ‘Magic.’
‘There’s a blocking spell on the cells here,’ he told her, apparently impressed. ‘Your magic must be strong to be able to bypass it!’
Naomi realised she already knew that bit of information, and was herself mildly impressed that the Bond had worked under such pressure. ‘Well I wasn’t entirely sure I could do it.’
‘Which is why you needed the supplies,’ he nodded understandingly. ‘I’d always heard stories of how strong your magic was, My Lady. I’m glad you could help your friend, and I’m… I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry we’ve shamed you and the Redwood crest.’
‘Wait,’ she looked back at Christophe and frowned. ‘You know who I am?’
‘Not right away,’ he admitted. ‘The man called you Lady Naomi, and then I saw you for who you really were. I saw you restored to us through the veil of death, and knew that tyrant who calls herself Queen was not long for this world.’
‘Hush!’ Holding her hands up, she looked warily behind him. ‘Don’t you know better than to speak treason?’
‘It’s not treason. We’re all loyal to you, Your Grace, and those who might not be are being closely watched,’ he shrugged. ‘We plan to get you safely away from here as soon as possible. We have a safe house to shield you and your friend in until he’s healed fully.’
Naomi watched his face and found nothing but sincerity. She still had no reason to trust him, of course, but there was something so sincere in his foolishness.
‘I can’t let you be involved,’ she told him honestly. ‘You say you’re loyal, but what of your commanding officers? I don’t imagine Cygnus is foolish enough to leave a big Garrison like Pearpetal in the hands of people who may or may not have rebel sympathies.’
‘We can overpower them!’ Christophe spoke urgently, hands clenched by his sides. It was hard not to smile at his insistence. She had been like that, once.
‘Can you?’ she asked. ‘How many comrades do you have? More importantly, how many can you completely trust?’
‘I trust every one of them!’
‘Then more fool you, lad.’ Christophe looked scandalised at this, and Naomi heard Master Gerrard in her voice as she spoke the hard truth. ‘I trusted my cousin, and now she sits on a throne built on the bones of the rest of my family. You can never be sure, Christophe. Never.’
‘I’m sure of you. I’m sure that I have to help you, no matter what you say.’
Naomi looked him dead in the eye. ‘How do you know that I’m not working for Adrienne?’
He was clearly taken aback, but she knew it was for the best. He had no idea how she had survived, after all. No one did, really. It hadn’t even made sense to her to be kept alive when they could have so easily crushed her back then, let alone to be allowed to go free when she was clearly still a threat.
Finally he answered her, his voice a horrified whisper. ‘She killed your parents. Your family! You can’t possibly be on her side, I don’t believe it. I won’t!’
She remembered the state of her home when her mother’s desperate letter had brought her back from the Pirate Wars. The death. The burnt and bloated bodies left to rot in the open air…
‘Please, My Lady,’ Christophe pressed. ‘Let us help you.’
‘You can help me by staying away,’ she answered. ‘Some clean clothes for Lord Bastiaan would be welcomed, and maybe some food. Other than that, all I need from you and your companions is to continue with your regular duties and stay clear. I won’t be responsible for you.’
He looked like he was struggling with himself, and Naomi briefly wondered how she managed to inspire so many men with the idea that she needed to be saved by them.
‘Very well,’ he murmured at last, as though it had been a request rather than a statement on her part. ‘But I won’t allow that monster on the battlements to torture you.’
‘Thank you for your concern, young man, but I’m perfectly able to handle myself.’
He coloured slightly at her subtle reprimand and looked down at his boots. ‘I know you can, Your Grace, it’s just… We thought there was no hope. The people starve and the scum has risen to the very top. We’re taxed heavily and still trying to repair the damage from the Pirate Wars, with no hope of help from any quarter. Now you’re here, alive! The people can rise up and fight at last, with you leading us! You can finally take back the Redwood Throne and set us all free from this nightmare.’
She felt immediately guilty for overlooking what finding her alive after so long would mean to those who had lived under Adrienne’s rule. The people had suffered, were suffering still, and the news of her survival was going to breathe new life into them. She could let them have that at least. For now, though, she had no idea what she was doing, whether she was going to Koren or Tsumetai to get the help she would need, but even this little thing, knowing she was coming for them, knowing Naomi Redwood still lived and planned to fight, was hopefully going to offer some kind of solace.
‘I’m sorry,’ she told him sincerely, offering her hand and trying not to flinch as he took it up and dropped to his knees in fealty before her. ‘But I swear to you, I won’t rest until I’ve put an end to her. I would trade my very soul to save the people of Ffion if I had to, but I will break her. You have my word.’
Naomi felt suddenly overcome with emotions she had pressed down for so long. Her losses she had never truly grieved for, the losses of her people. She felt so empty inside, and it was painful.
‘My Lady…’ Christophe whispered, clutching her hand. ‘Please, won’t you let me help you?’
‘No. You’re needed here, you and every other loyal Ffionite who still believes in Honour and Duty. I need you ready for when I come back.’
‘You’ll go to the Tsumetese Empress?’
Naomi chewed her bottom lip distractedly as she again wondered if that was still her plan. Tristan had made a very tight case for Arun that morning, and Arun himself wasn’t really so very bad a person. Still, it grated on her that the only way to save her people wouldn’t be her own skill and hard work, but the fact that she was a woman and would carry his children for him. It reduced her to little more than a brood mare, and while she wasn’t against marriage in the long term--she even wanted children at some point--to have all her years of training as a soldier and leader completely ignored in favour of her womb, which actually wasn’t even functioning properly, made her want to scream injustice to the heavens. This wasn’t what she’d been trained for. This wasn’t what she had worked so hard for! She was more than this, surely?
Arun needed someone to have children with, the much-needed heirs that would save Koren from civil war at his death, and that in itself was understandable, but what Arun wanted was an ornament. A pretty thing to smile and nod and sparkle on his arm. He wasn’t really a shallow man; he had proven more than once that he had hidden depths, but Naomi hadn’t been raised to play that role. What was more, she never wanted to live like that. She would be escaping one prison just to spend the rest of her days in another. Granted, a beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless.
If there was a chance the Empress could help her instead, no matter what Tristan said about it, she had to try. She had to at least try.
She looked down at Christophe, a young Ffionite, just old enough to remember the better days but too young to have been any help when Adrienne took over. The country was probably full of people like him, people desperate to be liberated, and Naomi wondered if it was selfish to waste time going to Tsumetai when she already knew Arun could help her. She had just said she would give up her soul to save them. Maybe she really should?
‘Come on, now.’ She cleared her throat and t
ugged on his hand. ‘You’ll be missed if you stay here too long. Get back to your duties and stay clear later tonight, you hear?’
Christophe rose to his feet and smiled. ‘As you say, Your Grace. I think tonight myself and a large group of us will be in the South Wing drinking to the health of the Queen.’
Naomi smiled back. ‘She’s going to need it.’
*
Genevieve carefully took in the bitter scent of the blackened forest ground. The powerful burst of dragon magic had drawn her to this clearing, and she had been expecting to finally find her prey not too far from this spot. It was with great disappointment that she found no trace of them anywhere, as though the forest had swallowed them up without a trace.
The heady tang of death filled this place, and she quickly located the human corpses that swamped her nostrils. Snapping her sharp jaws together, she turned away in disgust. She had never been one for cooked meat.
Dark magic surged through her then, melting through her veins under her glistening metal exterior. It was excruciating, a reminder from her master to focus on her mission. She must find the dragon.
He had been here. She could smell him. She could smell the traces of his magic, but there was something wrong. It was surely dragon magic that had blasted this part of the forest to cinders. She could even see the burnt tracks of his feet through the grass as he stalked his own prey.
Her sharp orange eyes narrowed. They were small prints, even for a human male. Breathing deeply, she could smell the dragon, but through that there was another scent. One she knew well.
Thyme. These tracks didn’t belong to the dragon, but to the Small Warrior!
How could this be? The Small Warrior was no dragon. She was nothing! That was what had drawn Genevieve to her in the first place. She was a curious thing, tiny, but reeking of fierce strength, determination and pain. Such pain, she could taste it. But power? No, there was none. There had never been any trace before now.
Had Genevieve’s great and generous master not intervened, this human female would have been responsible for her death. Her! The great Genevieve, strongest of the nest! Still, not single-handedly, and with little more than quick thinking and a sharp aim.
This was the Small Warrior’s scent, of that there was no doubt. Had Genevieve been wrong from the start? Was the Small Warrior a dragon? This scent was the dragon she was tracking, her master had branded it on her. Did he know the Small Warrior was also a dragon?
The confusion cleared as she again breathed the mingled scents into herself. The Small Warrior was not a dragon. The Small Warrior was the dragon. They were one and the same!
Throwing back her aquiline head, she spread her wings wide, the sun glinting coldly from the metallic feathers that coated her form and gave her strength. Genevieve shrieked her victory to the wide skies.
The hunt was back on!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Naomi only realised she had dozed off when she started awake again. Looking wildly around, panicked by the cold, enclosed space, it was only when she saw Lord Rayan glance over in surprise at her sudden movement that she remembered where she was. Releasing a shaky breath, she leaned back against the wall and patted her boot to check her dagger was still there.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lord Rayan said, relaxing out of the stretch he had apparently been in the middle of when Naomi jumped back to consciousness. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you, Lady Naomi.’
‘You didn’t. I shouldn’t have been sleeping anyway.’
She looked at the lantern in the corridor and knew the rest had caused her to lose track of the time. There was simply no way to tell now with the lack of windows and artificial lighting. She could have kicked herself.
‘You needed it,’ Lord Rayan said kindly. ‘You’re looking much better, though.’
‘I could say the same thing about you.’
He did look much better, a far cry from the half-dead prisoner she had found when she’d first come here. He was wearing washed, undamaged clothes now, indicating that Christophe had been back at some point while she slept, and looked clean and even tidily shaven. Despite her own earlier reservations on the matter, he seemed to be moving easily, without any sign of strain from where his injuries had been. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Arun’s skill as a healer.
Apparently noticing her scrutiny, Lord Rayan rolled the previously wounded shoulder and stretched out the arm she had feared he might lose. ‘All thanks to you, I understand.’
‘Not me. Arun,’ she corrected. ‘If it had been left to me I don’t like to think what might have happened. Your cousin did all the work, I was just… an extension.’
‘A partnership, then,’ he replied diplomatically.
Naomi grimaced. ‘If you say so, My Lord.’
Grinning at her reaction, Lord Rayan stooped near the now closed and locked cell door to pick up one of two bowls set down, the other being empty, and a reasonably full looking water skin. He passed the latter over to her whilst sinking down to sit cross-legged opposite. The aroma of herbs and vegetables filled the cell and he offered it to her.
‘You should have it.’ She tried to refuse, but the way he raised his eyebrows at her made the resemblance between him and Arun all the more pronounced, and she found herself far too tired to argue. Besides, she was hungry, and coupled with that particular expression on his face, she decided to gratefully accept the soup.
‘I’ve been speaking to my wife,’ he began as she held the hot bowl delicately between her fingertips. Bringing it up to her lips, she blew on it gently.
‘How is she?’
‘She’s doing much better. Thank you.’ There was a warmth to his words that suggested he was well aware of her part in Esta’s rescue, but she was glad when he simply left it at that. All this praise was getting uncomfortable. ‘She tells me Arun means to come here himself for us and we’re instructed to wait for him.’
Naomi took a mouthful of the soup and swallowed, feeling instantly better for it. The yawning void inside her seemed to fill slightly and she sighed. ‘Am I the only one who recognises what a supremely terrible idea it is to come running straight into an obvious trap? Deliberately?’
‘Arun has always been very protective,’ Lord Rayan defended lightly. ‘It’s just in his nature, I suppose. He’s responsible for a lot of people.’
She understood that responsibility, she really did. It was terrifying. Having any amount of lives depending on you was enough to turn even the most placid of people into a gigantic worry-wart, and Arun ruled the most heavily populated country in the world. Because of her understanding his position she knew how stupid he was being to risk himself like this. The peace of Arun’s people depended on his continued survival, and she wasn’t going to let him gamble that, not for anything. She wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on him.
‘It’s my duty to protect him, even from himself if I must,’ Lord Rayan interrupted her thoughts gently. ‘But in order to protect him this time, I need to protect you.’
‘Oh, not you as well!’ she cried before she could even think to filter her words, but this was really starting to get ridiculous. ‘I understand this Bond thing is an issue, but really. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t risk myself with or without Arun’s life depending on it! I’d quite like to survive for myself, shockingly enough, and so far I’ve done a pretty decent job of ensuring that.’
‘I would say it’s been more luck than judgement, if the way you looked when we first met has any bearing on the matter.’
There had been times in Naomi’s life where being underestimated because of her size and gender had served her well. She had taken advantage of the preconceptions of others more than once, and come out triumphant and smug in the end. Granted, there had been some luck involved in her continued survival, but there had also been a lot of hard work and skill, and a great deal of determination. Commander Rayan Bastiaan was older and far more experienced than she was, but she knew enough about the life of a soldier that she
could accuse him of having similar bouts of luck. It was so disrespectful, so dismissive of the years of training she had battled through. She knew the only way to silence the issue was to show him she was more than capable of taking care of herself.
Carefully, she placed the soup bowl down on the floor and pushed herself up to her feet. Stretching herself to limber up, she looked back at him blankly.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m getting out of here. We can discuss the social preoccupation with labels at a more convenient time, I think.’
Feeling suitably refreshed and bubbling with sudden energy, she pulled the dagger from her boot, and carefully checking there were no guards in view, began to pick the lock. She heard Lord Rayan walk up behind her and stop just at her left shoulder, but ignored him as she continued to test the keyhole for the pin that would release it.
‘You’ll stay behind me and do as I ask?’ he sounded hesitant, and she smiled slightly as the lock finally clicked open. Pushing the door, grateful that it didn’t creak at all on its hinges, she looked out to the far end of the corridor. There was a single guard at the entrance to the stairs, sitting on a small wooden stool and dozing lightly. She turned back to Lord Rayan.
‘I have the tactical advantage of knowing the garrison’s layout, as well as the surrounding area once we’re out.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘There are approximately a hundred and fifty soldiers housed here usually, and with just the two of us, do you really want to fight against your only definite ally as well?’
‘You don’t understand. You’re his wife...’
‘I do understand, and I’m not his wife.’
She looked back to the still sleeping guard. It was the boy who had come to check on her while Christophe was fetching her supplies. She didn’t want to hurt him, but they needed to get moving sooner rather than later. Light on her feet, she ignored the hiss from Lord Rayan as she moved quickly and silently towards the young guard. The dagger was still in her hand, and now standing over him, she had a moment of indecision. Just a moment. His eyes fluttered slightly as he dreamed, and panicked, she reached down and firmly squeezed the pressure point in his neck. The young man crumbled to the floor, completely unconscious.
