The prince takes the open seat on my other side and nods to me in greeting. He wears an easy smile, blissfully ignorant to the difficulty of the task in front of us. After a moment, he narrows his eyes at the empty table. “Breakfast seems to be missing.”
Barowalt glances at him. “Asher sent the servants and maids away, remember?”
Irving raises his eyebrows and nods, an incredulous look on his face. “Ah—yes. To protect your unicorn fugitives from detection.”
Collectively, Keven, Hallgrave, Garran, and I all suck in a silent breath. I turn my eyes on Barowalt, wondering how he will react. Asher steps into the room in time to hear the last of Irving’s flippant remark, and he pauses by the door.
Irving, who doesn’t realize he’s treading on thin ice, laughs. “So this is what the noble, mighty Order of Lingard does…you play nursemaid to a herd of fancy horses.”
For one heartbeat, there is perfect, agonizing silence. And then, after the abrupt clattering of chairs and an indignant and surprised holler, Barowalt pins Irving against the wall. My brother has his hand wrapped around the prince’s neck. I gape at the pair, horrified.
Apparently, it was Barowalt who should have stayed in bed longer.
Irving, who’s either incredibly brave or simply an idiot, begins to laugh as soon as he recovers from his shock. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Rather attached to the glowing beasts, aren’t you?”
The veins in Barowalt’s neck bulge, but Irving stays calm, waiting for Barowalt to release him, smart enough to know he mustn’t engage physically. Irving may have proved himself with a sword, but there are very few who could match Barowalt in a fist fight.
As we watch, curious how it will play out, Milly steps into the room. The moment she sees the two men, she scoffs. “I have not had nearly enough rest for this. Barowalt, pretend you’re mature enough to rule an entire kingdom and sit down so we may have a blood-free breakfast.” She narrows her eyes. “If you still feel the need to kill each other after you’ve eaten something, then by all means—but do it outside where some poor maid won’t have to clean up after you.”
My pretty but rumpled friend chooses the seat next to Rogert and primly folds her hands in her lap. Then, with a fair amount of disdain and confusion, she says, “Where’s breakfast?”
Barowalt breathes deep and makes a show of removing his hand from Irving’s throat. Irving, after flashing a smug look at Barowalt just to further irritate him, reclaims his spot next to me.
By this time, the rest of our knights have joined us. Now that the excitement is over, we all stare at the empty table as if we can make food magically appear by sheer will alone.
“We’ll have to fend for ourselves for a few days,” Barowalt says, his voice cool and slightly distant. “Who knows how to cook?”
We turn baffled eyes on him.
“For crying out loud!” Milly shoves herself away from the table. “We all know why you bring me along. Milly, do this…Milly, do that…Milly, make breakfast!”
She leaves in a huff, her words trailing off until they are too faint to hear.
Barowalt raises an eyebrow at me. “Milly knows how to cook?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
The men cringe. Who knows what she’ll come up with?
“Why don’t you go help her?” Barowalt says.
I bristle. “Why? Because I’m a girl, I should automatically be sent to the kitchen?”
“Fine.” Losing his patience, my brother shoves away from the table. “I’ll go.”
As Barowalt strides after Milly, a heavy hush falls over the table. And then Rogert snorts, unable to hold back his laughter. That starts the rest of us, and we double over, too tired and hungry to care. Even solemn, practical Keven chuckles next to me.
After the moment has passed, Rogert turns his attention to me, a smile still on his face. “Have you decided who will stay with the blessing and who will hunt the beast?”
All eyes turn to me. No one wants to linger here on guard duty—they want to be proactive, hunt the creature. But some must stay. I study the men, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. If I were to choose now, I would leave Keven, Asher, Hallgrave, Percis, and our youngest knight, eighteen-year-old Ren. Not because they aren’t up to the task of hunting, but because I trust them the most.
They wouldn’t pout about being left behind as Rogert and Rafe would, and they are better at defensive action.
At the same time, Asher knows the land, and he may be better suited for hunting the creature down. Hallgrave and Barowalt are close, and I don’t see my brother leaving him behind. And Kevin is the best under crisis—which would serve us well in either place.
My head still hurts, and I’ve had too little sleep to think it over now.
“Barowalt will decide,” I say.
No one questions me, but they were eager to know what their appointments would be, and now I’ve disappointed them.
And there’s the small matter of what to do with Irving.
From the corner of my eye, I glance at the prince. Despite his carefree attitude earlier, he looks pensive. Withdrawn.
He catches me looking at him, and he smiles, the dark thoughts gone.
“Where would you like to be?” I ask him.
His smile dims, and I know whatever he’s thinking of saying won’t please me.
Steeling myself, I ask, “Well?”
He shakes his head, pretending it’s nothing. “We’ll speak of it later.”
He doesn’t want to be in the Order, likely doesn’t think our task is an important one. But he also doesn’t know the balance. And why would he? It’s a secret the Order has worked hard to hide. If people knew…our mission would be much more difficult.
The men’s conversation shifts to the new drachite armor coming out of Errinton, and Irving jumps into the conversation, apparently knowing the new king and queen fairly well.
“I have a set, actually,” Irving says.
Rogert leans forward, eager. “Is it true it’s stronger than dragon steel?”
Irving nods, his face lighting up. “And flexible—it’s the most amazing thing.”
I listen without much to add to the conversation. I prefer leather armor—it’s easier for me to move in. Since, as Barowalt is so fond of reminding me, my greatest asset is my agility, I don’t wear anything to get in the way.
“Is it lighter?” Keven asks, putting his dislike for Irving aside for the time being.
The prince shakes his head. “No, it’s still fairly heavy.”
They continue on, and my mind wanders back to the shadow I saw in the unicorn’s memory. I let out a slow breath, thinking. What creature moves as a shadow? Is there such a dragon?
Or perhaps the mare’s memory was flawed in her terror? Would she have forgotten specific details in self-preservation?
Eventually, Milly and Barowalt return. She doesn’t look anywhere near as irritable as she was earlier, and her cheeks flush pink. I meet her eyes, and a quick smile flashes across her face. Then, schooling her expression to look serene, she quickly looks away.
I glance at Barowalt and raise an eyebrow. He gives me a look that plainly tells me to mind my own business, and I grin, hoping to get a rise out of him.
It works. He frowns as if he’s above such trivial emotions such as embarrassment and turns away.
Milly deposits a bowl of apples on the table along with a plate of hard cheese. “Eat up.”
“That’s it?” Rogert’s chestnut eyebrows knit. He looks at her with hope. “Did you forget something in the kitchen?”
She shrugs, unconcerned. “Sorry.”
Grateful for anything at this point, I choose an apple and slice sections of it off with my knife. It’s smaller than the apples at home, and it’s as tangy as it is sweet. Not expecting it, my mouth puckers, and my eyes begin to water.
Milly sees me and laughs. “They’re good once you get past the first bite.”
Barowalt’s eyes move to
Milly, and he actually grins. “And when you eat them with the last two pastries in the cupboard.”
Protests ring out, but Barowalt and Milly only smile. Groaning the loudest, Rogert throws an apple at Barowalt’s head.
Barowalt catches it, chuckling under his breath. “That’s what you get when you all choose to stay here, waiting to be served like a bunch of pampered princesses.”
I hold my hand up. “I am a pampered princess.”
Milly grins. “And you’re the only one who’s forgiven.”
After our meager breakfast, we sit back and wait for Barowalt to decide who’s stationed where.
He crosses his arms, thinking. “Audette, I’d prefer you to stay here with the blessing, but Camilla is such a busybody, she’ll notice you’re missing and want to know where you’ve gone.”
Having come to the same conclusion, I nod in agreement.
“Hallgrave,” he continues, “You’ll return with us.”
I figured as much.
“Asher, you’ll stay here. Percis…yes, you’ll stay here as well.”
The brown-haired knight nods. He may be disappointed, but it doesn’t show on his face. When he catches me studying him, he gives me a reassuring smile.
My brother drums his fingers on the table. “Garran, here. Rogert, with us. Keven…also with us. How many is that?”
“You have three here,” I answer.
Barowalt turns to Asher, putting him in charge. “How many men do you wish?”
“Four should be plenty,” the dark-haired knight answers.
My brother turns his attention on Ren. The young knight winces, already knowing what’s coming.
“You’ll stay as well.”
Ren’s face falls, but he nods, eager to please.
Rogert sits back, smug. I meet his eyes, flashing him a chastising look, but he only winks. I purse my lips, trying to hold back a smile, but it doesn’t work well.
When I turn back to Barowalt, I find Irving studying me. He raises his eyebrows, but I only tilt my jaw a little higher and try to ignore him.
It’s not easy. Though he’s a respectable distance away, he almost seems too close. Without extending my arm, I could place my hand on his shoulder. If he were to drape his hand between us under the table, I could easily slide mine in his without anyone being the wiser.
If I turned just slightly, angled my legs toward him, our knees would—
“Audette? What are your thoughts?” Barowalt asks.
I look up sharply. Fortunately, only part of me was daydreaming. “I believe the attack on the blessing and the dragon rumors in southern Ptarma are connected.”
Barowalt gives me a look. “You think it was a dragon?”
“No.” I slice another piece of apple, knowing the commotion my comment will cause. “I think it was a wizard.”
It’s not like they weren’t thinking it themselves.
The men shift, uncomfortable, and transfer their eyes to my brother.
“We can’t know that for sure,” he says.
“It’s a shadow, Barowalt.” I lean forward. “What creature siphons the magical essence from a being and leaves the body for scavengers? What poacher leaves the horn?”
There’s only one creature I know of that steals magic, and they’re as human as we are.
Rogert, serious now that the conversation has shifted, rests on his elbows. “If it is a wizard, we have to question the motives. Did he kill a few, hoping for a surge in his magic…”
“Or is it the beginning of a larger plot?” I continue for him. “Is he—or they—attempting to exterminate the unicorns all together?”
Irving glances about the table, confused.
Barowalt, noticing, turns to the prince, his face twisted in an almost-sneer. “These ‘fancy horses’ we play nursemaid to? Their magic keeps the balance—it locks the dark sources in the depths where they belong. You want darkness to devour Elden? You rid the world of unicorns.”
CHAPTER NINE
I aim at the target and slowly release a held breath. My arrow hits the bullseye, nearly dead center.
“That’s impressive,” Irving says from behind me. “Can you do it again?”
Though I heard someone approaching, I still jump at his voice.
The practice targets are toward the back of our family’s villa, practically hidden in the gardens. It’s doubtful Irving stumbled on me by accident. He must have been looking.
A warm breeze blows through the trees, and the sun beats down, warm on my bare shoulders. Much to Milly’s dismay, I’ve again donned my practice garb—a sleeveless form-fitting tunic and trousers. My hair is pulled back in a simple braid I wrapped myself, and I’ve secured it in a twist, out of the way. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone this morning.
Glancing at him, I nock another arrow and send it flying. It slides in place next to the first.
Irving smiles, apparently impressed. His hair is slightly damp, like he’s just bathed, and he wears a tailored tunic that fits well on his nicely-muscled shoulders. His sword is missing; only a knife sheath rests at his hip.
“Perhaps you could show me a thing or two.” He steps closer than he should, smelling nicer than he has any right to—like citrus and ocean.
“If I remember correctly,” I say, stepping away. “I’ve seen you with a bow. I have a feeling you wouldn’t carry a weapon you don’t know how to use.”
He cocks his head, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “But not with your level of finesse. You stand differently. Perhaps that’s why.”
Laughing, I say, “I don’t stand differently…how do you stand?”
Pretending he has a bow in his hands, he takes his stance. He faces the target, his body angled straight toward it.
“You can’t possibly shoot like that,” I say. “There’s no way.”
“I do,” Irving argues. “Give me your bow, and I’ll show you.”
I study a patch of low-growing, yellow flowers nearby. “It’s not the right size for you.”
He extends his palm and motions for me to hand it over. As I do, I make the mistake of looking him right in the eyes. His expression is warm, like it was the first day we met. He always seems to be smiling with some secret joke.
In the most awkward stance I’ve ever seen, with his arms twisted to the side, Irving shoots. The arrow flies to the target and embeds itself in the circle just outside the bullseye—which is remarkable for the first time with a foreign bow, let alone with the ridiculous way he’s trained himself to stand.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Tell me what you’d do differently.”
“Well, first,” I say, tilting my head as I examine him. “You need to turn so your side is facing the target.”
Shifting a little, he says, “like this?”
He’s still standing all wrong—it’s absurd.
“How has no one teased you for this?”
Irving shrugs. “I hit the target, didn’t I?”
I hold my hands parallel to each other in an attempt to demonstrate, and then I tilt them. “Turn more.”
Irving’s expression is blank. “Show me.”
Feeling like I’m walking into a trap, I step up to him. After clenching and then unclenching my fists, I place my hands at his sides. His tunic is soft, and under it, his muscles are lean and strong. Purposely looking at his chest and not his face, I angle him.
“Then what?” he murmurs.
Finally, I meet his gaze and give him a wry smile. “Then you shoot the bow.”
Now I’m positive he’s playing with me.
“How exactly do you hold it when you’re at this angle?” With a hand on my shoulder, he turns me so my back is to his chest. With his arms around me, he holds the bow in front of us, locking me in place.
My heart races. A pleasant tingling sensation starts in my chest and travels all the way to my toes. Playing nonchalant, I glance over my shoulder. “You don’t actually believe I’m falling for this, do you?”
He widens his eyes, feigning innocence. “Falling for what?”
I shake my head and turn toward the target. “You can shoot any time now.”
Laughing under his breath, he draws the bow. I’m forced to step back, pressing myself flush against his chest, and I close my eyes.
Control yourself.
The arrow hits dead center, pushing mine aside.
“You’re a talented instructor,” he whispers near my ear.
I shiver and then grimace because I know he felt it. “And you’re a horrible flirt.”
He laughs low and nudges the back of my jaw with his chin. “I believe I’m a very capable flirt.”
I duck out of his arms and stride to the target, yanking the arrows free. “It’s an art you’ve practiced.”
He follows me, taking it in stride that I walked away. “You’re going to keep holding that against me, aren’t you?”
Just so I’ll have something to focus on, I shoot again. This time, my arrow misses the center, hitting the circle outside.
“I didn’t say I was holding it against you,” I say. “It’s simply a fact.”
He crosses his arms, almost smiling. It’s a disconcerting look, and when I shoot again, my arrow lands in the farthest ring. I frown, lowering my bow.
“Why haven’t you asked me about the Order?”
Startled, I turn toward him. It’s true that we returned some time ago, and I haven’t mentioned it yet. I’m not sure how I feel about him joining us, but at the same time, I’m not sure how I feel about him declining either.
I wish Barowalt had never put me in this position.
“Your brother offered me a place,” he continues.
Setting my bow aside, I say, “Even after the ‘fancy horse’ remark?”
He chuckles, not looking the slightest bit remorseful. “Even after that.”
“And what was your answer?” Without meaning to, I hold my breath.
Irving steps closer, his eyes on mine. His voice soft, he says, “I declined.”
“Very well.” I look away.
“I won’t swear my allegiance to a magical creature.” He turns me so I have no choice but to face him. “But I’ll swear it to you.”
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 7
