Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

FINN

His brother was waiting for him. Because of course he was. Leander was no fool. That was Finn's role in all of this, wasn't it? It always had been.

Finn could handle the beating, and the humiliation. He expected it. Like he expected Leander to gloat, because that was one of the things he was best at. That had always been true as well.

What he hadn't expected was to find Wren naked in a bath. Perhaps he should have. Leander wasn't one to wait around but he'd want her clean and calm, a little bit pampered and compliant. The scent in the water would probably relax her, perhaps naturally, perhaps by design. He wasn't above using drugs.

Finn didn't expect her to rush to his aid when Leander kicked him to the floor and held his own sword on him. But she did. Vulnerable, naked save for the towel. But defiant.

‘Please,' she gasped. And then, as if she only now realised the severity of the situation, she added: ‘ Don't hurt him.'

Leander of course was all threat and snide superiority but Finn barely heard him. Until he said the word brother. Her eyes went wide and fixed on his.

So much to explain. She'd never understand.

But she straightened up like a queen, her head held high despite the towel and her long wet hair. She might have been a sculpture of the chosen of the Aurum, forever watching in the circle of the Sacrum, bathed in its flames. Or perhaps one of the white standing stones surrounding it. Unbreakable.

‘If you want me to hear you out as you said, you leave him alone. If you hurt him, I'm not going to listen to a word you say.'

As threats went, it was pretty terrible, but the way she delivered it went a long way to making it believable. To Finn's surprise, Leander gave a regretful laugh, and shook his head, but his voice gentled.

‘If you knew what you were asking, Wren…'

Then he stepped back, and, as Finn rolled over onto his back, he saw Leander toss the sword onto the bed like it was some kind of child's toy. He turned away to issue orders to his people, like Finn was no threat at all.

Which given he was bound and on the ground, beaten half to death, he wasn't.

‘Finn?' she whispered. ‘Are you… are you all right?'

‘You might want to put some clothes on,' he told her, aware of the harshness in his voice. He couldn't help it. He was here because of her and she'd been happily wallowing in fragrant waters.

But, by the light, he had never been so relieved as when he had seen she was unharmed.

Wren cast him a frustrated look, but it was Leander who spoke, his voice smooth and practised. He addressed Wren as if they were old friends. ‘Here, Wren, take this. Ignore him. He has no manners.'

He held out a long silken robe, a swirling pattern of blues decorating the fabric. There was fur trim on the neck and around the hems. It must have cost a fortune. Leander walked past Finn as if he was part of the rug on which he lay and brought the garment to her, holding it out so she could turn her back to him, let the towel fall and slip into it while maintaining something like her privacy. It was a shockingly intimate moment and Finn felt his eyes burn with unexpected rage at the thought.

While she secured the robe, his brother cast a glance down at him and smirked again. He knew exactly what he was doing. Charming her. Being the prince, the suitor, the nobleman, while Finn… Finn was the soldier, the traitor, the thing lying in the dirt.

She didn't see it. Didn't notice. How could she? She'd been raised in a bloody forest with only her mother for company.

And now a prince showered her with luxuries, spoke to her like an equal and a treasured companion, and no doubt made her feel like a queen.

Finn's stomach twisted. All he'd done was shout at her, more or less. Ordered her about. She'd saved his life and he'd left her to be snared in Leander's trap. The fact he'd joined her only a little later was not much of a consolation.

He should have just gone to Knightsford and raised the alarm. She would have been fine. She was fine. She was…

Wren crouched down beside him and helped him sit. Her hands were unbearably gentle as she untied his. She gingerly inspected the blow to the head, which had taken him so very much by surprise. He flinched back, then rubbed his wrists.

‘Don't—' he began.

‘Shut up and let me examine you.' It was a tone not to be argued with. He'd bet she learned that one from Elodie. It was all hedge witch and healer. Comply, it said, or else. The finest drill sergeant in the land could not do better. She fetched a cloth dampened with warm water and carefully cleaned his face, her eyes never leaving his. He watched her chew on her lower lip as she worked. So he sat there, submitting to it, because what choice did he have?

It was almost a torture. He wanted nothing more than to lean into her touch, but Leander would see, and he would know, and what fresh tortures would come from that?

He couldn't find the strength to tell her that it didn't matter what she did to help him now. Leander would kill him anyway. That had been his brother's plan in following him. Their father was growing old and infirm. It was only a matter of time before Leander became king and he wanted no other sons of Sidon left when he did. It was their way, succession by fratricide.

They could dump his body in the forest and deny all knowledge. Even to her.

He had the feeling she'd refuse to believe him.

Or maybe… maybe she wouldn't. She didn't look so very sure of anything right now. And Wren wasn't an idiot.

All the time he was aware of Leander watching them, making his many calculations, scheming, looking for anything he could use.

Wren leaned in closer, her lips inadvertently brushing his ear, sending a shiver through him in spite of the situation. Her breath played on the sensitive skin of his neck and he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. This was not the time. There never would be a time, not now.

‘Trust me,' she whispered. And he wanted to. Dear light, he wanted to.

Wren looked up, over his head, and fixed her gaze unerringly on his brother. ‘What do you plan to do with us?' she asked.

Leander sprawled on the divan and someone had poured him a glass of wine. There was always a servant somewhere, or a spy. Someone in the background, protecting him, serving him, fulfilling his every whim. They were very good at not being seen. He drank half of his goblet's contents in one go and smiled, wine making his lips red as blood.

Holy light, Finn hated that smile. Though he had been raised in Asteroth, his father King Alessander had wanted assurances of his health and education. Every so often he had been brought back to Sidonia to join the court full of vipers like Leander. There had never been word of his mother, whoever she was. The king found it amusing to set them all against each other. Even ancient as he was Alessander was cruel. Finn had learned that early on. And Leander took after him in every way.

Each time he could not have got back to Pelias quickly enough. Roland had always said it was his duty, but that didn't help. Being able to bring back information to the knights had been a comfort though. He hated Sidonia, and Ilanthus.

‘What do I plan to do with you?' Leander repeated in a lazy drawl, almost as if he was mocking her. Perhaps he was. He just wouldn't want Wren to know that yet. But Finn knew. ‘That's an excellent question. It all depends.'

‘On what?'

The smile widened like the mouth of a shark. ‘On you, my lady.'