25. Twenty-Two

I sat in the shadow of the bleeding tree, taking in the night. Above the crimson leaves, a star-studded sky pressed down on a city full of elves and their slaves. A blanket over a pit of vipers. How many pits had I been in? One? A hundred? I'd escaped them all so far. I'd escape this one, too.

The tree trunk had been flayed in places, the bark pulled back in strips. Young red flesh bled through, angry at having been forced to the surface before its time. The damage would heal in a scar, the price of youth.

I wrapped an arm around myself and thought of my time in Michail's pit, the months he had Modir try to break me.

"Leave his face. The elves will like his pretty face."

At first, it was simple. I expected the beatings, done with a club through a rug to reduce the chances of breaking something important. I expected pain and misery, sharp stinging words and blades trying to pry me open. Those things I could resist. What I couldn't bear were the moments in between when they sent healers to tend to me. Pain was one thing. A man knew how to tolerate pain. What does one do when your enemy lashes out not with steel or venom, but with kindness? He taught me to fear even the gentlest touch. Behind every cool kiss of the cloth was stinging pain. Every closed wound was a plan to open it again.

Modir's tortures hadn't broken me, but they had changed me, a miscalculation on his part. By the time they brought my men before me, the ones I had trained up from nothing, I was already so callous, I didn't shed a single tear when they opened their throats in front of me. The men who had trusted me, drank with me, laughed with me, shared my bed, died without a promise of vengeance from their commander. I hadn't even been able to speak their names. Their only crime had been trusting me.

"Stand with me. Fight for me."

I had never asked them to die for me, but they had done it just the same.

I blinked and something inexplicable drew me back into the present. My body stiffened, on alert. The night had been quiet before, but not empty. Soft sighs and creaking wood had filled up the quiet, the distant noises of a household sleeping, fucking night tasks being done.

Now, there was nothing. Utter silence, as if something had swallowed the sound.

The hairs on my arms stood on end.

Then, the light sound of paper fluttering drew my eyes to the roof. A figure shifted across the roof tiles, garbed head to toe in black. She moved with the grace of a spider, scaling over the roof and dropping soundlessly onto the upper walkway.

I was up and moving before I even formed a full thought. Spiders shouldn't trouble princes, especially when they are alone and vulnerable. Ruith would be asleep. There were no guards posted. He'd sent them away when we returned to the room and found the women. Then he'd sent me away. He was alone, and I was unarmed, which meant intervening was foolish, and still I went.

The wood didn't creak beneath my weight. I knew how to move quietly when it suited me, though not silently. Not like the spider that had opened Ruith's chamber door and crawled inside, shutting it behind her.

I reached the door and paused. For a moment, I considered the possibility that I'd misjudged the situation. This could be a planned rendezvous, one of his own spies perhaps, or another woman he'd sent for after I'd denied him the first two. Without a voice, I couldn't call out to him. The only way to know was to disobey a direct order.

I opened the door.

The room was bathed in shadow and silence except for Ruith's steady breathing. The deepest shadow stood poised over the bed, blade drawn, ready to strike. Her head snapped up, taking me in. The sword that would've murdered Ruith lifted. There was no thought in my head when I launched myself at her, tackling her to the floor. It was instinct. We tumbled together, a tangle of limbs and black cloth. Somehow, I managed to land on top and get enough distance to throw a punch. Steel bit into my thigh and I opened my mouth in a soundless scream. Another sword came down out of nowhere with a sickening thunk that separated the would-be assassin's head from her shoulders.

Our scuffle must've woken Ruith, and he found his sword in time. His hand closed around the back of my neck. I hated how easily he handled me, as if he had a kitten by the scruff.

Wild, bloodshot blue eyes searched mine. "You're hurt."

You hurt me, I thought, even as blood dripped down my leg from the assassin's knife. That cut would heal, at least.

He looked down at the dead woman, her blood seeping into the wood. "Aryn will not be pleased."

That turned out to be an understatement. The silver-haired elf had always been broody, but when he saw the assassin, there was silent fury in his ice-blue eyes. My leg was bandaged. Not by the camp physician, who'd gone up the shore with the rest of the army, but by Ruith himself while we waited on the others to arrive. The wound wasn't large, but it was deep, and it hurt to walk on.

"You should not be alive," Aryn said to Ruith.

"I wouldn't be if not for the slave's timely intervention." He sat on the bed, his forehead beading with sweat, seeming uncharacteristically dazed.

I didn't like that he still called me slave, even after giving him my name, but then I remembered he'd used it before when we were alone. My name was his, and he was declining to share it. That was all. The thought made something warm inside me.

"Grandmother did this." Katyr folded his arms over his chest. His deep blue robe flared open and everyone pretended not to notice the fresh bites of a lover over the tender skin of his neck and stomach. "Only she has the authority here to bring in the shikami."

"Without a doubt, Vinolia is behind it," Ieduin agreed and frowned at Ruith. "Are you all right?"

"I've been poisoned," Ruith announced as if the fact were simply a mild inconvenience. "With a kiss, no less."

I stiffened, remembering the horrible feeling I had when those women were all over him. Something in me had been screaming the whole time it was wrong, that he was in danger.

"Don't concern yourself," Ruith said, and it wasn't clear if he was speaking to me or the others. "It's wyrm's blood. I have some resistance."

And it was only one kiss. What if it had been more? What if he hadn't sent those women away at all? The assassin I stopped might well have been a backup plan.

"You're going to feel like shit tomorrow," Ieduin warned.

Ruith rubbed his cheek. "I feel like shit now. It's the only reason we haven't left."

"That and Grandmother would take it as a slight. One she would crow to Father about." Katyr ran a finger over his chin. "What will we do?"

Ruith looked at the dead woman, whom Aryn was already busy dragging onto a large cloth bag that would be carried down to a cart. It had been decided she would be left at the gate with the refuse to be collected by whomever her masters were.

"Do you think Vinolia knows? Or was this all really over…" Ieduin left the question hanging, unwilling or perhaps not brave enough to speak the name of the dead woman Ruith had loved.

"She knows," Katyr said quietly. "Grandmother knows everything. She always has."

"The only way she could know is if there was a spy, Katyr, and you are the only Runecleaver whose company I have kept." Ruith gave the blond a hard look.

One that Katyr returned. "I have more than proven my loyalty to you, brother."

"It is not your loyalty I question, Kat, but the strength of your tongue when it comes to the company you keep. Who were you in bed with?"

Kat's face flushed, and he avoided the question. "I gave you an oath in blood. That still means something to me."

"Even here?" Ruith asked.

Katyr's jaw clenched. "Especially here."

Aryn closed the sack around the dead woman. "If we fracture, we fail. That, more than anything, is the purpose behind this attack. If there is a spy in someone's bed, we will not root them out this way." He glanced at me, distrust darkening his features.

"He took a blade meant for me," Ruith reminded Aryn.

"And you made a mockery of him," Aryn replied. "If we are questioning loyalties, then let us question them all."

I was surprised when Ieduin came to my defense. "He didn't tell Vinolia anything. Why would he? Her men were ready to pass him around like a captured whore."

"He didn't save me out of any sense of loyalty," Ruith's eyes met mine. "Did you?"

My fingers drifted to the collar around my neck.

"I made him a promise. Unfortunately, the situation has changed. I doubt anyone wants Vinolia Runecleaver's fingers anywhere near their necks, let alone him." Ruith jerked his chin toward me.

I nodded in agreement.

Katyr sighed. "I don't have the means or the knowledge to remove it, but perhaps the Spine Tribes do. I hear the Empress of Bones has a blood witch."

Ieduin snorted. "Treating with Spine Tribes is an exercise in futility. They'll want something in return. It's a detour we can't afford for something we don't need."

"I'm only saying it's an option." Katyr shrugged. "And they would make a rather formidable ally. Which we do badly need, considering we lost more than a third of our forces to get this far."

Ruith rubbed his temples. "Enough. These are not conversations we should be having inside these walls. Ieduin, gather our people. We depart immediately to rejoin the army. Then we'll ride north to The Godsfel."

"To The Godsfel?" Katyr uncrossed his arms. "But that place is a ruin."

"It is safer than here." He waved his hand. It was all the dismissal most of them needed. Only Aryn remained.

"Can you ride?" Aryn asked, switching to a dialect I was less familiar with. They were not the same words Vinolia had used to ask after me. "If the wyrm's blood has made you too ill to be upright…"

"I will ride," Ruith said. "And the slave will ride with me."

I had learned to ride like a prince at a young age. I rode for sport, for hunting, in parades and on patrols. From the back of a horse, I could shoot, fight with lance and spear, and bring down prize boars. I had not ridden two to a saddle since I was a boy, and then it was Michail's arms around me, showing me how to grip the reins, how to sit and click my tongue. Once, we were brothers.

Now I rode with Ruith against my back. He leaned in hard, his chest pressing against my shoulders with every breath. He was panting and trying to hide it from the men, but I was aware of it. Every ragged pull of breath, every brush of sweat slick skin, the swell and retreat of his body against mine, and the weight of his arms tight around my waist. I knew I was only there to hold him up in the saddle. Without me, he'd fall over thanks to the wyrm's blood he was fighting, and he refused to be weak in front of his men.

We rode out of the Runecleaver compound in the middle of the night under the watchful eye of Vinolia Runecleaver and no one said anything about the headless assassin rotting in a bag next to the gate, or the kiss that had nearly killed the Primarch's heir. No one said much of anything, even though many words were exchanged. That seemed to be the nature of elf politics: empty promises in the sun, blood and poison at night. Not so different from how it was in Ostovan.

There were only about twelve of us, the rest already with the bulk of the force fifteen miles out from Rünhyll. It should have been an easy ride, done quickly at a leisurely pace. Because of Ruith's condition, the dark, and the exhaustion of everyone, it took us twice the time. My thigh ached terribly every time I moved, but there wasn't anything to be done. Riding meant constantly squeezing them, relaxing, adjusting to the horse's responses.

Ruith ordered several riders to announce we were coming. By the time we caught up to them, a gray dawn had found the sky. The clang of metal cookware striking pots felt like knives behind my eyes, and the smoke was an assault on my already raw sinuses. In just a few days, I'd already forgotten how the army camp smelled of pig dung, sweat, and leather. It stank, but it was a welcome stench. Better than the perfumed halls of Rünhyll.

As soon as we rode in, a throng of slaves came to take the horses. The one that approached us saw me, hesitated, unsure of what to do. He must never have seen a slave on horseback before. It wasn't done, or hadn't been for the entire time I'd been with the elves. Slaves walked. Masters rode. The only exception had been me in my gilded cage.

Ruith must've been feeling awful because he forgot himself and told the slave, "See to the horse."

The young slave boy flushed, pinned his eyes to the ground and did as he was told.

I dismounted and helped Ruith off the horse, trying to look like I was serving rather than needed. There was a distinction. If I was needed, he would be seen as weak. With spies lurking somewhere in the camp, that couldn't be allowed. He walked unaided to his tent, which someone else had already prepared, but collapsed as soon as he was through the door.

I promptly tied the canvas flap shut and went to help him up.

"No." He shook his head, breathing hard. The roots of his hair were damp with sweat and his whole face shimmered with it. "I can't move. I'll lie here."

There was a rug on the floor, but that was it. I went to the rear of the tent and brought back pillows and a blanket, doing my best to make him comfortable. As I tucked a padded red pillow in against his back to keep him on his side in case he vomited, his fingers brushed over my cheek tenderly.

I froze and looked up at him. His face was all wrong, pale and sweat sheened, his pupils blown wide.

"I never would have let them have you, Elindir," he said at length. "They can look at you. Want you. Whisper and wonder. But the Runecleavers can't have you and neither can Tarathiel. Those bastards… They've taken everything from me. They can't have you. No one can. You're mine. I will cut off the next hand that touches you."

I sighed and pulled the blanket up over him.

His hold on me tightened. "I will make a wreath of hands taken from those who have wronged you and wear it around my neck into battle."

My slate waited near the door with a new piece of chalk. I took it up and wrote, "You're delusional with fever."

"And you speak too much for a mute." He snorted and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his face.

I smiled. He was snoring in seconds.