Page 46 of The Dead Saint

“Come, priestess, bless me for tomorrow.” The man leered, a glinting promise of pain in his eyes.

She leaned away, taking a step back, but the crowd around her didn’t move as the blond man grabbed her upper arm. A smile split his face, something inhuman lurking beneath it—a killer for the joy of it, a torturer for the pleasure of it.

Adrian moved quickly as Sorcha pulled her free hand back and slapped the man across the face. The blow connected with a sharp sound, but he didn’t even flinch—the smile remained firmly in place. His knuckles whitened as he jerked her forward, raising his hand to return the slap.

But Adrian was there, slipping his blade strategically between the man’s ribs, watching as his raised hand fell limp. But the hand holding onto Sorcha’s arm remained. The group around them stepped back, eyes wide with recognition. With a jerk, Adrian pulled the blade free and kicked the man behind the knees so he went down, tugging Sorcha down into a painful bent position. Blood soaked the man’s tunic and flowed into the trampled grass, the dry earth soaking it up greedily.

The men surrounding them were silent. Blood pounded in Adrian’s ears, buzzing at the back of his brain, drowning out everything. Everything except Sorcha—face pale and eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

The man he’d stabbed still gripped her arm.

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

The word failed to register with him until he’d brought his sword up and severed the man’s hand at the wrist. Blood spattered Sorcha—streaking across her crimson dress. Anger suffused him, crawling along each vein, thundering in his head.

“You’re alive right now because we have a castle to take in the morning,” Adrian said in a low voice. The man on the ground let out a low animal sound of pain. “If you survive the battle, I’ll kill you.”

Sorcha lifted defiant eyes, meeting his cold gaze—likely seeing the anger he made no effort to hide. Tears trembled on her lashes, and blood flecked her cheeks. She sagged, but he was there, tugging her upright and slipping an arm around her knees, lifting her before she could pull away. She was stiff in his arms, holding herself rigid as he walked away from her attacker.

Could she feel his pounding heart? For a split second, the desire to keep walking filled him, to walk beyond the tents, beyond the camp, out into the world to see what it might hold beyond all this blood and death. But he crushed it, turning to where his men were camped, furious that his order to shadow her had been ignored.

“I had an eye on her.” Revenant stepped from between two tents, face impassive. “I wouldn’t have let it go any further.”

“It had already gone too far,” Adrian snapped, holding Revenant’s gaze. “The prince would be displeased.”

Displeased was mild. If something had happened to her, the whole camp would have died. Revenant knew that. And yet, the man had let her wander into a dangerous situation. Sorcha shifted in his arms, and he instinctively held her warm weight tighter against his chest. He glanced down at her. She didn’t look at Revenant, keeping her gaze averted, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Put a guard on her,” Adrian said, jerking his chin in the direction of his tent. “Magnus or Aldo. They’ll stay with her tomorrow. We leave at dawn.”

Revenant nodded and disappeared into the camp. Adrian clenched his jaw, teeth shut against whatever he might say to Sorcha, whatever comfort he might offer her. There was nothing, so he said nothing at all.

Reaching the tent, he pushed through the heavy flap and let it swing shut behind them. The spicy scent of his armor polish and the citrus soap she’d used in her bath permeated the air. The opening in the center of the roof let in enough light to see by, and later, there would be a fire. For now, the fading daylight streaming in was enough to be able to see the tears tracking down her cheeks. Anger washed over him. Anger at the men out there, at Sorcha for leaving the tent and the small circle of protection around it.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, glancing up at him. “You didn’t have to maim him.”

He didn’t respond. There had been no consideration on his part—no thought before action. He’d seen the man’s hands on her, the way her face had paled with pain, and he’d stepped forward with a naked blade.

Adrian dropped her onto the cot, the pile of furs and blankets cushioning her fall, and a sound of surprise escaped her. He turned away, pulling his gloves off as he went, and moved to the desk to consider the map that lay spread out across the surface. He waited for her to speak, to thank him or accuse him, to call him a monster or worse.

But she said nothing else.

After he killed Marius, they’d leave the Horde—stepping beyond their protection and reach—and head out into the unknown in search of the Saint’s relics. He’d studied the various destinations on the map and discussed the locations with his men. There were temples to the Saint everywhere, but not all housed a relic. Those were fewer, farther apart, and there were whispers about supernatural defenses.

He traced the coastline to the south, a cliff face with a curling filigree of gold and bone. A copy of the one on Sorcha’s collarbone, which brought to mind the way it had flowed beneath his gloved finger in camp when he’d seen it for the first time. Then again in the Mapmaker’s room. It was different on paper, not like the living, changeable thing it seemed to be in her skin. He turned to find her watching his hand, wondering if she’d been thinking about that moment by the fire too.

“We leave the horde the day after tomorrow and carry forward on our own.”

“Because of me? This?”

She pulled up her sleeve to expose the red marks left by the soldier’s grip. Anger flared instantly at the sight. He shook his head as he moved away from the desk and crouched down before her, studying the mark. It wouldn’t bruise. In an hour, it would be gone. But he wouldn’t forget how he’d reacted. That was something he needed to consider. His orders were clear, and emotion had no part in it.

“My name is enough to keep you safe.”

“Then what was that outside?” she asked, laughing bitterly.

“A mistake on my part,” he admitted.

“Mistake?”

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