Page 22 of The Duke and the Disciple

Chapter5

Neither Alive nor Dead

Aesylt was jolted awake, surrounded by the clangs of armor and the scrapes and squeaks of leather. Dawn pierced through the thick glass.

Scholar.She whipped her head toward his fur, but he wasn’t there.

“Up,” Drazhan commanded, but he didn’t leave it to chance, gathering one of her hands in his with a rough, effortless tug. She staggered to her feet, readying for some obnoxious rant, but when she looked up at him, the rage she expected was absent.

Beyond him were several dozen of his men fanned out in a semicircle. All were armed, like him. The way out was blocked.

“Draz, what is this?” She couldn’t stop staring at the line of men ready for battle.

“I won’t ask you what the fuck you were doing spending the night here with the scholar because we have a much bigger problem, Aes.” He released her and turned toward his men, raking a hand through his stubble. “Are you all right?”

She crossed her arms and took a step back from him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Drazhan nodded to himself. He looked around with hard, wide-eyed blinks.He’s anxious. Unsettled.“It was just the two of you up here?”

Aesylt closed her eyes, groaning. Of course Drazhan would make a big deal of nothing, just as he’d been doing ever since coming home. He loved to forget she’d had all the freedom in the world when he was away, and had managed just fine. “Yes, andnothinghappened, for the love of?—”

He shocked her with a silencing, crushing hug. “Doesn’t matter.” He pulled back, sweeping a guarded gaze over her. “Gather only what you need right now. We’re leaving.”

Aesylt blindly stepped backward, raising her arms at her sides. “Nien. Not until you tell me why you came marching up here at dawn with anarmy.” She searched around again for Rahn. “And what you did with Scholar Tindahl.”

“Your scholar is on his way back to the village with the other caravan. He’s fine.” Drazhan almost spat the words. His mouth twisted in scorn, but it didn’t hold. None of his reactions were lasting more than seconds.

“You mean your mendraggedhim back, don’t you?”

He shook his head and then rolled it back, facing the sky. “Aesylt, you just need to come with me now. Please.”

“Draz—”

“Please!”

Only once before had she seen desperation like that in her brother’s eyes: the night he’d returned from the Vuk od Varem a victor, only to find Witchwood Cross had been razed, their father’s and brother’s heads greeting him as he stepped through the village gates.

“All right,” she said quietly. She darted her eyes around at the men, looking for signs of the answer, but they were solemn monoliths. “All right, wulf.”

She waited until they were settled in the cart and driving down the mountain before she asked another question. “It’s not Imryll and Aleks?”

Drazhan stared forward. He shook his head.

“Tas? Duchess?”

“Nien.”

“It’s not... Val?”

“Aes.” His voice creaked. “I just need to get you back to Fanghelm. We can talk there.”

“Get me back to Fanghelm?” Her restraint slipped away. He was acting as though she was in danger, like he expected an ambush on the road and for her to be taken. The wagons of guards ahead and behind weren’t making it easier to discard the notion. “I really think you owe me an answer now, Drazhan.”

His stubbornness was immutable though.

Aesylt bundled her furs tighter and stared into the forest on the side of the path, which grew denser as they neared sea level. The fog splitting the range disappeared, and soon they were on the more-traveled section of the road.

The bustle of the village trickled in bits and pieces. The closer they got to town, the deeper the ripples in her brother’s tense, thick muscles as he directed the mules through closed-jaw commands and white-knuckle tugs of the reins.

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