Page 47 of The Duke and the Disciple

Everyone at the table turned to look at him.

Rahn dug his tongue against the roof of his mouth, praying the others couldn’t see the river of rage within him. He flashed a thin smile and tried again, his voice a more reasonable tempo, but Drazhan’s suspicion was back, fused in his brows. “Forgive my heated language. We’re all still reeling from that night. I know you aren’t giving the matter serious consideration.”

Drazhan placed his hands on the table and leaned in. “Do I need to validate that with an answer, or can we move on?” He shifted a withering glance to his sister. “Will you sit down? Please?”

“I know you didn’t agree to it because they’re sounding thedrums of waron our land!” Aesylt kicked her chair back. “So whatwassaid, wulf? What roar did you leave in the man’s ear that he is ready to march upon his own steward?”

“You know, I’ll speak to the kitchen, have our meals sent to our rooms...” Teleria said, but Drazhan stayed her with a raise of his hand.

“You want to know what was said, cub? You want to know whatIsaid to the man I once regarded as afatherbefore he attempted to extort me?” Drazhan shoved his plate across the table. The clatter was the only sound until he spoke again. “I told him the deal was off. I don’t accept his apology. I don’t accept his meaningless posturing. I don’t accept his son should meet justice in the hands of the law. The only fateIaccept for a man who would put his hands on a woman’s neck is for him to meet his end from mine.”

Rahn’s heart lighted with the same stone resolve, but it also sank in anticipation of what would come next. Drazhan’s patience was shorter than springtide in the Cross, and the Barynovs had exhausted it.

Aesylt’s lips peeled back. “Mine,you mean.”

Flecks of red and orange lit up the night sky beyond. Rahn slowly pushed back from the table, but it was Teleria who put voice to the problem.

“Drazhan. Imryll.” She flicked a nod toward the windows. “I suggest we calmly and quietly?—”

Everyone started at the sound of glass shattering. An echoing thud followed. Drazhan’s sword was drawn before the incendiary could bounce once. Imryll screamed and leaped from the table, clutching Aleksy.

Rahn was up and behind Aesylt faster than all of it. She turned toward him, alarm widening her eyes.

“Fire!” someone screamed, from another part of the keep.

Drazhan ripped a tapestry from the wall and threw it over the firebomb. “Adrahn, get them to the gatehouse. Now!”

Rahn gathered Aesylt under one arm and beckoned for Imryll and Teleria with the other. He ushered them all out, set to the increasingly desperate nature of Aleksy’s cries, rising in urgency at the same pace as the fevered bloodlust breaching their gates.

Aesylt rushed into the lead. In one fluid motion, she stretched a hand into her boot and withdrew a dagger. When she reached the first turn in the hall, she paused, breathless, and said, “Teleria, you come with us. Imryll, give me Aleksy.”

Imryll paled. She crushed a hysterical Aleksy to her shoulder. “What? Why would you say that?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to leave my brother, I understand. And if he were thinking straight, he wouldn’t want his probably pregnant wife and heir in the same place. So give me Aleksy, and we’ll meet you both in the gatehouse.”

“The gatehouse is just a meeting place,” Imryll blurted. She squeezed tears from her eyes with a dazed look. “We’re going to Fezzan’s. Into hiding.”

“Make a choice, sister.” Aesylt’s voice was clear as fresh ice. “But make it quick.”

Imryll kissed her son and turned to look back. “All right.” She passed him to Aesylt. “We’ll berightthere. Don’t you let?—”

“I would never.” Aesylt shifted Aleksy to her shoulder and brandished the dagger. “I would die before I let it happen, Imryll.”

Imryll wiped her eyes, spared her son one final helpless glance, and ran.

“Give me the dagger,” Rahn said evenly. He saw in her steeled gaze that she hadn’t pulled it as a precaution. She wanted to hurt someone, and gods, so did he, but he couldn’t fathom what might happen if she followed her instinct, as raw and wounded as it was. “Aesylt.”

She met his eyes. “Do you even know how to use one, Scholar?”

“Aesylt, give it to him!” Teleria cried. “What if you trip? You’re carrying your nephew.”

“I know how to use one,” Rahn said darkly. He saw the moment Aesylt recorded his unspoken truth, storing it for later. Would she ask him? Would he tell her? “Please.”

She handed it over hilt first with an injured grunt.

No one had to say silence was necessary. Their harried pace carried them down one hall, then another. Rahn knew the way and still cursed every step, questioned every turn. The cries outside shifted to the zealous pitch of fresh battle.

Aesylt paused at the courtyard door. She peered carefully outside with a quick look in all directions, then gave Aleksy a kiss and tucked him into her neck as she raced into the night.

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