Page 23 of The Duke and the Disciple

Her own heart hadn’t moved from her throat.

When he guided the cart onto the main road, villagers on all sides stopped to watch. They exited their shops and stalls or slowed their wagons and horses. An entire range of sentiments played out across their faces, from curiosity to sadness to disgust.

“Eyes. Ahead,” Drazhan ordered.

“Whathappened?” she whispered, struggling to follow his order. She faced forward, but her eyes flicked toward the sides, trying to read in the villagers’ eyes what her brother was refusing to say. “Why are they all staring at us like that?”

Me. They’re staring at me.

Drazhan reached over and yanked her away from the edge of the bench to bring her to the center.

Aesylt twisted out of his grip, her confusion turning to anger. “If you want me to fall in line, you’re going to tell me, and you’re going to tell me right now.”

“Almost home,” he muttered, grinding the words.

“You’re deliberately withholding things from me, because you think I can’t handle whatever it is.” Aesylt slid hard to her right, gripping the far end of the bench, and leaned half out. “Drazhan, I will jump out of this wagon right now if you don’t?—”

Drazhan snaked a hand out and slammed her back down, but when he spoke this time, his deep, confident voice had a crack down the center. “Aesylt...” His hands loosed up on the reins, and the wagon slowed. “It’s Valerian. He’s returned.”

Aesylt’s entire body seemed to coil inward, tightening around her lungs, her heart. She tried to breathe before speaking, but her throat constricted around the words, which came out in a rush. “Returned... like he won? He bested the wulf?”

“I just need to get you home, cub.”

Her heart plummeted toward the cold wooden floor. “Did he abandon his post? Did he already... Is he...” Aesylt shook her head and grunted.Don’t say it.“Drazhan.”

“He’s alive. But so is the wulf.” Drazhan’s throat jumped in a hard, protracted swallow. He spurred the mules on, sending Aesylt and himself slamming back from the force. The cart made a sharp turn onto the long approach to Fanghelm Keep. There were dozens teeming around the gates, but when Aesylt craned forward to see better, her brother pinned her back with one arm. Gentler this time, which was worse.

“Fuck,” he hissed. The guards in the cart ahead tried to clear the way, but the gates were completely covered with a swarm of villagers. “Don’t move.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Don’t move.” Drazhan hopped out and marched toward the gathering scene. Aesylt looked on in horror as he was circled by angry men, shouting demands she couldn’t make out. She started to climb out anyway, but Fezzan Castel appeared on her side of the cart and shook his head at her to stop.

“Fez, what is goingon?” Aesylt reached out and grabbed the man’s armored arm. “Why are you all wearing your metal? Why is everyone acting like this?”

Fezzan screwed his mouth tight. His nostrils flared. “Better for your brother to tell you, cub.”

“Iwillfind a way out of this cart if you don’t tell me!”

He stepped closer, his focus still on Drazhan and his other men trying to thin the crowd so they could open the gates. “We don’tknow.” His teeth scraped over his bottom lip, his eyes wide and wary. “I was meeting with your brother about allocations for the meat stores, and we heard shouting near the north end of property, at the forest line, and out from between the trees comes...” He stopped when someone threw a punch at the gates. “Shite. That’s Esker Barynov. Stay put.”

“Fezzan!”

Aesylt clambered out after him, bursting through the thick crowd of onlookers to get to the center of the melee.

“She was his final witness!” someone cried. “She spelled him!”

Someone grabbed her around the waist from behind, whisking her feet off the ground. She threw a low elbow and they released her, but then someone else had her from the left, pinning her against one coming in from her right. She twisted and squirmed, dropping into a crouch, but a boot crashed into her face, and she went sprawling onto her back.

“Grab her! Grab the koldyna!” someone said, muted and distant, as she clawed along the ground, dodging boots and mud and legs. Her head swam from the kick, but if she could get to the gate, she could climb, and maybe she could finally see what had caused so much violent confusion.

Something grabbed hold of her foot and swung her upward until she was dangling, her hands grasping for the ground. She screamed and wriggled, but more hands came to help her assailant, until she was surrounded and pinned, her breath ripped away with every crush and press of their fevered hold.

Aesylt spat blood into the dirt. She watched it sink into the mud as she was carried away from the gates, from the carts, from her brother. She screamed again and again, squirming and swinging her arms wildly to strike everything she could.

“Draz—” The word was choked by the leather of someone’s leg. She tightened her knuckles and swung as hard as she could into the shin. Her vision filled with stars from another swift kick.

Then she was crudely dropped, and she landed on her neck, tumbling sideways. She took in a mouthful of cold rocks and spit, scrambling, but then the darkness of her flock of kidnappers spread away, revealing the bright morning sky.

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