Page 49 of The King's Queen

“So what do we do now? Where do we go from here?” I finally ask, propping myself up on my elbows. Rowan stands first before offering me a hand. He glances pointedly towards the sky, where I find storm clouds swelling on the horizon.

“We go back to the carriage, get you a change of dry clothes, and keep digging. There’s got to be something on the mages that wasn’t destroyed that we could use to help you. If you could harness this power, then we could save you from any future burnouts, and you wouldn’t need to worry about protecting yourself on the run anymore.” I wring my skirts out as we walk and dry my dagger before it rusts. Rowan was being uncharacteristically positive about this situation, considering we both just learned I was a walking weapon. Or savior. I hope the day never comes where I’m forced to choose. Will I destroy this world or be the one to save it? To kill or to die, Rowan had said.

Raiko laughs upon seeing our sorry state, both of us drenched and quite miserable looking. Rowan’s excuse of the healing waters for my ‘sickness’ covers the true reason for our state. The last thing I need is my father or Lucius to find about my powers or burnout.

“Feeling better, my lady?” Raiko bows deeply while a squire hands me a parcel with a fresh dress in it. I nod gratefully and slip off to change. I sigh contently. nothing feels better than dry clothes after being soaked. These little luxuries are what keep me from running away from the palace permanently. That and the fact that there are now two villains rather than one.

Raiko shuts the door behind Rowan after he settles into the carriage, freshly changed as well. Thankfully, his coat covers the charred white tunic, and the falls healed any wounds I had inflicted upon him.

“Thanks, by the way,” I offer into the dark of the carriage, “for helping me. And I’m sorry for burning you.”

Rowan offers a crooked grin. “I had it coming. Try and get some rest.”

Rest would seem impossible if I hadn’t just used all my energy on a foolish light show. Rowan cracks open a book he brought, continuing to research as my eyelids begin to droop. The steady prattle of the wheels and hooves on gravel slowly lull me into a fitful sleep.

Chapter19

Verosa

The low whinny of a horse and a distant shout startle me from my sleep. The lights of our transport have been snuffed out and the curtains drawn. I slept long enough for the dark to fully settle around us, and fear wraps its fist around my heart. I’m about to beg for a light when Rowan raises a single finger to his lips. The motion sends a chill down my spine. Something is not right.

The carriage suddenly stops with a jolt, knocking me from the seat. Quick and sturdy hands find my shoulders, and I look up with a blush to find Rowan staring at me with concern.

“Fine. I’m fine,” I say, but he is already looking through the curtained window. The silken drapes brush back just enough that I can just barely see the outlines of dark trees but nothing more. I lean forward to peak through, only to be met with a heavy force against my chest. Rowan throws his body over my own right as the first arrow shatters through the window, planting itself in the carriage wall I was leaning moments before. Where that arrow would have gone right through my eye.

Rowan swears. There’s a slight trickle of blood running down his tricep, grazed by the arrow meant for me. I reach out for it, but he brushes off my concern, dragging out multiple hidden knives and a sword from under the cushions of the carriage. Firmly, one fine and wicked blade is pressed into my open hands. Its edge is serrated and cruel. The type of blade that lusts for blood and carnage. The rest of the arsenal of weaponry is strapped to him as he stands. Another volley of arrows slams against the carriage, rocking it.

“No matter what you hear, no matter what happens you are to stay in this carriage. Understood?” He groans, rolling out his injured shoulder. “This is a coordinated ambush. These men don’t care if they have to steal, murder, or rape for what they want. You let me and the guards handle this. And stay hidden. If anyone comes at you, you slash first and ask questions later. Got it?”

“Absolutely not.” I stand up, furious. “You’ve sent me on all these missions. I know how to fight. You need me out there.”

Rowan shoves my shoulders hard, forcing me down into my seat. His gaze is unreadable as he looks me over one last time. Then I recognize it. Panic. Because if this was coordinated, then our assailants are here for me.

“I need you to stay safe. The others don’t know you can fight either, it would jeopardize our whole mission. I know you can handle yourself, but sit this one out. I’ll be back soon.”

I can only nod dumbly, panic dulling my senses, filling my eardrums to the point where I can barely comprehend or hear his words. Barely hear them. But my fear is not for myself. It for him.

“Remember your training.” Is the only form of goodbye I get before he flings himself from the hidden doors under the carriage. The sounds of fighting grow louder as I bolt the side doors shut, the lowly feeling of cowardice suddenly setting itself deep within my bones.No, I try to remind myself through short breaths.I am not a coward, I am following orders. I can’t risk the greater mission, and I can’t risk Rowan worrying about me. I’d only be a distraction, one that could get the mercenary killed.

So instead, I clutch that cruel dagger close to my chest, my heart pounding wildly against it. Stay in the carriage. The carriage with a broken window during an ambush. Seems an easy enough task. Just wait for the slaughter to finish, and go home. This isn’t real, this is just another one of Blaine’s drills. When this is all over, he’s going to pop out from behind the trees and laugh at me with those flaming iron eyes watering before tearing into his men over some minuscule error. Somewhere in the near distance I can hear someone cry out, and suddenly everything becomes very real.

Rowan. It could be Rowan.

I stand suddenly, the carriage rocking. My first mistake. They had thought the carriage to be empty now. But I don’t care. He could be hurt or worse. I don’t notice the smoke filling the compartment until it’s to my nose. Until I’m coughing and gagging and blind. Not until a large, leather-clad hand reaches up through that trap door in the bottom and pulls me down.

The scream that tears loose from my throat is cut off when my head slams against a carriage bench, and I see stars as my partially limp body is dragged from the compartment. My fingers loosened around the hilt of my blade as I fall; it clatters to the side as I begin to slip through the opening. At the last second, I manage to pull it with me, slashing blindly into the smoke. A faint and wicked chuckle is the only response I receive.

The gravel bites into my stinging palms as I grapple for any foothold, anything to hold onto. To stop this. For, in my blind terror, any semblance of training Rowan might have worked to instill evades me.

The smoke. It’s the smoke, they had laced it with some sedative or drug before setting it upon me. My senses fog over more, increasing the effects of the concussion I have undoubtedly received through that fall.

If I was only at full strength. If only I hadn’t burned out earlier. If only I hadn’t been drugged or concussed. All of it is pointless now,

As soon as I’m free from underneath our carriage, those same rough hands hook under my arms, hauling me unceremoniously to my feet. It’s then that I blindly slash one more time, my vision still dazed and doubled. A sick crunch and a cry of pain and anger confirms that I did hit something, and so does the swift punch to my jaw. My head reels once more. One arm wraps around my torso, and the other grapples for my blade, then tosses it out of my reach.

Looking up, I’m able to see a thick bearded face and black beady eyes staring in the distance. We start to move. I flinch my gaze away as he stares back.

Someone shouts my name in the distance. I spare a moment to look out at the scene through heavy lids, and we’re losing. Badly. Only Rowan and the captain are still cutting through opponents as if they are nothing but smoke and mist and shadow. It was one of the younger knights who had shouted my name and paid for it with his life. I cry out at the sight of a jagged blade puncture through his sternum, then drag down to his navel. I have to force myself to look away as his entrails begin to pour from the laceration. He is still screaming as they drive the blade through his skull next. A sickening crunch of bone and iron and flesh.

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