“I forgot flint!” she whispered. “We won’t be able to see!”
“You’ve got me, aye?” he whispered back.
There was the dry sound of his hand against the wall, and then the scraping of the torch being pulled from its spot. A tiny spark of light, the scent of smoke, and then the flame was crackling, filling the hall with flickering light as he pulled his hand away.
Aerity beamed up at him.
“Let’s get as far from your chamber as this passage will take us.” He held the torch high in one hand and grabbed her hand with his other, then led them forward. Aerity’s skin was alight from the hot thrum of blood through her body. She’d never been more nervous.
“I never knew this was here until I tried it today,” she said. “I’ve no clue where it leads.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
“They’ll know you’re against them now,” she whispered. They turned a tight corner. “Martone will return any moment and they’ll know. It’s only a matter of time before they find us, and then—”
“Sh, Aer, we can’t do that.” He stopped and turned, holding the torch above their heads. His other hand went around her waist and pulled her until their chests were together, their pounding hearts pressed tight. She leaned her face against his shoulder and breathed him in, feeling his cheek rest on her forehead. The comfort of him was just enough to slow her heart.
“Let’s keep going,” she whispered.
He obliged. At the end of that long stretch he pointed to another lever on the wall. “It definitely connects with other rooms. This is good. But I think we should go farther.”
“Aye.”
They walked and turned for what seemed like forever. Aerity’s sense of direction had never been keen, so she had no idea where they might be at that point. But with every lever they saw and every corner they turned, she felt greater optimism. Finally, the hallway ended in a small room with a chair and chest. There was a lever in that room with an outline like her bookshelf.
They stood staring at it. “What room do you suppose it is?” she asked.
Paxton shook his head. “I believe we went east toward the front of the castle.”
“Guest quarters?” Aerity guessed.
Again, he nodded. Each pressed their ears against the wall, but the other side was silent. If someone were in that other room—if the passageway was discovered—they were both dead. But they couldn’t remain within the walls forever. Paxton rubbed his temples.
“Sit down a moment,” Aerity told him. He sat heavily in the chair while Aerity fit the torch into the sconce on the wall. She watched as he put his elbows on his knees and let his forehead rest against his palms. “How long has it been since you slept, Pax?”
He chuckled quietly. “I don’t know. Days.”
He’d been carrying the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders.
“Let’s take a few moments to rest before we decide what to do,” she said.
Aerity crouched next to the chest and quietly pulled up on the unlocked clasp. Its hinges creaked when she began to open it, so she stopped and went slower until the lid was fully up. Inside was empty. “Well, that’s not helpful,” she muttered. She left it open to avoid more creaking.
Aerity pushed to her feet and stood before Paxton, gathering his head in her hands. He brought his arms around her, above and below her hips, and rested his face against her stomach, pulling her to stand between his open legs. She ran her fingers through his hair, then over his smooth cheeks. In that one single moment, her world felt right.
“I love you, Aerity Lochson,” Paxton whispered into her skirts, and her heart brimmed with fullness.
“I love you as well. Even if you were a rogue skirt raiser when we met.”
His chin lifted to send her a questioning look. Aerity smiled. “It’s what Wyn used to call you.”
A small, tired grin played on his lips.
“What will happen to us, Pax?” she whispered.
A deep sense of desperation to grasp their time together rose within her. This could be it. This could be their last moment alone together.
He held her tighter and pressed his forehead into her abdomen. “I just want to keep you safe.”
“And you have. We’re safe right now, aren’t we?” Her heart began a rhythmic pounding as she realized what she wanted. Perhaps it was foolish and dangerous, but she’d never felt such dire desperation. “You have my heart in this lifetime and the next, but we are not promised more than this moment together.”
He lifted his chin to peer at her again, whispering fervently, “I won’t let Vito touch you, Aerity. I swear it.”
“We don’t know what is to happen when we leave this room. And even if by some miracle of the sea we’re able to escape and somehow beat Kalor . . .” Her voice caught. “I am still promised to Lief.”
She licked her dry lips. Paxton’s brow creased at this thought, and he dropped his gaze. She took his chin and lifted it to look at her. His eyes were full of remorse at the mention of her marrying, as if he’d lost her already.
“I am yours, Paxton. And we have now.”
He stared at her a moment longer. His voice deepened. “What are you saying, Aer?”
“I think you know,” she breathed.
He stared. She could see the war between yearning and fear in his eyes. She wondered if the pattern of his heartbeat matched the gallop of her own.
Aerity’s voice shook with nerves and need. “Give me a memory of our love that I can keep with me always, Pax. Something no one can take from us.”
His tight jawline began to relax, and she watched as the fear shed away and pure yearning took over. Slowly, with his eyes fastened on hers, his hands roamed down from her hips, down her legs, and grasped the bare skin of her ankles before sliding back up, under the hem of her gown. Aerity’s breath hitched as his hands cupped behind her knees, stroking upward to the backs of her thighs. His small grin turned wicked.
“You want me to make good on my nickname?”
Aerity seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. All she knew was that she did not want Paxton to stop. In that hidden room she was not a queen. She was simply a lass in love with a lad, and wanting nothing else in the world than to give him everything and take all he was willing to give in return.
“Aye, Pax. That is what I want.”
His gaze heated. His hands slid upward, under her petticoats and over her hips until his fingertips circled her bare waist and held tightly. He gave her a tiny shove back without releasing her, enough to pull his knees together and yank her forward again to straddle his lap. Then he raised her skirts and lowered her, a hand behind her back and one on her neck. Aerity whimpered at the feel of him through his breeches.
She loved that he didn’t question her forwardness, didn’t ask if she was sure or attempt to save her virtue, because despite her obvious nervousness he trusted her judgment. She knew he’d give her anything she wanted if it was in his power.
Their mouths met with passion and impatience, knowing their precious time together could be stolen from them at any moment. Paxton curled his fingers around the fabric at her shoulders and pulled it down her arms, below her chest as far as the chemise would allow. He kissed down her neck to the softer, fuller skin of her breasts now displayed.
“Seas!” she whispered as his hot mouth enveloped her sensitive skin. She grasped his head and arched her back. Aerity needed more.
She reached for the bottom of his tunic and lifted it. He raised his arms and let her pull it up, tossing it into the open chest. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down the front of him where the daggers were strapped. He stripped the blades and set them on the floor. She relished the way his breathing quickened as he watched her touching him, her hands moving down his taut stomach.
Her eyes landed on his hands on her thighs. The tops of his nails still had a bit of flesh tone, but the bottom sections of his nails were all purple. A quaver worked its way through her at the po
wer that lived inside this man.
She slowly inched back on his lap and felt for the ties of his breeches at his waist. Her hands trembled as she undid them and pulled them down. Her heart gave a bang. Their gazes struck like flashes of lightning, causing a wave of pounding heat to rise between them.
Paxton shifted beneath her and raised Aerity up by her waist, taking her mouth with his as he lowered her slowly back down onto himself. She clung to his shoulders. He caught her quiet cry in his own throat and held her tightly as they became one.
She was Paxton’s, come what may. Not Lord Alvi’s. And never Prince Vito’s. Only Paxton Seabolt’s, and nobody could take that from them.
Chapter
42
The news that reached the local town of Dovedell at daybreak had not been good. Tiern had been on edge, pacing the local tavern all night since they’d heard sounds of explosions from a distance. He’d wanted to return to royal lands that very instant, but the soldiers he was with said it’d be suicide.
They had only planned to amass willing fighters from Dovedell and be back in time for battle, three hours at the most. And now . . . Seas alive, what the curses had happened? One moment he’d eagerly offered to help on a quick mission, hoping to erase from his mind the look of fear and betrayal that Vixie had given him. And the next thing he knew, royal lands were infested with Kalorians.
He’d run when he should have stayed. He should have been there. What had happened to Vixie and Paxton? It was driving him mad not to know.
When news spread through the night, hundreds of commoners from local towns had shown up to see what could be done.
“Are the princesses safe?” They had no way of knowing.
“How many are there?” A bloody lot.
Nearly a hundred soldiers who’d been patrolling and doing border duty now massed in the town square. Tiern joined them, hearing shouts of “Reorganize and regroup!” “Rearm!” “Reestablish leadership!” “Plan and execute!” Big words, but laughable compared to what they were up against. The Kalorians had smashed their ground troops like a tiny anthill and taken over royal lands.
“Our navy moved north,” said the highest-ranking soldier there. “If we can get word to them in the bay—”
“That will take days!” another shouted.
“Not if we send a single fast rider.”
Tiern rubbed his face. The kingdom was doomed. It was only a matter of time before Prince Vito settled in the royal lands and began to send his people out to crush the towns. They didn’t have the men or resources.
Horses, carts, and caravans filled with women and crying children set off, shouting their good-byes and sending kisses to the men they’d leave as they fled north. Tiern walked away from them and toward a large tent some way from the town center. When he got to it, he realized it was one of the Lashed infirmaries. He peeked inside and saw three women and two men sitting, discussing in earnest. Their heads spun toward him.
“Very sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wait,” called one of the men, standing. “Is there a plan?”
Tiern shook his head. “Not yet. We’re still trying to decide and hoping for more men from other towns to arrive once people start to get word.”
“We want to help,” said one of the women in a strong voice. “They have Lashed among them . . . bad ones. Lochlanach will need Lashed fighting on our side as well.”
“Aye,” Tiern said. “But are you willing to kill with your hands?”
They looked around at one another forlornly, and nodded.
“I’ll let the soldiers know.”
When he left the tent he saw a trail of dust rising from afar on the path. He squinted to see many bodies, all wearing the pale colors of Lochlan clothing. Tiern broke into a run until he got to the town center.
“More men are coming.”
Tiern and the others rushed to meet them. There looked to be close to fifty extra men. This was good. Now they only needed about a thousand more.
Tiern nearly laughed at the likelihood of that.
From clear in the other direction of town came a distant rumbling from the hills. The senior soldier’s eyes widened.
“What the seas . . . ?”
Tiern, the Lochlan soldiers, and Dovedell townspeople ran to see, spreading out and staring at the horizon. A chill that had nothing to do with winter ratcheted up Tiern’s back as moving dots rose over the hills straight toward them.
“Attack!” a townsman yelled. Others joined him, raising their sharpened sticks and bows, but Tiern and a few others hushed them.
“They’re not coming from the direction of Kalor!” Tiern shouted over the din.
They stared out, powerless to do anything except watch as the forces gained ground.
“We should take cover!” another townsman said.
“Wait,” said the commanding soldier. “They wear the bronze of Toresta.”
Murmurs rose up around them. “Toresta is an ally, aye?” “Should we trust them?”
Tiern pushed his way through to see better, and his eyes traveled to the end of the approaching party. A large group of them rode shining black horses, and wore all black clothing from head to toe.
“The Zandalee!” He jumped and punched the sky. “These are definitely allies!”
“Aye,” said the soldier. “And more Zorfinans behind them!”
The townsmen and soldiers sent up a great cheer of welcome, raising their fists in gratitude. As they got closer, Tiern couldn’t wait any longer. He sprinted up the hill toward the Zandalee. There were so many of them; Zandora must have brought the entire tribe! She and the two sisters Tiern knew all leaped down deftly from their horses. He ran to them and gathered the three of them in a great big hug.
Horses barreled past them. Fierce women circled them, eyes alight beneath their head coverings, making clucking sounds and high-pitched calls.
Zandora pulled away and laughed. “You will make us look soft.”
He dropped his arms, smiling hugely. The two sisters faced him on each side and both took to running hands over his light beard, shaking their heads and muttering in Zorfinan.
“They say a sweetling like you must keep his face young.”
Tiern rubbed his cheeks, unable to stop smiling. “I promise to shave just as soon as we take back our castle.” He looked at Zandora now, whose face had gone stony. His smile fell away as the dire situation came rushing back at him.
“Your royal lands have fallen?” she asked.
“Aye.” The ache inside him began anew. “And they killed our king and queen.”
Zandora gave a grim nod. “We will take back Lochlanach, I promise you. Prince Vito goes too far.”
Chapter
43
Vixie sat up, panting and disoriented, visions of cannons and blood still swirling in her mind. She peered around blearily and felt the gentle scratch of Wyneth’s hand at her back.
“Sh, love, go back to sleep.”
“Nay.” Vixie rubbed her eyes and pulled her legs crisscross on the mat she shared with her cousin. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d closed her eyes to try to rid herself of a headache. “How long have we been down here? It feels like days.”
“Half a day, at most,” said Harrison from the bench next to Wyneth. He leaned his elbows on his knees, a foot tapping nervously. Beside him, Lief paced from one end of the tunnel to the other, a mere five steps for him.
From across the way, Mrs. Rathbrook came to Vixie and knelt before her. “Is your head bothering you, dear?”
“Yes,” Vixie whispered.
“May I?” The woman’s hand hovered beside her cheek, and Vixie nodded. The princess closed her eyes as the Lashed healer touched the side of her head and weaved warmth through her mind that seemed to unravel the tight thread within. Vixie breathed and relaxed.
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Rathbrook smiled and went back to her pallet beside her watchful guard.
Do
wn the long, low-ceilinged room were forty-seven people. Soldiers, guards, cooks, maids, and them. Every cot, mat, chair, and wall space was spoken for. The baker had made loads of bread. Apparently he baked more than necessary under stress. Coincidentally, Vixie ate more than necessary under stress, so lucky her.
Vixie leaned her head back against the wall. “What do you suppose is happening up there? Can anything be heard?”
“Nay,” Wyneth said quietly. “Nothing.” To Vixie’s surprise, Wyneth reached up and placed a hand on Harrison’s knee. He covered her hand with his own. The gesture was so intimate, so loving and natural, that Vixie could only stare. She wasn’t alone, either.
Lief stopped pacing, eyeballed their two hands together, and all but snarled as he began his furious pacing again. Nobody dared tell the coldlander to sit down and be still. Wyneth gave Vixie a small, reassuring smile, but it did nothing to calm her. All she could think about was that her parents had been murdered, and how those same people were now directly above her with her sister.
Was Aerity even still alive? A sob rose and Vixie choked it down, tried to make it seem like a cough. She lifted her knees and put her arms across them to hide her face. Wyneth rubbed her back again. What would Vixie do without Aerity? And would that make her the queen? She’d never, ever aspired to be ruler. It simply wasn’t in her. That had always been Aerity’s job. Vixie quickly wiped her dripping eyes against her shoulders.
One of the chefs, a plump middle-aged man who sat atop a large chest at the rear of the room, jumped to his feet and said, “Sh! Listen! Do you hear that?”
All murmuring and shuffling stopped. The room became silent.
They waited. Another beat passed. And a third.
Then . . . a scraping. A light thump. Another scrape.
The chef spun to face the wall behind him, staring at the blank space and the chest. “I—I think it’s in the wall!”
Lief, Harrison, and several soldiers ran for the back of the room, forcing the baker, chefs, and maids to move away and let them inspect. Wyneth and Vixie both stood to see, but they were too short. Vixie climbed up on the bench, her head grazing the low ceiling. She placed her hands on Wyneth’s shoulders in front of her, and Wyn grabbed her fingers, watching the men.