CHAPTER
30
HEATH’S STOMACH
CLENCHED IN FEAR. “WHERE’S Atira?” Heath demanded again as Amyu
stared at him.
“I don’t know,” Amyu
said. “I saw the tall blond swing at your back as you ran past, and
Atira attacked him. Last I saw, she was forcing him back out of the
throne room—”
Heath bolted through
the doors toward the throne room.
The hall was filled
with people aiding the wounded and dealing with the mess. “Atira,”
Heath bellowed, causing heads to turn.
There was no answer.
Heath strode forward, searching the faces of the injured. Atira was
a warrior, she wouldn’t be—
“She ran that way.” A
thin hand pointed at the tower stairs.
Kendrick was leaning
against the wall, with one of the healer apprentices looking after
him. “That way,” he said, his voice cracking. “She was a fine
figure in that dress, let me tell you. Running right after young
Lanfer’s ass, a fine sight.” The old man sighed. “If I were
younger—”
“What?” Heath
demanded.
“Lanfer fled up the
tower stairs, and she followed,” Kendrick said. “That’s the last I
saw of her.”
Heath cursed and ran
for the stairs. He pelted up them as fast as he could, overtaking
Lara and Keir and their guards. Yveni and Ander shifted to let him
pass. Keir paused on the steps, Lara in his arms, and lifted an
eyebrow. Rafe and Prest were above him on the steps,
waiting.
“Atira,” Heath paused
for a breath. “She’s chasing Lanfer somewhere in the
castle.”
Yveni and Ander drew
their weapons, as did Rafe and Prest.
“You’ll need help,”
Keir said. “We’ll—”
A tone like a huge
bell sounded, a long note that seemed to hang in the air. For a
breath, Heath thought it was church bells.
But this was no bell.
The tone pulsed through the stone walls, and the tower trembled
with the sound. Heath froze, feeling it in his very
bones.
He wasn’t the only
one. Everyone else was still, as well, eyes wide.
The tone held. Heath
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.
The Plains warriors,
including Keir, turned as one and looked in the same direction as
if they could see past the stone walls of the castle.
In the direction of
the Plains.
Then the tone was
gone.
Keir staggered
slightly, and Heath moved up to help him cradle Lara even as he
struggled to pull air into his lungs.
“Keir?” Lara asked.
“What was . . . Oh Goddess.” Her face contorted with
pain.
“Help me,” Keir said
as Lara writhed in his arms.
Heath moved in,
taking some of Lara’s weight. “Lara, what—”
“The babe,” she
groaned. “I think it’s—”
Keir recovered his
balance swiftly. “We need to get her to our chambers and summon
Eln. You take Rafe and—”
“No,” Heath said,
waiting to make sure Keir was steady on his feet before he stepped
away. “Lara’s safety comes first.” His stomach clenched again, but
he knew what he needed to do. He glanced up the stairs and back at
Keir. “I’ll wait until you’re both safe in your chambers. Come.
Swiftly.” Heath led the way, calling for any guards within hearing.
He glanced over his shoulder at Keir. “What was that?”
Keir shook his head.
“I do not know. But something has happened at the Heart of the
Plains.”
“Good or bad?” Heath
asked.
“I wish I
knew.”
HEATH’S CALLS HAD
BROUGHT PEOPLE RUNNING, and he’d sent guards for Anna and Eln. The
Queen’s chambers were filling with various lords and officials. In
addition, white-robed noble ladies came to assist, carrying cloths
and bedding, some by the fire, adding wood and setting water to
boil.
Anna bustled in as
they arrived, dressed in her normal kitchen garb, a clean apron
over her girth. It eased Heath’s heart to see her looking so
normal.
“The bed’s ready,
Lara, whenever you feel it’s right,” Anna said as Keir attempted to
set her on her feet. “We’ll get you out of that dress . .
.”
Lara wobbled as she
tried to stand, hunching over slightly, her teeth
clenched.
“It helps to scream,”
Keir said.
“Another trite—” Lara
gasped and then cried out as she clung to Keir. She sucked in a
breath, looking up at him in surprise. “Oh. It does.”
“Men in the birthing
chamber. I don’t like—” Anna started to fuss.
“No,” Lara said as
Anna and a few of the ladies started to help her undress. “Keir
stays.”
Heath left, not
willing to be drawn into the argument. Lara was in good hands. He
needed to find Atira.
In the outer chamber
Marcus was making kavage. Amyu was there, as well, changing into
tunic and trous. Rafe and Prest were fully armed, and Ander and
Yveni were by the door.
Yveni gave Heath a
nod. “I’ll be changing and on-guard outside in a
moment.”
“Sure you have to
change?” Ander asked, eyeing her in her dress. “I would
enjoy—”
“Don’t even think
about it.” The black woman shook her head as Heath slid out the
door. “This protects nothing. And trying to walk in all this
cloth!”
Heath slid out into
the hall to find his men spread out. “Lanfer’s still on the loose.
Check anyone going in or out.”
The “ayes” faded
behind him as he trotted back to the stairs, looking for any sign
of Atira’s passage. Heath frowned. Lanfer wasn’t stupid, and he’d
be fleeing like a rat. Why would he head up instead of
out?
At the stairwell, he
went up again, deciding to try at least two more flights before
starting to search the floors.
His reward was one of
Atira’s slippers lying on the stairs.
“Kill the bastard, my
love, or I will kill him for you,” Heath growled as he drew his
sword and started up the stairs.
ATIRA AWOKE TO PAIN
AND FOUL, HOT BREATH on her face.
She kept still,
trying to sort out what had happened. Someone was moving around
near her, breathing heavily.
Lanfer. She had
chased him . . . up the tower, fighting on the stairs . .
.
A toe poked into her
hip, trying to roll her over. She went with it, keeping her eyes
closed, letting herself sprawl out on her back as her skirt twisted
around her legs. There was a strangled gasp from above. The stupid
dress . . . At least it would keep him distracted for a
moment.
So, a head blow.
Lanfer must have gotten one in and taken her down.
A sound, then, of
ripping cloth, and then a hand gripped her wrist. She opened her
eyes just enough to see Lanfer preparing to tie her hands, her
sword on the ground close by.
Atira brought her
legs up, feet together, and kicked out. Caught by surprise, Lanfer
went sprawling.
Atira scrambled up,
grabbed up her daggers, and moved back until the back of her legs
hit stone. She glanced over her shoulder and gasped as fear swept
through her.
Up was bad. Down and
out was terrifying.
Atira reached out a
hand to grab the edge of the low wall. She could see clear to
Liam’s army camp and beyond, maybe even to the Plains themselves.
She understood now the terror she’d seen in some of the warriors’
eyes when they’d described the top of the tower.
She jerked her gaze
away and looked for her enemy. Lanfer’s face was still swollen and
bruised, but otherwise unhurt. He laughed as he drew his sword and
backed up, kicking the wooden trapdoor closed. “Now it’s just us,
my lovely.”
As he spoke, she took
the time to take in the area. The tower was built into the
mountain, and its top was a halfcircle, with the low wall running
all around. Large baskets stood at intervals along the walls, with
bees hovering around them. And over all, the mountain towered above
them, its craggy walls stark and unforgiving. There was a faint
breeze that teased her hair, still tied up on top of her head.
Other than the head blow, she was unhurt. Her sword in one hand,
she reached for her dagger, still in its sheath, and drew
it.
No rocks, no
obstructions except the door that Lanfer had closed. A good place
to have a fight, except for the down
part. Atira smiled at Lanfer and brought her weapons up. “There
will be no backstabbing here, city-dweller.”
“The only
backstabbing will be with my co—”
ATIRA CHARGED HIM,
FEINTING A BLOW TO HIS chest. He parried her blow, easily blocking
her dagger, but was not prepared for her body weight. She forced
him back and slammed him into the stone of the mountain, their
swords caught between their bodies. Lanfer grunted in
pain.
She pressed his
dagger to the wall and used her hips and legs to brace. They
struggled, and she tried to bring her blade up toward his neck. But
Lanfer dropped his dagger and reached for her.
Atira jumped back,
retreating carefully, watching her opponent. Hand-to-hand would be
fatal. Lanfer had strength and weight on his side.
Lanfer claimed his
dagger and advanced toward her. Atira circled then, unwilling to
have down at her back. Her skirts
swirled around her legs, and she cursed the cloth.
Lanfer rushed in, his
sword high, leaving himself open. Atira went for a chest blow,
ready to parry the dagger, but recognized his feint too late. His
dagger came at her face. She dodged, blocking it, but knew she’d
made a mistake.
Lanfer struck her
shoulder with the hilt of his sword. Atira heard the crack of bone,
felt the incredible pain. Her arm dropped; her sword clattered from
her useless hand, and she fell to her knees,
overwhelmed.
Lanfer crowed and
grabbed her hair. Atira still had her dagger, and she stabbed up
blindly, but Lanfer caught her wrist and bent it back. Lanfer
yanked her head around, and the movement jarred her shoulder.
Atira’s vision went black. Consciousness ebbed, and Lanfer had her
wrists bound before she could think clearly.
She breathed deep and
fought to stay aware.
Lanfer was on her,
using a dagger to cut the leather thong that kept her dress on. He
was chortling to himself as he stripped away the cloth and started
to fondle her breast. He had his other hand buried in her hair with
a tight grip, keeping her head tight to his hip.
He hadn’t seemed to
notice she was conscious, and she wasn’t exactly sure she was.
Reality seemed to spin, and she was sick to her
stomach.
He was panting now,
and reaching for his trous. Working himself up for more to
come.
She swallowed her
nausea and waited. When he was . . . distracted,
she’d—
His cock came out,
and she blinked. “That? You’re going to rape me with
that?”
Lanfer looked at her
in shock, his face distorting in rage. His grip eased, and she
rammed her head into his crotch. Not enough of a blow to cripple,
but enough to make Lanfer stagger back.
Skies above, that
hurt. Atira slid back along the floor, then managed to get to her
feet. The floor rolled with her, and she staggered again, catching
the dress with her foot. Her hair was starting to get loose, and it
fell into her eyes. She yanked at the bonds on her wrist, but pain
danced through her nerves at the slightest movement. Her anger had
gotten her on her feet, but that strength was starting to
ebb.
Lanfer was howling
with rage, and she saw him coming. She thought to brace against his
rush but went for a kick to his crotch instead. After all, it was
just dangling there . . .
Her foot made
contact, but not right on. Lanfer let out a whoop of air and
fell.
But the impact
knocked Atira off her feet. She managed to fall away from Lanfer,
and used her feet to slide herself farther away until her back met
stone. She was blind from the pain, certain that her arm had been
ripped off. But she used the low wall to stand. Lanfer was still
down, clutching himself, rolling in agony. She drew a steadying
breath and started rubbing the bindings against the stone. With any
luck. . .
A tone filled the
air, as if a chorus of singers sang one note, a long note that
seemed to vibrate in her bones. The sound shivered around her,
freezing her soul. The very stones under her quivered with the
sound. The Plains . . . something was happening on the
Plains.
Ignoring her peril,
she turned, leaned on the cold stone wall, and looked toward the
Heart, hearing a summons in that sound that hovered in the air.
Atira blinked, clearing her eyes, trying to shake her hair from her
face. The action made her stomach roll, but she could see . . .
could see . . .
In the far distance,
a shaft of light like a silver needle shot into the
sky.
It pulsed, bright and
powerful, and she knew it emanated from the Heart. She squinted,
trying to see, but the needle was so bright, it hurt to look upon
it. Something was happening, something—
Lanfer brought his
arm around her neck and jerked her back. His dagger flashed bright
before her eyes.
“Bitch,” he
whispered.
Atira struggled, but
he had her tight, and she could not breathe. But damned if that was
going to stop her from fighting him. She wiggled her hands around,
trying to find purchase against his doublet. The stiff golden
threads were rough against her fingers.
“Small, am I?” Lanfer
whispered. “We’ll see about that.” He breathed heavily in her ear.
The dagger vanished before her face, and she felt him slide the
blade along her hip, between the skin and the dress.
“I’ll just cut this,
shall I, and bend you over, and we’ll see who’s small. We’ll see
whose—
Atira struggled to
breathe, to see, but the pain was draining, and she was damned
tired. It would be so easy to just—
Heath’s voice
whispered from nowhere, “Kill the bastard, my
love, or I will kill him for you.”
Heath. Skies, she
loved him.
Lanfer was busy
trying to hold her and rip the skirt. Atira shifted her weight to
one foot and hooked his with the other. With a grip on the fabric
of his tunic, she threw her weight back.
Lanfer roared out as
he lost his balance just long enough to release the hold on her
neck. Atira sucked in air as she stumbled, almost falling. But she
managed to right herself and run to the other side of the
tower.
Lanfer gave chase,
and he pinned her so that her back was bent over the low portion of
the wall, her head out over the edge.
Atira struggled, but
he’d wedged himself between her legs. He yanked her up by the hair.
Her head throbbed, the pain was overwhelming, and her stomach
ached. Still, she bared her teeth at Lanfer. “Heath’s longer, and
thicker. You’d not satisfy any wo—”
Lanfer punched her,
splitting her lip, snapping her head back.
Darkness rose, coming
to claim her. She felt her legs go out from under her, felt herself
fall to the floor. She should be afraid, but what flooded over her
was regret. And a desire to see Heath one last time, and tell him .
. . tell him . . .
From somewhere far
away, Lanfer laughed. There was a blinding pain on the side of her
head, then the darkness was complete.