Castien stumbled as his horse nudged his shoulder. He patted the creature’s neck, murmuring, “Sorry, I don’t have anything for you.” His mount eyed him, snorted, and lowered her head to the grass.
Now he was disappointing the horses. Fantastic.
Bemused, he scanned the riverbank and the hill above. Distant sounds of battle reached his ears. Part of him wanted to be there, to help her, to protect her. Ridiculous, of course. At herside was a master assassin and a guard who would take every cut, every arrow for her. Besides the fact that she could probably handle an army on her own. Vern had. The memory of piled bodies of soldiers was both terrifying and impressive.
This wasn’t his fight. He’d only get in the way.
The leaves crackled beneath the Nadraken maid’s feet. She moved toward him. Her head was down, and she had dropped the reins of the other horses. Her brother hid behind her.
When she slowly lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes were full of fear. Clearing her throat, she drew her sword. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” Her voice was stiff.
At his feet, Ash issued a soft growl.
Fear was in the tension of her shoulders, the slight shaking of her sword arm, and the shifting of her feet. Zara reminded him of Madeline – quiet, gentle, caring. The softness of her heart was clear in every smile she directed at her brother, and the tight way she held onto him when they rode swiftly. Unlike the Escort, Zara had a quick temper. It made nights amusing since Pelios was thoroughly infatuated and unable to keep himself from being underfoot.
He put on a reassuring smile. “Have you seen the Queen fight? They’ll take care of it, no need to worry. I bet they’ll finish up in a few minutes, and we’ll be on our way again.”
She flinched. Her gaze flicked to her brother, then back. The sword in her hand dipped. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.
He didn't get the chance to ask why.
Her grip on the sword tightened, her knuckles going white as she uttered a few terrible words: “Shadowed knight…”
The phrase rolled over his mind like an avalanche down a mountainside. Rough screams, cruel laughter, and thick chains snatched his tumbling mind.
He blinked and shut his mouth. A wolf’s quiet whine was meaningless.
“Take my sword.” She stretched out her arm.
He grasped the hilt. Queen Anais had not allowed him a weapon. They didn’t trust him. Rightly so.
Struggling beneath the trance, he concentrated on loosening his fingers. Nothing happened.
Deep in the trees, the sounds of fighting stopped.
With shaking fingers, Zara reached into her shirt and brought out a small vial. In a quiet voice, she mumbled, “For Henry,” then drank the liquid.
A tear trailed down her cheek as she swallowed. She quickly rubbed it away. Her eyes met his. Fear was strengthened by resolve. “They said you know my… my phrase. Say it. Put… Put me under the trance, Castien.”
He heard himself say, “The sun drowns in sand.”
She gasped.
Her large eyes had been a dazzling green before they closed. She inhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing. When she opened her eyes, her voice was confident. “Forget.”
—
Castien gripped the edge of the window. The memory had clarified over the hours.
The Nadraken woman had taken her bow off her horse and tossed it to the ground. Henry had tripped on the reins. He had barely made a sound, just a quiet whimper. The boy was always quiet.
Castien remembered how slowly Zara had reacted. She had always responded immediately to her brother's slightest indication of distress. Not this time. She had turned toward him, standing a few feet away and just observing. It wasn't until footsteps approached from the trees that she strode to Henry and knelt beside him.
Why she had created a scene to imply Castien intended harm, he wasn't certain. Perhaps she needed a distraction from her altered behavior. The liquid in the vial must have been the same as what Frances had dosed him with. Another victim of the trance.
What else had Nadraken planted in his head? Who else was he subconsciously intended to manipulate, ruin, or kill? Thirty green-eyed women. Zara had been the fifteenth. Maybe the sixteenth – he had been whipped harder than usual that day. All thirty or more could be anywhere. Was he supposed to avoid all the green-eyed women in the world for the rest of his life?
He was a weapon. A key. He wasn’t the first person Frances had tranced – only the first to be turned into a key who could unleash chaos onto the world. Calculated chaos for Nadrakens' benefit.
