The first of d’Albret’s soldiers is upon me. He raises his sword, then stiffens, falling to the ground, a crossbow bolt protruding from his back. A second bolt embeds itself in the next closest man. I only have time to wonder if Shrewsbury and his men returned before a third bolt finishes off the last of the men headed my way. That shot is followed by a jubilant whoop as four soldiers emerge from the stone—no, not the stone but a narrow passageway—brandishing swords and pikes like the furies of the gods.
“What took you so long?” Maraud calls out, then it erupts into a melee—churning horses, shouts, and cries, and the nearly deafening sound of sword against sword.
And heartbeats. So many hearts are beating within my chest that I must press my hand over it and sit down for fear it will explode.
The pounding of my heart continues to grow and multiply as those around me draw close to death, but the sounds of battle begins to fade. Forcing myself to my feet, and keeping one hand tightly on my sword, I creep back to the clearing. Someone—a woman?—drives a sword into a fallen man’s chest. It is the last of d’Albret’s soldiers. The rest lie dead or wounded, their blood staining the floor of the small valley.
The first of the souls leaves its body just then, a whoosh like a bat swooping down from the sky. It is followed by another and another until the entire valley is awash in souls—vile souls with fleeting images of deeds and thoughts that almost make me retch.
Utter stillness follows as the last of them dies, and once again, it is only my own heart beating in my chest.
Finally able to look up, I see Maraud grinning at Jaspar and Valine. Tassin and Andry are slowly making their way toward the others.
“What in the name of Camulos’s teeth took you so long?” Maraud swipes his forearm across his brow. He is wounded, but doesn’t seem to notice.
“We thought they were planning to surround you, so we went to head them off. Turns out they simply had someplace else to go.”
I stare in stunned silence. Maraud was expecting them?
There is only one meaning I can glean from this, and I do not like it at all.
Maraud sees me just then, the humor leaching from his face, leaving it gray and haggard. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be safe.”
Is that concern he is feeling? Or dismay that his plans have been discovered?
“I returned to help.”
Valine claps a hand on Maraud’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing she did. She picked off four waiting for their turn to get to you. Not even you could have taken on nine men at once.”
“You were supposed to be safe with the others,” he repeats stubbornly.
“And you were supposed to be taken by d’Albret’s men. Not all goes according to plan.”
He struggles with whatever emotion he is feeling—anger? fear? regret?—then casts it aside and grins. His smile is so wide and inviting and full of joy that it is all I can do not to forgive him everything there on the spot. “Well, you are safe, and you saved my hide, so I can’t help but be glad.”
But his smile does not reach the cold place in my heart. The place that realizes he arranged for this—all of this, as far back as Ransle. He told his friends to meet him here. Whether because he was certain of d’Albret’s pursuit or because he always intended to overpower me, I do not know. Not yet, anyway.
?Chapter 79
he horses and weapons will fetch a pretty penny,” Andry says. I cannot place what is different about him—ah! He is smiling. The first time I have ever seen him do so. “We’ll get more for them than we’d have gotten fighting for d’Albret.”
“Those we won’t want to keep for ourselves,” Tassin grunts.
Maraud slaps Andry on the back. “You may both stand here and count your stacks of coin if you wish, but I’d like to make camp before nightfall.”
“Where?” I ask, having no desire to sleep in this valley tonight.
“Up there.” Maraud points to the small ridge behind the granite outcroppings that overlook the valley. “But first, I need to wash some of this blood off in that stream.”
* * *
By the time we have collected all the horses and Andry and Tassin have retrieved everything of value, we must scramble to make camp and secure the animals in the quickly fading light. But these soldiers are old hands at it, made even more efficient by their many years together.
I do not say much, allowing the occasional chatter of the others to swirl around me like sparks from the campfire. Everyone is quieter tonight, far more so than when we were in Ransle. Whether it is due to the bodies we left behind or some other reason, I don’t know. Maraud volunteers for first watch.
As he disappears down the path toward the watch post, Tassin casts me an unreadable sideways glance. “You came back for him.”
“I did,” I say simply.
He nods his head and grunts in approval.
* * *
Some time later, I find Maraud leaning against a boulder, his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking down over the valley even though it is too dark for him to see. His hair is still damp from his dip in the stream.
“You’re supposed to be on watch.”
He glances over at me and grins. “That is the beauty of the high ground. I can sit in comfort and survey everything below me.”
“Not many would consider cuddling up to a boulder to be comfortable.”
“Try it.” He shifts to the side, making room for me to stand beside him.
I remain where I am. “What is that place, truly?”
“Camulos’s Cup.” He plucks a strand of grass from where it grows in the crevice of the rock. “It’s not only one of his old shrines, but a place where a few can take on many. And win.”
From this vantage point, it is clear to see. “The entire valley is the altar, and the dead you leave there are his offering.”
He runs the grass through his fingers. “Trust one of Mortain’s daughters to recognize the stark truth of it.”
“So if d’Albret’s men hadn’t come along, was Shrewsbury’s party to be the sacrifice? Or me?” I don’t truly believe that, but this whole day has turned my beliefs upside down.
“Saints, no! Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Because you clearly planned this. Planned for them to meet us here. You arranged it back in Ransle.”
“Yes, but not so I could sacrifi—”
“You betrayed me!” No worse than I have planned to betray him, a small voice reminds me.
“No! I sent the others on ahead because I was afraid d’Albret would pursue us. And I was right.”
Some of my anger leaves me. “I think that you planned this all along so you could overpower me and make your escape.”
He stares at me a long moment, not certain he has heard me. “I was hoping I could persuade you to let me—let us—help you, but I would not have forced you.”
In that moment, something stirs within my chest. Something as nebulous and fragile as the blade of grass he holds in his fingers. As small and tentative as it is, it terrifies me. “You can’t help. Only one is required for what I must do.”
“God’s teeth! Even assassins need help sometimes—and you do. I can tell by how it gnaws at you.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t you get it? I never needed your help. I only needed something to trade. I was going to hand you over . . .”