Lamar rubbed the back of his head. “Pick your enemy time.”
“Betraying the Pack buys us time.” And will make Elara nearly unmanageable. “Standing against Roland now complicates things. Tomorrow the Pack people are arriving. Nez will force the issue. That’s the way he thinks.”
“What do you want me to do?” Lamar asked.
“Your cohort is standing watch tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to do a repeat of Fort Smith.”
Lamar blinked. “Okay. How many do you want at the castle?”
“Give me twenty-five.”
“Will do.” Lamar grinned. “Bale’s got the graveyard watch. It will kill him.”
“He’ll survive. That’s all,” Hugh said.
Lamar nodded, walked to the door, and turned. “Preceptor?”
“Yes?”
“If he wants you back, what will you do?”
To be back in the light of the magic again. Everything forgiven. All the doubts forgotten. To bask in Roland’s approval was like walking into sunshine after an endless cold night. He craved it like a drug.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Lamar nodded and walked out.
8
The morning sun shone through the open arches of the breezeway. The short bridge between two towers had a roof, but no windows. Instead large arches were cut into its walls, open to the wind and the sunshine. Elara strolled through it. She liked it here, above the castle, away from work and obligations. And looking down through the arches gave her a slight chill of alarm. She did it now, standing still, looking for a few torturous seconds at the land far below.
Such a long way down.
Slowly, deliberately, Elara took a step back to the safety of the breezeway. Familiar relief came to her. She smiled. She needed that after last night. Six hours of research and divination and she had nothing to show for it.
She did have plenty of time to stew in her hate of all things Hugh d’Ambray. Yesterday at the smithy, he was insufferable. They did learn one useful thing: Radion couldn’t duplicate the pattern of the scale mail and he didn’t know of anyone who could.
Rook emerged from the other tower, moving quickly.
“Yes?”
He reached into a pocket and rolled a glass marble to her. With the magic up, he had no need for paper.
The marble stopped by her feet and Hugh tore out of it, swinging his sword.
She jumped back on pure instinct, but not fast enough. The sword passed through her, harmless, and kept going, because it was only Rook’s memory. Hugh twisted like a feral tiger, and struck again and again, fast, sharp, sinking so much strength and speed into his swings, they would’ve cut anyone standing in his way in half. The raw power, tempered by skill, was mesmerizing. He wasn’t wearing his uniform or armor. He wore a T-shirt, dark pants, and boots. He wasn’t actually fighting. This was practice, but it definitely wasn’t routine. Some inner demon saddled Hugh and drove him into a controlled devastating frenzy.
He was oddly beautiful, the way superior athletes sometimes were, as they pushed their bodies to the limit. Still a touch too lean from starvation, yet a pinnacle of what a human body could do. The way the sun caught the blade of his sword added an almost mystical touch to it, as if it weren’t practice, but a sacrifice of sweat and skill to some vicious war god.
Sun. Practice? In open air?
You… you bastard. “Where is he?”
Rook pointed down. She leaned out of the nearest arch.
Hugh whirled below, striking and slicing invisible opponents. Beside him about twenty of his people were doing the same thing, some paired off into practice fights, some by themselves, going through the exercises. In the main bailey. Right in front of the gates.
Rook raised his hand. She looked in the direction of his fingers. Six riders coming up the road. The Pack delegation. They would ride right into the middle of Hugh’s training spree.
Damn that man.
Elara turned and ran to the tower.
She made it out of the tower onto the landing just as the Pack delegates rode to the gates. Dugas was already there, watching.
Hugh showed no signs of slowing down. He had at least two dozen soldiers and he’d ordered the horses out too. They waited on the side, already saddled and tied to the rail at the wall, Bucky with his silver hair standing out like a sore thumb.
“What is he doing?” she ground out.
“Not staying in his room like you told him to,” Dugas said. “I suppose he doesn’t like being grounded.”
The first rider entered through the gates. He was surprisingly young, maybe eighteen at most, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and shockingly beautiful. He saw Hugh. A red sheen rolled over his eyes.
She sighed. There was no way to stop it.
Behind him the second rider saw Hugh and stopped.
The leading rider said something and started toward Hugh, slowly.
Dugas turned to her.
“If I run down there now and dramatically thrust myself between him and Hugh, it will destroy Hugh’s credibility and make me look like an idiot.”
“Yes,” Dugas said.
Elara plastered a smile on her face. “Then I will slowly walk. Here is hoping they don’t kill each other.” She crossed her fingers and walked down the steps.
The boy got there first.
Hugh finished his swing, wiped the sword with a cloth, thrust it into the weapon rack, and picked up a bucket.
“Fancy meeting you here,” the boy said.
“Hello,” Elara said. “I take it you’re Ascanio Ferara. I see you know my husband.”
“Yes, I do. The last time we met, he tortured me,” Ascanio said.
He what? Could this get any worse?
“You’re still alive,” Hugh said. “Clearly my heart wasn’t in it.” He raised the bucket and poured water over his head.
“He tortured you?” she asked.
“He was trying to get a friend of mine to come out of a cage, so he could take her to her father,” Ascanio said. “So he would heal me, then break me, then heal me again. I don’t remember it, but I heard such wonderful stories about it. Your husband is a man of many accomplishments.”
Oh, there was no doubt of that.
“Let’s see, his people killed the alpha of my clan, he broke the Beast Lord’s legs, he kidnapped the Beast Lord’s mate, dumped her into a shaft filled with water inside her father’s prison, and almost starved her to death. These are just the highlights.” He laughed, an eerie crazy cackle.
A bouda, Elara realized. A werehyena. They were notoriously quick-tempered and crazy. And Hugh didn’t mention kidnapping Daniels. He’d kept that to himself.
She couldn’t believe it actually bothered her.
This had gone far enough, Elara reminded herself. Pulling his feelings out of him was about understanding your enemy, not fueling insecurities.
Hugh regarded the shapeshifter, his face slightly bored. “Do you want to do something about it?”
“Mmmm, let me think…” Ascanio leaned forward, his agile face taking on a pondering expression. “I attack you, you kill me, I start a war, shame the Bouda Clan, and my mother will never get to hear the end of it as long as she lives. Not to mention she would be sad. Tempting, but no. I’m here to retrieve the two families and that’s exactly what I will do. The question is, are you going to do something about it?”
She caught her breath.
“No,” Hugh said. “Are they ready to go, Elara?”
“Yes, they are.”
Hugh looked back at Ascanio. “They were treated well. If more come, they will be treated the same. We’ll keep them safe until you pick them up.”
The bouda squinted at Hugh. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Hugh turned his back to Ascanio.
She felt like sitting down. Instead she smiled at Ascanio. “Do you need any provisions for the road?”