Then the third shock hit.
Nysa Dulgath sat up, and opened her eyes. The delicate woman reached up and with both hands pulled the quarrel from her body. The bolt was dark with blood. She pressed her left hand to the wound and dropped the quarrel with her right. Then, both hands pressed, blood leaked through her fingers.
How is she still alive?
He couldn’t have been the only one thinking this. The knights jumped out of their chairs, and the king’s men retreated, but no one moved to help Nysa. Not even the king, who stood an arm’s length away.
She’s going to die. No one can take a hit like that and live. This is just some freakish thing. She’s going to collapse at any minute.
But she didn’t. Nysa continued to hold her palms to the wound and stare at the distant parapet, where the knights had directed guards. While they were searching for a way to assail the wall, a voice rose above the murmuring of the crowd.
“No one move—or the king dies!”
Everything stopped.
Royce shouted his command again to make certain everyone heard. Vincent started to retreat. “That especially includes you, Your Majesty!” he added.
Vincent froze.
Royce continued, “I won’t hesitate to punch a hole in the king, so don’t test me. Everyone is going to do exactly what I say. If you don’t, the king will die. Even if I’m killed afterward, imagine the treatment you’ll receive for acting so rashly.”
“What do you want?” Vincent shouted back.
“First, tell everyone to do as I say.”
The king hesitated.
“Do as he says, Vinny,” Bessie pleaded while sobbing. She had rushed from her bunting-covered chair to be at the king’s side when Lady Dulgath was hit.
“Quiet, woman!”
“Look at Lady Dulgath. Look at that quarrel. I’ve got another aimed at your chest,” Royce said.
“Do what he says!” the king shouted.
“Wise man. Second, I want you, and everyone else, to be silent. I’m the only one allowed to talk. Wouldn’t want the king to die because someone couldn’t hear me. Third, I want Your Majesty to sit back down. You’re not going anywhere for a while.”
The king didn’t hesitate this time. He took his seat, putting both hands on the arms of the chair. He looked decidedly terrified.
“Now my friend is going to lower a ladder. Those of you at the bottom will want to move away. If anyone gets anywhere close to him, if anyone so much as gives him a dirty look…well, by now you ought to know what will happen. So for the sake of your king—and the wrath that’ll rain down on you and yours if you do anything to cause his death—give my friend a wide berth.”
The silence in the courtyard was so complete that Christopher heard the creak of the ladder as Hadrian Blackwater climbed down.
What are they doing?
Watching the crowd part, seeing Hadrian move toward him, Christopher felt his grand scheme collapsing.
What if they tell what they know? Will the king believe them? No. He won’t, not now. They’re threatening his life. This might work out after all.
Hadrian walked straight up to the center of the stage and was the only one to touch Lady Dulgath. As he stooped down to lift Nysa, Vincent whisper to Blackwater, “You’ll hang for this.”
“No, we won’t,” Royce shouted, making the king start. “And I said no talking.”
With a pained grunt, Hadrian lifted Nysa in his arms. Her head wobbled; her eyes wandered blindly. One arm fell limp. Blackwater carried the countess off the stage and headed toward the front gate beneath the stare of thousands of eyes.
As Hadrian passed Christopher, he heard Nysa whisper, “Going to pass out. Get—get me to the monastery. Tell Royce…have to get me to the Abbey of Brecken Moor. You have to tell…you have to…”
“I heard. Calm down,” Hadrian replied. “Save your strength.”
“My strength is gone.”
The whole of the courtyard watched as he carried their lady out the gate, leaving a trail of blood that dripped from the end of that long blue gown.
“What did you do?” Scarlett gasped, her eyes threatening to fall out of her head as Hadrian laid Nysa Dulgath in the bed of the wagon.
He did it as gently and carefully as he could, but the woman was a wilted rag covered in blood. Her dress was a sponge from which dripped a thick drizzle. Her skin felt slick and slippery.
While Nysa Dulgath couldn’t have weighed much more than a hundred pounds, his ribs told him that carrying her had been too much. The stress had sent jolts not only to his side, but up to his shoulder and down his back. Taking deep breaths didn’t help, but he needed one—more than one. Hadrian’s arms were shaking with pain by the time he set her on the buckboard.
Scarlett had leapt up and scrambled to make a bed from the blankets they’d left in the wagon. She helped ease Nysa down and rolled up another blanket for a pillow, plucking blades of grass off it, as if Lady Dulgath would care.
“Drive the wagon to the wall over there.” Hadrian pointed. “Around the back you’ll see a rope dangling from the parapet. Royce will be down in a minute. I hope.”
“What did you do?” Scarlett repeated in an accusatory tone, continuing to fuss over Lady Dulgath.
Does she think I did this? Fine, I’ll drive.
Hadrian stepped on the spoke of a wheel and pulled himself up to the driver’s seat. More pains, sharp as needles—very long needles—stabbed him in the side, stealing what little breath he had, and making him clench his teeth.
Hurt myself carrying her.
Hadrian took the reins off the stock, disengaged the wheel’s brake, and urged the team forward with a kissing sound he’d heard Scarlett make, along with a jiggle and slap of the long leather straps.
Feeling the wagon move, Scarlett looked up at him. “What’s going on? What did you do?”
Hadrian wheeled them toward the wall. The bounce and rattle of the wagon that made him twist in his seat did nothing to comfort him as he sucked in two more careful breaths.
“When Royce gets here, we’re going to go really fast,” Hadrian said, realizing how poor the suspension was on the wagon and how much the trip would hurt. He glanced back at Nysa, her pale face rocking from side to side with the motion of the wagon. She was either dead or unconscious; either way, she wasn’t going to suffer.
“Where are we going?”
Hadrian looked down at Nysa. “The Abbey of Brecken Moor.”
“The abbey? But—” They both looked up to see a dark figure slip over the wall.
Legs wrapped around the rope, Royce slid down like a raindrop on a string. Then he sprinted toward the wagon, shouting, “Go! Go!”
Hadrian slapped the reins, sending the wagon forward in a lurch as Royce jumped up. He caught the arm of the front seat with his three good fingers and plopped down beside Hadrian. The wagon bucked and banged over ruts, throwing Hadrian into the air and slamming him down again so hard he squeezed his eyes shut and saw little dancing lights.
When he reached the road, the earthquake stopped. There was plenty of shaking and still a little rocking, but they were no longer being tossed in the air like children on a tarp at a spring fair.
Royce climbed into the back.
“What did you do?” Scarlett asked him, shouting over the rumble of the wagon and the hiss of the wind.
“How is she?” Royce replied.
“She’s drooling blood! That’s how she is!”