Now Dagrun was asking his soldiers to take up swords as well. “Should we have another match?” he asked, and the crowd roared its approval.
“I seem to remember,” Merit said, raising her voice to its public volume, “a bit more blood at your last meeting in the ring.” And a different encounter afterward, for all that. How quickly he had come to her room after the contest, eager for Merit’s embrace. She approached, but came up short. Dagrun’s cool gaze told her to stay back, for now, to wait at the edge of the platform. Merit obeyed, standing at the corner of the dais, a few paces from the king and queen.
Kepi eyed her warily, confused at first. “My sister,” she said. “I am glad to see that you are safe.” Kepi returned the damp cloth to the boy, her face uncertain.
Merit did not reply. She cared only for Dagrun. The man who had begged her to marry him. But she had refused him. She had made him marry another. Merit told herself that it was the only choice she had. The emperor would not allow her to marry him. An alliance was her only option. Overthrow Tolemy and she could marry as she pleased.
But there was no Tolemy now.
Dagrun warmly cupped Kepi’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear. He waved his arm in a gesture that told his servants that the games were ended. Kepi withdrew, the crowds flocking around her, slaves and servants alike.
Dagrun stepped off the edge of the platform.
Merit drew a quick smile as he approached, expecting him to return the gesture, but he did not. She tamped her expectations as he urged her to join him in the shade of the Kiteperch. She drew up close to the king. So much had changed since their last meeting, she was uncertain where to start. “Good to see you, good to be back,” Merit said. It was all she could think to say, her excitement making it difficult to think.
“Your smile would not be so broad if you knew your price. The outlanders understand a queen’s worth. Lucky for you, the rebel is short on coin and I have … no such difficulties.”
“Am I not worth every crescent?” she asked lightly.
Dagrun appraised her, as one would study an item one had purchased from a merchant and not as a lover welcoming her return. “I would not have left you with the outlanders. I’ve bribed them for years with gold and grain, blackthorn and amber. The Hykso were eager to bargain.” He inched closer to Merit, but did not embrace her. He looked to the crowds and the soldiers, to the generals who waited, their eyes darting toward them, just out of earshot. Fear and uncertainty were everywhere. There was war in the southern lands, and the king of the Ferens was distracted.
She had expected kinder words from Dagrun, a bit of affection. She had grown accustomed to his vigorous pursuit, the way he grabbed at her regardless of who was watching or where they were. Now he was cautious and she noticed that he made certain to stand at arm’s length.
“I have news, Merit. You are not the only Harkan I’ve aided since your departure. We have your messenger and your husband too.”
“What?” She had not heard from Shenn since he left for the hunting reserve.
“Shenn ran afoul of the Hykso when he left the Shambles,” Dagrun continued. “He sought refuge in a Feren outpost on the north side of the reserve. Realizing his worth, my soldiers escorted him to Rifka.”
“He’s here?”
“Yes. When he arrived I sent a messenger to Harwen. As we speak, a legion of Harkan riders approaches Rifka and will be here by morning. They were sent to fetch your husband, but they can escort you as well.” He offered a reassuring nod. “You’ll be safe. I will send men to bolster their numbers. The outlander tribes cannot match a sizeable, organized force. You have only to fear Barca, and his army lies to the south of Harwen, outside of your path.”
“My path? Where am I going? I have just arrived.”
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice raised. “Barca is still marshaling his troops, readying for another advance.” Dagrun clenched his fist. “You must return to your kingdom posthaste.”
She nodded. “Yes, of course.” It was her duty to Harkana that had sent her from Feren before. But she lingered now and put a hand on his arm, stroking his skin. “But surely there is some time…”
He shook his head. “No. You have no time. We are burning the bridges, closing the Rift valley tomorrow. Leave Feren or you’ll be trapped here.”
He is dismissing me. Merit would not have it.
“No,” she said.
“What?”
“I am not leaving. The kingdom can wait.”
“If you delay, you may not have a kingdom. Your husband told me about your brother. Ren lives. Shenn bungled the job, nearly got himself killed in the process—he’s a mess.”
At that Merit stopped. Ren was alive. So that was why she had not heard from her husband.
Dagrun continued, “The boy has his horns and will return to Harwen. Ren will claim his throne.”
“It is not his to claim.” Her words were ice.
“He is Arko’s heir and I will not fight a war for you.”
“Dammit, why not?” she cried, losing her temper, which was unlike her.
Dagrun took a step back, his eyes narrowing. She thought for a moment that he would leave, that he would turn and go, but he stood there silently, pretending she had not cried out at him.
Dagrun. She watched him in the shade of the Kiteperch, the shadows of the great tree draping his face. The king of the Ferens. The man who had once promised to take on the entire empire for her love. The man who stole a kingdom. The king who had freed her from the Hykso. Now he offered nothing more than an escort, a few soldiers to ride along with her own. She reached out, tried to touch his cheek, but he moved deftly out of her path, circling the Kiteperch. She followed him, winding around the mighty tree, dodging branches, moving slowly, ever aware that they were not alone. She reached out again, tapping his tunic. This time he did not evade her touch. Hidden by the great trunk of the Kiteperch, unseen by the dwindling crowds, he clutched her hand, arresting it in midair.
She gasped.
The swiftness of the gesture caught her off guard.
She was queen regent and the king’s daughter; she was not accustomed to such rough handling.
Merit angrily withdrew her hand. “You’ve changed. You’ve fallen for that little girl, haven’t you?” she accused, once more in control of her voice, but not her emotions.
Dagrun would not reply. He would never reply. She saw that now.
Merit scowled. So be it. Dagrun was done with her; his desire lay elsewhere. He offered her no more attention than the serving girls.
Merit pressed her damp fingers to her dress.
She had wanted him once, she had wanted him for longer than she could recall, but that desire would not be fulfilled.
The king of the Ferens was no longer hers to command. She had pushed him into her sister’s bed, believing Kepi was no match for her. But her sister had proven the more nimble warrior. The most fleet-footed warrior in the Harkan army indeed.