Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (26 page)

Beauty took so many forms. But it was best, the most potent, with death as a companion. A brother-in-arms so to speak. A dark angel casting shadow on the ground and up into the heavens.

The Carpathian Mountains were like that; splendid yet cruel to the point of evisceration.

Shay felt the twist in his gut even now. The mental disembowelment came with a view. Stretched out for miles in front of him, the peaks and valleys connected ridges and lakes and plateaus alike. The beast of it waited in those hollows, sure with jagged teeth, deep crevices, and slippery slopes. Were he lucky, he might lose his footing and fall into one like Curio had almost done.

His warhorse snorted. The weak sound made Shay squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn’t wait much longer. It was selfish to do so, but—

Shit. He couldn’t bear to kill his horse. Curio was his only friend.

His eyes burned as he swept the landscape, trying to find the courage. Drachaven lay to the east, nestled amid sheer cliffs and solid rock. Ram had chosen his roost well. From what he’d heard from the villagers below, the fortress was carved into the mountainside, right into the belly of the beast. Probably had the temperament and teeth to match.

Shay didn’t care. Death was inevitable. A sure bet that made him twitch with impatience.

It wouldn’t be long now. A week, no more, and he would be crouched in Drachaven’s shadow. Camped like a wraith on Ram’s doorstep.

Rock clicked against stone, scrambling one ahead of the other in a quick tumble down the path he’d just climbed. He
glanced over his shoulder. His stomach clenched, fisting up tight. Curio was trying to get up.

With a silent curse, he jumped from his perch onto the path below. The warhorse kicked out with his broken fetlock, rocking his powerful body to shift from his supine position. Curio screamed but tried again. The sound of agony ripped Shay in two. He shouldn’t have waited. It was the height of cruelty to leave a friend to suffer and one the code did not allow.

Screw the code.
This was his friend and comrade. And selfish or nay, he’d needed some time to say good-bye, to send his trusted companion off into the ether with more than a slice to the neck.

Rock scale crunched beneath his knees, biting through his leathers as he knelt beside Curio. He put his hand on his shoulder, on the soft pelt he would never touch again. “Stay down, boy. Stay down.”

Shay stroked him gently, murmuring reassurances. Like a good soldier, the warhorse laid his head back down, trusting him to do the right thing. But he never had. Didn’t have the first clue about right and wrong. Or which was which. Halál was responsible for that along with Al Pacii.

The anger inside him burned a hole in his heart. How different his life could have been if only—

Curio shifted, and the bone shard protruding from his slim leg trembled. High-pitched but soft, he whinnied while the wind whispered against the back of Shay’s neck.

It was time.

Dipping his head, he laid his cheek against Curio’s neck. The heat and nap of his fine coat tunneled deep, opening gaps until he felt like naught but a hard shell with an empty inside. “I am sorry, my friend. I never should have brought you here...through this
passage on this journey. It was mine alone to take. Not yours...never yours.”

A breathy gust left Curio.

Forgiveness? Shay wanted to believe it was, but absolution lay through the mountains. Action must accompany words. Otherwise they meant little or naught at all. “My pledge to you, Curio. I go to my death to right this wrong.”

The warhorse made one last attempt to get up.

He unsheathed the blade high on his chest and held him down. “You cannot come with me.”

Curio snorted but lay accepting, heavy muscle flickering in a rolling tremble along his flank. Resting the knife against Curio’s flesh, Shay pressed in, made a clean slice, and watched his friend’s blood flow. It ran red, marring the beauty of his black hide, and dripped onto the grey rock below. He sent his steed into the afterlife with a soft stroke, a gentle murmur, and a heavy weight in his heart.

One life for another.

He had taken an innocent girl’s. Now the universe had claimed his friend. Balance. In all things, there must be balance.

Light and dark. Soft and hard. Right and wrong.

Each complemented the other, painting a clear picture.

He knew the way forward, just as he had in front of that cave. He must finish what he started. Ram needed to be warned of The Three, of what he’d let loose upon the earth and the incantation. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to use them, and Halál would win.

Stroking Curio one last time, Shay pushed to his feet. After wiping the blade clean, he set it back in its sheath, wishing it was his heart. The damn thing hurt and the ache wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon.

A beautiful death. It was what he wished for above all else.

He only hoped Ram would be merciful. Just as he had been with Curio.

Mercy wasn’t part of the plan. Flying fists that ended in broken bones and spilled blood? Now that had a serious amount of potential. Though he should probably wait until Henrik started it.

Afina had told him to
behave
.

Xavian cranked his fists in tight. The muscles along the column of his spine flexed as he followed her retreat through a break in the trees. She paused on the path to glance at him over her shoulder. Even from there he saw the warning in her gaze.

Aye, no doubt about it. Waiting was absolutely the best strategy. That way when she came back to find Henrik lying face down on the turf he wouldn’t have to lie. He’d have an excuse...self-defense.

Dishonesty was never acceptable. Hedging, manipulating, or even omitting certain facts?—always, but outright lies held no place between them. And though he hadn’t promised her a thing, the idea of disappointing her didn’t sit well. Jesu, he was going to have to sort that out. Going soft for a priestess with a gentle touch and giving nature put him in lunatic territory. One shade shy of an asylum.

Regardless, the urge to please her was too strong to deny. No chance in hell he would strike first. Henrik would have to come to him.

“Feathering your love nest, are you?” With great interest, Henrik traced Afina’s retreat. Silence swirled like poison before he returned his attention to Xavian, his gaze full of speculation. “Any room for a third?”

Rahat.
He would do more than kill the bastard. He would skin him alive.

But not until Henrik engaged.

His comrade was fishing. Xavian smelled the trap, knew bait when he saw it. Afina sat perched on the hook, a provocation Henrik had cast out for a reason.

“She’s pretty, if a bit thin.” Turning sideways, Henrik flicked the towel from his shoulder.

Xavian tensed, instincts coming alive. Their kind never turned away from an enemy. To give their back or side left them open to attack. And vulnerable was never where an assassin wanted to be. The fact his comrade had committed that sin was worthy of note.

What the hell was Henrik hiding? What sat on his chest that he didn’t want Xavian to see? Thinking back he realized Henrik had never gone without a tunic at Grey Keep. Or in an Al Pacii camp. Not while training or in the midst of others. Xavian shifted right, trying to get a clear view.

In a rush, Henrik reached for his clothes. Before Xavian could get a glimpse, he tossed his leather tunic over his head. “I like my women plump, but an exception can always be made.”

A direct hit.

Xavian clenched his teeth. Christ, this silent shit was getting old. But the more Henrik talked, the better his ability to ferret out the facts. His comrade wanted something. Something that had little if anything to do with the old man. Halál had ordered
his execution on sight, and if Henrik were here for that purpose he would already have tried to take his head.

“What say you?” Henrik pulled the lacing on the side of his tunic tight. “In the mood to share the wench?”

Hearing Afina called a “wench” almost sent Xavian over the edge. He locked his muscles, refusing to move. He couldn’t stop the growl, however. It broke through, rolled up his throat, giving sound to his rage. Black birds in the tree above him scattered, taking flight as they perceived a predator in their midst.

“Hmm, guess not.” One corner of his mouth jacked up, Henrik sheathed his blades and pivoted to face him. Xavian frowned. Something other than amusement gleamed in his comrade’s eyes. Was that relief he spotted? “A bit possessive of her, aren’t you, Ram?”

“Very,” he said, his territorial nature getting the better of him. Didn’t matter. ’Twas time to end the game. If Henrik needed a declaration to start the fight, he was more than happy to provide one. “Touch her and you die.”

Henrik nodded and broke eye contact. Xavian’s gaze narrowed. Aye, ’twas definitely relief on his comrade’s face.

“Time to tell me why you are here, brother.”

In answer, Henrik unsheathed a dagger and let it fly.

Without moving his feet, Xavian tipped his head to the side, felt the wind, heard the blade whistle by his ear before it hit the tree trunk behind him. The
twang
rippled through the clearing as the steel settled into its temporary home.

Dropping his arm to his side, Henrik raised a brow. “Clear enough?”

Well, well, well. The bastard had clearly started something, hadn’t he? Xavian bared his teeth and started forward. In agreement with the plan, Henrik settled into a fighting stance.

Finally. He would get what he needed. The satisfaction of a bone-crushing brawl while he beat the truth out of Henrik. And really, who could deny such a gift as that?

Blood ran from Henrik’s left temple. The trickle just missed the outside corner of his eye as he blocked the right hook with his forearm. Ram countered with a quick jab to his rib cage. Tucking his elbow in tight, Henrik absorbed the blow and spun. Loose turf churning beneath his boots, he delivered an uppercut, unwrapping the punch like a present beneath Ram’s chin.

A shock wave rippled through his fist.

Ram cursed.

Henrik grinned. Goddamn, he loved a skilled opponent. And one as fast as Ram never failed to please.

“That all you got?” Ram stepped back and circled left.

“Not even close.” Henrik moved right, mirroring his friend. “I learned a few things in Poland.”

“Prepared to share?”

“’Tis the least I can do.”

Ram snorted.

Henrik attacked, hammering his friend with all the skill he’d gained from the savages in the North. Someone needed to pay for the loss of his sister, for her senseless death and his pain. It might as well be Ram. He could take it, shape it, give him the release he needed.

Christ, he hadn’t felt this good in months.

Fighting with Ram was like manna from heaven. Inspired in a hallelujah kind of way.

His comrade smiled around his split lip, dropped into a crouch, and pinwheeled. The bastard’s boot caught his ankles and sent him flying. Henrik landed with a thud beside the fire pit and, planting his hand in the dirt, rolled in the opposite direction.

“Rahat.”
Ram leapt skyward, trying to clear his body as it hurtled toward his legs.

As he passed underneath him, Henrik reached up, caught the toe of Ram’s boot, and pulled. His friend went topsy-turvy, landing in a heap a few feet away.

“Nice.” On his back in the dirt, Ram jackknifed to his feet. Rotating his arm in a backward circle, he closed the distance between them, coming at him like a sidewinder. “Impressive, H.”

He reset his stance. “I aim to please.”

“Since when?”

Henrik shook his head. Trust Ram to want to chat while in the midst of a good fight. It was surprising, actually. In the heart of Al Pacii, Ram had been quiet, keeping to himself more often than not. But then, he’d been the same way, and like recognized like. ’Twas the reason he’d spent most of his time with Ram, almost all of it passing in companionable silence.

But his friend wasn’t silent now. Something had changed. Henrik suspected Afina was to blame.

It didn’t seem possible, but seeing them together forced him to admit the truth. Ram was perfect for her. The bastard could love and protect her at the same time. Something he’d been unable to do on his best day. What did that make him? Weak? Inept? A terrible brother?

The roar of denial started soul deep. The vibration rattled through him, ripping him wide open. Rage spilled out, giving way to a war cry as he lunged at his friend. Halfway to his target,
Henrik realized his error. But it was too late to stop. The narrow alleyway to his heart was already open, and Ram would use it without mercy.

Henrik saw the flash of a blade and almost smiled. Relief was but moments away. His death would wipe the slate clean—bring justice to those he’d killed, to the murdered lass with pleading eyes that still haunted his dreams.

He could go now.

His sister was safe with a man he trusted, no matter how badly it had gone in the end. ’Twas the last piece of his puzzle, and as it slid home to complete the picture, steel nicked his skin. Instinct threw his hands out to block the thrust. Ram twisted his wrist and brought the dagger up, slicing through the lacing on the side of his tunic.