Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (43 page)

With a laugh, Afina skirted the captain and hurried along the outer wall to the rounded archway at its end. Thrown into shadow by the stone vault above, the planked door face looked more black than brown, and Afina fumbled a moment, searching for the iron pull. The smoothly hooked handle chilled her palm as she thumbed the latch, swept passed the barrier, and into the chamber it protected. Stone dust and the scent of disuse swirled as the door thumped closed, sending the sound of wood on stone echoing in the quiet.

Carved into the rock face, the turret was neither round nor square, but some shape in between. The odd curves in the main chamber were charming, really, and as Afina crossed the empty space she imagined it as her healing room. East facing with a sheer drop from the windows to the river below, it was close to the battlements, accessible to the men from the wall. Treating wounds quickly and cleanly saved lives. The chamber was well situated to do both should they ever be attacked.

Afina paused to look up at the domed ceiling. Ancient symbols stood in relief against the pale stone. She studied them a moment then pushed the door opposite the one she’d just entered
open and stepped into the corridor beyond. Ten feet apart, limestone walls marched alongside her as she hurried through the gloom. The boys along with Sabine would still be asleep, but she needed to see them, if only to count heads.

They hadn’t taken the news of Xavian’s departure well. But then, she couldn’t blame them. Her own reaction had been less than superb.

Reaching the entrance to the nursery, Afina cracked the door open. Coals glowed in the hearth, throwing enough light into the chamber for her to see. Beds marched like soldiers along the far wall, matching quilts mounded in the centers over little bodies. Her gaze lingered on Sabine a moment, taking pleasure in the wealth of blond curls visible above the blankets.

Another victory. She’d kept her promise to Bianca. Her little girl was safe.

Afina sent a quick thank-you heavenward and continued to count. She pursed her lips as she got to the last bed. Just as she suspected. Dax was gone.

Her heart went still in her chest then sent up a dull throb. The ache swirled out, rushed through her veins along with her worry. Her poor lad. He’d had another bad dream. It was the only explanation. Although he was the wanderer of the group, Dax never left his adopted brothers or the nursery at night. He was scared of the dark, though at ten years old he would sooner die than admit it. But Afina couldn’t blame him. The lad had seen more in four years with Al Pacii than most men saw in a lifetime. Xavian assured her the nightmares would go, but each time Afina heard Dax scream in his sleep and ran to soothe him, a part of her screamed along with him.

The bastards. Those filthy, rotten bastards.

Anger curled her fists tight as magic pulsed in her fingertips. What kind of monster preyed on children? One that needed to be wiped from the face of the earth. By the goddess, she hoped Halál accompanied his men this time...and got within range of Xavian’s swords. She wanted the piece of filth in a shallow grave where he belonged.

Taking a calming breath, Afina pulled the door closed, shutting her babies safely away in the nursery. They wouldn’t be up for another hour, and she needed to find Dax. He could be anywhere, inside Drachaven or outside the walls. Afina bit her bottom lip, hoping it wasn’t the latter. Somehow, though, she knew he wasn’t in the keep. The lad loved the forest as much as she did and would choose the upper limb of a tree over a dark corner in the castle any day of the week.

The ache in the center of her chest grew stronger as she pictured him curled up, knees to chest, trying to be brave, unwilling to let anyone hear his whimpers and see his fear. One day mayhap he would come to her instead of running away, but today was not that day.

Pivoting on her heel, Afina headed back toward the battlements and Hamund. She needed to tell him Dax was missing. If the lad stayed true to form, she would be venturing outside the walls sooner than the captain expected.

From his hiding spot amid large ferns and dense foliage, Vladimir surveyed the beast. He’d come at the great fortress from behind, hoping to find a weakness on the cliff side or, at the very least, the postern door. So far he hadn’t found it—or anything else for
that matter: no weak points, no deficiencies, an Armageddonlike arsenal manning the walls.

Drachaven was a veritable monster.

Not unlike the man who called it home. The assassin was unbeaten hand-to-hand, but his home...Damnation. ’Twas a thing of beauty. Stone walls and cliffs colliding to form an impenetrable stronghold. And shit, he hadn’t even begun to examine the gatehouse. At first glance, he guessed three portcullises. That meant navigating three sections separated by metal gates before reaching the outer bailey. No doubt with murder holes, countless places through which to launch arrows or pour boiling oil on the soldiers below. If anyone made it through alive, the inner gatehouse awaited. Vladimir could only imagine...and salivate. What he wouldn’t give to hold Drachaven for himself.

But first things first. He must get his hands on Afina.

Stepping over a fallen log, Vladimir leaned around a fern head to get a better view. He scanned the battlements again. Spaced at even intervals, men-at-arms lined the walls, looking far too alert. Hell, the sun wasn’t even up, yet there they were, armed to the teeth and ready to fight. Ramir must be cracking the whip and busting heads open while he was at it. ’Twas the only explanation for the kind of diligence he saw on Drachaven’s walls.

But then, the assassin wasn’t a fool. Ramir protected a prize. A woman with more power than the bastard had the wit to recognize. He needed to get in there...or find a way to force Afina out. Reaching into the pouch at his waist, Vladimir stroked the choker he’d had made especially for her. The gemstones caressed his skin and heated his blood. He couldn’t wait to force it on her, to claim what belonged to him by right and the will of God.

Careful to leave the foliage undisturbed, Vladimir moved left, his eyes on the base of the great wall. He must locate the postern door. Even if it was well defended from above, a midnight raid might prove successful. He dodged around a massive oak, heard his men move with soundless precision behind him, and caught movement. A shadow skirted the angled foundation stones, moving on quick feet away from him and his men. Vladimir crouched on his haunches and waited. A heartbeat passed then two before the slight form slipped from the shadows and made for the lip of the forest.

Grey cloak swirling behind him, the dark-haired lad paused at the tree line to glance over his shoulder. Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. It didn’t take a genius to know the boy was important. His garments were well made, his leather boots too expensive to be anyone other than one of Ramir’s brats. Aye, he’d heard the rumors—knew the assassin raised a tribe of boys no one else wanted. Now, it seemed, he would get to put that knowledge to work...along with the screams of one very unlucky lad.

Lips curved, Vladimir veered away from Drachaven’s wall and went after the boy...the bait to set his trap.

They stood in the center of the inner bailey, shifting from ordinary men into organized killers. The sight sent a shiver down Afina’s spine. Her gaze moved from the guards’ faces to Hamund’s broad back. A piece of parchment in one hand, a fletched arrow in the other, the captain curled his fingers into a fist. Vellum crinkled, giving way beneath the force of white-knuckled fury.

Message delivered by arrow. Never a good thing. But today its delivery might mean terrible rather than just plain bad.

Dax was still missing. She couldn’t find him anywhere. A chill sank deep, making her bones ache. Her gaze drifted around the semicircle again, taking in each man’s war-honed expression. Whatever the message in that note, it wasn’t friendly. An enemy with an ultimatum. A threat to give fair warning. Either was a possibility, but the first made more sense.

The morning sun spilled over the walls. The other children were breaking their fast, and Dax never missed a meal. He’d gone hungry too often before finding a home at Drachaven to take Cook’s fare for granted...no matter how fearsome his dreams. Afina rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. The soft wool absorbed the sweat, soothing her skin but not her mind. She went over the list again in her head. Drachaven held a number of good hiding spots. She’d checked them all, starting with Dax’s
hidey-holes. He wasn’t in the keep, which left one possibility. He was outside the walls, no doubt headed for his favorite place.

The swings. The ones she’d insisted be hung a fortnight ago.

Afina squeezed her eyes closed and cursed herself. Goddess be merciful, what had she done? Had she not demanded a play area—a place away from the constant clash of swords and threat of violence—Dax would never have ventured out to the great oak. Swinging soothed him, the rocking rhythm draining the angst that so often gripped him. Afina couldn’t blame him for needing it. Xavian’s departure had hit him harder than the rest. Something about her mate calmed Dax, made him less restless, more confident, better able to cope with all he had suffered.

But Xavian wasn’t here to bring him home...to keep him from danger. That duty now fell to her.

Her eyes on the crumpled parchment in Hamund’s hand, Afina forced her feet to move. Dread made the short trip across the inner courtyard seem like a trek into the mountains. Everything felt heavy, as though the earth bore down, yoking her shoulders, pulling on her legs, dragging her heart into her stomach. Even the air smelled thick, damp with the scent of wood smoke and evergreens, clogging her lungs until she found it difficult to breathe.

Keeping to Hamund’s back, she approached the men, footfalls silent on frosted cobblestones, ears attuned to the low masculine rumble. Armed to the teeth, focus trained on their captain, each man leaned in, listening intently as Hamund laid out the ground rules. Afina caught the tail end of Hamund’s instructions as he said, “Quill, Monk...circle round behind the bastards and report back. I want to know what we’re into before we go after the lad.”

Dark eyes set in identical faces, the twins nodded. Quill checked his throwing knives. Monk scowled so fiercely Afina’s knees knocked together. Merciful goddess. Dax was in trouble.

“Bear...find Afina.” The captain tipped his chin to the man on his immediate right. “Make sure she stays in the nursery.”

“At what cost?”

“Lock her in if you have to, but keep her contained.”

Afina curled her hands into fists, fingertips prickling as magic begged for release. She kept it contained, allowing the power to swirl in the center of her palms. The big dolt. What did he think he was doing? Lock her in, indeed. There wasn’t a prison—never mind a chamber—in all of Transylvania strong enough to hold her. Not when Dax needed her.

Bear grumbled, a look of distaste on his face.

Afina pursed her lips. Well, at least one of them possessed a modicum of wit. Bear might have found himself smacked upside the head had he looked pleased about following his captain’s orders. Hamund, however, was fair game. The captain was perilously close to being bashed from behind.

“Too late.” Afina heard the snap in her voice but didn’t care. If the captain thought for one instant she would stand by—sit sewing or something—while someone threatened her family, he was in for a nasty surprise. “I am already out.”

Hamund tensed and pivoted to face her, eyes grave, expression wiped clean. “My lady, go back to the keep.”

“Do not even try it, Hamund.” She leveled him with a lethal look then dropped her gaze to the note. “What’s happened? Where is Dax?”

His lips set in a grim line, he crossed his arms, hiding the missive under an elbow. Afina scowled. The captain’s eyes narrowed, and silent as a stone, he stared at her, no doubt expecting
her to scamper back to her chamber like a good girl. Well, she wasn’t scampering anywhere and good didn’t begin to describe her. Not now...not when worry outweighed caution.

“Tell me, Hamund. If Dax is in trouble, I need to know.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What you need to do is go back to the keep.”

No chance of that. Afina held out her hand. “Let me see the missive.”

His brows collided and his eyes went dark. Afina bit the inside of her cheek, withdrew her hand, and shuffled back a half step. Mayhap demanding wasn’t the soundest approach. Hamund, for all his gentleness, was a warrior with a warrior’s way. Strong-arming him wouldn’t work. He was too controlled, too stubborn, too set on shielding her from the truth. She could see it in his expression, his desire to protect her from something awful.

“Please, Hamund,” she whispered, rubbing her palms together.

“Do not worry, my lady,” he said, his tone full of understanding even as he established boundaries. “I will handle this.”

“I know you will. Xavian trusts you and so do I, but...” she trailed off, hating to follow the statement of faith with a “but.” It wasn’t about trust, it was about sanity. Hers. She would go stark raving mad if the men rode out without telling her who held Dax and why. The thought made her throat go tight. Goddess help her, he was just a little boy. Only ten years old, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise.