Ryatt and I sprint to our own mounts, trying to catch up as we race back to the castle. The three of us get back in record time, the horses pulled to a stop at the front courtyard. When we toss the reins to the handlers, Os is already through the side door, running the shortest path toward the gardens.
As soon as we’re inside, there’s an obvious turmoil in the energy of the castle. Servants are whispering in groups, quickly skittering away when they see us coming.
When we get outside, the garden is lit up more than usual, extra torches stuck into the ground, and dozens of guards are filling the area.
“Where is she?” Osrik snarls at the first guard he comes to.
“Over here, Os!” His head snaps to Warken’s voice, and the three of us make our way past the rows of bushes and shrubs, following the stomped over flowers and grass until we get to the center of the garden where the fountain churns.
Warken, Isalee, and Barley are here, and even Keg is with them, standing beside the fountain, their faces grim. We have to pass by a gathered group as they stand over the body of a fellow guard.
I kneel down at his side. One of the castle menders is hovering over him, inspecting the slash across the young man’s throat. The mender checking the wound has blood on his hands, and there’s more of it stained against the grass. I hear Ryatt curse beneath his breath.
“Where’s—” Osrik’s question cuts off when some of the people shift, and his eyes latch onto a figure on the ground just behind the fountain.
All I can see are the edges of a white skirt and one bare foot, a shoe kicked off lying uselessly a foot away.
Os rushes over to her, falling to his knees on the ground. “Fuck!”
After rounding the fountain, I can see Hojat leaning over Rissa’s body. There’s a stain of blood seeped through her chest, a silver dagger still embedded there.
I’ve seen Osrik lose his shit many times.
I’ve seen him snarl and yell, punish and kill. I’ve seen him slaughter without remorse, insult without batting an eye, make threats with indifference.
But I have never seen him like this.
It’s like his eyes are trying to adjust seeing the blade sticking out of her, like he can’t quite correlate the blood soaked through her dress.
His eyes snap to her colorless face and closed eyes, and he reaches out to grab her shoulders. “Rissa.” His voice is strained. Chapped. As if her name was torn from his throat and whipped raw in the wind.
Unmoving, he shakes her gently. “Rissa!”
“Sir Osrik,” Hojat gently chides, reaching out to tug away his hand. I see Osrik’s hands tighten for a split second before he lets Hojat pull him away.
“No. Fucking no!” Os snarls right in her face, denial and fury battling it out. “You will wake up, you stubborn woman. You can’t be fucking dead. Hear me, Yellow Bell? You can’t be fucking dead because we have mistakes to make.”
He chokes off, and I stand in shock as he suddenly folds his huge body over her slight frame, tipping his forehead down to hers, squeezing shut agonized eyes.
Ryatt and I are both frozen at his display, while Isalee’s eyes glitter with moisture, and a thread of a tear stitches its way down Barley’s cheek.
How am I going to tell Auren?
“Sir Osrik?” Hojat says gently. “Lady Rissa is not dead.”
Shock plummets through me, and Osrik’s head whips up so fast he almost headbutts our mender. Disbelief crosses his expression as he looks back down to her.
“The dagger just missed her heart, and because it was left inside her, she didn’t bleed out,” Hojat explains. “But I will need to get her into the castle’s infirmary to perform surgery immediately. I’m just waiting on a carrying board.” Just then, a couple of mender’s aids with their red bands around their biceps come rushing through the garden, carrying the board.
“I’ll carry her,” Osrik grunts out as he gets to his feet.
Hojat winces. “I’m not sure if—”
“I said, I’ll carry her.”
“Os…” I step forward, but Hojat waves me away.
“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” he says before looking back at Osrik. “Carry her very carefully. Slow movements, support her neck, and try not to jostle her chest. She’s alive, but just barely. I’m not sure if she’ll make it once I remove the dagger. You need to prepare yourself, just in case.”
Giving a stiff nod and grinding his teeth so hard he nearly cracks his jaw, Osrik leans down and collects her in his arms. It’s the gentlest thing I’ve ever seen him do. As if he’s picking up the thinnest pane of glass, and one wrong move will make it shatter.