“She was attacked,” Soren told him. “Outside the conservatory.”
“Who was it?”
Soren shook his head, still holding pressure to the queen’s stomach. “I didn’t see. Bhastian and the Crest are after him.”
The healer stepped beside Soren and motioned him to loosen his hold. Soren eyed him skeptically, then raised his hands and stepped back. Blood seeped from the wounds again, and the healer quickly covered them and reapplied pressure. He mumbled some unintelligible words to his assistant, who dug in his pack for more tools. Soren’s agitation grew. If this healer let her die…
“What of it?” Mikael urged the old man from the other side of the bed. “How bad is it?”
The healer shook his head. “Wounds to the abdomen are extremely dangerous. I can stitch her, but I have no way of knowing the damage inside.”
“Will she live?”
“I don’t know,” the old man replied.
Mikael’s nostrils flared. “She’d better, or you’ll join her.” He sank down beside the North Queen as the healer worked, his fingers on her cheek. He looked up at Soren, his eyes rimmed red. “Brother,” he said hoarsely. “Bring me the man who did this.”
Mikael’s emotion for this woman knifed him. But he gave a stiff nod and turned to his mission. There was a man in Kharav that thought he could take what belonged to Salar. And Soren would see him dead.
Chapter fifty-one
The thunder of galloping horses shook the ground as Alexander rode through the gates of the dark castle of the Shadowlands, surrounded by Shadow soldiers. He’d pushed the pace hard in returning. They slowed only to rest their horses and sleep for a short stretch each night, but Alexander hadn’t slept. When the Shadow soldiers had found him, they’d said only that Norah had been injured, nothing more. It was this unknown that pushed him harder.
Part of him wondered if Norah might not be injured at all. Perhaps it was a ploy to draw him back into the hold of his enemy. It didn’t matter. He would come.
He drove his mount beyond the courtyard and up the stairs to the iron-barred doors, not waiting until his horse stopped before sliding to the ground. Shadow soldiers left their mounts in the courtyard but tailed after him as he tore into the castle and raced up the stairs toward Norah’s sanctuary. When he reached the alcove of the door, a sword rose to meet him, its point hitting just above his breastplate at his throat, stopping him in his tracks.
At its hilt—the Destroyer.
The dark-eyed beast of a man pushed him back into the hall with the tip of the blade.
“I want to see her,” Alexander demanded.
A deep vibration came from the Destroyer’s chest—a chuckle. “I’m sure you do.” His face was covered, but his eyes burned with hate. “I knew you’d come.”
Alexander stepped back and put his hand on the hilt of his own sword. For a moment, he dared to feel the slightest hope—perhaps it was a trap, and Norah wasn’t hurt. “Where is she?”
“Let him enter,” the Shadow King’s voice called from inside her sanctuary.
The Destroyer’s eyes darkened through the slit of his wrap. He dropped the tip of his sword and took a reluctant step back.
Alexander’s breath quaked. This wasn’t a ploy of the Destroyer, and now he wished more than anything it had been. Norah had been hurt. Was she inside her chamber? Why wasn’t it her voice that called him?
Alexander pushed past him and pressed into the room, where the king stood at the foot of the bed. In its center, Norah lay as pale as the moon. Her cheeks lacked the color of her spirit—they lacked the color of life.
Fear gripped him. His heart dropped like a rock in his chest. He forgot about the king; he forgot about the Shadowlands. They didn’t matter anymore. If Norah was gone, nothing mattered anymore.
Alexander moved to the edge of the bed, his soul cold, desperation writhing within him. His hand trembled as he reached out and grazed the bottom of her cheek. He turned her face toward him. The faintest of breaths whispered across his palm, and it flooded him with emotion.
She was alive.
He blinked back the tears welling in his eyes as he dropped down beside her. “Norah,” he whispered. But she didn’t answer. “I’m here.” He cupped his hand against her cheek, silently begging for her to open her eyes. But she only lay on the cusp of death underneath his touch. “Norah,” he whispered again through his teeth. His breath shook and his eyes brimmed. “Come back to me.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
Her skin burned with the fire of fever, and her brow was damp; a cloth and basin rested on a small table beside the bed. He drew his hand back to her face and let his thumb graze her lips. A light salve covered them, keeping the skin from chapping. Her hair was clean and brushed, and a blanket lay over her. She was cared for. But it wasn’t enough.
He was suddenly aware of the king’s eyes on him. He had revealed himself—his heart—but he was too angry to care.
If Norah died…
The king’s gaze was still on him. Alexander straightened and stood, and his anger grew to a fury. An all-consuming fury. He’d kill this king—for everything he’d done, but especially for this. He’d kill him.
Now.
Alexander ripped his sword free. The Destroyer lunged forward, but with a blind rage, Alexander kicked him back against the door. Then he went for the Shadow King. The king was without a sword, but he blocked Alexander’s attack with the armor of his forearm. Alexander knocked him back against the wall and swept his sword to his neck, but in turn, Alexander felt the tip of the king’s dagger at his own. They both stood with their blades to each other’s throats.
“You were supposed to keep her safe!” Alexander seethed. “This is your kingdom. She’s in your care. This is your doing!”
In the darkness of the Shadow King’s eyes swirled emotion that Alexander couldn’t read. Sadness? Guilt? Shame? He should feel all those things. And now he’d feel death. But before Alexander killed him, he had to know. “What happened?” he demanded.
Still, the king didn’t answer.
Alexander bared his teeth, his rage growing. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Alexander,” came a faint whisper behind him. He jerked his head back to Norah, forgetting the king.
Her head moved weakly, but her eyes remained closed. She inhaled deeply, wincing.
Alexander released the king and was back to her side in an instant, taking her hand and pulling it to his cheek. “I’m here,” he said.
The Shadow King moved to her other side.
Her eyelids fluttered open, weakly. Then she saw Alexander. “You’re back,” she said with the faintest of breaths. Her face held only the whisper of a smile, but it lit the room.
He nodded. “I came as soon as I heard.”
She blinked slowly. “What happened?”
“You were attacked,” the Shadow King told her.
Attacked. Alexander’s rage returned, but Norah’s voice stopped him before he spoke.
“Is there water?” she asked.
The king’s eyes moved past Alexander, and Alexander turned to see a back table in the room, behind the Destroyer, where a pitcher and glass sat. The beast of a man still stood with his sword in hand, ready for a fight. Finally, he turned with a protesting rumble and poured the water. He eyed Alexander with dark contempt before reluctantly stepping to him and handing him the glass.