Norah looked back over the farm in horror, swallowing the emotion in her throat. “That’s why he hates me so much,” she said softly.
The Shadow King gave a weak snort. “And you killed his horse,” he added.
“He killed his horse,” she corrected.
“Letting you escape wasn’t an option,” he snapped back defensively, then paused. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for me, for my cause.” His voice came softer. “Even that which he holds most dear.”
Norah wasn’t sure she believed the brute capable of holding something dear. She looked back at the falling manor. She didn’t want to believe her father would cause such devastation either.
The king gave a thick cough, and she glanced back at him. He was looking down at his hand. His lips were tinged with blood. He swayed in his saddle and started to slump forward.
“Are you all right?” she called to him.
He didn’t respond.
She urged her horse beside him, warily leaning closer. “King Mikael, are you all right?”
Something was wrong. His breaths came short and shallow, and his movement was lethargic.
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
“I’m well enough,” he struggled. “We should get back.” He shifted his weight to rein his horse around but started to fall.
She reached out and caught him, gripping him tightly. “What’s happening?”
He blinked and grabbed her arm. “I’m fine, just help me to my horse.”
“You’re on your horse! What’s wrong with you?”
His senses seemed to return somewhat. “The blade,” he said. “It’s the poison.”
She shook her head as confusion hit her. “The blade? What blade?” Then she remembered the night before. “Are you talking about the wound on your leg? Were you stabbed? That was yesterday! By now…” Her words fell. By now, it would have spread through his body.
She stopped. She had a horse. Her eyes found the mountains in the distance, and they called to her. The mountains where she’d find her Northmen. They could take her back to Mercia. Back to Alexander.
She turned back to the king. Surely his commander didn’t know they were here. She looked back at the mountains. Even if she wanted to save him, it was unlikely. She couldn’t stop poison.
He wavered, and she gripped him tighter to keep him upright, struggling as the horses moved.
“Hammel’s hell,” she cursed, deciding. She really hated herself right now.
Norah urged her mount closer and awkwardly climbed onto the king’s destrier behind him. She put her arms around him and reined the horse back toward the tree line.
“If you fall off, there’s no way I’ll get you back on,” she told him. “I’ll leave you here!”
He gave a weak snort.
Where were the soldiers when she needed them?
Norah urged the destrier forward. She cursed again as anger welled inside her—anger at herself, at the situation, at the king. “How did you even get stabbed with all this armor?” she snapped. “And why didn’t you get help earlier? Are all men so daft?”
Her flurry of scolding fell on unconscious ears, and she clenched her teeth in frustration. She eyed the tree line for the path to return, but it seemed to have disappeared. Norah struggled with the weight of the king as she swept the base of the trees. Her search yielded nothing. She pulled the horse up, feeling she had gone too far, then turned the destrier around. The king’s weight shifted to her left, and she clung to him to keep him from falling. She cursed again under her breath, with fear that she might not be able to get him back seeding inside her. Just then, she spotted the path between two oversize trees, and she breathed words of thanks to whichever gods were listening.
The ride from the army to the manor hadn’t seemed far, but the way back along the path felt like a year. Her arms burned as she struggled to keep the king upright. She breathed a sigh of relief when they broke through the trees, and she saw the army marching in the distance.
“Soren!” she cried at the top of her lungs.
Movement rippled through the ranks as they looked to see what was happening.
“Soren!” she cried out again.
A large man mounted on a horse broke away from the army, galloping toward them, and she knew it was him. When he reached them, he reined up beside her, his horse rearing and exciting the king’s destrier, almost making her lose her grip on the Shadow King.
“What happened?” the commander thundered.
“He said something about a poison.”
The commander barked out an order to the men who were running toward them, and others broke from the ranks as well. Despite the cover on his face, she could see the alarm in his eyes. He snarled out another blast of commands and then spurred his horse away.
Soldiers surrounded the king’s mount, and Norah slid off as they pulled him down and carried him to a tent being erected close by. They looked at her warily but left her alone, and she followed them inside as they laid the king down on the bedroll. She watched as they stripped him of his armor, feeling lost to help. Did they have the means to save him?
“Where’s your healer?” she asked.
As if on cue, another man ducked inside with a small pack. He flung a sharp gaze at her as she edged closer to see better, but quickly turned his attention back to the Shadow King. Blood soaked the king’s breeches, and the man used a dagger to cut the fabric. Then he peeled the dripping bandages from around the king’s leg to inspect the wound.
Norah swallowed nervously. By now, it should have scabbed over. It hadn’t. “It’s not clotting,” she mumbled, and looked at the soldier. “Is it because of the poison?”
He gave her a sharp glance but didn’t answer.
“Do you people not speak?” She wiped the hair from her face with her forearm in frustration.
The soldier pulled a needle from his pack and threaded a thin strand through it. Horsehair, perhaps? She didn’t bother asking. He set to work on the wound, pouring a cleansing mixture over it and then bringing the skin together, carefully closing the flesh. Blood seeped out while he worked. When he finished, he pulled out strips of bandages and wrapped them tightly around the king’s thigh. It was too tight, she thought, but she stayed quiet. He pinned it closed.
“What now?” she asked as he covered the king with a blanket.
The soldier eyed her darkly. He didn’t answer.
“We wait,” a feminine voice said.
Norah looked up with a start and saw a woman standing in the corner of the tent. She hadn’t noticed her there before.
The woman clipped out commands in the Shadow tongue, and the other men ducked out of the tent until only she remained with Norah and the king.
Norah watched her, fascinated. Not only was this woman a soldier, but clearly, she held a position of power. She wore a wrap over her head and face, like the men, showing only her eyes. What revealed her sex, aside from her smaller frame, was her breastplate, which was sculpted of a woman’s body, in every detail. Its brazenness almost made Norah flush.
She caught Norah’s gaze on her armor, and the woman’s dark eyes hinted at a sinister smile. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice provocative and taunting.