“Two days.”
“What about the storm?”
“The army will keep him well.”
Norah finished the meat and took another drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread under her skin, and her shivering calmed.
The commander rose to put another log on the fire. He still walked with a slight limp from when his horse had fallen on top of him at the stronghold. Good. She hoped it still hurt. Her eyes stopped on a freshly healing cut on his side, and a smirk pulled at her lips that she had managed to get him with her knife when he’d caught her trying to escape. Served him right. She hoped that still hurt too.
Norah let herself look at him. His body was thick and muscled from fighting. Ink patterned his chest and shoulders, running down his arms. His skin was smooth and hairless, and she followed the lines of his form lower. Unlike the king, the commander bore the markings over his thighs as well.
He looked at her, and she quickly turned away.
“Are you just going to stand naked by the fire until your clothes dry?” she asked irritably.
“Would you rather me come to bed with you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed.
He chuckled, entertained by her anger.
They sat in silence for a while. The commander sat by the fireplace and leaned back against the wall. She turned her back to him and pulled the blankets tighter around her. She needed rest; escaping took a lot from the body. She listened for the steady rhythm of the commander’s breath to tell her he was asleep, but it never came.
Norah woke to the commander still sitting by the fire. It was morning. “Do you ever sleep?” she asked shortly.
He gave her an annoyed look but didn’t respond.
She rolled her eyes. “They say no sleep will make a man go mad.”
“Perhaps I’m not a man.”
“Or perhaps you’re already mad.” She found herself thinking of the king, wondering how he was faring through the storm. “If the king dies, will you kill me?” she asked him.
“He won’t.”
“What if he does?”
“I said he won’t,” he said sharply. “But yes, I’ll kill you.”
His words no longer scared her. “How?”
He smiled. “I’ll let you choose, so long as it’s slow.”
She lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling of stone. Perhaps this was to be her death: a death of despair with an intolerable brute.
The hours passed. Waiting was tiresome, and the time passed painfully slow. The commander stepped out often, leaving her alone, which she was thankful for. His nearness made her skin prickle.
A shuffle sounded outside the door of the room. It was the horses, she told herself, but her curiosity grew. Norah opened the door to what she thought was a hallway, but she found a great hall instead. They were in a castle. It hadn’t seen people for some time. Had it been abandoned?
Their horses stood in the center of the hall, and Norah clicked her tongue as she approached. The mare nickered. Norah looked around as she patted her, running her hands up the animal’s neck and under the warmth of her mane. Bales of hay sat in a corner with a large tub of water. As she moved her fingers under the mare’s long, draping hair, she noticed it had been brushed, as had the other horses’。 It surprised her that the commander had cared. What surprised her even more was that the mare had let him.
The hall was cold. Most of the windows were broken, letting the winter wind blow through the walls. Something outside caught her eye. She made her way to the large wooden doors and pushed them open, stepping out into the winter.
Norah gasped as she looked around. The old ruins of a city lay around her. It was a large city, and the quiet of long-abandoned lives made her uneasy. She heard the commander behind her and turned. “What happened here? Where are all the people?” she asked.
“Dead,” he said, with a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
“What happened to them?”
He gave a rumbling chuckle. “Me.”
Norah gaped at him in horror. “You did this?” she breathed. “Why?”
His eyes, thick pools of black that choked out her breath, turned on her. “Why not?” he sneered.
Chapter thirty-two
When Norah woke the next morning, she found herself alone. The fire burned with fresh wood. The commander wouldn’t be far. But she couldn’t spend another day in this room; she had to do something. She opened the door to the great hall. It was empty. There was no sign of the brute, or the horses. He must have taken them out. She made her way across the hall and started up the staircase, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Norah passed from room to room, exploring what remained of the battle-torn castle. Heavily dusted and broken furniture lay strewn across the floors, with shattered busts in various corners and torn tapestries on the walls—remnants of those who had lived here. She passed a room that made her pause and pushed the door open wider before stepping inside. It was a girl’s room, with pastel palettes and floral side panels. Someone had put thought and care into this room, someone who had loved its occupant—a mother, perhaps, or a grandmother. She imagined it in its former glory and smiled sadly. The ripped bedding matched what was left of the draperies. Her heart hurt. Was this all she would find now? The ruins of happiness past? Everything destroyed by darkness and death? A hopelessness washed over her. Glancing around, she caught her reflection in a three-paneled vanity mirror.
Norah walked slowly toward it. She hardly recognized herself. Her left cheek was bruised just under her eye, and the cut on her lip marred the softness of her mouth. Her eyes welled. The feeling of hopelessness turned to anger, and she cried out in rage as she slammed the side panel closed, shattering the mirror and dropping shards of glass all around her.
She broke down, sinking into the chair with a sob. All felt lost. Alexander was marching toward a force that would decimate the armies of Mercia, and she had no way to stop it. She should have never allowed herself to be brought here, never allowed herself to be taken. She should have never left the castle isle.
A large piece of glass on the floor caught her eye, and a calmness returned as she slowly picked it up. She would die soon. She wondered how they would kill her. Her hand curled around the glass; she shouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Norah rose and walked to the double doors leading out to a balcony, pushing them open and stepping outside. Looking down to the ground far below, she didn’t remember climbing so many stairs. She wondered if it would hurt—death from falling—and she looked back at the shard of glass she clenched in her hand. Perhaps it was a better way to depart than cutting herself.
If she were to die, would it end it all? She’d no longer be a threat to the Shadow King. He’d have no reason to pursue the attack against Mercia. She would no longer be used as bait for her army.
Norah leaned forward against the railing.
She was going to die, she told herself; the Shadow King had told her. It was better for it to be by her own hand, on her own terms. She wished she could have seen Alexander again. She closed her eyes, imagining him, imagining his smile.
She leaned farther, inhaling deeply.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her backward and spinning her around.