I heard footsteps and then a quiet voice from the other side of the door. "What is it, little one?"
My voice cracked as I explained. "Could you come in here? My leg is seizing... I can't move. Close your eyes or I swear to the gods I will gouge them out."
The towel kept me decent. Well, mostly. But at some point before getting in the bath, I would have to remove it, and I didn't want him to see anything he shouldn't. With Fendur at the river, it had been about preserving some modesty for friendship. With Temris, it was ... different. It had been a long time since I had been shy around a man.
"Just a second." I heard a scuffling sound and Fendur's low voice. Then the door cracked open and Temris slipped inside, his eyes firmly shut. He took a few hesitant steps. "Where are you?"
"To the left. A bit further—" I caught his hand in mine and guided him to where I was sat. Strong arms wrapped around my body and scooped me up ever so carefully. With a bit of teamwork, I managed to direct him to the tub, and he lowered me into it. I removed the towel at the last possible second. The warm water stung my wound at first, but it eventually faded to a dull throb.
"I'm not sure I should leave you alone, Lyra. Passing out and drowning in the bath is a shit way to die."
I wasn't arguing. Still blinded, he tugged off his cloak and laid it across the sides of the tub, covering my body. Then the warlord retreated to sit on his haunches in the far corner, where he could safely open his eyes. Under the shelter of the dark fabric, I coated myself in soap.
"This is awkward," I complained. "I'm naked."
"I could get naked too, if that would make you feel more comfortable," he suggested. I hoped he was joking.
I threw the bar of soap at him. He ducked easily and I instantly regretted it, since I was still caked in dried blood and sweat. But Temris must have been in a forgiving mood, because he returned it with a slightly disgruntled expression.
"Is that a yes, or ... ?"
"No," I said firmly. A blush was starting to spread across my cheeks, despite my best efforts. "Definitely not."
I washed my hair and scrubbed every inch of my body. Temris never looked the slightest bit uncomfortable at our situation, damn him. He smiled and distracted me from the pain until the time came to get out. We managed it with closed eyes and a bare minimum of swearing at each other.
"My clothes are filthy," I pointed out as he returned me to the bed in just a towel.
Temris nodded. "I sent Fendur out to find some more."
I gasped in astonishment. "He left you alone willingly?"
"I'm not alone," he told me. "I'm with you. And it was hardly of his own free will. I had to lock him out of the room."
I had to laugh at that. Fendur was sat on the other side of the door, and he fell backwards when it opened. He ended up lying in the doorway, staring up at Temris with a wonky grin. A folded pile of clothes was beside him, so at least he had done something useful.
"The next time you try that, young man, I'll break down the damn door," Fendur scolded him.
"That's no way to talk to your Ragnyr," Temris drawled.
He scooped up the clothes and gave the Iyrak a kick for good measure. A heap of soft fabric landed next to me. Before I could even thank him, Temris had stepped over Fendur and closed the door behind him, giving me privacy to change. It was difficult, forcing my body to move enough to dress, but I managed to don a white shirt and loose trousers.
Relieved and exhausted, I fell asleep before I could even remember to call Temris and Fendur back in. My head pounded with the after-effects of the wine, and amidst all the pain, a dream began to take form. Once I realised what it was, I didn't try to fight it. I wanted to see my family, even if it was only in my head.
It had been raining. The air was brittle and heavy with moisture. The thatch of the cottage roof had been drenched, and the damp straw glinted golden in the sun. Although the downpour had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, there was still a feeling of uncertainty, like the clouds could empty again at any second.
Jayme and Osca were sat on the fence beside me, happily throwing stones at birds. They were on scarecrow duty today, as the straw man who usually guarded the fields had been carried off by the wind in a winter storm. Avelin knelt at my side, helping me place eggs in a wicker basket. One of the friendlier chickens was pecking at our feet, and every so often, my little sister would giggle and shoo it away.
It was the sound of hooves which first caught my attention. Too many, I thought. Too many horses. No one ever came this way; it was a tiny village with barely a tavern. There was no reason for large groups to pass through. I stood up, my heart skipping a beat. Too many.
When I saw the soldiers, I think I might have screamed. Or maybe it was Avelin; I wasn't sure. It wasn't the swords in their hands that scared me, or the red uniforms of Anglia. It was the blood that already coated their clothing. Fresh blood.
My father once told me that when a man has started killing, he rarely wants to stop. Without even considering what I was doing, I threw Avelin behind me, hissing, "Run."
Jayme and Osca were too far away to reach. Before I could even open my mouth to cry a warning, a flash of steel ended the twins' lives in the same way they had begun it — as one. Then I started running. Not for the safety of the forest or the horse in the barn, either of which might have let keep my freedom, but for the house, where three of my little siblings still lived.
Needless to say, I didn't get there in time. My father was the first one to leave the house, and the first of my parents to die. Before I could reach the doorway, one of the soldiers dealt me a passing blow with the hilt of his sword. I fell down like a stone, but to my unending regret, I didn't lose consciousness.
Pain splintered through my skull. I was hauled up onto my knees and held there, limp as a ragdoll, because my muscles wouldn't obey me. The soldier had put a hand beneath my chin, and he had lifted my head to make me watch as his friends went into the house.
They found Emri hiding in the pantry, clutching the farm dog as if he could protect her. My mother tried to get in the way when they went for the baby. I only knew any of that because the soldiers made a loud joke of it.
Quin was dragged out into the yard. They cut his hamstrings and watched him sob and thrash on the ground. It was almost a mercy when one of them tired of it and put a spear point between his ribs. By then, I could at least struggle against the soldier's hold, but it was so pathetically weak that he only laughed at me.
Avelin didn't escape either. I saw her broken body when they yanked me to my feet. One of them had ridden her down as she ran. The realisation that I was the only one left had snapped something very deep inside me, so I had stood quietly when they threw a burning brand onto the thatch roof.
And while the house had burned, the captain had come over, rolled up his sleeves, and beaten me senseless. He had taken my stillness for fear, and I had let him think he had broken me to his will. I hadn't cared. Not about my pride, not about anything.
Even with my cheek pressed to the dirt and blows raining down from all directions, what I remembered most vividly was seeing yolk mixed the blood of that friendly chicken and bursting into hysterical laughter. I hadn't even realised I had shattered the eggs.
"Lyra. Wake up, dammit."
Fendur was shaking me gently. I flinched and scrambled backwards, away from him. Fear crashed through me like a breaking wave, closely followed by a stab of pain. The Iyrak pinned me in place effortlessly when he saw instinct was overruling common sense.
"It's not real," he promised as I thrashed around. "None of it was real."
He was wrong. All of it was real, all of it had happened. It had just happened nights and nights ago. The bodies, the blood, the screams. Everything had felt so close. But unable to move and work myself up further, I eventually felt my muscles relax. The sheets were knotted around me, and I was drenched in sweat. There must have been a great deal of thrashing before he managed to wake me. The rest of the room was dark and empty.
"Where's Tem? What's going on?" I forced out. Every breath I took seemed to loosen my lungs a little more. Damned dream, tricking me into panicking. The nightmares had been frequent but never so vivid. It must have been the pain dragging me back to that afternoon, forcing me to remember.
Fendur didn't have to answer. At that same second, the door creaked open and a familiar golden-haired warrior appeared in the frame. I heard a muttered curse as he beheld the look on my face. The weight on my wrists and ankles eased away, leaving me free to curl up.
"What happened?" he asked curtly.
"It was a nightmare," Fendur replied. He rose back to his feet, making way for Temris to sit beside me. A cool hand felt my forehead, checking for any signs of bloodfever.
"Nightmare is in the stables." Temris must have misheard. I might have laughed if I wasn't so damn scared.
"Not that kind of nightmare. A bad dream, that's all. I'm fine now," I clarified, lying through my teeth.
"You feel warm. I'm going to need to check the wound for swelling. This really is the worst time for you to get bloodfever. Couldn't you have waited another day?"
Too drained to even crack a smile, I edged down the trousers tentatively. This time, there was no ripped fabric for easy access. An edge of the sheet served to preserve my dignity. Calloused fingers poked at the bandages with surprising gentleness. Once the wound was visible, both men took a good look.
Fendur said eventually, "Whatever is wrong with you, it isn't bloodfever. That cut couldn't be cleaner."
I replaced the bandages and clothing wearily. "I'm probably just stressed."
But Temris had a different opinion altogether. "You're grieving, that's all. A terrible ailment, but it always heals with time. A lot of time, admittedly."
"Who did you lose?" I asked him. A lazy smile told me I had guessed right.
"You're too smart for your own good, Lyra," Temris informed me. "When your occupation is killing people, it's inevitable that a few of the enemy manage to return the favour. I've lost a great many friends to Sihon and Anglian steel."
"Not your parents, then?" My prying didn't seem to be getting me anywhere, so it was time to step it up. Fendur sighed loudly and excused himself to skulk in the corner. He didn't want to be present for this conversation any more than Temris did, by the empty look in those blue eyes.
"My mother died giving birth to my little brother, if you must know. I was nine at the time and grieved by raising Glyn for her. I figured that she gave her life for his, so he must be worth double, right? And as for my father ... he died the same way he lived — by steel and blood. I loved him, but I cannot say I miss him much. He was not a good man."
Fendur snorted halfway through pouring himself a cup of wine. "Understatement of the year."
Temris shot him a warning look. I wondered how to interpret that, but he didn't give me much time to consider it. "I spoke to Ulric. We will eat in here so Lyra can join us. Do you want help getting to the table?"
"I don't want help, but I do need it. Don't carry me this time — I should try putting some weight on it." I slung an arm over his shoulder to limp awkwardly to the nearest chair. To be honest, Temris was taking most of my weight anyway. He eased me down into a sitting position. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it had earlier.
I took to drumming my fingers on the table while servants scuttled in and out to deliver platters of food. There was enough there to feed a small army, let alone the four of us. Then again, I had no idea how much two seasoned warriors could eat if they really wanted to. Let alone a lord, when attending feasts was part of his job description.
There was more meat on the table than my entire family had eaten in a year. The spread of cuts included roast chicken, pigeon stew, seared rabbit and venison steaks. The vegetables were even more impressive — huge bowls of parsnip, leeks, carrots, onions and cabbage. It must have taken a dozen cooks hours to produce such an impressive meal.
Lord Ulric made his appearance with half a dozen guards in tow just as the wine was being poured. He played the courteous host, inquiring after my health and checking we were comfortable. There was a dull annoyance to everything he did. Temris had forced him to let us in, and he was only playing along to see what might be in it for him.
It was amusing to watch the northerners try to make sense of servants. They didn't seem to understand the concept of having someone fetch and carry for you. When one tried to cut Fendur's meat for him, he looked positively alarmed. The servants weren't sure what to make of them either. It was a rare treat to see northerners without their armour on. One of the serving girls couldn't look at Temris in just his shirtsleeves without blushing. I took an immediate dislike to her, for a reason I'm not likely to admit.
I dug into the food eagerly. Not many slaves had the fortune of dining with lords, so it wasn't an opportunity to be wasted. I tried a little of everything and eventually decided pigeon was the nicest. It tasted remarkably like beef, only easier to eat and a lot less dry. The rabbit was quite flavourless, but venison became a firm favourite.
About halfway through the meal, Ulric finally asked the question we had all been waiting for. "So, this proposal you mentioned...?"
Temris finished his mouthful of chicken, eyes glinting dangerously. "It is of the treasonous kind, I'm afraid. I would advise you to clear the room of extra ears."
Lord Ulric's eyes flickered between the visibly unarmed northerners and his pet guards. I thought he would refuse, until a brief nod dismissed both the servants and soldiers at once. The room went icily quiet with the absence of pattering feet.
Witnesses removed, the warlord discarded his cutlery and leant back in his chair with a lazy grin. "You seem like a decent man, so I'm going to be blunt with you. I dislike the king. I dislike Anglia. But most of all, I dislike Anglians who fight for the king."
The lord looked suitably interested. "So I'm assuming the army of Anglians eighty leagues from here are not to your liking either?"
"Them, least of all. Rabid brutes, to hear some tell it. Rumour says they've been slaughtering children not far from here."
Ulric licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "There were three incidents reported. Some villages a few leagues away. Millton, Downs, Heathersedge... My scouts lost track of the culprits. Gods know where they have got to."
"Yes," said the man who had killed the culprits. "I'm sure your gods do know where they are. They'll have met them in person by now."
The lord blinked. For the first time, he had been caught completely and utterly off guard. "They are dead?"
"I saw to it personally. Some of the ringleaders are still breathing — royal guard. You must know what that means. The king gave the order to slaughter children and innocents. He has become a tyrant, and I think it's high time someone removed him from power."
Ulric narrowed his eyes. "And I suppose you want my help?"
"I want your army, small as it may be, to march in the direction of the Pass. You don't even have to get there, just make sure the king thinks you have. The Anglians are massing at the far end, waiting to descend on Saford. I would like to involve as many southern lords as I can," Temris said.
"If we're not attacking anyone, what's the point in this grand show?"
Fendur smirked but stayed silent, as did I. We were more than happy to leave this negotiation to Temris, who seemed to thrive on plotting against the king. "To lure them into the pass itself, and to disguise that my men are going to be the ones to slaughter the Anglians. Once that army is neutralised, you will be free to sweep the country of any dregs. Taiga, for example."
"And after that? The king will raise another army, then another. He has no end of troops to throw at us," Ulric pointed out sharply.
But Temris just smiled. "He will find that marginally more difficult once I take his head off. All you have to do is march on the Pass. Leave the rest to me."
"As what you are suggesting is both treason and suicidal, I'm going to need some guarantee of your sincerity," the lord said.
"I'm aware of that," Temris replied. "I wasn't using proposal entirely in the military sense."