Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(14)

Tiago and Niniane both regarded her with thoughtful, set expressions. “There were any number of dinners and parties this evening,” Niniane said.

“I’ll track down who received which invitations, and which ones they attended,” Tiago said.

“Sir, your grace, please give me leave to investigate this,” Xanthe said between her teeth.

“No,” Tiago said. “This hunt is mine.” He looked at down Niniane as he rubbed her back. “He cannot remain here while I investigate. We will need to move him to the palace where we can guarantee his safety, at least until I clear his servants.”

Niniane remained focused so intently on Xanthe, she had to control the urge to twitch. It was impossible to tell what the Queen was thinking. Would she say anything about Xanthe’s inappropriate behavior? Perhaps Niniane might even dismiss her. Xanthe braced herself.

Niniane said to her, “You have a cottage, about an hour’s walk outside the city.”

Whatever she expected, it hadn’t been this. She blinked, and said, “Yes, your grace.”

“It is quiet there? Away from major traffic of any kind?” When she nodded, Niniane looked up at Tiago. “What about neighbors?”

He tilted his head, considering her. “I got a good look at the land when I flew out there. There aren’t any neighbors in sight of the cottage. The nearest one is a farm some distance away.”

“I think we should take Aubrey there,” Niniane said. “The cottage is quiet and out of the way. Until you finish investigating his palace staff and his household servants, the cottage would be the safest place for him. Xanthe can tend to him and guard him, and nobody will ever think to look for him there.”

Astonishment held Xanthe so frozen she didn’t blink, or breathe.

Tiago murmured to Niniane, “There you go again, not following a logical path from A to B then C. You always leap to some part of the alphabet that’s a complete surprise to me, and yet it makes perfect sense.”

A ghost of a sparkle came into the Queen’s exhausted gaze. She asked, “It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

“It’s an excellent idea. I can take him to the roof, change and fly him there. I’ll cloak myself so that nobody will know. He’ll just vanish into thin air.” He looked at Xanthe. “You will do it, won’t you—guard him until we have found those responsible for this?”

Xanthe’s hands shook as she turned to stare at Riordan’s still face. He would be in her home, where almost no one ever came. He would convalesce in her bed. She could make certain that he was safe.

“Oh, my lord,” she whispered. “Yes.”

Chapter Four

The Depths

He woke.

Pain and exhaustion pinned him. He lay in a strange bed, in a strange room. The day was unusually quiet. There were no sounds of carriages or distant voices, just the occasional call from birds. Sunshine slanted in through a partially shaded, open window. Wind wafted gently into the room. There was a doorway to another room, where another open doorway showed flagstones and the edge of green grass.

Strange covers were drawn up over his chest and arms. They bore down heavily on him. He tried to move and couldn’t, and while he was trying, he fell asleep.

When he woke again, daylight had almost faded completely. It was much cooler and the room was filled with deep shadows. He recognized nothing about the scene except for the pain he was in. His bones ached, a deep insistent throb, and he was still exhausted.

An echo of clashing swords drifted through his memory. Probably someone had kidnapped him. He found it hard to care at the moment, except if he was not dead, the whole event would turn into another long, dreary saga.

He closed his eyes and drifted.

The memory of the swordfight came back, stronger and clearer. The park, late at night. A triad of attackers. He fought hard, and he might have had a chance except for that first crippling blow that struck him from behind.

If he hadn’t sensed something and started to turn, the blow would have killed him. As it was, it cut through several major muscles in his back. Still he had tried, putting viciousness into every thrust and parry, while his defeat flowed down over the back of his legs in a hot red tide and he knew he was going to die, and really, in some ways, the realization was a relief.

A quiet noise broke through the memory. Someone moved around in the other room, and his eyes flared open again. Of course he wasn’t alone.

A slim straight figure appeared in the doorway then stepped into the room. The waning light fell on the familiar features of the Queen’s new attendant, Xanthe Tenanye.

Bitter disappointment lanced through him, and a sickeningly familiar sense of betrayal. He said savagely, “Better me than the Queen, I suppose, or have you taken her too?”

A smile had begun to spread over her face, and something had lightened her gaze. She froze, both smile and light dying. Expressionless and calm, she said with exquisite politeness, “You have been unconscious since the attack last night. I will need to check your bandages soon, my lord, but that can wait until the morning. There is broth and bread. You may not yet feel ready to eat, but it would be good if you could drink some broth. You almost d—you lost a lot of fluid.”

Almost died. Yes, that sounded about right.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling’s rafters. Since he was not really suicidal, and he had not died, he supposed he’d better take in some sustenance. He would need strength for the upcoming ordeal. He bit out, “Very well.”