Page 76 of Shadow Queen
“I meant what I said.” Her stare locked with his. “Soren’s mine.”
Clouds covered the sky. Winter had lost its power, giving way to the rains. The wind blew cold, but the ground was no longer frozen. Having left Mikael to work things through with Gregor, Norah wriggled her toes in her boots against the mud under her feet as she watched men in the corrals working the new herd of horses that had come in. They were beautiful beasts, giants. They looked like mounts of the gods. When they ran in unison, their hoofbeats shook the earth.
Another giant moved to stand beside her, and she didn’t need to look to know it was Soren. They stood quietly, watching the horses.
Unexpectedly, Soren reached out, holding a dagger in front of her.
Alexander’s dagger—the dagger that had been taken from her when she was captured by Mikael as she traveled to Aleon. She hadn’t expected to ever see it again, and she stared at it.
He held it by the blade, and, very slowly, she reached up and curled her fingers around its hilt. He released it, all without taking his eyes from the corral. His thanks.
Soren said nothing.
And Norah said nothing.
But the nothing felt like friendship. And that was nice.
Chapter twenty-two
Sunpouredthroughthepaneled crystalline windows of the great Kharavian library and spilled across the mosaic floor; it was quite heavenly for the kingdom of Shadows. Norah sat at the black ash-wood table, with books strewn about her.
King Gregor’s entourage was in the courtyard, preparing to depart back to Japheth, but she didn’t join Mikael to see them off. She’d done enough—to help or to hurt, she wasn’t sure.
But despite the tension-riddled weeks, between Alexander’s return to Kharav and Gregor’s visit, Norah found herself grateful for the distractions. While she was still wary, her fear of the mysterious enemy who had tried to kill her had mostly dissipated. She wasn’t continuously looking over her shoulder or jumping at sudden noises. Now she was able to think more clearly, more rationally, about who’d sent the assassins, and she set her thoughts to action.
They’d found no additional clues on the assassins’ bodies, no threats had been received, no sign of more intruders. It was as if he’d given up.
She knew he hadn’t given up. An effort such as the one he’d made was not taken on by a man who gave up easily. But still, the question hung over her—who wanted to kill her? Who wanted to hurt both Alexander and Mikael?
If only she had her memories—something else that still evaded her—surely she’d have a few more clues.
She leafed through the pages of yet another book. She didn’t know what she was looking for in the aged archives—histories of tenuous or soured political relationships, forgotten rifts? Not that she really expected to find anything, but she might uncover a history she didn’t know before. She frowned. At this point, any history would be something she didn’t know before.
In front of her lay open a historical account of the Great War. It was written in a combination of Kharavian and Northern tongue and contained a number of drawings. As she flipped through, one image in particular caught her attention, and she looked at it for a long time. It was the battle between what appeared to be the senior Kharavian king and her father. The title was faded but she could still read it—“Clash of Kings.”
She eyed the image of her father closely, but it was only a simple drawing. She ran her fingers over him, and over his horse. Was this the horse of the Wild? Would the witness to it be recorded in the words of this book? She wished she could read the rest of it. While she was becoming more familiar with Kharavian words in conversation, written words were still entirely foreign. She sat back in the chair with a sigh.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice came from behind, and she turned to see Alexander. He wore a warm smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
“Am I that predictable?”
He chuckled. “Tell me one other thing predictable about your life. I’ll wait.”
Her smile widened. He was right. Predictable her life wasnot.
He took the chair beside her, and the air grew quiet between them. He cast his gaze down. “Are you angry with me?”
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, but then let out a long breath and shook her head. “No. I don’t blame you for what happened with Gregor.”
He sat back in his chair, and his lips thinned. “Perhaps you should.”
Her brow dipped. “Why would you say that?”
“Norah, we both know I haven’t made this easy for you.”
“It’s not been easy for anyone,” she countered.
“But especially not for you, and I haven’t helped that.”
