Page 57 of Shadow Queen
“He’s here!” the assassin barked back at her. “His blood touched your skin not even a fortnight ago.”
From the lashing. How did he know that? She didn’t have time to think about it. The second man was on his feet again and moved together with his partner assassin toward her. But Norah’s fear was gone. Fury surged through her, and she lunged forward. She threw her dagger at the wounded man, hitting him squarely in the shoulder, and she swung her sword with full force at her other opponent. He met her with his own blade, and they twisted together in a dance of death.
He was larger than the other men, and their blades hit with a force that shot pain into her hands and up her arms. He was strong and quick, and she was tiring. She was desperate for help. He heaved another swing, and she dodged, knocking his shoulder and using his momentum to drive him sideways. She took her chance and bolted toward the dining hall.
Norah pushed through the doors and cried out to the servant who was carefully setting the table for breakfast. He spun around, knocking everything on the side of the table to the ground with a noisy clatter. The assassin laughed as he mercilessly cut him down.
She stumbled backward, turning to flee, but he caught her from behind again. She tried to swing her sword, but he was too close, and he tore it from her hands.
He flung her to the ground and straddled her, grasping her neck and squeezing the air from her. Norah clawed at his hands and beat at his arms, but his eyes smiled down at her. Darkness started closing in, and she struggled against it. She felt herself slipping away.
Then her fingers found something to grasp at her side—a fallen candle iron. She swung it up with as much force as she could muster, hitting her attacker on the side of the head and knocking him off her. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for breath, and fled from the dining hall, toward the throne room.
But the other assassin blocked her path. She backed up, her mind racing on where to run.
She heard a chuckle to her left as the attacker that had choked her walked slowly toward her from the dining hall. There was a split above his eye from the candle iron, with blood flowing freely. It hadn’t been enough to take him down, though. A hopelessness washed over her. She had no fight left in her. She turned and darted down the side hall. Her last resort for help might kill her, but she was already a dead woman.
Mikael slid off his horse in the courtyard and stormed into the castle, followed by Soren. “I want increased guard around the castle,” he said as he made his way toward the dining hall.
“And I’ll bring in more men to sweep the hills,” Soren said.
Mikael gave a nod, then he pushed open the dining hall door, where he expected to find Salara. They both stopped.
Before him lay an empty room with a dead servant surrounded by scattered table settings on the floor.
Mikeal’s pulse picked up in his chest. He stood only a moment before he broke with a start and raced toward his chamber, with Soren close behind him. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, his sword ready. They reached the upper hall and wound around but paused at the side hall where the body of the large Northman lay.
His pulse raced faster. Had these intruders made it to Salara? He charged toward the bedchamber. As he rounded the corner, he stopped for half a heartbeat. Blood scored the wall at the end of the hall where the guards should be, and his heart hammered in his throat. The door to their chamber was partway open.
Mikael exploded into the room, flames of fury licking his skin, ready to rain his fire on any soul that dared to touch her.
But all was quiet.
The body of an assassin lay on the floor. He seethed with rage as he swept his eyes over the room and saw another assassin, dead on the floor as well. There had been a struggle, but there was no sign of Salara.
Soren brushed past the bodies to the bath chamber. “She’s not here,” he called back.
Mikael cursed under his breath, and they moved out quickly, down the stairs and back toward the dining hall.
Where would she have gone from there? And where were all the guards?
“Salar,” Soren called, stopping him in his step. He motioned down the side hall.
Mikael looked down the hall toward the painting of his mother and late father, the painting before the hall to Soren’s chamber. Just to the left of it—a smear of blood.
They darted forward and thundered down the hall. As they neared Soren’s chamber, his heart pulsed battle fury through his body. The door was closed, but blood marked the frame. He let the rage take over.
Mikael burst through the door.
Cusco lay lazily in the center of the floor, and Norah sat beside him, stoically stroking the giant dog’s back softly with her fingernails. A dead assassin lay on the floor. Nearer to the wall, Cavaatsa pulled entrails from another assassin’s stomach with her razor-sharp teeth, eating eagerly as Norah watched her in a trance. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was sit with the dogs. And breathe. Breathe to keep the panic from taking over.
The door to the chamber crashed open, and it sent Cavaatsa backward with a threatening snarl. Cusco got his legs underneath him, prepared to attack.
“Cusco! Cavaatsa!” Soren’s voice settled them. Norah didn’t get up, but she let out a sobbing breath of relief as Mikael and Soren thundered into the room.
Mikael rushed to her side, pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her, almost suffocating her in his hold. He breathed heavily into the top of her hair, and just held her. She needed his arms as her tears came. Normally, she cursed her emotion, but now she let it come. Death had been close. She hadn’t thought herself afraid of death before, when faced with it on her own terms, but this was different. Killing the first two assassins had been sheer luck, but the second two had played with her like a mouse—taunting her. What scared her more—while she might have been their target, they’d come to hurt Alexander and Mikael. And they could have.
Mikael pushed her back slightly, moving his hands around her face, cupping it, looking her over with fearful eyes. He asked her a question, but his words didn’t register. His hands moved down her arms and body as he carefully looked over the bloodstained nightgown for any signs of injury.
