‘You certainly startled my horse,’ Meilyr bit. ‘Please, Lord, give me my reins.’
As he tugged them, Lord Leighton grabbed his wrist.
‘You should show more grace to your betters. You look very fine in our attire, but do not forget who clothed you. Who owns you.’ His voice was low, eyes unashamedly hungry. ‘You would do well to be taught some manners—’
The pounding of hooves. A flash of cobalt. ‘Lord Leighton,’ Prince Osian called, ‘let him go.’
Lord Leighton shoved Meilyr’s wrist away, dropping the reins. ‘Majesty, you are mistaken! I merely offered to assist Highness Cadogan up the rise, wherein he asked that I linger.’
‘Do not lie, Lord Leighton.’
Cynefrith pulled away, moving behind Prince Osian’s mare. The prince remained between Meilyr and Lord Leighton, voice the calm of an ocean as the storm builds. ‘If you do so again, I will be left with no choice but to follow through.’
‘How dare—Majesty, you would hold this peasant’s word above mine?’
‘He isPrince Consortof Cyngalon. And I would take anyone’s word above yours when you have so openly lied.’
Along the rise, Princess Aldreda – both of their knights behind her – made swift ground towards them.
Lord Leighton pulled his horse in a tight circle to rein in its frantic pacing. ‘Majesty, it is not…’ Confusion knit his brow. ‘It is not…’
There was barely enough time for him to look startled.
Crack.A barb of red, wet tree branch snapped out of his upper chest.
He lived long enough to stare down at it, eyes bulging.
FOURTEEN
For there are things in the dark and the trees older than we.
Beware with a care, and remember that flesh bleeds
far readier than spirit.
The Red Book,
translated by Idwal gan Hywel
FOURTEEN
Anothercrack. Another. More and more branch and root ruptured out of Lord Leighton’s still-living flesh. Through his shoulders, his spine, his throat, twisting back to smother what was left.
Horror ripped through the company.
Horses shied, men cried out in terror, even the hounds screamed. Meilyr’s mare bolted, stumbling on the damp, uneven ground. The world tipped violently, and he came out of the saddle.
He slammed into the earth, body ricocheting with white-hot pain.
But he had to look. Even as his blood roared, even as his head pounded from the fall and fromthis, he had to look.
The mangled, crumpled red mess that had been Lord Leighton slumped from his bolting, blood-flecked horse.
Already, the cries rang out. The air was thick with the word, with what they believed they had witnessed.
But Meilyrknew. Only heknewwhat had happened.
With a final, sickening crack, Lord Leighton’s body stilled: a wet, twisted heap of crimson and bark and branches, clumped in the leaflitter. Dotted with tiny red berries.