The blood beat so fiercely through Meilyr’s skull he could barely hear. He could not look away. Not until Prince Osian eased his horse closer, the poor creature’s nostrils flaring, eyes rolled back. The prince came out of the saddle to reach and heaved Meilyr up behind him.
‘Knights,’ the prince barked. ‘Hunt the woods, search for anyone fleeing. The rest of you, stay together!’
The words cleaved through the distress. Everyone obeyed, even the young crownsblood who retched before gathering their reins and cantering off.
‘That was…’ A courtier shook violently, just barely keeping their saddle. They looked atMeilyr. ‘That was—’
‘Quiet,’ Prince Osian ordered.
Meilyr only realised how much he too was shaking because of how steadily the prince sat, even as his horse paced. He could not stop staring at the body. At the rowan tree growing from it. How? How could this have happened?
Could Meilyr have…?No– no, there was no way he could have done this. Which meant…
Cold took root in his flesh, and finally tore his gaze away. Someone else had done this.
He swivelled to look but found only grim, tortured expressions. Outright horror or devastated shock. Some glanced at the prince, or perhaps at him. Aldreda sat drained and staring, her seat on her horse reflexively perfect.
‘Cover the body,’ Prince Osian ordered. ‘Bring it with us. Everyone, ride together back to camp. Now.’
The taciturn trees were awash with bodies, the baying and whining of dogs and the guttural wheezing of horses. The shouts of men, so loud they made Meilyr’s roiling stomach clench.
The stories were in their eyes, their mouths filled with words they dared not speak.
Meilyr leaned his head against Prince Osian’s back. The world still lurched. The thrashing of his blood pulsed darkness across his vision.
Thatsound—
The prince reached back and took his hand, firming it around his own waist. ‘Hold on to me.’
Meilyr did. The sudden jolt of the horse almost emptied his stomach, but Prince Osian’s hand was firm, his presence sounder than the earth beneath hooves. Meilyr clung to him as though he might drown without him, his steadfastness through their bond and the scent of him and leather and horse pushing back the nausea and the dark of memory.
Word had spilled through the camp before Lord Leighton’s blood everhad the chance to.
A Cyngalegsorcererhad killed a nobleman of Khaim.
Some of the eyes that found Meilyr now were fearful and hateful. He shrank from them, sparks in his vision.
Prince Osian dismounted outside the main tent and helped him down. Meilyr slipped liquidly against him, to the ground. ‘Pedr,’ the prince said, ‘take him to our tent. Keep at least four of our crownsworn outside, two in front, two in back. Do not let anyone inside save myself.’
‘Majesty.’
Meilyr wanted to stay with him. To know what happened now. But as the prince marched to the main tent, he followed Ser Pedr, focused on placing one boot in front of the other.
Inside, Prince Osian’s scent and the small but sweltering fire swallowed him. He stumbled, barely hearing as Ser Pedr asked, ‘Highness, are you all right?’
‘I am,’ he lied. His collar was so tight. His hands struggled with it, and he was bewildered by how much they shook. ‘Might I… be alone, please?’
A high-pitched note deafened all else. He flexed his hands until he could no longer feel them, trying to steady the thumping of his heart. There was no air.
Flesh becoming root. Life becoming death.
Gods, please,no—
The new unfurled into the old. Memories of another forest pried open his ribs from the inside and bent the last of his nerves until they broke, shards of glass and thorns.
It was alldeath.All of it was death.
He fell to the bed. Unconsciousness would have been a release, but he was not so lucky.