Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book... - Chapter 68: Chapter 68

Isan returned from the balcony a moment later, followed by a broad-shouldered, bull-faced man who could only be the renegade prince, judging by the way the men opened a path for him. No one swept deferential bows—the occupied chamber was more like a wartime encampment than a palace audience chamber, after all—but every man gave him a deep nod of respect.
Koren ignored them all. Isan gestured toward Aun, murmuring something to Koren. The prince, looking at her, asked, "Are there others?"
Isan shook his head. "She's the only one. Had no idea. I think we are safe until your reinforcements arrive, Your Grace."
"It will be soon," said Koren. He strode toward the tea cart.
Meanwhile, a soldier crouched down next to Aun. "Hold still and I won't hurt you," he said. He grinned at her in a way that made her want to put his eye out, but she simply lowered her gaze and did not fight him as he pulled her arms behind her back and knotted a strip of torn sheet around her wrists. Deliberately, Aun did not look toward Kaori and the others, afraid of what she would see in their faces.
Give it time, she thought. Let them eat and drink and fall into a stupor, and then I'll call for help. Then, they'll come.
But Aun had not anticipated being gagged. The soldier who'd bound her held another strip of cloth, drawing it tight between his hands. "Open wide."
"Please," she whispered. "I'll be quiet. I swear. Please, I'll be still. Just—"
Someone grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back, giving her a shake. "Do what he says, girl, or I'll blacken those pretty eyes for you."
Aun gathered all of her strength to bite back her response. Frightened she might have been, but she was not a woman who took abuse quietly, and it went against everything in her nature to sit there and let that stranger pass a strip of bedlinen between her teeth. He knotted the cloth behind her head, carelessly putting her scarf askew and catching her hair painfully.
It was a battle lost, and there was nothing to be done about it, so she focused on the next battle to be fought: would they bind her legs? If so, she might be able to force her feet slightly apart as they wrapped the cloth around. Would that keep the bonds loose enough for her to struggle free? Once they were no longer focused on her, she could slip her knife out of her pocket and go to work on the bonds at her wrists, but her feet—
"Hey!" called the man who'd been binding her. "It's to be shared, isn't it?"
"Wait your turn!" Isan snapped. "What are you, children? His Grace will be served first, and we'll share the rest among us. You there: I think I saw more cups in that cabinet. Get them."
It was all Aun could do not to groan with relief. She sank back against the footboard of the bed, watching as the soldiers milled about. Even the one who'd been tying her was focused on the food, apparently forgetting the rest of his job. Aun wasted no time. She could feel the weight of the knife in the pocket of her gown. It would be hard enough to ease it out without being noticed, and she did not know how quickly things would progress. She had to be ready.
The first soldiers poured tea and passed round their small number of cups. There was banter and bickering as they drank, and more as they began to pass around the plates of pie. Of course, Aun had only brought two forks, but it didn't seem to matter to the soldiers, who were hungry enough to eat with their fingers, scooping the dark berry filling and pinching off bits of crust. Koren swallowed down a cup of tea, but paid no attention to the food.
Would it be enough, Aun wondered? Mother above, she wished she could have had her tincture. It would have been far surer of a thing.
There wasn't enough to satisfy all of them, and more than one sharp word was exchanged, but the prince ignored it all. Having finished his tea in a swallow or two, he was now crouched in front of Mhera, saying something to her. She was looking him straight in the eye, admirably calm, showing no visible reaction to whatever it was he said.
Minutes passed as Aun worked to slip the knife out of her pocket. At last, she felt the very tip of the blade. She pinched it with sweating fingers and pulled, but the handle caught on the inside of her pocket and was stuck. She shifted her weight, tried again, and this time it came free, sliding onto the polished marble floor with the slightest of sounds.
Aun froze, looking toward the men who milled around the tea cart, but no one seemed to have heard. No one was paying her any mind.
Her heart racing, Aun groped for the handle and turned the knife blade upward. She probed with her thumb carefully, judging which side of the knife was the sharp one. She turned the cutting edge toward her bonds, then pushed up with her fingers, slipping the blade underneath the ragged strip of sheet.
Slowly. Don't look down. Keep your eyes open. Focus on what's happening in the room. Don't draw their attention.
She pushed and pulled with the tips of her fingers, working the knife. It was dangerously sharp—she had seen to that—and she could already feel the cloth parting underneath the blade.
At length, Koren got to his feet. On his way up, he laid his large hand on Mhera's head, rumpling her hair and then pushing her head to the side. It was a schoolboy's rude gesture, a bully's insult. Aun, who was not a violent woman, wanted badly to smack him. He went back across the room to the balcony and slipped out through the curtains, leaving the door half-open.
A moment passed in silence. Aun breathed slowly through her nose, working as quickly as she could without making her effort obvious.
Then, a few sharp words came from the balcony—Aun could not make out what was said—and in the next moment, the door flew open to reveal the archmage.
Aun had only seen Jaeron once before, the day Mhera and Matei had been set to be executed, and on that day she had only glimpsed him from afar. Nevertheless, she knew him immediately. That he was a mage was obvious from the long robes he wore; the costume of the Holy City's guardians of magic was common knowledge, the stuff of satire.
Moreover, though, the archmage carried a staff. It was surmounted by an enormous red stone, the largest bloodstone Aun had ever seen, and the rest of the shaft had been encrusted with smaller stones. Looking at the thing made Aun's belly tighten with anguish and fear.
"What is this?" Jaeron demanded, striding across the room toward the tea cart. Its contents had already been demolished by the soldiers. He picked up one of the teapots, hefting its empty weight in his hand, and then let it clatter back to the cart.
"Just morning tea, my lord. Was meant for them." One of the men nodded toward Mhera and the other prisoners before sucking a bit of berry juice off of his thumb.
"What was it? What was on the tray?"
Perplexed, the man looked down at the now-empty dishes. "Tea and some pie, that's all. I'm sorry, my lord. We should have saved you a bite. There's a little more tea in the second pot, if you—"
The archmage scowled, looking around the room, his gaze flicking from one soldier to another, and Aun's blood went cold. She could see it in him: suspicion. He knew that something was wrong.
"Behind enemy lines, you take food and drink?" he asked. "His Grace said a maidservant brought this. Where is she?"
Soldiers turned in befuddled unison, and the archmage turned, too, his gaze landing on Aun. She met it only for a second before looking away.
"Did His Grace have any of this?" Jaeron asked.
"Just a cup of tea," said Isan. "Archmage, do you—?"
But Jaeron did not stay to listen. He strode across the room to Aun. Distantly, she could hear a muffled cry. Through the gag, she could not discern whether it was Kaori's or Mhera's or both. She shrank back, trying to evade him, but of course there was nowhere to go. She only had time to drop the knife and flick it with her fingers, sending it spinning away from her grasp to rest underneath the bed somewhere.
Her only weapon, now out of reach.
"You, Arcborn wench." Jaeron seized her by the front of her bodice and drew her up to her feet. She could tell by the strength in his arm that he would not have been able to lift her on his own, but she helped him, getting her feet underneath her as soon as she could. Compliance was likely to be her best option. "You look innocent enough, don't you?"
Jaeron hooked one gnarled finger behind her gag and pulled. Painfully, the cloth raked over her teeth and her lips, dragging free. He then took her by the face, forcing her to look at him, which was not an easy thing to do. He set the tip of his staff against her breast.
Aun should have been terrified at what he might do with that awful weapon of magic, but the only thing she felt in the instant when the largest bloodstone touched her skin above her bodice was revulsion. She could not help but try to flinch away from him.
"Tell me what you're doing here. What was in that food?" Jaeron spoke in a low growl, and he punctuated his question with a nudge of his staff, pressing it more firmly against her skin.
"I-I was just bringing breakfast," Aun stammered. Focusing on her escape had distracted her from her fear, but now she was shaking again. She leaned back against the bedpost to keep herself from sliding back down to her feet. "It was—it was—"
"What was in the food?" he demanded more loudly. "Tell me!"
"I-it was—" Aun closed her eyes, trying to think. She knew that the pie had had berries in it, but the kind evaded her. In the moment, it seemed terribly important to remember. If she could tell Jaeron what kind of berries had been in the pie, she need not tell him that they had been sprinkled with heartsbane. "It was tea, and—I don't know, my lord, it was pie. A berry pie."
"Poisoned!" Jaeron tightened his grasp on her face, throwing her head back against the bedpost. Her skull thwacked against the wood with a painful force. "Was it poisoned, you creeping, conniving wench!"
Aun dragged in a breath. She did not have the presence of mind to be ashamed that she was crying. She shook her head, or tried to, but he was grasping her face too tightly for her to move. "It was for the empress, my lord. It was for the empress and Prince K-kaori. It was their breakfast, my lord. I was only b-bringing it to them, my lord."
With a growl, Jaeron dropped her and turned away. Behind him were nearly twenty soldiers watching the small drama play out. Several of their faces were unfocused, dumb and sleepy and detached. Then, as if in answer to the archmage's question, one of the men slumped to his knees and then fell to the side, his eyes wide and frightened in his reddened face. His body jerked mightily twice. Spittle began to foam up at his lips, and he began to quiver.
"Zanara's tits—" gasped the man next to him. He knelt down to see to the spasming fellow, but the man behind simply watched the scene. His brow was knit. He blinked in slow motion, confused.
Aun had managed to keep her feet when the archmage pulled away. She did not waste her chance; she knew the moment had come, and it was fight now or die. She twisted her wrists within her bonds, turning her fingers outward, and she took hold of the sheet. With all of her strength, with every scrap of will and effort she had within her, she pulled—and as she did, she drew a breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The archmage was frozen, his eyes fixed on the fitting man. Now, he whirled toward Aun, his face a rictus of rage. She ducked away just as he struck out. His backhand connected with the bedpost instead of her face, and she saw the pain rattle through him. She staggered back another step, and her stretched and loosened bonds slid off of her hands at last. The archmage lunged toward her and caught her by the sleeve, but she twisted her entire body around, jerking free and throwing him off his balance.
Aun sprinted toward the door, screaming again at the top of her lungs, as loud as she could, louder than she ever had before.
She felt the heat before she saw the bolt of fire flying past her, and she flinched away just in time to avoid being burnt. She dared one frantic glance over her shoulder and saw the archmage, his feet planted wide, his arms outspread, the staff held high in his right hand. He was drawing it back for another strike. Behind him was Koren, bellowing.
Aun did not look long enough to see the archmage strike, nor to make out what Koren was shouting above the din of other voices and running feet and her own throat-splitting screams. She pushed through two soldiers who staggered out of her way. A third caught her round the waist and lifted her clean off of her feet, and she fought him with every muscle in her body, kicking and twisting and biting. Something was burning up ahead, but Aun had lost her sense of direction as she fought the man who held her. A second firebolt roared past. It struck something, high up, and ricocheted back, crashing to the floor and bouncing, sending sparks and flames in every direction. One of the soldiers was shrieking as flames licked up his leg.
Another man fell. His dead weight overturned the tea cart. China shattered, and the unfortunate man jerked and foamed amid the wreckage. Near to him, another man bent at the waist and shoved a hand down his throat to the wrist, his eyes wide with panic.
More shouting.
A man stumbled to his knees and stayed there, his head hanging down. He swayed.
More shrieking.
There was a whooshing roar. "Fire!" bellowed someone. "Move! Move! Move!"
Aun was fighting two men for her freedom now and then only one again—she could not see what had happened, she did not care—and the door burst in, and it seemed like it had been a century since she had first started screaming, and now that she saw Danya's face she could not make herself stop.
Danya shouted something. Men and women streamed past her.
Aun kept screaming.