Beneath the Forsaken City - C. E. Laureano Page 0,91
caught a glimpse of red hair and a familiar russet tunic as Uallas downed the man with a well-aimed punch. Then, before she could catch her breath, he drew his own dagger and slit the attacker’s throat.
Aine stared, stunned, for the space of two breaths. Only then did she realize she was breathing again and the ache in her midsection was subsiding.
In an instant, Uallas was kneeling on the ground beside her. “Are you all right?” He finally registered her bloodstained sleeve. “Guards! Help! We need a physician!”
Aine pushed herself to a sitting position. “I’m fine. It’s only a flesh wound.” One that burned like fire, but she could tell without looking that the bleeding was not serious.
“A flesh wound?” Uallas barked an amazed laugh. “‘Only a flesh wound,’ she says. Truly a woman who has seen the battlefield.”
Aine focused on the man lying in a slowly spreading pool of blood. “You killed him?”
“Aye, I killed him. He was trying to murder you!”
“But now we don’t know who hired him. We could have questioned him.” She struggled to her feet with Uallas’s assistance and walked to the assassin’s side. “Push back the hood.”
Uallas obeyed, though reluctantly. She gasped.
“What is it? Do you know him?”
She closed her eyes. “Aye. I thought he was a friend.” She opened them again, hoping for a different picture, but no—it was him. The eyes that had once looked on her with warmth now stared, glassy and distant.
Pepin.
Despite the fact the wound was as shallow as she had guessed, Aine found herself under the care of one of Macha’s physicians while Diocail, Guaire, and half a dozen of the keep’s guards crowded around her. Uallas leaned against the wall, seemingly no more affected by slitting a man’s throat than he would have been by slaughtering an animal.
“So you knew this man.” Diocail’s expression was dark, even if his tone was gentle. “What reason would he have to want you dead?”
“He’s a mercenary,” Aine said. “I assume someone paid him a large sum of money.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. I don’t know who would want me dead. I’m just a girl. I have few enemies. Who would benefit from my death?”
Over the heads of the others, Uallas arched an eyebrow at her, clearly recognizing the question for what it was. The island lord might have been many things, but he was no fool.
The door opened, and every head turned toward the new arrival.
“You’re alive,” Macha said. “When I heard there had been an assassin, no one had any information.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lady.” Had Macha actually been concerned, it wouldn’t have taken a full hour to traverse the handful of steps from the hall.
“Don’t be daft, girl. What I want to know is how did an assassin get into my keep?”
Diocail stepped forward. “We are still investigating that, my lady.”
“He specialized in high walls,” Aine said. “If he managed the assassination of a Ciraen senator, your fortress is hardly a challenge, my lady.”
“So you do know him.” Macha’s voice turned frosty. “Just how intimately?”
Until now, Aine had felt numb, weary. But at the suggestion in Macha’s tone, something snapped. She stood, brushing aside the physician’s attempts to bandage her arm, and met Macha’s stare with one equally hard. “As in, did I invite him into the keep to share my bed, after which he decided to disguise himself and kill me in full view of anyone wandering the corridor? Come, now. Ignoring the insult to my honor—which I only do because it’s been a trying day—that makes very little sense.”
The room went silent, waiting for Macha’s response. She returned the stare for an uncomfortably long stretch and then turned to Diocail. “Find out why and how. Anyone found shirking their duty will be severely punished.” She gave Aine a cool smile. “If something had happened to my dear niece, I’d never have forgiven myself.”
Aine had pushed as far as she dared in one night. She bowed her head. “Thank you, Aunt.”
Macha’s departure seemed to be the opportunity for which the others were waiting, and slowly the room drained of all but Uallas, Guaire, Diocail, and Lia. Uallas stepped to her side and whispered urgently, “May I speak with you, my lady?”
Aine glanced at the others. “Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?” They murmured their assent, but as Guaire was about to slip out, she called, “Leave the door ajar, please.”
A trace of amusement passed over the steward’s face, and he left a