A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,24

from trying to kill me, if I take those chains off,” Kol said.

That will be hard.

“To understand,” Aphra said.

“He killed Dalmae,” Riv whispered, sparks of hatred fizzing out of the fiery rage within her.

“Yes, he did. It was a battle, she died. My heart is broken for her loss, a thousand times over. But I would not lose you, too.” Aphra’s hand reached out, touched Riv’s leg, and this time Riv did not pull away.

Part of her understood Aphra’s logic, knew that there was sense and truth in it, and now there was a part of her that wanted to hold Aphra, to hug her and squeeze her and never let her go.

But the other part of her wanted to punch, smash and stab something.

No, not something. Kol.

I just feel so angry, more than I’ve ever felt before. Kol was a hero to me, someone I admired, no, revered, respected as a warrior, a leader. Kol is nothing like the man I thought him to be. He is a liar and a murderer.

I can understand what Aphra is saying, how she has been caught in a place with no way out, has made choices for those she loves. For me.

And she’s right, I would do much for those whom I love. But would I do anything, as Aphra has for me?

“What of Bleda?” Riv said slowly. “Of my friends, Vald and Jost?”

“What of them?”

“They are only here because they have chosen to help me. They should not be harmed for that,” Riv said, trying to hold back the rage that she felt at Kol’s indifferent response.

“They have made poor choices.” He scowled. “Slain my Ben-Elim; that cannot go unpunished.”

“Bleda’s oathsworn lie dead out there, too,” Riv growled.

Hurt Bleda and I shall break these chains and wrap them around your throat, make your eyes pop from your skull.

“Punish Bleda and you risk war with Erdene and the Sirak,” Aphra added. “You would win, but how easily? And do you need a war right now, with the Kadoshim stirring, and your position needing consolidating?”

A silence.

“No, I do not need a war,” Kol conceded.

“People die in battle,” Aphra said. “Afterwards there is reconciliation. Pardon them all, for the sake of peace, grant an absolution to all who have fought in these troubles.”

“Peace, absolution,” Kol echoed. “My instinct is to exterminate all who have caused me grief, but there is much wisdom in what you’ve said. Aphra, for a pretty human, there is some wisdom in that skull of yours.”

Aphra said nothing, just looked at Kol.

“And you,” Kol said, turning to Riv. “Would you cooperate? Not attempt to kill me? Swear your oath to me?”

Another silence.

All I have thought about is killing you. But I do not have to do it straight away.

“I will not try to kill you,” Riv said sullenly.

Not yet, she promised herself.

“If Bleda and the others are not harmed,” she added.

“Your oath,” Kol said, more firmly. “I must have your oath, swearing fealty to me. Loyalty and obedience.”

How can I swear an oath to him? Bind myself to him? I would truly be giving up my vengeance. Turning my back on Dalmae.

But she is dead, gone, as Aphra said. And Bleda is alive, Jost and Vald are alive. But for how long?

“Your friends will thank you,” Kol said.

Riv drew in a deep breath, felt she was about to leap into a pit of adders.

“And my oath.”

Kol held her eyes a moment longer, then nodded to himself. “Good,” he said. “Then swear your oath, and seal it in blood.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

DREM

Pine trees thinned, a glare of sky and swirl of snow making Drem blink as they rode out of the twilight cover of the forest into a small clearing. Reining in his horse and twisting in his saddle, he looked back. Cullen dismounted and led his horse to a stream that frothed and foamed its icy way down from the Bonefells that reared above them, brooding guardians of the north. Keld was ahead, but he paused, too, with a click of his tongue guided his horse back to Drem. Fen loped after him. Hammer was somewhere off in the trees.

“What is it?” Keld asked.

Drem squinted and stared into the distance. For some time, they had been climbing steadily into the foothills that preceded the Bonefells, trees turning from oak to pine as they gained altitude. The cold, ice-laced air felt thinner, Drem’s chest burning when he drew in a full breath.

“Not sure,” Drem muttered. Something had made him pause and look back.