hell’s the matter with you?” He took her by the arms and looked into her eyes, searching for some indication of wrongdoing. Guilt. Something to explain why her— No. No, it can’t be. Her haze was black and turbulent like that of a beyonder.
He turned away, suddenly sick to his stomach. With his mouth watering, he stumbled outside and vomited into the hedge. Feanna. His dear, lovely Feanna. How could that have happened? Cirang must have fed her the wellspring water, but how had she gotten it? His heart ached as his stomach heaved again. His eyes watered. She was gone. The woman he’d married was as good as dead, and in her place was a cruel, vicious monster who everyone thought was the queen. A monster carrying his unborn son.
How had the water affected the baby in her womb?
“My liege,” someone said, “can I help you?” He looked up into Tennara’s face and saw kindness and concern.
“Find him. And bring me some water, will you?”
Adro hid in the wardrobe, utterly naked, hoping Kinshield would think he’d escaped. He’d opened the window to make it look as if he’d climbed through it. He heard their muffled voices through the wardrobe doors and breathed as quietly as he could. When he heard someone retching — he assumed it was the king — he had to put a fist into his mouth to stifle a laugh. What a milksop.
The doors flew open, and he gasped up into the face of the king’s very angry champion. Her pale-blue eyes were alight with fury. Before he had a chance to concoct an explanation for his presence there, she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out. The pain in his scalp made his eyes water. “Ow! Let go, wench.”
He ended up falling to his hands and knees on the hard wood floor, along with a few of Feanna’s shoes that had been in the wardrobe with him.
“You have until I count to five to dress,” Daia said, “otherwise, I’m taking you to gaol as you are.”
“Fine,” he said, holding up his hands. “My clothes are under the bed.” He lay on his stomach and reached for the wad of clothing. The first handful was silken — Feanna’s dress — and he pushed it aside. Then he felt the rougher cotton and pulled it out. He rose to his feet, watching Daia’s eyes flick down the length of his body. “Like what you see? I’ve got enough for you, too.” He tried to reach around her waist with one arm, but then pain exploded in his nose, the blow snapping his head back. His hand went to it instinctively and came away bloody. The wetness trickled down over his mouth and chin. “Bloody wench!” He swung at her with a fist and found himself face down on the bed. She pushed his head into the mattress.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “Surrender or die.”
“All right,” he said. “I relent.”
She let him go, and he pushed himself to his feet. Adro glared at her for a moment, calculating the number of steps between him and his sword that he left leaning against the wall behind her. He pulled his trousers on and laced them. “Show her what you got, Fe. Maybe she’s more interested in you than me.” Feanna giggled and lowered the bed covers, revealing her nudity. Daia didn’t look, but he could see she was distracted by the move. He stepped in with a hooking punch that connected with her left cheek and sent her sprawling. He lunged for the sword. From the corner of his eye, he saw a figure engulf the doorway, and then he was flying.
He slammed into the wall with his right side and lost his grip on the sword. Though the sword clattered to the floor, Adro remained stuck to the wall like a fly in honey. He squirmed and wriggled, managing only to shift so that his back was to the wall, but his feet dangled two feet above the floor. The ceiling was only inches from his head.
From this position, he saw Gavin Kinshield, his left arm extended, palm outward. His eyes glowed almost as brilliantly as did the gems in the hilt of his sword. His teeth were gritted, and slowly his fingers closed as if he were squeezing water from a rock. A drop of blood crawled from one nostril down his upper lip, clung there for a moment, and then fell with a