Deny (The Blades of Acktar Book 2) Read online

“Help me with this bandage.” Leith eased onto the cot. He tugged on the bandage Renna had wrapped around his shoulder three days ago. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the gentle brush of her fingers against his skin.

  His two-day ride across the stretch of prairie from Walden to Nalgar Castle had soiled the bandage. A spot of brown, dried blood stained the center.

  Jamie stretched forward, his feet planted as far from Leith as possible. After a moment, he bit his lip. Had he realized the bandage was neater than Leith could’ve managed by himself with only one arm? Thankfully, the boy was only a trainee. He wouldn’t dare say those questions aloud, especially not to the First Blade.

  As they reached the final layer, Leith gritted his teeth. The bandage had darkened to a deep burgundy, so thick with dried blood the linen was no longer visible. When they worked the bandage free, it’d yank the scab off.

  Jamie filled the basin with water, wet a rag, and handed it, still dripping, to Leith.

  Leith pressed it to his shoulder and closed his eyes. The coolness filtered through the blood and bandage onto his burning shoulder.

  When the bandage was as damp as he could make it, he dropped the rag, grasped the edge of the bandage, and tugged. The scab tore from his shoulder as if peeling away a layer of skin. With a final tug, the bandage dropped free.

  Leith pressed his chin to his chest to look at his wound. The middle drooled blood, but the edges only oozed a clear liquid from the burns that had closed the wound.

  When he raised his head, he found Jamie gaping at him. “You cauterized your own wound?”

  Leith couldn’t help the quirk to the corner of his mouth. “Yes, and I don’t recommend it.”

  Shaking his head, Jamie dampened another cloth and handed it to Leith. Leith pressed it to his shoulder while Jamie laid out fresh bandages and worked the stopper from the salve.

  Leith spread the salve over his wound and allowed Jamie to wrap the bandage around his shoulder and arm. If only Renna could tend the wound. But she was safely tucked away at Walden, and he wasn’t about to wish her to Nalgar Castle.

  3

  Renna Faythe plucked a weed that sprouted between two of the cornstalks growing in the kitchen garden of Walden Manor. The damp earth squooshed underneath her fingernails, darkening patches at the knees of her old, dingy dress.

  Her eyes strayed towards the southwest. The prairie swelled into hills surrounding the town of Walden and its manor house, dotted with the blue, yellow, and white of daisies and bluebells. A breeze stirred the long grass into a muted rustle, rising and falling in pitch.

  She touched the lump formed by the knife strapped to her ankle, a knife Leith had given her. Was he all right? Had he convinced King Respen that Harrison Vane was the traitor? Or had Leith been discovered and already killed?

  Would she even find out one way or another? He was a Blade. Even if he survived, he’d be bound to wherever the king sent him. Perhaps he’d make the time to report to Lord Alistair here at Walden but that didn’t mean Renna would even see him.

  Why did it even matter to her? She shook herself. Leith was a Blade. Did he even consider her a friend? Or just someone he had to protect out of obligation to make up for the past or repay her for saving his life during that blizzard? He’d been beyond stiff when she’d hugged him before he’d returned to Nalgar Castle.

  The sun’s heat slicked sweat between her shoulder blades and stuck her bodice to her skin. She yanked another weed from the ground. Stop thinking about him. And his green eyes. The slight wave to his black hair. The look on his face when he’d told her to keep his knife, like he’d been giving her more than just a piece of steel.

  What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been like this a week ago before Vane had tried to kill her. What had changed?

  Nothing.

  Everything.

  She dug her fingers into the soil and jerked on a weed. Its roots clung to the ground and tugged at the cornstalk next to it. She clenched her teeth, pressed the cornstalk into the dirt with one hand, and ripped the weed from the ground with the other.

  Something had changed. When? Was it when Leith hurtled through the window to save her from Vane? Or when she’d pressed her hand against his wound and felt his heartbeat? Perhaps it had happened when she’d hugged him goodbye.

  The hug. Definitely that hug. It’d been innocent enough until his arms had almost wrapped around her and she’d felt safe. How long had it been since she’d truly felt safe?

  “Renna!” Her thirteen-year-old sister, Brandi, burst around the corner of Walden Manor, her red-blond curls flying, her skirts hiked to her knees. Abigail Alistair, Lord Alistair’s middle daughter, trailed at a more lady-like pace, her skirts only raised a few inches off the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” As Renna stood, the silver cross of her necklace bumped against her bodice. After so many years of burying that silver cross in the bottom of her jewelry box, the movement of it swinging around her neck tugged as oddly as the jumbled feelings in her chest.

  “Nothing’s wrong. At least, I don’t know if anything’s wrong.” Brandi skidded to a halt and thrust her arm southwards. “There’s two riders over there.”

  Renna’s chest tightened as she spotted the two figures cresting the hill overlooking Walden. More messengers? Had someone else been killed by the Blades?

  Or could it be Shadrach Alistair returning? Renna dug her fingers into her skirt. No. She might not know where the secret Resistance hideout was, but it had to be deep in the Sheered Rock Hills. It probably took longer than a week to make the round trip.

  Brandi bounced on her toes and craned her neck to stare at the prairie. “I think it’s Aunt Mara and Uncle Abel.”

  “Brandi, I know how much you want them to come for your birthday, but…” Renna studied the two figures as they drew closer. One of the shaggy, brown horses looked a lot like Stubborn, Uncle Abel’s mule. And…was that a goat trotting along behind them?

  Four of Walden’s soldiers cantered their horses to surround the newcomers, an extra precaution since Leith proved their security so weak. Renna twisted her gritty fingers together. Had Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara decided to visit? It was only a week until Brandi’s birthday. Surely they’d make the trip for that, and to see for themselves that Brandi and Renna were all right.

  From this distance, she couldn’t make out their features. But Walden’s soldiers didn’t pull out their swords. They surrounded the riders and escorted them towards Walden Manor.

  On her tiptoes, Brandi’s head came nearly level with Renna’s. “Is it them? Can you see?”

  The morning sunlight flashed on a head of silver hair. The figure spotted them and waved, a wide, arm-swinging wave that Renna would recognize at any distance. “Yes! Let’s meet them at the stables.”

  Brandi needed no other urging. She sprinted for the stables.

  Abigail glanced at Brandi, then at Renna. “I’ll let my mother know we have guests.” She glided toward the kitchen door.

  When Abigail had disappeared inside, Renna threw caution to the prairie wind and hiked her skirts up as high as Brandi’s and dashed for the stables. She arrived, breathless, as the riders reined their mounts to a halt in front of the stables. Brandi was already there, giggling as a small, brown goat nibbled on her skirt.

  Uncle Abel swung down from Stubborn. His cloak billowed dust, dulling the color of his light grey hair but doing nothing to diminish the brilliance of his blue eyes. Smiling at Renna, he reached to help Aunt Mara ease off a second mule. Uncle Abel must’ve borrowed it to make the six-day journey from Stetterly to Walden.

  As soon as Aunt Mara’s feet touched the hard-packed dirt, Renna jumped forward and hugged her. She smelled of the bellflower she added to her homemade soap. Her grey-streaked blond hair brushed against Renna’s face.

  Brandi wiggled into the hug. Uncle Abel wrapped his arms around all three of them. “You’re both safe.” His voice had a choked rumble to it.

  Aunt Mara touched Brandi’s
hair. “We decided we couldn’t wait for a note to find out if…”

  If they’d survived the assassination attempt. Renna swallowed. “Not even scratched.” She’d let someone else tell Aunt Mara how close Vane had come.

  “Are you going to stay until my birthday?” Brandi tipped her face up, her blue eyes round and moist. Renna bit her lip. A person would have to have a heart of stone to resist Brandi’s gaze, and even then, stone could melt.

  Uncle Abel squeezed Brandi into a one-armed hug. “It’s only a week away. Of course we’ll stay that long.”

  But they’d have to leave shortly after that. Renna rubbed her fingers against her skirt. Their duties to Stetterly—Aunt Mara as healer and Uncle Abel as minister—called them back.

  Should she be more like them? Here she was cowering in Walden when her duty as Lady Faythe should draw her to Stetterly.

  Up until two weeks ago when Lord Alistair had asked, she’d never claimed the title. It belonged to her mother. The duty belonged to her father. It shouldn’t belong to her.

  Yet it did.

  She was only seventeen. Surely she wasn’t expected to lead Stetterly. Just survive.

  “We have a lot to tell you but not here.” Renna touched Uncle Abel’s arm.

  Uncle Abel released his grip on Brandi, though his arm remained draped across her shoulders. “All right. Please lead the way.”

  “I’ll make sure Ginger is taken care of.” Brandi grabbed one of the goat’s horns, the one that had a strange curl to the end of it, and tugged Ginger towards the stable.

  Ginger dragged her feet until the rattle of grain being served to the mules carried on the breeze. Ginger bolted towards the stable, nearly dragging Brandi over.

  Rolling her eyes, Renna led Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara toward the manor. “Why did you take Ginger? Couldn’t you find someone to take care of her?”

  Aunt Mara shrugged her slim shoulders. “We tried, but the goat refused to be left behind.”

  Renna shook her head. Stubborn goat.

  Lord and Lady Alistair greeted them on the front step of Walden Manor. Lady Alistair’s dark brown hair lay in piles of perfect coils on her head, her petite features highlighted by her slim, green gown. Her wide smile didn’t waver at the dust puffing from Aunt Mara’s and Uncle Abel’s clothes.

  Lord Alistair stepped forward and shook Uncle Abel’s hand. “Good to see you again, Abel.”

  “Our niece would never forgive us if we missed her birthday.” Uncle Abel returned Lord Alistair’s hearty handshake. “I gather a few things have changed since you visited Stetterly to ask about…” Uncle Abel trailed off, as if he wasn’t sure what to call Leith.

  “Ah, yes. Our mutual friend.” Lord Alistair’s mouth quirked beneath his beard. “Come inside. We have much to discuss.” He led the way into the grand entry hall, the walls paneled with dark wood. The main staircase rose into a landing before dividing into two curving wings to the second floor. A large painting depicting a battle covered the wall above the landing.

  Turning right, Lord Alistair led them down the hallway towards his study. As they entered, Lord Alistair waved Aunt Mara and Renna to seats in the leather chairs stationed in front of the desk while he headed for the wide, picture window. Uncle Abel’s eyebrows rose as Lord Alistair inspected the curtains and checked the lock on the window.

  Renna slid into a chair beside Aunt Mara, hiding her hands in her lap. She should’ve taken the time to wash them. She’d left fingerprints on her skirt.

  “I take it you decided to trust Leith Torren?” Uncle Abel rested his hands on the back of Aunt Mara’s chair.

  “Yes. It turns out his information was correct. Respen attempted a wide-spread assassination attempt a week ago. I was able to warn the others, but even our preparations couldn’t save everybody.” Lord Alistair sank into his chair and bowed his head. “Lady Amber Dawson, Lord and Lady Westin, Lord and Lady Spencer, and Lord Hector Emilin were killed.”

  Aunt Mara pressed a hand to her mouth. “Poor Cecelia Emilin. Two children to raise all by herself. And Kurt Westin. He’s only two, and already an orphan.”

  Two years old. Renna bit her lip at the ache building in her chest. Was it better or worse to become an orphan so young? He wouldn’t even remember his parents while the night her parents died scarred her memory. “Who’s taking care of him?”

  “Lord and Lady Westin both had family living in Flayin Falls. They’re still working out the details of who will raise him.” Lord Alistair’s gaze drifted to the map spread across the wall behind his desk. The dot marking the town of Flayin Falls lay a day and a half from Walden along Sheered Rock Hills.

  At least he had family. Renna peeked at Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara. What would she and Brandi have done if their aunt and uncle hadn’t been there to raise them? Renna prayed that the family who raised Kurt gave him as much love and care as Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara had given her and Brandi.

  “We were prepared when First Blade Vane came after Renna and Brandi, but due to…complications, he got closer to Renna than we would’ve liked.”

  Uncle Abel reached over Aunt Mara’s shoulder and clasped the hand Aunt Mara stretched towards him. “How close?”

  Renna squeezed a clump of her skirt. Of course they’d asked. She’d have to tell them the truth now. “Vane came through my bedroom window, jammed the door’s lock shut, and put a knife to my neck. He knew Leith was chasing him, so he waited to kill me until Leith got there. He wasn’t paying attention to me, so I kicked him and swiped at him with the knife Leith had given me.”

  “Leith Torren gave you a knife?” Aunt Mara blinked at her. “When?”

  “A few days before the assassination attempt.” Renna lifted her skirt a few inches, drew the knife from its sheath, and held it up. “He let me keep it afterwards.”

  Both Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara stared at her. For good reason. The Renna they’d known at Stetterly didn’t have enough courage in her little finger to lift a knife, much less defend herself against a Blade.

  But was she really different? She’d been desperate that night. If forced to do something like that again, would she? Or would she freeze?

  “Leith fought Vane while I got the door open. Leith was wounded, but Shadrach shot and killed Vane.” She shivered, hearing again a dull thunk. Was it the arrow striking Vane or Vane’s knife sinking into Leith’s shoulder that haunted her? “Leith decided to return to Nalgar Castle to continue spying. He planned to make King Respen believe that Vane was the one spying for the Resistance. We don’t know if King Respen believed him or not.”

  “Do you trust him?” Uncle Abel’s gaze turned to Lord Alistair. “It could’ve been part of King Respen’s plan to plant a spy in our midst.”

  “I had thought of that, but I’m convinced that Leith’s courage is sincere.” Lord Alistair’s mouth tipped upward. The sunlight beaming through the window twinkled in his eyes. “He now shares our faith.”

  Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara shared a look. Aunt Mara patted their clasped fingers with her free hand. “An answer to a prayer.”

  A prayer? Had Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara prayed for Leith when he’d been recovering from his wound at Stetterly? Renna shifted and stared at her feet. She hadn’t done a lot of praying for Leith until recently. Or a whole lot of praying for anything besides safety.

  Would she ever have courage like Leith? He’d fought Vane, saved her life, and, if that wasn’t enough, he’d returned to Nalgar Castle, knowing he’d be tortured and killed if King Respen didn’t believe him, to continue spying.

  All this from a Blade whose faith in God could be measured in days. What did that say about her faith? What was wrong with her that she didn’t have faith like that?

  4

  Leith called the trainees to assemble on the stretch of grass between the five-story Blades’ Tower and the moat that surrounded the tower.

  He bit back the tightening in his stomach. He’d been stuck here nearly two weeks, and still Respen hadn’t sent him on any m
issions. Long enough for his shoulder wound to heal into a purple-red splotch, though the muscles below the skin remained weak.

  Two weeks that the Resistance could’ve been preparing for the attack that was coming. Or had it already started? For all Leith knew, Walden might already have been attacked and overrun.

  Were Renna and Brandi all right? What if they’d been killed while he’d been waiting for the right moment?

  He tossed that thought away. He couldn’t even contemplate a failure that horrible.

  “They’re assembled, First Blade.” Twelfth Blade Altin’s voice drew Leith’s gaze back to the trainees.

  The six trainees lined up by age, their black clothing stark against the yellow-green grass. Jamie, the oldest, eyed him as he rocked backwards on his heels. The next oldest boy, an eleven-year-old, gripped his knife, grinned, and leaned forward on his tiptoes. The four youngest boys hunched together, peeking at Leith. Altin stood behind them, his right hand still pressed to his chest in the Blade salute.

  Boys. Too young to be taught to kill. If they were anything like Leith had been at their age, they were too thankful to be off the streets or away from families too poor to feed them that they didn’t care that they trained to be Blades. They’d promised Respen their obedience, and that’s what they’d give.

  Leith swallowed and wrapped the dark cold around his heart. He drew his knife. It glinted in the pink sunlight streaming from the east. “Today, we’re going to work on conquering fear. I know you’ve done this exercise before, but fear is hard to control. No matter how often you do this, you’ll always have fear. You need to learn how to control it.”

  Six pairs of eyes widened. Altin dropped his hand from his knife and looked away.

  Of course they feared him. Leith spotted the faint, white lines marring each of their necks from former First Blade Vane’s knife. Scars that would’ve matched lines on Leith’s own neck had the marks not faded with the years, though his had come from Respen’s knife.

  Even with the cold numbing his chest, Leith couldn’t bring himself to scare the youngest ones further. He faced Jamie. Jamie clenched his fists but didn’t move as Leith pressed his knife against the soft skin under Jamie’s chin. “I know you fear my blade. You can’t trust that I won’t turn it and slit your throat.”