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Realizing what he might’ve meant, I surged forward and tore open the cloth covering his chest.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Brentley pulled away from Nicolette and Allera to grip my arm and tug me back.
“I want to see the wound,” I explained, pointing to the bloody mess I’d just revealed. “He was trying to tell me something. Warn me. He said, ‘from behind,’ and then swore he hadn’t turned his back to the enemy.”
Brentley’s eyes flared wide as he gaped incredulously at his brother’s body, “You don’t think…?”
He couldn’t seem to voice the question, so I wiped away the blood from the stab wound to reveal the cut. Once I measured it against the length of my thumb, I glanced at my brother-in-law. “Help me roll him over.”
He nodded, and we worked together to ease Caulder’s body onto his side and then stomach.
“What the devil are you two doing?” Soren asked, finally noticing what we were about.
I cast him a hard glance and returned to my work, ripping away enough cloth to find the back wound.
“Here,” Brentley said when it was discovered. Together, we wiped until I could measure this cut as well. All the while, I cursed myself for being an idiot, upset I hadn’t taken the time to cover Caulder in armor from head to toe like the rest of the soldiers. What the hell had I been thinking? He was the fucking king! I was such a damn fool.
When I finished measuring the length of his back wound, Brentley cursed and stepped back, hanging his head.
“What?” Vienne asked, easing closer. “What did you find?”
I glanced at her, shaking my head sadly. “He was killed from behind,” I explained. “Stabbed in the back. And not only that, but it’s a sword wound. I don’t remember any Far Shore soldiers on that field actually using a sword.”
&
nbsp; “You’re right.” Brentley nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t either. But there were some spears. Could it be a—”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Those would go all the way through, so the entrance and exit wounds would be comparable in size. A sword has to stop when it reaches the hilt and then come back out, making the entrance wound larger than the exit. Plus, he said he didn’t put his back to the enemy. So I think he was trying to say he knew he’d been betrayed.” I glanced toward Brentley, then Allera, and finally, Nicolette apologetically. “A Donnellean killed him.”
Brentley shook his head insistently and backed another step away, refusing to believe it. “A traitor?” He pressed his hand to his brow and glanced worriedly at his wife and then back to me. “You think it was whoever helped the Far Shore soldiers into the castle to kidnap Anniston in the first place? The bearer of dark magic?”
I nodded. “Probably, yes.”
“But, no.”
At those words, I whirled to Vienne, who’d spoken as she shook her head. “No,” she said again, frowning out her confusion. “That’s impossible. I just figured out who betrayed us to Far Shore.” She looked baffled until suddenly, her eyes cleared with realization. “Unless there are two traitors.”
Then she turned to look directly at her sister who was still nestled in the arms of her husband.
Chapter 39
Vienne
Twenty Minutes Earlier
“Well, while the boys are outside having all the fun and we’re trapped in here during the battle, is there at least some safe room we can go to?” Allera asked, pacing the Blue Chambers impatiently.
“Whatever for?” Yasmin asked with a laugh. “Don’t you have any faith in your darling brother to keep us safe?”
“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” Allera muttered under her breath. Then she spun to me, revealing all her vexation as she begged, “Vienne?”
I sighed, readjusted the sleeping Anniston in my arms—whom I couldn’t seem to part with after she’d been returned to me—and said, “We could always go down to the wine—”
But Yasmin sharply bit out, “No! We have no reason to hide. The men have everything well in hand, I’m sure. Besides, I hate the wine cellar. It’s so dank and cold down there. I wish to stay up here where I can see what’s happening.”
“If you want to actually see the battle,” Allera bit out irritably, “then why aren’t we up in the East Salon, watching through all that nifty wall of clear rock that’s caused this damn war in the first place?”
“Because the chairs are more comfortable in here,” Yasmin answered loftily, lifting her chin in proud arrogance as she seated herself in the royal, blue-padded, high-back chair of honor where Caulder usually sat.
