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RHARRETH BLINKED atthe fire burning a few feet in front of him. His chest was still sore, but he could breathe freely. Something he had not expected when he had jumped in front of that repeater gun to shield Melantha.
He could feel her now, her warmth pressed against his back. He had no memories of what had happened after he had flung the two of them from the top of the stronghold.
But somehow, she had found a safe place for them. She had healed him. She had shown courage worthy of the best warriors.
Stifling his groan, Rharreth pushed upright. He was growing warm between the fire and Melantha and all the blankets and furs piled on top of him.
“Look who is awake.”
Rharreth turned to find Zavni sitting on a bench beside a table, eating a thin porridge.
On the other side of the table, two children, a boy and a girl, were staring at Rharreth, wide-eyed. The boy, Rharreth recognized. Melantha had healed his arm, months ago now.
A troll woman filled a bowl from the pot set on the table, crossed the room, and held out the bowl. “It is good to see you looking well, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” Rharreth cradled the bowl. “And thank you for taking us in.”
“It is our honor to serve and protect our king.” The troll woman’s voice was fierce, though when she glanced at her children, her mouth tightened.
It must be hard, knowing that her actions could endanger those she loved.
How bad was the situation? How much danger were Melantha and Rharreth in? Surely most of his people remained loyal.
But there had been too many warrior families involved last night. If Drurvas hadn’t had support, he would have set up his ambush far more secretly.
Instead, he had not cared about witnesses. He had not cared that most of the warrior families would see him commit treason and attempt regicide.
That was not good. It meant enough of the warrior families supported Drurvas that they were willing to either look away when he committed treason or participate with no fear of repercussions. They were utterly sure that Drurvas would succeed in his coup.
Footsteps sounded on the step outside. Zavni eased to his feet, hand moving to the sword at his waist.
The woman hurried around the table and placed a hand on her children’s shoulders.
Rharreth set aside the bowl of gruel and pushed to his feet. Where was his sword? His weapons? He could not remember what had happened to them.
A knock came on the door. Three quick raps, a pause, then two more knocks. The rhythm was too purposeful to be anything but a signal.
Zavni relaxed somewhat, though he still cautiously pushed aside the blanket draping one of the windows to peer outside, something he would not have dared do without the code assuring him that it was probably safe. Only then did he unbar the door and swing it open.
Cold air flowed in, and at Rharreth’s feet, Melantha stirred, rubbing at her eyes.
A man stepped inside, followed by Vriska.
