Page 64
He spoke English with a thick French accent. Naked and unarmed, bleeding from a wound high in his thigh, nearly his groin, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was a knight. There was something about the way he stood, even injured. The balance of his body, the steady look in his eyes as a man of the battlefield, reminded me of Guillaume.
A soft gasp escaped my lips. I turned my head, looking for him. Afraid he might still be dead.
“I may pay a price later for absorbing blood that isn’t from you, but I’m alive and well, my queen.” He gave a long, considering look at the prisoner, as if weighing his soul and history by sight alone. “Dare I say that plague was crafted to destroy the demon knight of Payns?”
The man’s jaw flexed. “You would not be wrong, Sir Guillaume. Though she who created it hoped for far worse destruction than only the Executioner.”
“Who?” Guillaume’s voice echoed with deadly intent.
“Queen Damiana, Daughter of Eris, Queen of the Nosoi.”
“What are the Nosoi?” I asked.
“Plagues, illness, and disease.” Guillaume let out a harsh bark of wry laughter as he stood and held out his hand to the other man. “You really are the Knight of Pestilence, Sir Warwick.”
“Wait, you know him?”
The man gave a short bow but then winced, his wound oozing a fresh puddle of blood around his bare feet. “Warwick LaSalle, Your Majesty.”
Guillaume shrugged. “I knew most of the knights of my era.”
“So you’re not the last Templar.”
Shaking Guillaume’s hand, Warwick gave me a startled look. “Not at all, Your Majesty. I’m of the Order of the Knights Hospitaller.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Guillaume cleared his throat, his lips twisting in a wry grin. “In many ways, the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller were rivals during the Crusades. That is, until King Philip imprisoned us, seized our assets, and gave them all to his order.”
Looking at the new man intently, I narrowed my focus to only Gwen’s bond. :Is he one of yours?:
She filled me, looking at the man who stood before me. I smelled her blood, and the white glow of the Enchantress filled me. Then she sighed, her light dimming. :Unfortunately, no. He’s a knight, but he’s not mine to hold. Though there’s something about him that pings, as if he may be a missing piece to a puzzle I need to solve. Is he one of yours, my queen?:
:I haven’t checked,: I admitted, soft and hesitant in a way I hadn’t felt since Rik and Daire first found me.
In our bond, Gwen squeezed my hand. :It hurts to love so much, so deeply.:
My breath caught on a silent sob. :It does. Yes. I don’t know that I want to love anyone else.:
:Give yourself a little time. With great love comes great loss. We very nearly lost you today, and I know for certain the world would never recover if you were not here, Shara Isador, last daughter of Isis.:
28
SHARA
Iwanted to go home.
I wanted to feel the security of my grove around me. My house, the first place of safety I had ever known outside of my childhood home in Kansas City, though even then, it had only been as safe as we could make it without using magic. My familiar bed. Wilson’s tea and perfect food, his mischievous yet dashing personality effortlessly keeping us all fed and comfortable without any worry of judgment or expectation.
No ancient, mysterious, powerful artifacts. No statues that could come to life. Sad, ghostly shades of my mothers’ magic around every corner.
The weight and responsibilities of what it really meant to be the Queen of Isador, the last of Isis’ Seven Scorpions.
But I have come too far—and endured too much—to retreat now.
As much as I longed for a few quiet moments to cling to my Blood and cry without anyone watching, relieved we were still alive for one more day…
There’s too much work to do.
