Page 217 of Sword & Shadow
As the prison wagon rumbled over a rough and jarring road, for the first time in his life, Deckard felt old. Oh, there’d been a time or two since his thirtieth birthday when he’d felt older. There were days when his back tweaked during training or his lack of sleep gave him more trouble than usual. But he’d never truly feltold.
The past two days changed that.
An emptiness settled into his gut, and his vision grew bleary. His malnourished body protested in every way it could. He wasdirty, hungry, exhausted, and weak. His back ached, his head pounded, his muscles tightened, and his jaw locked.
His one consolation was Evylin, sitting across from him.
During their time as captives, Deckard and Evylin had taken to sitting with their knees bent, planting their feet next to each other in alternating steps. As their only means of contact, it provided comfort despite their dire situation.
Deckard had abandoned all hope of escaping from the liege officers. They were too cautious and too well-run to make freedom viable. Not when the Calders were out of commission. It pained him to admit it, but until they got wherever they were going, they had to have patience.
Evylin’s leg brushed Deckard’s as she lowered it to the floor. He looked up, refocusing on her face. She was turned away from him, the delicate slope of her nose wrinkled.
Deckard followed her gaze, and his breath caught. They turned off the main road and drove through the gates of a sprawling estate. Verdant manicured lawns stretched endlessly, white flowers dotting their expanse. A shimmering pond reflected the massive mansion at the far end of the pebbled path. Columns and windows lined the edifice, a marvel of architecture. It rivaled the palace in Ephria City.
Caustin was taking them to a noble.
Deckard’s hollow stomach dropped. He studied every detail, trying to memorize what he could see of the layout of the grounds. Was it possible that this home belonged to Blount? Would it be any easier for them to escape here than under Caustin’s watchful charge?
They rode past a stable and up to the circular path at the entrance to the mansion. Deckard noted a few of Caustin’s men leading their seized horses there. A stableman stepped out, eyeing the prison wagon with curiosity. He stuck out amongst all the Waulden men and women Deckard had seen because hisskin was deep brown and his stature broad—distinctive Ephrian features.
How had an Ephrian wound up in the service of a Waulden noble?
The wagon rounded the bend, blocking Deckard’s view of the stable. He turned to study the mansion instead. More guards awaited them on the terrace and the grand stone staircase. Deckard tried to count them, but their numbers were far too high for his fatigued mind to track.
From the top of the staircase, he watched as five individuals began their descent. Two heavily armed guards, two men wearing long robes—one in deep blue, the other in rich red—and an imperious woman. She walked in front with evident authority. Her black-brown hair was pulled back at the crown, the rest flowing in waves down her back. She wore a silver dress with a high collar, which gave her an official appearance and contrasted with her golden-brown skin. A singular gold and diamond ring shone notably on her right middle finger, her only embellishment.
Deckard immediately deduced that she was the noble’s steward or manager of some variety. The formal simplicity of her dress didn’t match the grandeur of the estate.
The woman and her companions paused a few steps from the bottom of the staircase as the wagon came to a stop. Caustin’s men stepped forward, pulling them from its confines. Deckard’s head spun at the sudden change in posture. It took a moment to find his footing, but he managed to stay upright. Caustin dismounted at the base of the stairs, stepping up to the woman. She regarded him icily, then scanned the captives.
The Ephrians all stood, wrists bound and gags in their mouths, while two men carried the Calders over their shoulders.
The woman let out a heavy sigh, then glared at Caustin. “The lady sent you to bring back people, not dogs,” she said, the words almost sultry in her foreign accent.
Deckard studied her. So this estate was owned by a noblewoman who employed both an Ephrian and... Was this woman Schonese? She matched the description from all of Deckard’s studies.
Caustin scoffed. “My job was to bring them back alive, not to give them a holiday. I’ve done my part; now, I’ll present them to the lady and take my pay.”
The woman scowled. “They’re disgusting. You expect the Countess of Keale to entertain grubby prisoners in her parlor?”
“She said she wanted to see them as soon as they arrived,” Caustin said gruffly.
“That was before you turned them into filthy vagrants.” The woman turned from him dismissively. She gestured toward the terrace. A troupe of servants stepped forward. “Take the prisoners to their rooms. Clean them up.”
Caustin stepped forward. “These people are dangerous,” he growled. “They took down twenty of my men even after being weakened by the Keep.”
Her dark eyes turned on him haughtily. “We have provisions for that.”
Deckard tried swallowing past the lump in his throat, but his mouth was too dry.
Caustin ground his teeth. “Provisions like you.”
For the first time, the woman’s lips lifted in a grin. “Do you doubt my abilities, Officer?” She took a step down toward him, lifting her hand. “Or would you like a reminder?”
Caustin backed away. “No.”
“Good.” The woman motioned to the men behind her. “Highlords Braun and Paulson will escort you and your men as you take the Calders to the dungeon.”
