Steelhands - Jaida Jones [170]
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Breakfast, maybe; I’d gone to speak with Adamo during lunch, so I hadn’t had time to eat anything then. It seemed frivolous to worry about eating at a time like this, but then again, people were rash and stupid when they got hungry. I’d put food in my mouth, but only if it meant helping Adamo.
“I’m going to have trouble feeding all of you, I can tell,” Luvander added, halfway to the door. “Does anyone here dislike cooked tomato?”
Nobody answered, but that was because I’d heard the sound of a large thud from the room below, and I hushed everyone so fiercely they actually listened.
We were quiet for a few long moments, before Luvander dared to speak up. “Do you suppose that’s the Margrave Royston?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t he ring the bell?” I retorted, which was only what he’d been thinking and wanted someone to confirm his suspicions by saying it.
There wasn’t a single person in the sitting room whose nerves weren’t on edge. Everyone was waiting for something awful to happen—whether it was bad news or soldiers finding out our whereabouts and descending on us without any warning.
I looked around the room for something I could use as a weapon, and my eyes landed on the collection of pokers for the fireplace. There were only three of them, but Toverre probably shouldn’t be given one anyway. He could stay behind and defend the fortress.
“Excellent thinking,” Luvander said, moving quickly and noiselessly to pass them out. “Sorry, young man. It seems you’ve been left out.”
“Too dirty for him anyway,” I muttered.
Toverre delicately wiped his palms on the front of his vest. “I will do what I can to help,” he whispered.
Just then, there was another thud, louder and closer to us. It was coming from the direction of the stairs, I realized, and I drew myself up to my full height, poker in hand.
“I wish I’d thought to lock the sitting-room door,” Luvander said thoughtfully. “How clever that would have been.”
“This reminds me of whenever Rook came back from the ’Fans,” Balfour added; there was a hint of humor in his grimness that I appreciated in a soldier.
“Now, don’t attack all at once, just in case we aren’t under siege,” Luvander suggested. “Then again, what do I know? The targets were all so much easier once.”
“I’ll stand in front,” Balfour offered.
I was about to tell him not to bother when something slammed into the door, throwing it wide-open.
From first glance, I could tell it wasn’t Royston, because whoever it was, he was way too tall. I shouted and Luvander joined me—because he was crazy, I was beginning to suspect—and then I threw myself, with my weapon, at the nearest weak spot. I’d been aiming for the intruder’s head, but because of his height, I must’ve miscalculated, and hit his shoulder instead.
I connected solidly, at least, but the blow merely glanced off the bone.
“See, Raphael?” a deep voice said. “That’s why I went first.”
“Ghislain?” Luvander asked, still wielding his poker—though I could’ve told him it wouldn’t do any good against a giant like this one. He’d ignored mine like I’d hit him with a stalk of wheat.
“I’ve gotten warmer welcomes from merchant ships,” the man said, looking down at me. “And I rob merchant ships.”
“You could have rung the bell like a normal person,” Luvander huffed, trying to peer around Ghislain’s shoulder. It was a tough job, seeing as how he didn’t quite come up to it.
“Had a surprise for you,” the giant named Ghislain said.
“Did …” Balfour trailed off, and when I glanced over toward him, he was pale as a ghost. Or maybe like he’d seen a ghost. “Did you say Raphael?”
“Thank the bastion,” came another voice from behind Ghislain’s huge body, which was blocking up the door like a live barricade. “I was starting to wonder if you’d all forgotten about me.”
“Get out of the way,” Luvander said, grabbing Ghislain by the arm and pulling him into the room. It looked a lot like a canary trying to move a wolfhound, but to my surprise, Ghislain actually