Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Five days.
Duck.
Five days since I left my wife.
Parry.
Five days of fighting the heaviness in my eyes until Faramir’s deep snores drift through the night air. He hasn’t tried to kill me in my sleep. Yet.
Swipe.
Five days that have so far proved pointless. Whatever men the Rebellion had ready to attack us seem to have dissipated overnight. Scouts search the area three times a day, each time venturing farther, always returning with no news.
Sweat drips into my eyes as I draw back, offering a hand to the soldier I knocked into the dirt.
“Well fought.” He nods his head, but his face reddens all the same as he returns to the circle of soldiers. Faramir sits on an overturned crate, watching closely.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and dismiss the soldiers—a large fire crackles nearby, and the men have planned a night off since the Rebellion threat seems to have vanished.
Soldiers teem around the fire, eating and drinking. Faramir attempts to engage in stiff, awkward conversation with two young soldiers before turning red and storming off.
A passing soldier offers me a mug of watered-down ale, and I accept it with a grateful nod, downing it in two swigs. I eye the path toward my tent.
I heave a resigned sigh. It’s tempting to remain at the bonfire, but I should probably check on Faramir. Spare whichever unfortunate soul he ensnares next from his narcissism.
The din of the bonfire ebbs away as I head toward our shared tent—though I despise the thought of sharing anything with him. It’s punishment enough that we share a pitiful excuse for a father. We—
A muffled cry echoes ahead.
It sounded like Faramir.
Fuck.
My booted feet slap against the ground as I dart between fluttering tents. Two energy signatures pulse faintly in the distance.
I run faster.
But I’m too late.
Faramir stands outside our tent, his face a picture of manic fury. Four bodies lay scattered around him.
One man sways on his feet, blood dripping down his chin. With a start, I realize it’s one of my father’s personal guards. The corpses—my father sent all of them to protect Faramir.
What has he done?
“Fara—”
My brother’s boot slams into the ground. A thick root erupts from the earth and tunnels through the man’s abdomen, emerging from the other side, dark and bloodied.
I stand frozen in shock. Faramir so rarely practices his earthwielding in my presence, I’d forgotten how powerful he truly is.
The final man’s corpse falls to the ground with a dull thud. Faramir stares at the bodies, eyes vacant, a stiff sneer stretched across his face.
“What have you done?” I rasp, still staring at the bodies.
“Did you know?” His voice is oddly calm.
“What are—”
“DID YOU KNOW?” he roars, launching himself at me, hands gripping my tunic. His eyes are wild, the left one twitching uncontrollably.
“Get your hands off me.” I knock him back. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why did you kill them?”
Behind us, soldiers begin to wander over at the commotion.
“They attacked me,” he seethes. “On his orders. He means to assassinate me. He’s always preferred you.”
Truth. Or, at least, Faramir believes it to be truth.
The soldiers draw closer, whispers echoing through the night.
Skies damn me—I need to handle this quickly.
“Sulon,” I call out as he shoulders his way through the men. “Bury them. They turned on the crown prince. I’ll handle the matter with the king upon my return—he’ll be furious to know his men went behind his back and tried to assassinate his heir.”
“No, my father—” I grab Faramir’s collar, cutting him off before he can utter another word, and drag him inside the tent.
He shoves me away, teeth bared in a snarl.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was walking back to the tent. And they fucking. Attacked. Me.”
No prickles.
“There must be some misunderstanding. When we get back to the palace—”
“You’re a blind idiot,” he grits out. “They were acting under Father’s orders. If you think I’m going to let this stand—”
“You have no proof of Father’s involvement. Let me—”
“Steal my throne? Fuck that, Zevayr. You’re a fool if you think I’m going to hand it over to you.”
“I don’t want your skiesdamned throne,” I snap, glancing back toward the tent entrance. Sulon’s muffled orders drift through the canvas. “I just want—”
“Your precious wife?” he mocks, green eyes blazing.
“You think she actually loves you? After all you’ve done?
You’re nothing but a butcher. The Dark Commander who slaughtered her people, her family, her friends all these years.
She probably only slept with you on the journey because she was afraid—wanted to make herself useful so you wouldn’t murder her, too. ”
Rage burns hot in my veins, snaking between my ribs. Thunder rumbles overhead, and Faramir’s malicious grin stretches taut. It’s the same cruel smile I’ve seen time and time again, since I was a child, desperate for his approval and love.
And now I’m done protecting him.
Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the tent with its violent flash.
I’ll kill him if I remain here a moment longer.
I take a steadying breath, trying to exhale my rage, but it lodges in my throat.
“You’re a hateful bastard, Faramir,” I snarl. “And being your brother is my greatest shame.”
I stride toward the entrance but can’t escape his next words.
“Mark my words, little brother. She’ll leave you. The first chance she gets, she’ll leave your worthless ass behind.”
You think she actually loves you?
“I need a horse. I’m returning to the palace tonight.”
The camp general eyes me warily. Behind him, the bonfire has been reduced to flickering embers. A handful of soldiers walk past with shovels in hand, their faces grim.
“Sire, forgive me, but it’s far too late to travel alone. Perhaps wait until morning. You’re less likely to be ambushed.”
I bristle at his impertinence, but he speaks the truth.
“Tomorrow, then. First thing.”
I sleep in the stables.