Chapter 7 Divine Intervention Made Me Do It #2
Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would let them go home to another death. One he was far more certain of. Kaledonea would see them hung for betrayal.
For the first time in his life, Brune didn’t know who he was.
He thought before he had nothing—back when he was just a dirty street kid with nothing but the will to survive.
But then he had a home—the barracks weren’t comfortable, but it had been a roof.
Now he had nothing. Even the clothes on his back belonged to King Krait.
Having nothing had never made him feel like he was nothing. But now…
Now he was staring at the ceiling, unable to even pray because he knew not who would listen to his pleas.
His muscles ached from the battle. Try as he might, he didn’t want to think about it. The horror of it all had not set in. He felt lied to. All the glory they promised him was not to be found among the slashing of blades and gurgling screams.
But there was a glory to be found. A brightness so blinding, even remembering it had him wanting to close his eyes against the glare.
The omega appeared on the horizon like a wish made real. He stood strong, a courage Brune didn’t know existed straightening his spine. Never wavering, he stepped into a battle he knew he might not win. He protected his people with a sword he could not carry and a conviction he was born with.
Bargrave might have looked at him and seen his gender, but all Brune could see was a man built to change the world. A man who never had to ask to lead, for anyone with eyes would follow him until their legs gave out.
Maybe that was why he did what he did. Why he threw away what little he had to save a stranger.
Perhaps there was a deity in the sky—the gods the skinny priests were always wailing about on street corners, or Artrax himself—possessing him with the courage to do what needed to be done to keep the wheels of time turning.
Ridan Oldsun was meant for something more than dying on a dusty field.
With a small smile, he added that to his mantra.
He was fed.
He was warm.
He was dry.
And Ridan Oldsun was not meant to die.
That’s why Brune moved. That’s why they were sitting in this strange place with no sense of time.
Looking over, he wanted to ask Niklas what he thought.
Really, he just wanted to hear a voice in the oppressive silence.
Wanted to hear his friend’s voice tell him he thought the same things, that he would have done what Brune did.
But before he could, there was a rustling at the opening. As he sat up to investigate, the flap was pulled aside, bright sunlight pouring in, blinding him. He winced against what he assumed was morning, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
Prince Corric moved so his head blocked the light, a small smile gracing his thin lips. He hefted a basket up to eye level. “Thought you might be hungry.”
The smell wafting from the basket hit Brune as he finished speaking. It made his stomach twist, gurgling audibly. Maybe he wasn’t so fed.
Corric smirked, leaving one flap flipped so the tent was illuminated with fresh morning light. He stepped in, dropping the basket between them and sitting cross-legged. Lifting the lid, he pulled out a clay jug and handed each of them a bun.
Niklas sniffed the food suspiciously, but Brune didn’t think, just biting into the food. Warm dough broke apart in his teeth, yeasty and buttery. The bun had a meat filling of some kind, so tender it fell apart as it hit his tongue. Unfamiliar spices burnt along his lips as he chewed.
The Clansmen could kill him now. He’d found the promised afterlife.
When he finished eating, Corric wordlessly handed him another bun. Niklas wasn’t too far behind.
“Momma Sehleh is the best cook,” he said conversationally.
Brune didn’t know who that was, but he wanted to get on his knees and personally thank her for existing.
“The food was the easiest thing to get used to.”
His chewing slowed. For a moment, he forgot who he was sitting with. This was Prince Corric Tylock.
Swallowing dryly, he licked the crumbs from his lips. “How did you come to be here?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, General Bargrave seemed to believe you were kidnapped…”
The omega didn’t smile, but amusement sparkled in his gray eyes. “Not quite.”
The story he told was hard to believe. Had anyone but the stoic prince told him that he had not been kidnapped but had instead been saved by two wayward youths looking to get out of schoolwork, he might not have believed them.
“Contrary to what I’m sure my father wants you to believe, I was never a captive. I begged Chief Restrina to let me stay.”
That was easy to see. Corric looked at ease here. In fact, now that Brune was thinking back, he recognized the omega as one of the people shouting for Ridan on the battlefield yesterday.
Remembering the bloody chief curled over herself made him shudder. “Is she…?”
Corric’s face dropped. “She is alive. But her injuries are grave.”
Niklas swallowed the last of his second bun, sharing a look with Brune. What did that mean for them?
Corric pushed the jug toward them, and Brune took it, sniffing at it before taking a sip. It wasn’t water, but something light and sweet. Smacking his lips, he dove in for a second taste before handing it over to Niklas, who took a long pull.
Looking for something easier to talk about, Corric told them all about the fruits that the Stone Blade grew.
This one made a nice juice, especially pleasant on hot afternoons.
Brune had never had anything so delicious.
It felt decadent, and he found himself licking the back of his teeth for another taste.
“The Stone Blade?”
Corric nodded. “The tale goes that before Artrax fell, the Clansmen were united. When they joined Artrax for his final fight, many fell. One omega fought so hard against Sinestrus’ vile army that her weapon shattered.
Desperate to keep fighting, she broke a boulder upon the head of one of his magicked creatures.
She picked up one of its pieces and kept fighting with a blade of stone.
Later, after the fight, they broke apart into separate clans.
She brought her pack and started the Stone Blade clan. ”
Brune had heard of Artrax and Sinestrus. But not in this context. In Kaledonea it was spoken of like a folk story. Something distorted by time, used as a weapon by those with an agenda against magic. The clansmen clearly believed it was truth.
“Are we p-prisoners?” Niklas stammered, hugging the clay jug to his chest like it could protect him.
Corric raised a brow before gesturing to the open door. “There’s no guard,” he said softly. “You can leave anytime you want. Henroen brought you here to keep you safe from your own people. But if you want to return to them, we can give you provisions for your journey.”
“To keep us safe?”
“You saved Ridan’s life.” Corric was solemn. “And by extension, the life of our chief. Then fought against your own people. Why would we punish you for that?”
Brune didn’t have an answer to that, so he just took the jug from Niklas and drank deeply. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he looked up at the omega.
“They would let us stay? Even though we’re from Kaledonea?”
That small smile curled across Corric’s face again. “They let me, didn’t they?”
After that, he stood, gesturing for the two to follow him. Corric decided he was the best person to give them a tour of the camp. He walked easily, with the confidence of a man who knew his way.
Corric showed them the different tents. He pointed out where they bathed, which family had the best goods, and the stables. Brune was eager to see horses up close, but to his disappointment, they skirted the big structure.
They drew looks as they went. Brune found no hostility, just well-earned curiosity. People stopped at their tasks as they walked by. Sometimes Corric introduced them, but Brune didn’t think he could possibly remember all the names.
“Right now,” Corric began after introducing him to the Smithe family who made the best boots in the clan. “We have you both staying in one of the unmated alpha tents. It’s not the biggest, but you will be able to make it yours.”
Niklas spent most of the tour staring at his feet. He fingered the bow he’d strapped to his back. “I could sell the bow, I suppose.”
Brune nodded. “And the armor. We should get enough food—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Corric waved him off. “Someone will host you at their hearth.”
That made him pause. “But we don’t have any money.”
Corric laughed, but he wasn’t looking at Brune. His eyes were distant. “I said the same thing when I first came,” he explained fondly. “Chief Restrina told me the clan is only as strong as its weakest members. Right now, that’s you two.”
Brune felt shame burn across his face. Before he could say anything, Corric cut him off. “Here in the clans, you take when you need, and give when you can.”
Niklas shook his head, looking at Brune as if he would have the answers. “But we don’t have anything.”
“Yet,” Corric finished for him. “You will. And when you do, you’ll help the next person who needs it. We thrive as a clan, or not at all.”
Not truly understanding what he meant, Brune continued to follow Corric.
Back in Kaledonea, if he was starving and his neighbor had two pieces of bread—he’d eat both.
It was just the way it was. No one had enough to share, and if they did, then they wouldn’t.
When you had to fight for every inch, when failure meant nothing but the body cart coming for you, nothing else mattered.
He shared an incomprehensible look with Niklas before catching up with the omega prince.
They ended at a large fenced area outside the stables. On one end, targets were set up for archery, and the rest of the space was empty. Two people Brune recognized were standing beside straw stuffed training dummies.