Chapter 20 Legends
CHAPTER TWENTY
LEGENDS
Corric stared at the smoldering hearth and tried to swallow past the knot of tension that seemed to lodge in his throat anytime he stepped into this tent.
Even with the flames low, it was warm in the tent, maybe too warm, as sweat prickled uncomfortably at his nape.
Neither of the tents current residents seemed to mind.
Schok was lounging close to the fire, his eyes downcast as he watched the wood break apart.
Buzzard was behind him, leaning against the support pole as he picked at his talons.
The harpy had been unusually quiet. Corric’s presence dampening whatever mood the two seemed to live in.
That had been a revelation to him. That the two did, in fact, talk.
He heard them once when he came to visit them earlier than usual.
Their words were lost in the hushed whispers, but they were there. As real as a knife to the heart.
Corric wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he and his brother could suddenly have a relationship.
Looking back, they never really did. Truthfully, their only similarities had been the blood running through their veins.
And their mutual hatred for it. But he thought that could be enough. The foundation of something.
What he didn’t realize was that the foundation was shoddy. Built on lies, deceit, pain, and a history so vast neither one of them could breach it.
Schok had been through so much. Torture Corric couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Buzzard too. They had a shared pain that brought the two together.
A unity that Corric couldn’t broach. Shouldn’t really even try, and yet here he was, sitting cross legged across from his brother, pleading for something he had no right to ask for.
His brother didn’t smell like anything. Corric took scents for granted, so much it took him a while to notice.
Even Buzzard, without a subgender, had a certain smell about him.
But not Schok. As an alpha, he should be the most potent thing in the room.
Scents were everything—communication at an olfactory level that was nuanced in ways words could never be.
But Schok had none. His glands were burnt.
He was an alpha without a scent. A byproduct of his abuse made worse because it was probably unintentional.
On the whole, it didn’t seem any worse than anything else he did, but it meant that Krait Tylock didn’t care if his son made it out of his torture alive.
He didn’t care if he would emerge whole.
He stripped more than just Schok’s flesh—he took his identity.
“The clan would take you in,” Corric said, his voice like shattering ice in the quiet tent.
It was an old statement. One he made nearly every time he could get his brother within earshot.
With each syllable Corric grew more and more desperate to have Schok hear him.
To know there was a future for him. Here, in the same place, Corric found salvation all those years ago.
With the Stone Blade there was hope. A home.
Buzzard looked up. His queer eyes narrowed, feathers rustling behind him.
“Buzzard too,” Corric tried again, looking past Schok to the harpy. “It might take a while, but they would accept you. And maybe Iylah could find a way to—”
“What?” Schok croaked, startling Corric. Normally, Schok just ignored Corric until he went away, his silence sharper than either of the blades at Corric’s hip. “She could unburn me? Take away the scars? The magic?”
The buckets scattered around the tent loomed like sentinels.
Corric swallowed again, feeling like he had even less space in his throat than before. “N-no but maybe she could lessen the pain.”
Grey eyes flicked up to look at him. It had been so long since Schok had looked at him that it nearly stole his breath away.
“You would take it away?” his voice was unbearably rough, every breath rattled. “The pain is mine. It’s the only inheritance our father left for me, and you’d take it away?”
His chest squeezed as he processed what his brother said. “Your…what?”
Schok cocked his head, tangled hair falling into singed lashes. “I’m a murderer. Did you forget? Do you think these people here forgot?”
“That wasn’t you!”
“Yes, it was. It was my hands. My magic.”
“You were a thrall. None of what you did was your choice!”
Schok exhaled, smoke billowing from his nostrils as he contemplated his brother.
“Do you think that matters to the families of those I killed? Do you think they care that I can’t remember?
None of that makes me less guilty. I did things.
Things I can’t remember, but I wear the consequences of them on my skin.
” He held up his scarred arms, the thin linen shirt he borrowed doing nothing to conceal them.
“But—”
“I’m not you,” he snapped, his voice raising for the first time since he’d brought Schok back.
“You were special, Corric. The youngest. The precious baby. The one she couldn’t bear to see hurt.
” His lips curled in a scoff. “Always the exception. You were the Tylock who found happiness. Who deserves it.”
Schok took several ashy breaths before he leaned back, eyes dropping back to the fire. “The rest of us were nothing but pawns to our father. Nothing more than game pieces to do with as he pleased. I’ve accepted that. I’m not asking for salvation, or mercy, because I don’t deserve it.”
Corric couldn’t speak. His hands clenched on his knees as he tried to just keep breathing.
. No amount of thinking could make him understand the pain laden words slipping from Schok’s lips.
The bitterness, the hate, the anger. They were so intrinsically embedded into his brother he wasn’t sure his raspy voice was from the flames he created from his hands or the ones in his heart.
Schok reached into the hearth and prodded a log with a bare finger, not flinching when the flames licked up his wrist. “I don’t deserve it, but you do.” His eyes flicked up, piercing through the coiling smoke.
“And I hate you for it.”
Pain pinched just to the left of his spine as Ridan hunched over the thick table.
The map unfurled beneath his palms was largely ceremonial—everyone in the room knew it by heart—but they needed something to touch.
Like a hearth on a warm night, it served as a gathering place.
Something tangible, a point to rally around.
His fingers splayed over Stone Blade territory, ink from the mapmaker’s quill peeking through the spaces in his digits.
Staring at it, he tried to pay attention to what everyone around him was saying, but his mind kept drifting to other things.
Things that were much less important than Gustall’s thoughts on fighting strategy on flat land or Henroen’s approach to resource sharing.
Thoughts he should have left behind in a moonlit clearing.
But it was difficult to focus on things like Kaldonea coming for Sinestrus, with Brune standing beside him, big and smelling like an alpha.
His alpha. Because there was no going back.
Ridan’s omega had chosen—it was Brune’s scent he wanted in his nest, his hairs decorating the furs, and his boots drying by the door.
And now that he’d decided, his omega was insistent, pawing and whining in the back of his skull.
The urge to bare his neck every time Brune so much as glanced at him was becoming ridiculous.
He had much bigger things to worry about.
“…despite your assertions, I think a cautious approach would be best until we can ascertain if there even is a threat.” Gustall said, arms crossed and face dropped into a scowl.
Henroen scoffed. “You want to sit around twiddling our thumbs while Kaldonea crawls up our ass?”
“No,” Gustall drawled darkly, dark eyes flickering in irritation. “I’m saying we shouldn’t do anything based on information we have no way of verifying.”
Perhaps if it had been anyone but Corric, or if Ridan hadn’t witnessed it himself, he might be just as skeptical as Gustall. It was asking a lot of his counselors to have this kind of faith in him.
Just as he was about to open his mouth or start throwing punches, whichever came first, the tent flap parted and Corric walked in.
His face was pale and drawn, eyes red rimmed.
Nodding to Ridan, he stepped around the table and took a place in the back.
He smelled upset, his frosty scent nearly burning Ridan’s nose.
But as much as he wanted to console his packmate, a meeting like this was not the place.
Turning back to the table, he decided to ignore Gustall’s doubts entirely.
“We don’t have the luxury of sitting back and waiting,” Ridan began, trying not to react when Brune turned to look at him. Even from the corner of his eye, he could see his alpha's eyes soften into something soft.
“Exactly.” Henroen slammed his palm on the table. Ridan winced as the slap echoed in his ears. “We should go on the offensive. Take the fight to them.”
Gustall glanced between Corric and Brune. “You two are the only ones here who have seen the walls. Would an attack be possible?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Brune looked down at the map. “I don’t have your kind of experience, but…no. I don’t see how.”
Corric nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “Perhaps if we had the resources to hold them. Keep them locked away until they starve. But we don’t have the manpower for something of that scale. Or the time.”
“He’s right,” Ridan agreed. “If Sinestrus is this close to breaking out, there’s no way Krait will sit idle. I’d rather be here to protect the mountain.”
That seemed to be the only thing they all agreed on.