12. Chapter 12 #2
Hephain shook his head. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I really don’t want to watch him look for a wife in there.”
Cyrus nodded. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he just cuffed Hephain on the shoulder and started back inside. Then he paused. “Hephain,” he said, turning back. “I don’t look at you as less. Nothing you’ve shared changes what I think of you, or the respect I have for you.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Hephain said hoarsely, and, with that, Cyrus left him to the evening.
As he stepped back inside, his eyes combed the room for Essandra again, but instead of finding her, they landed on another sad face. Sergen stood alone against the wall, his eyes traveling the room but not really seeing. Cyrus knew the look—the look of a ruminating mind.
Cyrus glanced around. Everan danced with Visa for what was probably the fifth song in a row. Kord danced as well, with a blond-haired woman Cyrus had never seen before. Everyone seemed caught up in the festivities, enjoying themselves. Everyone but Sergen.
The song ended in clapping and laughter, and Cyrus took the opportunity to slip across the hall to the other side. “Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked as he stepped beside Sergen.
He jolted, suddenly realizing Cyrus was beside him. He drew a breath in and nodded. “Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.”
Everyone but Sergen.
And Hephain.
“Are you all right?” Cyrus asked.
He nodded. “Of course,” he said quickly.
Sergen had been a surprising addition to the bloodsport team.
He wasn’t like Pyro’s usual purchases. He wasn’t a large man, although he’d shown himself to be a decent fighter.
He was fast and smart. That went a long way—many times further than strength—but he wasn’t the kind of man one generally saw in the bloodsport.
Sergen was a gentle soul, soft and quiet and kind. And Hephain had always been a protector. Cyrus could see how things might have grown between them.
“You know what’s great about the Heart’s Harvest festival now?” Cyrus almost couldn’t bring himself to say the stupid name. “Everyone is free to follow their heart, not what society puts on them.”
“Not everyone,” Sergen said quietly.
Cyrus didn’t want to push him to admit something he wanted to keep private—something Cyrus wasn’t even supposed to know. The only thing he could try to do was make him feel comfortable and safe. He clasped Sergen’s shoulder. “I just want you to be happy.”
Sergen’s brows twitched, but he nodded.
Cyrus gave him a reassuring smile. “Any relationship you might pick has no bearing on what I think of you, or what your place or status will be here. You can build your legacy regardless.”
Sergen nodded again, slowly this time. “Thanks.”
Satisfied, Cyrus clapped him on the shoulder and passed back across the hall to where Visa and Everan had finally opted for a break in their fun.
“Trying to pull Sergen out of his slump, I see,” Visa said. “He’s really heartbroken.”
His eyes darted to her. She knew. “I know. I talked to Hephain outside.”
Her brows drew together. “Hephain?”
Cyrus stilled. Maybe she didn’t know.
“What’s going on?” Everan asked.
Visa cast her gaze across the floor at the downtrodden young man. “Sergen’s been in love with Leti for months, but she’s only got eyes for Kord.”
Cyrus did a double take at her. Now he was thoroughly confused. “Who’s Leti?”
Visa nodded to the woman Kord was dancing with.
And suddenly, he felt very foolish.
A lively song picked up through the hall.
“Ready to go again?” Visa grinned at Everan and pulled him back out into the twirling masses.
No doubt they were going to be at it for a while yet. Cyrus had no intention of dancing or trying to give any more relationship advice. He took his opportunity to slip out and away from the throngs of people.
“Making your escape?” Essandra’s voice called from his right.
He turned. “I’ve been caught,” he said.
She raised a brow.
“Looks like you are too,” he said. “You didn’t find a match, I take it.”
She gave a cold laugh. “There’s not a man who’s a match for me here.”
Cyrus swallowed. That one stung a bit. It shouldn’t have. She was right.
Her face softened. “And you?”
“I have enough people trying to match me already.”
She almost smiled. But not quite.
They stood in the silence for a moment.
“I don’t like when you’re upset with me,” he said softly.
“And I don’t like when you’re upset with me. I’m sorry I did the proxy spell without really talking to you about it. I-I was just so caught up, and I honestly didn’t even think because it didn’t even occur to me that you wouldn’t agree.”
“I would have let you. It makes sense. It’s just… you’re so closed to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I really am.”
He nodded. He wholeheartedly accepted her apology.
She raised a brow. “Is there anything you’re sorry about?” she asked.
Anything he was sorry about? Slowly, he shook his head. “No?”
She scoffed. “What about the assassins?”
“But I’m not sorry for that.”
Her eyes blazed.
“I’ll never be sorry for doing whatever I need to do to protect you,” he said. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
The fire of fight in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly.
His voice dropped lower. “I’m doing the best that I can, Essandra. I hope you see that.”
Her face softened, and a quiet settled between them again.
He sighed. “Where are you going now?”
She held up some fruit in her hand. “I’m going to go back to my chamber where no one will disturb me to enjoy these in the quiet of solitude.”
His eyes caught on the fruit. Figs.
“What?” she asked him.
He shook off the hold that had grasped him. “Nothing. Those just reminded me of something I need to talk to you about. A vision. When you stop being angry with me.”
“A vision about figs?”
“Of the Mercian queen. It was a strange one, though—a memory, like through a blood-bond vision, but there was no blood bond.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Show me.”
“It’s not significant,” he said. “It doesn’t offer any information. But I do want to know how it happened.”
“I want to see it.”
“Let’s go somewhere private.”
They reached her workroom, and she promptly dropped the figs on the table. Essandra worked quickly, laying two cushions on the floor for them to sit on and pricking his finger for his blood. While they had the bond that allowed them to share power, she still needed his blood to share their minds.
With a small smear of blood on the back of her hand, she sat and closed her eyes.
Cyrus did the same. He brought her into his mind, setting a door in front of them. He opened it to the Mercian castle kitchen.
They both watched as hands cut the fig taken from the bowl on the center table and then as the Mercian queen came racing through.
“She’s younger, for sure,” Essandra said. “Maybe seventeen or eighteen here.” Then she paused. “I see what you mean—about it being a memory. And you’re sure you don’t feel a bond?”
“There’s no bond.” But what had made it come to him? How had it come to him?
And this memory seemed so insignificant.
They watched as the young queen pulled whoever it was with her into the back pantry, her lips smiling through her silent words. She took a bite of the fig he offered to her.
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Essandra said as the man traced his thumb over the queen’s lower lip, then leaned forward to kiss her.
Cyrus glanced at Essandra, but her eyes were fixed on the vision.
“It looks like they really were in love, doesn’t it?” she said.
He looked back at the queen.
And he froze as his chest tightened.
The words on her lips.
He hadn’t paid much attention before. Cyrus stopped the vision, took it backward, then watched it again.
Then again.
And again.
“What are you doing?” Essandra asked.
But his eyes were on the queen’s mouth.
On her words.
He’d never been skilled at reading lips, but he could read what he saw now. As sure as if he’d heard it.
Do you love me, Alec?
Alec.
Alec.
Alexander.
“It’s my brother,” he whispered. “This man is my brother.” He puffed out an incredulous breath as he watched it again. “So not only is he her lord justice. He’s in love with her.”
“But this was a long time ago,” she said.
He shook his head. “Look how clear it is. Every detail. It’s something that still lives in his mind over and over again. He still loves her.”
“And she’s married to the Shadow King.”
Cyrus nodded slowly. “Which makes things quite interesting.”