17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Essandra stumbled backward, and Cyrus lunged to catch her. She clutched her stomach around the blade as the wound poured blood.
“I’m all right,” she said shakily. “It’s not deep.”
But it looked deep, just above her left hip, with the crimson stain spreading across her stomach and all down her front. She wrapped her hand around the narrow hilt.
“No—”
But before he could stop her, she pulled the blade out. It was hardly a blade at all, a stunted throwing knife, but still long enough to cause damage.
“I’m all right,” she said again. She waved him off. “I just need a minute.”
“Essandra—”
“I’m fine.”
Only she wasn’t fine. She wavered, and he caught her. “I got you,” he said, scooping her into his arms. He needed to get her back to Teron. Immediately.
“Hey, what do I do with these women?” Jaem asked, following them outside.
Cyrus didn’t care about the women anymore as he carried Essandra, looking for his horse. “Give them money. Send them home.”
“I don’t have any money.”
Cyrus prayed to all things holy to save his patience, because he was quickly losing it. “Check Bravat’s body. And his men.” Where was his fucking horse?
Everan spotted him and came running. “What happened?”
“A knife to the stomach.”
“I’ll be fine,” Essandra told him. “Honestly, being carried is worse than just walking,” she added.
“I need to get her to Teron,” Cyrus said.
“What happened?” Kord asked, suddenly appearing beside them.
“Bevin got her with a blade. I need a horse.”
Kord found a mount and brought it. Cyrus lifted Essandra up into the saddle. She winced, holding her stomach tighter, and a rage swept through him. If he could kill Bravat all over again…
He looked at both Everan and Kord. “I need to take her back,” he told them. “When you’re done here, ride for the stone circle. I’ll meet you all there to bring you through. You have blood?”
Kord nodded, then asked, “What do you want us to do with the bodies here?”
Cyrus glanced around the village. “Put them in a house and set it on fire. No one will know they weren’t Mercian.”
Kord nodded again.
“Cyrus!” Orion called, and Cyrus turned to see him riding toward them. He strode to meet him.
“We have a problem,” Orion said as he reached him, and he slid down from his horse. “A Mercian company is headed our way, and there are Shadowmen with them.”
Cyrus swore.
“There’s something else,” Orion added, but his words cut as his gaze landed on Essandra. His eyes widened. “What the fuck happened?”
Cyrus glanced back at her. “She caught a blade.”
“She doesn’t look good.”
“She’ll be all right if I can get her back to Teron.”
Orion looked at him warily. “She’ll need you in order to pass back through the portal.”
“I’m taking her now. But what else were you going to say?”
Orion glanced at Essandra, then back to him.
“What is it?” Cyrus pressed.
Finally, he said quietly, “Your brother leads the company.”
Cyrus froze. “Alexander?” That couldn’t be.
“He’s your spitting image,” Orion told him. “There’s no mistaking him.”
His heart beat faster.
Alexander was coming.
And Cyrus was here. He had Kord. He had Everan. He had everything he needed to take him. Cyrus could kill him. He could kill Alexander. Finally.
“What do you want to do?” Orion asked him.
He wanted to stay and kill Alexander. When would another chance like this come? Perhaps never. He glanced back at Essandra. Orion was right—she needed Cyrus to pass back through the portal to Teron.
But he had some time. She’d said she was fine…
“Cyrus?” Orion said.
Alexander was coming…
Essandra had said the injury looked worse than it was. She was going to be all right. She could hold on until Cyrus dealt with Alexander.
But if she couldn’t…
“Cyrus?” Orion prodded.
Cyrus swore again. Then he strode to his horse and swung up behind Essandra.
Alexander would have to wait.
“Finish up!” he barked out. “Thirty-three! Make sure we got them all!” He looked back at Orion. “I want you all gone before he gets here. Meet me back at the stone circle. And don’t lose my dogs.”
Orion gave a nod.
“Before who gets here?” Essandra asked Cyrus.
He hesitated. “Soldiers. They’re on their way. We need to leave.”
Cyrus spurred his horse out of the burning village and back toward the portal.
He held Essandra close to keep her from being jostled.
She let him, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she was grateful or too weak to fight him.
He’d worry about that later. For now, he focused on getting her to Teron.
Straight through the night and the following day he pushed his horse. He didn’t stop. His mount grew slower, lathered and breathing heavily, but he pushed the animal on.
Essandra continued telling him she was fine. However, she didn’t look fine. She grew paler in his arms, and she let her head rest back against him.
“I’m cold,” she told him.
He adjusted his arms around her, holding her even closer. “Not much farther,” he promised.
He stopped only when Essandra asked him to, for short breaks and necessities. On through the second night they rode, until his mount threatened to stop. Finally, the stone circle appeared on the horizon.
Essandra was asleep. He hated to wake her but…
“Essandra.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“You have to do the bond so I can take you through.” It was ridiculous that she broke it after each pass through the portal.
She should just leave them connected. He was fairly certain he could do the bond himself.
He’d seen it done, he knew the words, but it was best not to risk it if she was able to do it now.
She brushed a small smear of her blood onto his lips and whispered the spell. Then he poured the mixture from the small sachet tied at her waist and, picking her up again, crossed the threshold back into Rael.
He went directly to Teron’s chamber.
“I can walk,” she said.
But he kept going, not putting her down.
Thank the fucking gods Teron was in his work chamber when he got there. Cyrus took her directly to the table and sat her down gently.
“Lady Essandra!” Teron said in surprise.
“It looks worse than it is,” she said. “It’s not deep at all.” But her voice was faint, and she was the palest she’d ever been.
“It’s dark blood,” Cyrus told Teron.
“Stop hovering.” She pushed Cyrus back.
“Can you open your gown?” Teron asked her.
She shot a prompting look to Cyrus, and he turned to give her privacy.
“How is it?” he asked Teron over his shoulder.
Teron was quiet, and Cyrus’s heart beat faster.
“Teron?”
“It’s fine; she’ll be fine,” the old man said finally.
A breath of relief escaped him. For what felt like the first time in two days, he let himself breathe.
Cyrus moved to the pitcher of water on a side table and poured a glass, drinking deeply.
He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. He poured another glass and drank it down.
He’d done it—he’d taken care of Bravat. Finally.
But there was no feeling of accomplishment. No satisfaction.
He’d lost his opportunity at Alexander.
Still, that wasn’t what bothered him most right now.
Cyrus waited for Teron to finish, and as Essandra refastened the last few buttons on her bloodstained riding dress, he moved back to her. She looked much better, although still a little pale.
“I shouldn’t have taken you to Mercia,” he said. He hadn’t even thought of the danger, and he cursed himself.
“You say that like it was your decision.”
He eyed her seriously. “You could have died.”
“You could have too.”
“You’re too important,” he said.
“You’re king!”
“So, it was my responsibility to go.”
She pursed her lips.
A knock sounded on the door, and Sergen popped in his head. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just heard you were back,” he said. He held up a letter in his hand. “This came for you yesterday.”
Cyrus waved him in. He took the letter and turned it over to find Gregor’s green seal, and his heart beat faster. But as he tore it open and read the words, a fury rose in his core.
The dogs followed him as he paced the room.
Cyrus was glad to have them back. He dropped his hand to One’s head to help calm himself as Everan read the letter.
Cyrus hadn’t given him or Kord even a moment to recover from their return before he thrust Gregor’s letter at them.
His anger flared hotter as Everan read the words aloud.
“ With Aleon taking Tarsus, I’m so glad I had the foresight to give Mikael the excuse of a failed crop. ”
It was all Cyrus could do to keep from snatching back the letter and crumpling it in his fist. Gregor hadn’t told the Shadow King the real reason he’d stopped sending trade. He’d made excuses. “That fucking coward. He didn’t break his accord, not really. He hid behind lies.”
“And he admits it,” Everan said in disbelief. “To you, of all people.”
“He’s as stupid as he is spineless,” Cyrus said. Gregor had promised him they’d move against the Shadow King, and Cyrus felt stupid for having believed him. He’d sent Gregor half his fucking army.
“So, he pulled his trade from the Shadowlands but left himself an opening,” Kord said. “Now he can pick back up with the Shadow King as if nothing happened.” He shook his head. “Do we know yet why Aleon took Tarsus? Wealth?”
“Aleon is already one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the world,” Cyrus told them, mulling.
“I imagine it’s because Tarsus was where Gregor did all of his trade.
The king of Aleon is making a strike against his brother, and an impressive strike at that.
” He cast his gaze to the floor, and the room grew quiet.
Everan finally spoke. “Hey. Orion told us about Alexander.”
Cyrus jerked his head up at his brother’s name.
“You’ll get your strike too,” his friend assured him. “But for what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision to come back. Essandra needed you.”
Everan’s words made him pause. Not because he needed to hear them. But because the thought that he might have made the wrong decision had never even crossed his mind. He held no regret.
And as if thoughts could summon her, she entered. She was the perfect picture of health again, unlike when he’d arrived with her two days prior, but a deep concern was written all over her face.
“Cyrus, you need to come see this,” she told him.
Cyrus glanced at Kord and Everan, then they followed her out of the palace toward the school.
When they reached it, an anger swelled within him.
The sidewall of the outdoor walkway had been toppled, with the stained-glass windows broken all along the south side.
Scripts of slander were painted across the stone.
Blood before books.
Swords, not scrolls.
Cyrus, where is your sword?
And there were names. So many names.
“What is all this?” Kord asked as his eyes traveled the marked stone.
Cyrus knew exactly what it was. “These are the names of people still in Serra,” he said. “Names of the lost. Those still in chains.” The people of Rael didn’t want schools. They didn’t want to rebuild.
They wanted their families free.
And Cyrus had waited too long. “Gather the men,” he said. “We’re going to Serra.”
Kord gaped at him. “Wait, what?”
“We’re going to Serra,” Cyrus said again.
“Are we recalling our army from Japheth?” Everan asked.
“No.” The Shadow King would be next—with or without Gregor. Cyrus needed to keep those legions of his army on the mainland and ready. Plus, he didn’t need them. “We have almost fifty thousand men here in Rael, and I’ll have the slaves in Serra.”
“They’ll be chained,” Essandra said. “They can’t fight if they’re not free.”
“I’ll take Mal,” he said. The forge witch had the power to break chains.
“I’m not risking another witch,” she told him. “I’m going with you.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s too dangerous. Look at what happened in Mercia.”
“I’m perfectly fine now—”
“I’m not taking you to Serra.”
Her lips thinned. “That’s not your decision.”
“Give me the spells to manipulate metals,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.” Through their bond, he could access the power of the coven. That included breaking chains.
“You’ve never used the power.”
“Because you didn’t want me to.”
“And what if you get over there and can’t?”
“I work well under pressure.”
“Cyrus, I’m not joking.”
He pushed out a frustrated exhale. “Everyone is looking at this like it needs to be some strategic takeover, which it would be if I wanted to keep Serra, but I have no intention of doing that. I merely intend to kill King Milar and inspire a rebellion. It will be easier than Rael.”
“You’re oversimplifying,” she argued, “and it will be just as difficult as Rael, if not more. Men fought here because they were trained to fight. You had forty thousand bloodsport fighters behind you. The people in Serra are in servitude. They don’t know how to fight.”
“It doesn’t matter. They still will. They just need hope.”
“And you need the power of the coven.”
“Which I have.”
“Yet not the faintest understanding of how to use it.” She shook her head. “No. I’m coming with you, whether you want me to or not.”
Cyrus pursed his lips. “Fine.”
She sighed, satisfied. “When are we leaving?”
“Three days.”
She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
He watched her disappear out of the room.
Once she was gone, Cyrus turned to Everan. “Do you think it’s a foolish decision to go?” he asked.
“I’m a poor judge of what would be foolish or not.”
“You’ve never been shy with your opinions before—”
“My mother died in Serra.” Everan cast his gaze down and swallowed, before lifting it to meet Cyrus’s again. “I would war against that wretched kingdom even if I had nothing but a stick in my hand and the wind at my back.”
Cyrus stared at him. How had he not known this?
“So, three days?” Everan asked.
Cyrus shook his head. “No. We leave tonight.”
“But you just told Essandra—”
“I know what I said. We leave tonight.”