20. Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
His footsteps echoed through the empty hall.
Night still hid the sky, but it was good to be back in Rael.
Cyrus had been gone less than two weeks, but it felt so much longer.
Six days it took to sweep through Serra, although it required minimal effort after the capital had fallen.
The freed slaves, empowered with their masses and the momentum of the capital victory, claimed the rest of the kingdom on their own, as he expected they would.
Even though they’d praised him, it was their own work, their own doing. He’d merely been the catalyst.
Now that it was done, those who’d been freed could figure out for themselves what they wanted to do with Serra, and he could focus his attention back where it belonged: on Rael, on Alexander.
On the Shadow King.
And now the people were behind him. Victory over Serra had fueled them, and they were ready for more.
The crowds that welcomed him home called for the Shadowlands next, and he was happy to oblige.
He’d start planning immediately. Well, tomorrow.
Now, sleep called to him. He thought his legs might not be able to carry him to his chamber.
“Cyrus!” Orion called from behind.
Cyrus groaned as he slowed. Exhaustion filled every fiber of his being, and all he wanted to do right now was get to his bed. He turned.
Orion caught up to him. “What are you going to do with the boys?”
He hadn’t decided yet, and he didn’t want to think about it now. He’d figure it out tomorrow. He’d figure everything out tomorrow.
“You can’t kill them,” Orion said.
“Can’t I?”
“Cyrus—”
“I haven’t decided,” he said irritably.
Orion didn’t protest more, but his eyes bore into him.
Cyrus sighed. “I’m not going to kill them.” He’d decided that much, but now what to do with them—he had no idea.
Slowly, Orion nodded.
Cyrus moved to leave. He desperately needed sleep.
“There’s one more thing,” Orion said, stopping him again. “I’m leaving for the Shadowlands.”
Wait… “Now? Tonight?”
“I can’t wait.”
Cyrus shook his head. “No. I can’t jeopardize another chance at the Shadow King. We’ll go together when I have a plan.”
“I can’t wait for a plan! Vitalia could be gone by then. She could be dead.” The night hid his face, but his voice carried his desperation for this woman. “The Shadow King won’t even know I’m there. I doubt I’ll even see him.”
If Orion was caught in the Shadowlands, that would complicate things even more. They’d been fortunate the first effort hadn’t been traced back to Cyrus. He couldn’t risk something else going poorly.
But he had committed to helping Orion. And he wanted to help him.
“Cyrus,” Orion begged. “Please. I’ll go alone—be in and out. No one will know I’m there. I promise. No one knows my face. I’m unmarked. I’ll have nothing on me.”
It was still too risky…
“You told me you would help me,” Orion pressed. “You don’t even have to do much; all I need is the birds to get through the Canyonlands.”
Fuck the gods. Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose. He was fairly certain he was going to regret this. “There are blood vials in my study—you know where they are.”
Orion nodded eagerly.
“You get in, you get out,” Cyrus told him. “No one knows you’re there.”
Orion let out a shaky exhale. “In and out,” he promised.
With that, he disappeared into the darkness and finally let Cyrus continue to his chamber.
It was still a few hours before sunrise, too early to go see Essandra, and Cyrus needed those few hours to revive his mind and body before he faced her.
If she wasn’t still angry about him leaving without her, she’d certainly be angry about him losing his armor.
All he’d been able to recover after taking the Serran capital was the breastplate and the left vambrace.
He was tempted to tell her he’d at least kept the breastplate on, but the festering wound across his ribs would be quick to call him a liar.
He’d need to see Teron about that in the morning too.
Cyrus turned the corner, and he was suddenly stripped of time to think of more excuses, as he found Essandra striding toward him.
She stopped when she saw him. The flame from the small lantern she held flickered shadows across her face, darkening her brow. He couldn’t tell if it was anger he saw or only tricks of lantern light.
His tiredness evaporated, and he closed the distance between them. Stopping in front of her, he gave a small smile, although he wasn’t sure she could see it.
“Essandra,” he greeted her softly.
She answered with a sharp slap across his cheek.
So, it wasn’t the shadows—she was angry. And she didn’t even know about the armor yet.
“I can’t believe you just left me,” she seethed.
Yes, no doubt she’d see his secret leaving as betrayal, but it had been the only way to stop her from going.
“I told you that I didn’t want you to go,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter what you want!” Her words were laced with venom. “You’re not my king, you do not command me, you do not own me, you do not decide for me. I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”
She’d been pretty clear, but this was different. He hadn’t had a choice—he couldn’t have her hurt again. She wouldn’t see it that way, though, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to convince her. So, he simply said, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” she countered. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again, but I know for a fact you absolutely would.”
Anger lapped at him now. “I’m protecting you!”
A surge of force hit him, knocking him against the wall. She grabbed him by the throat, using her power to pin him, and she leaned close. Her face was shadowed, but he knew her eyes had changed from green to black.
“I am more powerful than you will ever be,” she hissed. “There is nothing you can do for me that I can’t do for myself. I decide where I go and what I do. I’m here because I want to be. I gave you access to my power because I wanted to.”
He struggled against her hold, but he couldn’t move. “And I gave you access to mine,” he gritted back.
“You have no power!” She gripped him tighter, and he struggled for breath. “It doesn’t belong to you! You’re merely a gateway to the Aether’s power—a power that could kill you without me. I give you markings to shield you; I give you armor to cover your weak human body.”
This probably wasn’t the best time for him to bring up that armor.
“ I protect you !” she continued, her fingers still digging into his throat. “You’re nothing without me, and you can do nothing for me. Am I clear now?”
Her words cut him, no doubt as she’d intended.
“Am I clear?” she hissed again.
“Very,” he managed.
She released him, and he gasped, his lungs desperate for air. Then she turned, still with her lantern, and headed back the way she’d come.
Cyrus let the wall hold his weight. The blow of her power had hit him hard, and he pressed his palm against the ache in his side. Wetness seeped through the bandaging, blood with infection, but the injury wasn’t the thing hurting him most right now.
That hadn’t gone quite as he’d expected.
Or hoped. Cyrus lumbered slowly to his room, a little worse for wear now, both in body and spirit.
He’d known Essandra would be angry at his leaving.
He thought it would have simmered in the time he’d been gone.
Instead, it had festered. This was the angriest he’d seen her.
He would talk to her again tomorrow, although he knew this wasn’t the kind of anger that waned overnight.
Her words echoed in his mind: He was nothing without her . He could do nothing for her. It was the anger talking, he told himself. Then he shook his head. Even if it was, that didn’t make it any less true. He was nothing without her. But this wasn’t what bothered him.
What if he was nothing to her?
Or maybe he had been something, and he’d just ruined it.
His chamber was quiet. The dogs weren’t there, like he’d hoped they’d be. They were probably in Essandra’s room.
He sank into his bed, not bothering to strip his clothing. With Essandra on his mind, he knew sleep wouldn’t come now. Still, tiredness paralyzed him, and he closed his eyes.
To the vision of another woman.
He’d never seen her before. Color marked her face, black around her eyes with a strip of red across her cheeks—not blood.
Her dark hair streamed behind her in the wind, long and woven with braids and feathers.
He hadn’t seen many Horsemen in his life, only a few, but they were very distinctive, and he recognized her as one.
She rode a white horse with eyes of gold, her teeth bared in a silent scream.
Even though he couldn’t hear the cry, he knew what it was—a battle cry.
She was interesting, this woman of war, but not interesting enough to keep him from the sleep that finally claimed him.
Cyrus sat absently as everyone filtered out of the council room. At this point, he wondered if there was anyone not upset with him.
Gregor was furious about Serra. Not that Cyrus cared—he was furious about Gregor being a fucking coward. Gregor feared that the Shadow King’s close relationship with Serra might prompt a reaction from the Shadowlands, and that it would put pressure on Japheth to react as well. Cyrus hoped it would.
Still, he had to play nice. He expected the additional twenty thousand men he’d just sent to Japheth would appease Gregor.
In a couple of months, Japheth would hold numbers that rivaled Aleon’s great army.
With Cyrus’s sights now set on the Shadow King, he had also proposed a plan.
It was no secret that trade negotiations between Japheth and the Shadowlands had been growing contentious.
He suggested that Gregor invite the Shadow King to Japheth to finally settle them.
Where Cyrus would be waiting.