27. Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Full sails blocked out the sky. Cyrus’s ship carved the sea in half, sending sprays high along the bow.
Everan stood beside him. They didn’t speak. The force of sea winds made talking near impossible anyway. When Cyrus had told him about the opportunity to intercept the Shadow King, Everan had asked how he knew.
“I just do,” Cyrus had said, which Everan had accepted without pressing him further.
Kord didn’t. But he’d still come.
So had Essandra.
Things were still strained between them. She’d pressed him about how he knew too, but he hadn’t told her about the Mercian queen, which made things even more strained. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone.
They would try to convince him it was madness to pursue the queen under the guise of Alexander. And perhaps it was. But it would take madness to get the Shadow King.
By the second day at sea, Cyrus’s patience for travel was gone.
He’d need to move his forces quickly once he made it to Japheth, but moving an army in excess of seventy thousand men would be anything but quick.
He paced his cabin as his impatience grew.
He wasn’t sure if he’d need all his forces.
He didn’t know exactly how many men the Shadow King had—just that it was fewer than what Cyrus had.
And he wasn’t even sure what his plan was yet.
He was just coming with everything he could.
He’d had a larger army, but the fever had taken nearly half.
However, he praised his obsessive past self for continuing to send Gregor men and building his strength on the mainland. He also had several legions from Serra.
Cyrus wondered how many of Japheth’s forces Gregor would give him.
He was prepared for it not to be many. Gregor’s focus was on his brother, and he would hold forces for that opportunity.
Cyrus expected he’d get maybe thirty thousand, if he was lucky.
And he was fine with that. The Shadow King would be unaided by his allies, and with a hundred thousand men, Cyrus was certain he could take him.
Cyrus’s only concern was making it there in time.
As he paced his cabin, the pull from his blood came through.
He stopped.
His heart beat faster.
It was the Mercian queen.
She was calling him again. Why? Surely, the way he’d last left her had turned her from him. She couldn’t possibly want to see him again.
Unless she did.
He shouldn’t go. He’d gotten what he’d needed. But if she had something more…
Cyrus couldn’t stop himself, and he pushed his mind to follow his blood.
He found her on a bench in a garden in her mind. He glanced around. She’d created this, imagined it, put herself here to meet him.
She was waiting for him.
Interesting.
He was glad not to disappoint.
She didn’t turn to look at him, but her throat bobbed with a swallow. She knew he was there.
He sat down beside her.
The air was quiet between them. He really did wish he could speak to her.
“ Is it your power that allows you to come to me? ” she asked finally. “ The same power that kept the Wild from entering your mind and kept them from seeing you? ”
She spoke of Alexander’s power. The Wild couldn’t enter his mind? He’d heard of this place—a forest with creatures that could haunt the mind, take control of the body. While he had no intention of going there, this was good to know.
Her eyes were on him now, studying him.
“ How do you come through the blood? ” she asked. “ Are you a traveler? ”
So, she did know of seers, and that seers could travel. Even more interesting.
“ How did you get the vial to me? ”
Quite literally blood, sweat, a nauseating pain of the mind, his last scrap of sanity, and perhaps a few tears. He leaned back against the bench. He wished he could tell her, lest his efforts were vastly underappreciated. Still, he remained quiet.
“ Soren tells me this is a trick ,” she said.
She’d told the Shadow commander… A wariness pitted his stomach. He hadn’t expected her to tell anyone. That might complicate things.
Her eyes caught on the small bracelet of tiny shells he wore around his wrist, and she sucked in a breath. Clearly it meant something to her. When he had more time, he’d search her mind for it. For now, he only knew Alexander wore it. So Cyrus did too.
“ Are you here because I haven’t sent you to the gods? ” she asked. “ Do you want to go? ”
She hadn’t sent Alexander’s body to the pyre? If it helped her rationalize his presence, that worked in his favor. And he couldn’t let her think he wanted to be released from her. He gave a faint shake of his head.
Her shoulders eased. “ I… I didn’t know what you would have wanted. I feared I’d trapped you. ” Her eyes welled, and for the first time, his heart actually hurt for her. To love someone so deeply, to care about someone so much…
“ But this is the last time I can bring you back ,” she added. “ I don’t have any more blood. ”
What? What had happened to the rest? He brushed away the image of the garden and pulled forward her last memories.
The Shadow commander.
Cyrus watched as the beast of a man argued with the queen in her chamber and then ripped the vial from her hands and threw it into the fireplace.
He’d taken it from her.
He’d taken what Cyrus had worked so hard to give to her—he’d taken what didn’t belong to him. And who did this man think he was, that he would treat his queen this way?
Cyrus forced a steady breath, but heat swelled inside him, a flame of anger growing hotter.
“ Don’t be angry with him ,” she said. “ He cares for me. And worries. ”
That justified nothing. And how could the Shadow commander care about anyone?
“ He took your death hard ,” she said.
The commander? The Shadow commander had taken Alexander’s death hard?
“ He won’t admit it, but I see it in him. Adrian did too. He was devastated. Still is. ”
Whoever Adrian was, he didn’t care. His mind was still on the commander.
“ Are you able to go to others— ”
Anger still burned under his skin, and he stood abruptly. How would he get her another vial?
“All right ,” she said quickly, and she stood too. “ I just thought, at least Adrian. ”
His frustration flared at the thought of having to use the birds again, but now that she knew how the blood worked, now that she wanted to still see him, maybe he could try sending it a different way.
“ Do you not remember your brother Adrian? ” she asked him.
Cyrus froze.
What did she say?
“ He misses you. Terribly. ”
Alexander had another brother? Cyrus had another brother? That couldn’t be right.
The queen reached out her hand to his arm. “ I’m sorry ,” she said softly. “ For everything. For any pain I’ve ever caused you, I’m sorry. ” Her eyes welled. “ You deserved so much more, so much better than me, and so much better than what fate gave you. ”
He still couldn’t move. His eyes stung. No one had ever said that to him before. No one had ever cared to say it. Cyrus never thought about what he did or didn’t deserve. Maybe if he did, he’d think he did deserve what fate had dealt him. But for her to tell him otherwise…
“ Alexander ,” she whispered.
And suddenly, he felt very foolish. Of course she meant Alexander. Not Cyrus.
And what was she apologizing for? What more could fate have given Alexander?
He’d had a privileged life, everything afforded to him: freedom, education, wealth, love, happiness, and in the end, a hero’s death.
She was right—Alexander hadn’t deserved what fate had given him—but he’d enjoyed it nonetheless.
Cyrus pulled away from her.
“ Alexander ,” she said again, but he couldn’t hear it anymore.
He wasn’t Alexander, he didn’t want to be Alexander, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want her to talk to him, or to look at him.
He needed out, to get away, and he ripped himself from her mind.
Cyrus sank to the floor of his cabin on the ship, panting. The conversation had rattled him in a way that few ever had. And now that he was alone, he could really absorb her words—
He had another brother.
Adrian , she’d called him.
Cyrus couldn’t feel him, so he was fairly certain he didn’t have power. Not that he cared about that, although it did tug at his heart that Essandra had lost the opportunity of fulfilling her spell with Alexander. Adrian couldn’t replace him if he didn’t have power.
Cyrus wondered what he was like, how old he was, what he looked like.
And he paused. He could find out some things…
He still felt a connection to the queen. She hadn’t yet wiped off the blood. Perhaps he still had a few moments…
Before he could talk himself out of it, he followed the pull back to the queen. She sat on the floor of her chamber with her arms crossed around herself, staring into the empty fireplace.
Cyrus took care to shroud himself and quickly sifted through her memories. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for—a man who looked similar to himself, younger, but how young he didn’t know. Fifteen? Twenty-five?
He flipped through the faces; he knew the ones that weren’t him. And fuck the gods, how many blond men were there in Mercia? Everyone. Every fucking person. His frustration grew as he sifted faster. Where would he be? Cyrus assumed he and the queen would be close, so his image had to be close too.
And then he found him.
Cyrus knew the moment he saw him. And perhaps he’d seen him before, but he hadn’t been looking for a brother before.
Adrian was fairly young, early twenties, but he was certainly a man, and a formidable one at that. He was slightly taller than Alexander, and thicker. He carried his sword across his back—unusual for a Mercian soldier.
But he looked like a fighter. Cyrus couldn’t help a smile. He was probably a good fighter.
A sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed him, and he had to pull back out of the queen’s mind. As he sat on the floor of his cabin, he choked back a cry building in his throat.
He had a brother.
A brother that still lived.
A brother that probably knew nothing of him.
Cyrus wiped his face and pushed himself off the floor.
After he took the Shadow King, he would find this brother.