28. Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
“No.”
Cyrus stared back at the coward fuck of a man who had suddenly found the poorly timed audacity to say that word to him. “No?” he repeated.
“We need to strike Phillip first,” Gregor said.
This man was so incredibly stupid. “Aleon is not in a position of opportunity for us,” Cyrus argued. “The Shadow King is. Their armies are separated, and he’s alone and vulnerable.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I have a reliable source.”
Gregor scoffed. “Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire confidence.”
Cyrus felt his frustration growing. “If we go and he isn’t there, then we’ll simply return.”
“And give away our intention.”
“I’m fairly certain if Aleon and the Shadowlands have half a wit, they already know our intention.” Much longer and he’d lose his patience altogether. “We take the Shadow King now, then the war is half won.”
Gregor scoffed again, and Cyrus thought it was a similar noise to the one he might make if Cyrus choked him. Gregor pointed his finger at him. “You mean you get what you want, then leave me to face Phillip alone? Absolutely not.”
Well, while an idiot, Gregor wasn’t entirely wrong. That was an option. Cyrus didn’t care about Aleon at all and had little intention of actually going to war with them.
Gregor pursed his lips as he sat back in his throne, feeling safe behind the line of guards at the bottom of the dais between them.
As if men could keep him safe.
“We strike Phillip first,” Gregor said again.
“We don’t have time for this. I have to leave now to catch the Shadow King before he reaches the pass. You don’t even need to send your entire army.”
“I’ll send no one!”
Rage flamed through him, and Cyrus dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword, but Everan caught him discreetly from behind.
Cyrus quickly contemplated the consequences of killing Gregor right now, and he was pretty sure there were none. But Everan still held him. Regardless, he couldn’t look at this man’s face any longer. He turned and swept out of Gregor’s throne room, not even bothering with parting words.
“Make sure the army is ready,” he told Kord as they stepped outside. “We march within the hour.”
“Are you serious?” Kord said. “We’re going to march alone?”
“We have more men than the Shadow King.”
“We have minimally trained soldiers.”
“Don’t sell them short—your training regimen is excellent.”
“It doesn’t matter how good the training is. Most of them have less than a year of experience.”
“That’s enough.”
“Cyrus—”
Cyrus stopped, catching Kord. His grip was firm. “It’s not up for discussion. Do it.” He knew the whole thing sounded mad, but this was the only way to get the Shadow King. And he didn’t have time for debate.
Kord glanced at Everan, who said nothing, then went to do as he was told.
Cyrus turned to find Everan and Essandra just watching him. “I don’t even need Gregor,” he told them. “I should have killed him in there.”
“You need his money,” Everan said. “You need him to feed our army, and you’ll need his mercenaries if Aleon and Mercia retaliate for your attack on the Shadow King. You know his army will disappear as soon as the hand that pays them is dead.”
“Gregor doesn’t need to be alive for me to use his money. I can make sure they’re paid.”
“But you have neither the time nor the capacity to figure that out,” Essandra countered. “Let alone the patience,” she added. “Because you know what comes out of killing a king? Leading a kingdom.”
“I wouldn’t lead Japheth.”
“Yes, you said that about Serra too.” She raised a brow. “And Rael. Look where it’s gotten you.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Forget Gregor,” Everan said. “Let him do as he pleases. He’ll join you against Aleon if you need it—that’s the only thing that matters.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth. “The Shadow King is the only thing that matters.”
“Then let’s go get him.”
Cyrus paused. If Everan only knew what those words meant to him—the feeling of support and unity for his cause, his purpose.
“You have to tell me one thing, though,” Everan said. “How do you know?”
He would give Everan whatever he asked, but on this, Cyrus hesitated.
“How do you know the Shadow King is traveling back?” Everan pressed. “And how do you know he’ll be without allied forces?”
Essandra was silent, but her eyes asked the same. These were the people he trusted most in the world. He did owe them the truth, at least.
“The Mercian queen told me,” he said finally. “I entered her mind when my brother’s blood touched her skin.”
Everan and Essandra both gaped at him.
“She thinks I’m him—his spirit—somehow.”
They still stared at him, with their eyes wide and their mouths open.
“Four times now she’s talked to me.”
“Four times!” Everan exclaimed. “What the fuck, Cyrus? Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I figured you would try to stop me, I guess.”
Essandra crossed her arms. “So, she uses your brother’s blood to call you back to her?”
Now it was Cyrus’s turn to stare.
That… would have been so much easier than getting a blood vial to her.
He wished he would have thought of that.
Of course, now it was too late. Whatever had been done to preserve Alexander’s body, since he hadn’t been sent to the pyre, would have drained him of his blood. And she’d already accepted receiving a vial. The only way to see her again would be to send her another.
“I sent her a vial for the last two times,” he admitted.
Essandra’s eyes grew even wider. “You did what? How did you get it to her?”
“A very laborious effort,” he replied.
“What did you say to her?”
“I don’t say anything to her. I don’t speak at all—I know it will give me away.”
“Then how did you show her how to use the blood?” Essandra’s brow drew down sharply. “And if she thinks you’re the spirit of your brother, where does she think the vials come from?” She scoffed. “Is she so easy to fool? Does she not have any sense at all?”
“Have you never been blinded by grief?” he snapped. “You—of all people—should know how the desperation of loss can make one believe the impossible!”
She quieted. Her mouth closed, but her throat tightened, and her eyes of surprise turned to eyes of anger. Eyes of hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, softer now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But she said nothing more.
Kord reappeared. “The army’s ready.”
Cyrus nodded. “Let’s march.”
The flame of the campfire lit the night.
He’d driven the army hard, until Everan and Kord insisted they stop to rest the men. Now Cyrus should be resting too, but he couldn’t sleep, and so he sat staring into the fire. Everan, Kord, Orion, and Essandra sat with him. No one spoke.
He was glad. They’d only tell him this was madness, that they marched toward an ill-planned battle that they were unprepared for.
They’d tell him he’d lose his army. And… he likely would.
But he wouldn’t need an army after this. Even if he couldn’t defeat the Shadow army, he only needed to get to the Shadow King. If his men failed him in this, Essandra would help him. He knew she would. No matter how much she hated him right now. No matter that he’d hurt her, she’d still help him.
And the gods damn him because he would let her. In fact, he wouldn’t just let her—he’d ask her to.
She should be back in Rael, safe and protected, regardless of whether she wanted to be.
This was a much more dangerous endeavor than Serra had been.
And if she was going to hate him, she should hate him from a place of safety.
It was only a small comfort that he’d made Everan and Orion promise to get her back to Rael should things go poorly. That was their sole charge.
He watched her as they sat around the fire. The flames danced shadows across her face. She deserved so much better than him, so much more than he’d given her. He hadn’t even given her honesty. Nor Everan. The guilt ate at him.
“I have another brother,” he said abruptly, breaking the quiet.
They all stared at him.
“What?” Kord said.
“I have another brother,” he said again.
Silence sat between them.
“Did she tell you that?” Essandra asked finally.
He nodded.
“Who?” Kord asked, glancing at Everan and Essandra. “Who told him?”
Everan filled him in. “The Mercian queen. Cyrus was able to enter her mind when his brother’s blood touched her skin.”
Kord gaped at Cyrus. “You’ve been talking to the queen? Is that how you knew about the Shadow King?” He turned to Everan and Essandra. “And you guys knew?”
“We just found out in Japheth,” Everan said quietly.
“Is this brother in Mercia?” Essandra asked.
Cyrus nodded. “I saw him. I saw him in her mind.” He paused and dropped his voice lower. “I can’t feel him,” he told her. “He doesn’t have power.”
“I…” She shook her head quickly. “I wasn’t asking for—”
“I know. I just… I wanted you to know that I thought about it.”
She softened in the firelight. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Everan leaned forward. “What does he look like?”
“Like he could beat the shit out of me.”
They both chuckled. Then Cyrus grew quiet again. “He’s young. He’s… beautiful. In every image, he wears a smile on his face.” His whole life, Cyrus had hated the idea of Alexander being happy, but seeing Adrian was different.
“Are you going to try to meet him?” Everan asked.
“I’d like to. After all this is done.”
“Why wait?” Kord asked. “We don’t have to do this now. In fact, we’re foolish to be doing it now, alone. Forget the Shadow King. Go meet your brother.”
Cyrus refused to even acknowledge the idea with an answer. Kord knew he couldn’t do that.
The quiet returned.
Finally, Everan said, “We march in a couple hours. We should all get some sleep.”
Cyrus nodded. Then they all stayed around the fire until the dawn came.