30. Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
“Slow down!” Cyrus called. “Wait!”
Essandra ignored him as she ripped through her bedchamber, stuffing clothing and essentials into her leather bag.
“Where will you even go?” he asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said as she balled up another riding dress and shoved it into her bag. “The coven will split up, then we’ll come back together once I find somewhere safe.”
“What place is safer than here?”
She snorted. “ Any place that Soroya doesn’t know where I am.”
“And when she finds you again? Then what? You’ll be on the run again. Is that the life you’re choosing?”
“It’s the life I chose when I left her.” She fastened the bag.
“But it doesn’t need to be the life you have now,” he told her. “You have my protection.”
She whirled to face him. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this. Your power means nothing , even if it is growing.”
“Not just my power. The strength of my crown and everything that comes with it—you’ll have it.”
She quieted as she stared at him.
“I have an army now, the strength of two kingdoms. Can this witch defeat that?” he asked her. “Because that’s what she’d have to do to get to you.”
Her lips parted, and she swallowed. “You’d use your army for me?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
“Of course I would.” He wasn’t sure why that was even a question.
“But you need it for the Shadow King.”
“I can always build another army, but I can’t get…” He stopped himself.
“Another coven,” she said, finishing for him. She nodded as she cast her eyes to the floor. “You could, actually. It would be difficult to find a bond witch, but not completely impossible.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant. Cyrus didn’t care about a coven or a bond witch. He couldn’t get another her . And he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he longed for something that no longer existed. Even if he did.
“You don’t want to make an enemy of Soroya,” she warned.
“I don’t care about Soroya. I don’t want you to go.
” They stood in the silence, their gazes locked.
“And all this assumes she comes herself,” he said.
“How likely is that? If she’s like any other head of state, head of anything, she’ll send someone to claim you.
But you’re nothing like the person she knew before.
You’re stronger. You’ve built a coven, you have a bloodline bond through me that lets you draw endless power from the Aether, and you have one of the world’s largest armies.
If there was ever a time for you to stand against her, it would be now. ”
She said nothing to that.
“Stop running,” he said.
Her eyes swept around the room again. He wished he could look in her mind, know what she was thinking. She was thinking something …
“You have enough to focus on,” she said finally. “A war of witches is not something you can handle right now. It could take so much from you: time, energy, effort, men. You could miss opportunities at everything you’ve been working for—”
“Do you not believe that this is a price I’m willing to pay?”
She paused and sucked in a breath. “I want to believe you,” she whispered.
“Then do. Stay.”
Essandra didn’t unpack her bag, but she also didn’t leave. Each morning that Cyrus woke and went to her workroom, he worried that he’d find her gone, but each morning she was still there.
And each morning led to another day that the Mercian queen didn’t call him through the blood bond. He’d felt nothing from her. Maybe Essandra had been right—maybe rational thought had prevailed, and she now suspected something was off. Maybe she wouldn’t use it again.
Or maybe she hadn’t found the new vial yet. He’d considered sending another bird to check if it was still on the terrace. But he waited.
Between Essandra and the Mercian queen, he found it hard to focus on anything else.
A letter had also arrived from Miriel. She was worried about the Etrean Union, which had been slowly fortifying their forces along Pryam’s border.
Cyrus wasn’t particularly concerned. With more Raelean people settling within Pryam, of course the Union would be on guard.
They didn’t know his agenda. But they had nothing to worry about, and he expected things to settle over time.
Several more days passed. And more.
With nothing from the Mercian queen.
And then came news from Jaem.
Apparently, Aleon’s royal wedding with Osan had been a wedding to behold, with the Mercian queen in attendance.
That would explain why she hadn’t used the blood.
She wasn’t even in Mercia. And more interesting information: while the Shadow King hadn’t gone, the Shadow commander had.
If that didn’t signify the unity of the four kingdoms…
Cyrus paced his study. The closer these kingdoms grew as allies, the harder it would be for him to get to the Shadow King. He was running out of time.
And then he felt her.
The Mercian queen. Finally.
“There you are,” he said to himself, before pushing his mind down the bond that snapped into place.
The queen sat on the bed in her chamber, waiting for him, and when he showed himself in her mind, she rose. There was something different about her. Suspicion hung heavy in the air. She eyed him warily, and he realized this visit wouldn’t be like the ones before.
She stepped to him.
He wondered what had happened. He wanted to search her mind, but he didn’t dare do anything that might add to the doubt that pulsed off her.
She studied him, every line of his face, his hair, his body. And he focused—he focused on projecting every detail of Alexander, every mark on his skin, every scuff on his boots, down to the Mercian tunic stitching.
She stepped around him, moving slowly.
She knew. She knew something wasn’t right.
But he didn’t move. Despite his racing heart, he let her inspect him. He was sure it was what Alexander would have done. And so he waited.
The queen moved back around in front of him, with her eyes narrowed and her head cocked.
Then she reached out and took his hand. He forced himself still.
She pushed up the sleeve of his tunic. He knew what she was looking for—the staves.
Still, he didn’t move. She wouldn’t find them.
He’d hidden all his markings. Her eyes shifted to his neck, and she reached and tugged down the collar of his tunic.
As she pulled away, he couldn’t read the expression on her face. He wasn’t sure if her doubt was more or less now.
“ How are you here? ” she asked him.
Of course he didn’t dare answer. He needed to maintain his stoic presence and simply let her do the talking. But he wanted to speak to her.
Her eyes narrowed even more. “ Can you come whenever you want? ”
It was a simple question, and he wanted to answer, but opening the door to any kind of reciprocal communication was dangerous. Yet he couldn’t help himself, and he gave a single shake of his head. No.
His heart raced faster as he silently cursed himself. He shouldn’t have done that. Why had he?
“ You need the blood ,” she said.
And now not answering was no longer an option. He gave a single nod in reply. Yes.
She stepped closer, and her breaths became shallower. “ But how did you send it to me? How can you… engage? ”
He cursed himself more. He couldn’t let himself speak.
“ Is it your blood? ” she asked.
He was dangerously close to being discovered, and even if he could speak without consequence, there wasn’t an answer that existed that sounded remotely reasonable for the situation.
She brought her hand to her forehead, clutching her temples.
He was losing her.
He was losing this opportunity. He racked his mind for how to keep the connection. What would Alexander do if he couldn’t speak to her?
Cyrus reached out and took her hand, pulling her to look at him. Then he gave another nod.
Her lips parted, and her eyes grew larger. There it was—the hope. But her suspicion quickly overshadowed it. “ Yes, it’s your blood? ” she asked.
He nodded again.
“ That’s not possible. ”
Of course it wasn’t possible. But at the same time, he believed in many things that didn’t seem possible. She could too. If she wanted to.
She shook her head. “ No ,” she insisted.
Yes. He nodded again. Just believe , he silently prayed.
Her eyes ran over his face again, and her lip trembled. “ Gods, why do I believe you? ” she whispered. “ But your body… How? How is that possible? I saw you sealed in the Hall of Souls. ”
They’d put Alexander in the Hall of Souls?
Like royalty…
Anger flashed through him, but he quickly pushed it down.
She shook her head again. “ Your body is… There should be no blood to send. And even if there were… ” She rubbed her hand over her face as her heart battled her mind. He needed to give her something more, something else for her to focus on, something else to reconnect them.
And then it came to him.
“ Do you deceive me? ” she asked.
The question made him pause. He didn’t want to deceive her. Surprisingly, he also didn’t want to lie to her. It was a yes-or-no question, yet he couldn’t bring himself to answer.
Instead, he reached behind him and pulled out a navy velvet box. Her face told him that she knew what it was the moment she saw it.
Her crown—the crown she’d lost when the Shadow King had first stolen her away.
Carefully, he placed the box in her hands. Like it was real. He made it real. She trembled as she took it and set it slowly on the vanity in front of her. She stared at it for a moment before glancing back at him in disbelief.
This crown meant something to her. It was important. He’d seen the memory of her grandmother giving it to her.
He gave her a nod of encouragement.
She turned back to the box and, shaking, opened it. She stilled. “ Where did you find this? ” she whispered.
He didn’t feel pressure to answer that as she stared down at it.
And before he could react, she turned and threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly. “ Thank you ,” she breathed.
Cyrus wasn’t prepared for her sudden rush of emotion toward him.
He certainly wasn’t prepared for the feeling it pulled from his chest. The way that she clung to him, the way that she loved him—so much so that she would accept whatever she could get from him, regardless of whether it made sense, regardless of whether it was possible.
She’d accept the scraps of death if only she could hold on to him.
And to be loved like that…
He couldn’t help but let himself embrace her back.
Cyrus tore through another drawer in his study, scattering parchments to the floor. It was here somewhere. He turned and rifled through his shelves—through stacked books and boxes.
Nothing.
He moved to the trunk in the corner by the large side chair, even though he’d never opened the thing.
“What are you looking for?”
Orion’s voice made him spin.
Cyrus paused. “Nothing,” he said shortly.
Orion raised a brow as his gaze swept the wrecked room. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Cyrus pushed out an annoyed breath. “I have a Mercian crown. It’s in a blue box. I’m trying to find it.”
“That blue box?” The assassin nodded to the top of the shelf.
Cyrus turned.
And there it was.
He crossed the room and grabbed it, but he didn’t open it. Not yet. “What do you need?” he asked.
“It’s regarding Mercia, actually. I have to go. Vitalia’s there—I know it. She has to be. I’ve chased every other trail, and this is the only one that’s left.”
“You still think she’s in the court of the Mercian queen?”
“As a maid, I think.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her,” Cyrus said. “What if she’s moved on? What if she’s loyal to the queen?”
Orion swallowed but nodded. “Then I’ll know. But I can’t not go. I can’t not try.”
That could prove risky. Not just because he could be discovered but because Orion’s heart belonging to a woman who was loyal to Mercia, to Mercia’s queen… If he did find her, what might he share with her? It could jeopardize everything. Cyrus couldn’t let him go. Not yet.
He looked down at the dark blue box in his hands.
Cyrus couldn’t outright deny him. He’d given his word to help Orion get her back, and he had every intention of doing so, just…
not at the expense of the mission. He could send Jaem, but he couldn’t explain how that would be less of a risk than sending Orion.
Still, he had to do something. If he could stall him, just for a little while…
He sighed. “Get me her picture again,” he said.
He knew Orion had one. “When I’m in the queen’s mind next, I’ll look for her. Let me see what I can find first.”
Orion quickly ruffled in his pocket and pulled a folded parchment. Not one. A couple. He held them for Cyrus. “This one shows her face best,” he said, opening the first. “And this one is of her from the side,” he added as he unfolded the second. “I can draw more. I can—”
“This is good,” Cyrus assured him, taking both parchments. “I’ll look for her.”
“How long, do you think?”
Cyrus felt for him. He knew the agony of waiting. “I won’t know until the queen calls me back through the blood bond.”
“Right.” Orion nodded, then he swallowed. “And you’re sure she will?”
“She most certainly will.” Cyrus had no doubt.
Orion nodded again. “And you’ll tell me? Right after?”
“Right after,” he promised.
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” Cyrus said. “I do want to help you.” And he meant it.
Orion left, and Cyrus stood alone with the box in his hands. He set it on his desk and opened it. Norah had been overwhelmed when she’d seen the crown. He brushed his fingertips over the petaled design. It was beautiful, but he knew she didn’t want it for its beauty.
He’d given it to her in a vision. He wished he could give her the real one.
Cyrus paused.
He could give it to her…
It was too heavy for a bird. Cyrus drew his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. Then his gaze stopped on the dogs sleeping on their cushions by the window.
His pulse quickened.
“One,” he called.
The big dog rose and followed Cyrus as he slipped silently out into the hall and toward the portal in Essandra’s workroom.