32. Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
He waited.
Again.
Norah was back in the Shadowlands. Although she was closer now, it was harder to get her a vial there. The Shadowmen were much more watchful. And some fucking girl with a bow was worse than the winterhawks had been at taking down his birds.
He had, however, managed to leave a vial on a garden bench that Norah frequented.
He suspected she’d use the blood shortly after receiving it, and as he walked the hall toward his study, a small smile came to his lips as he felt the pull.
He slipped into the chamber and closed the door behind him before letting himself chase the call.
As he entered her mind, he paused when he saw her. Cyrus couldn’t feel emotion in another’s mind, but he could read it. And, standing before him in her mind, she was very much on the verge of tears. Concern filled him, and he stepped closer.
“ I wasn’t sure you’d come, after Mikael… ”
So, she knew the Shadow King had taken the blood. He discreetly flipped through her recent memories, looking for what had happened, and he found her showing the king the vial in what appeared to be a temple. It didn’t look purposeful, or malicious, more of a confession of sorts.
“ I’m sorry ,” she said. “ I didn’t know he’d use it. I’m sure that was a surprise. ”
Not a terrible surprise, though.
She swallowed. “ I… I thought about it a lot, him calling you. At first I thought it would have helped him understand if he’d seen you.
” She paused again, looking down at her hands.
“ But now ”—she shook her head—“ I think it would have made it worse, knowing you really are here. So, thank you. For not engaging. ”
But if she was thanking him, why did she look so sad? She stared at him, with her large blue sky of eyes traveling his face. “ But Soren says it’s time for me to say goodbye. ”
Who cared what the fucking commander said?
“ And he’s right ,” she whispered. She was crying now but forced a smile. “ He said you need to start doing your job looking over Mercia and stop haunting me. ”
This commander was really starting to annoy him…
Norah sniffed, then cleared her throat. She seemed so small.
“ I know you’re not yourself ,” she said softly, “ at least not exactly, but I think it’s what the old you would have wanted—for me to be able to move forward. ”
Wait—what was she saying? He shook his head as he stepped closer.
“ I want you to know that I’m all right ,” she told him. “ That I’m cared for and looked after. ”
She was leaving him. No. He couldn’t let her. He reached up and clasped her cheek.
Her eyes welled. “ I’m all right, Alexander ,” she told him. And then she put her arms around him.
But he didn’t want it; he didn’t want this embrace—it meant she was leaving. She couldn’t leave, but he didn’t know how to stop her.
He had to say something…
A tear spilled down her cheek as she stepped up onto her toes and brought her lips to his cheek. “ Goodbye ,” she whispered.
He had to say something…
He had to—
The bond broke.
Cyrus opened his eyes to his study, gasping for breath.
Had she just severed them?
Was she letting him go?
Because of what the commander had said…
His blood burned in his veins. No. That wasn’t going to happen. He shoved through his study door and stormed down the hall, his rage building with each step.
This Shadow commander thought he could get rid of him? As if Norah could simply say goodbye , and he’d be gone?
That wasn’t how this worked.
He burst through the iron doors to the outside.
Who did this man think he was?
A large flock of birds foraged the grass for worms, filling the air with their merry chirps.
Cyrus ripped his blade across his palm and flung his arm wide, baring his teeth as he arced a spray of blood over them.
This commander thought he could send him a message. Well, Cyrus had a message for him . And the birds took off to deliver that message.
His footsteps echoed through the halls. Angry footsteps. The dogs trilled high-pitched whines as they followed.
Cyrus fisted his hand tightly as he pressed it against him, trying to stem the bleeding, but it didn’t help much. In his anger, he’d cut himself deeply. Too deeply, and he needed to find Teron.
He also needed to send Norah another vial. She still had his blood, but she needed to know that he wanted her to use it again.
He’d send vials until she did.
“Cyrus!” Orion’s voice sounded as he passed a side hall.
He slowed but stifled a groan. Guilt daggered him. He hadn’t looked for Orion’s woman when he’d been in Norah’s mind. He hadn’t even thought about her.
“Have you—”
Orion’s words cut off when he saw Cyrus’s hand, then his eyes followed the trail of blood down the hall. “What did you do?”
“Cut myself a little too deeply, that’s all. I’m going to see Teron now.”
Orion nodded. “Yeah, do that.”
Cyrus moved to leave.
“Did you learn anything from the queen yet?”
Cyrus paused and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said.
“She hasn’t called you back to her?”
He shook his head again. “No.”
Orion drew in a somber breath. “All right.” He glanced down at the floor and then back to Cyrus. “I’ll let you get to Teron.”
Cyrus gave a stiff nod and continued on his way, but as he passed the throne room, he slowed again.
Kord stood in the center of the room, speaking to someone just out of view. His voice echoed firmly. “You can’t just demand an audience with the king.”
This wasn’t an entirely unusual occurrence, but there was something unusual now.
Kord’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Cyrus stepped just inside the shadow of the alcove to see whom he was speaking to.
And his chest tightened.
It was a dark-haired man—tall and thin with a sharp jaw. Cyrus didn’t recognize him, but he wore a black cloak, trimmed in dark purple, the same as the woman who had recognized Essandra in Japheth.
Cyrus stepped into the throne room. The man’s gaze snapped to him, and a smile snaked across his lips. Immediately Cyrus didn’t like him.
“King Cyrus,” the man greeted him. “I bring a message from the high witch Soroya Fey.”
Heat swelled inside him, but Cyrus calmly cocked his head. “Who?”
The man’s eyes darkened. “Don’t be coy. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Now Cyrus really didn’t like him. “Are you always a disrespectful guest?” Guest was a stretch. This man wasn’t welcome here.
“Of course not, but you’re harboring someone here who belongs to the high witch,” the man told him.
Cyrus gave a dark chuckle. “If you think anyone here belongs to another person, you’ve done some very poor preparation for your visit to Rael.”
“Where is Sabine Laveau?”
The man’s question harrowed him, sowing seeds of violence along Cyrus’s spine. “There is no Sabine Laveau here,” he answered.
“What about Essandra Savoy?”
The mere mention of her name rippled fire under his skin. Cyrus stared at the man as fight flamed in his veins. “What is your message?” he asked. “I’ll deliver it for you. If I like it.”
“Oh, this message isn’t for her. It’s for you. Soroya gives you three days to return her.” He smiled, then added, “Respectfully.”
“Ah, respectfully.” Cyrus nodded. “That’s good.” Cyrus moved closer, and the man’s eyes dropped to his bleeding hand, noticing it for the first time. His brows drew down.
But Cyrus’s hand was now the last thing on his mind. “Three days?” he asked.
The man was still caught on the stream of blood dripping to the floor. “Three days,” he finally repeated.
Cyrus nodded. He turned and looked at his dogs. Reaching out his hand, he trailed a blood line across One’s head. “Three is a good number, isn’t it?”
The man glanced at Kord in confusion, then looked back at Cyrus. “What?”
Cyrus paused. “Three. It’s a good number.” He stepped casually to the second dog, doing the same—a smear of blood. Then the third.
The man swallowed. “I-I guess so.”
Cyrus turned back to him and gave a thin smile. “One,” he said. “Two.” The man shifted back as his brow stitched deeper. “Three.”
And the man was barely able to give a scream before teeth sank into his throat.
The dogs made short work of their kill. They were certainly efficient. They’d become companions around the palace. Cyrus had almost forgotten just how ferocious they were.
He leaned over the now dead pile of shredded flesh. “Your witch can fuck herself,” he said. “Respectfully.”
He felt Essandra’s eyes on him, but Cyrus pretended he didn’t as he took another bite of his food.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.
He paused midlift of his chalice, and his eyes shifted to Kord.
Kord slowed his chewing, then swallowed, but didn’t lift his fork again.
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” she pressed. “A number of people saw you hemorrhaging through the hall.”
Cyrus’s shoulders eased, and he took a drink. “A cut,” he said casually. “A little deep, that was all.” Not a lie, although Teron had had to work the better part of the afternoon healing it.
She eyed him suspiciously.
He flashed his healed palm at her. “Perfectly fine now.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she shot a glare at Kord.
Kord took another bite of food.
She looked back at Cyrus. “What did you need the blood for?”
“Birds,” he answered. Also not a lie.
Her suspicion lingered, but she didn’t question him more, and Cyrus didn’t offer more. After dinner, he retired to his chamber, not for sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come. He needed to send another vial to Norah—a direct invitation for her to call him back to her.
If she would.
His body ached. He wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t done anything particularly laborious. General tiredness, maybe. He selected a clean vial and set it on the side table, but as he positioned a spouted catch over it, the bond called to him.
His pulse quickened. He knew immediately.
Norah.
This was a surprise. So was the anger in her voice as she called him.
“ Alexander! ” she seethed.