36. Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Cyrus slept. Deeply. More than deeply. For the first time in months, he actually felt rested. As sunlight poured through the windows, he reached out his arm for Essandra.
The bed was empty beside him.
He lifted his head. And he sighed. Of course it was empty. He should have known she wouldn’t be here when he woke. No doubt she regretted what had happened between them, regretted what she’d confessed—regretted that she’d said she loved him.
And perhaps he regretted it too. She cared for him, yes, but Essandra wasn’t a woman to let herself love, or let herself be loved. He’d pushed her too far with his need for her. He’d ruined it.
Like he ruined everything.
“I’m here,” came her voice.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows with a start.
She rose from where she’d been sitting in the side chair, a long silk robe covering her. “Did you think I’d gone?”
“No,” he said quickly.
She pursed her lips into a small smile and lifted a brow.
Cyrus held out his hand and she took it, and he laced his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. She hadn’t left. She hadn’t regretted what had happened between them.
And he didn’t either. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them.
A book lay spread page-side-down, where she’d been sitting. “Reading?” he asked. “This early?”
“It’s not early anymore. And yes, I’ve just been working on some things.”
“Where are the dogs?” he asked. He hadn’t seen them since he’d been back.
“With Visa. She brought us some breakfast.” She glanced back over her shoulder at a tray of food on the side table.
Breakfast could wait. Cyrus pulled her on top of him. “I already have a plan for breakfast,” he said, and he rolled her underneath him.
She laughed as he nuzzled into her neck and kissed along her shoulder, but she put a hand on his chest. “Visa said Orion is leaving today.”
Cyrus paused.
Her eyes shifted back and forth between his. “What happened?” she asked. “Why is he so angry at you?”
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “The woman he’s been searching for—she’s dead.”
Her eyes grew larger, and she put a hand over her mouth. “Vitalia?” she whispered.
He nodded.
“But why is he angry at you?”
“Because I knew and didn’t tell him.” He shook his head.
“More than that. He asked me to look for her, and I lied to him about what I saw. But I couldn’t tell him.
I couldn’t…” He paused. The hard part was knowing that if he were to do it all over again, he wasn’t sure he’d choose differently.
“What does a man have if he doesn’t have hope? ”
Essandra bit the corner of her lip as she reached up and traced the line trenched across his brow. “It might take a little time,” she told him, “but he’ll eventually see you were trying to protect him.”
“I don’t think so,” he whispered.
She frowned. “Do you at least want to see him before he goes?”
“I do.” It was likely the last time he’d ever see Orion again, and it tore at him. Orion was more than just a paid man. He was someone Cyrus could trust and rely on. He was a friend, even though Cyrus had lost that friendship.
She gave a sad smile. “Come on, then.”
Dressed and finally presentable, Cyrus walked the main hall toward the east wing with Essandra beside him. He held her hand in his. Now that he’d won her touch, he couldn’t be without it.
As they passed the throne room, a familiar face caught his eye. Cyrus grinned.
Ryman. He rarely saw the large man who used to be the lead fighter of House Lycus. Ryman oversaw their defensive forces across all of northern Rael, but lately he’d been responsible for moving legions to Japheth as they finished their training.
When he saw Cyrus, he broke from his men and crossed the room to meet him. “King Cyrus,” he said with a warm smile.
They clasped arms.
“How are you, my friend?” Cyrus asked him.
Ryman gave a nod. “Good. Taking another two legions to Japheth today.”
Essandra squeezed Cyrus’s arm. “I’m going to go make sure Orion doesn’t leave before you see him,” she said. “Take your time, but don’t be too long.”
Cyrus nodded, then watched her go before turning his attention back to Ryman.
The man’s grin broadened as he watched Essandra leave. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Cyrus snorted, but he couldn’t help his own smile.
“Hey,” Ryman said, “I wanted to let you know that King Gregor has offered me a position. To lead his mercenary armies.”
Cyrus shifted back. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him.
Gregor had asked him for a trusted man many times, and Ryman was among the best. He was smart and skilled, and his presence could be intimidating.
Of course he’d catch Gregor’s eye. And Cyrus had promised if there was a man who wanted the job, he could go with Cyrus’s blessing.
Cyrus gave him a short nod. “Any king would be fortunate to have you lead his men.”
“Oh, I’m not going to work for that fucking coward.”
If Cyrus had had a mouthful of wine, he’d have spewed it all over the floor. He couldn’t help a good laugh.
“I just wanted you to know that he did,” Ryman added.
“He could make you a rich man.”
“I already have everything I could ever want.”
Suddenly, Ryman’s smile fell. His face hardened as his gaze caught on something behind Cyrus.
Cyrus turned.
Essandra stood under the arch of the double doorway, with a hooded figure in a long dark cloak behind her. She was facing him, but she stood in a way that seemed not her own. Then he noticed the hand wrapped around her neck.
“Is this him?” asked the figure. A woman.
“Soroya, please,” Essandra begged.
Soroya.
Soroya.
Cyrus’s blood ran cold.
She’d come. She’d actually come.
Every muscle in his body coiled as the flame of fight sparked inside him.
Soroya pulled back the hood of her cloak. She was tall, almost as tall as Cyrus, but otherwise not much different from how he’d imagined: thin, with long dark hair, even darker than Essandra’s. But her eyes… Her eyes were silver. Cold. Piercing.
Ryman stepped in front of Cyrus, pulling his sword. “You’ll take your hands off the king’s lady,” he demanded. “Or I’ll take them off for you.”
Soroya leveled her steely gaze on the large fighter. Her voice held the same ice as her stare. “I don’t have the patience to correct everything wrong in your words.”
“And I don’t have the fucking patience to tell you again.” Ryman took another step forward, but as he did, his sword flashed red in his hands. He stared down at it in horror.
A scream ripped from his lips.
It took a moment for Cyrus to understand what was happening, but as smoke swirled up from Ryman’s hands and wound around the blade, he shouted, “Drop it! Ryman, drop the sword!”
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Ryman screamed louder as the sword grew hotter, and even louder as molten metal ran down the blade and over his hands.
Cyrus rushed forward, but before he could reach him, Ryman erupted into flame. Cyrus staggered back, shielding his face from the heat. Ryman’s screams shook the hall as his flesh burned.
Cyrus had power over fire through his bond with Essandra’s coven but lacked the mastery to control the flame. He didn’t have the ability to extinguish it. There was nothing he could do as Ryman dropped to his knees and then collapsed forward in a smoldering heap on the stone floor.
The throne room grew quiet.
Ryman was dead.
Ryman was dead.
So quickly she’d killed him, so easily, and Cyrus couldn’t even grieve him.
Soroya walked Essandra forward, and Cyrus noticed four more women with her, who all wore the same dark cloak lined in purple.
She brought Essandra within ten paces in front of him and paused, her hand still around Essandra’s neck.
Her eyes mocked him as they traveled down his frame and back up.
“This is the famed bloodsport fighter?” She laughed.
Essandra stood unnaturally, under an invisible hold.
Fury rippled under his skin. “Let her go,” he commanded. His voice didn’t sound like his own.
Soroya tightened her hold on Essandra. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
He ripped his sword from its scabbard and surged forward, but Soroya’s power hit him with a blow unlike any he’d felt before, knocking him to the ground. His blade clanged to the marble beneath him. Pain vibrated through every bone in his body.
“Cyrus!” Essandra screamed.
The group of men who’d been with Ryman pulled their swords and rushed forward, but sharp spikes of stone tore up through the floor, impaling them midstep.
“You think mere men stand a chance against two hundred years of power?” Soroya snapped. Her hand tightened, and Essandra writhed in her clutch.
Cyrus shook with rage.
“Stupid girl,” Soroya hissed against Essandra’s ear. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
“Soroya, please,” Essandra whimpered.
“You almost had a chance. You’d seemed to have completely disappeared from this world.
Then I heard from the Jackals that there was a witch breaking the guild bonds of their assassins.
And I thought: Who could that be? There’s only one person strong enough.
” She smiled as she brought her lips to Essandra’s ear again.
“My little bond maker, my little bond breaker,” she sang.
Essandra struggled against her, but the invisible force still held her. “Let him go,” she begged, “and I’ll send them back. I can reverse it.”
Even Cyrus knew she couldn’t do that.
“The assassins?” Soroya said. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of them. My gift to the guild.”
Orion. The pit in Cyrus’s stomach grew. “What have you done?” he seethed shakily.
“Soroya,” Essandra begged again. “Please. I’ll go with you willingly.”
“You think I want you back now?” Her fingers tightened, and Essandra clawed at them, powerless and struggling for breath. “I loved you, Sabine,” Soroya hissed between her teeth. “I loved you like my own daughter. Trusted you more than any other. And you betrayed me.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Essandra pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want.”