41. Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
A pounding on his chamber door woke him abruptly, and Cyrus bolted up in bed. The sun hadn’t yet risen.
“Cyrus!” Everan called through the door, and he pounded again.
“I’m here,” he answered as he stumbled out of bed. Beside him, Essandra had woken too and was quickly pulling her robe around her.
Cyrus swung the door open, and torchlight spilled in from the hall. Everan stood in the doorway. “Etreus has taken Pryam.”
It took a moment for Everan’s words to register, then Cyrus’s stomach dropped. Miriel. “What about Miriel?” he asked as he jerked on his clothes in the darkness. “Where is she?”
“She escaped. Her ship just arrived in the harbor.”
Cyrus stopped for a moment to let himself breathe. She’d gotten away. And she was here.
Wait, she was here ?
Essandra rattled off questions before Cyrus could ask them himself. “Is she all right? Was she injured? Did we lose anyone?”
“I think she’s fine,” Everan said, “although I haven’t seen her myself. I came here as soon as I heard the news. I don’t know anything else yet.”
Essandra lit a candle on the table, then turned to Cyrus. “Get the horses. I’ll meet you in the courtyard in a few moments, and we’ll head to the port.”
Cyrus pulled his sword from where it hung beside the bed and fastened the belt around his waist. Ready, he gave Essandra a soft brush on her arm before following Everan out.
By the time they reached the docks, Miriel’s ship was already anchored and moored. Cyrus strode quickly with Essandra, followed closely by Everan, Kord, Ram, and Jaem.
The torchlit harbor walks were overflowing with men. Cyrus stared at the masses in surprise. They couldn’t have all come on one ship.
“Cyrus!” a voice called out over the chaos.
He looked to find Bash on a mainway, and beside him—Miriel.
“Cyrus!” she cried as she ran to him and flung her arms around him.
He held her tightly for a moment, then pushed her back slightly to look at her under the torchlight. His eyes darted over her—her neck, her arms, her body, the way that she stood—looking for injury. He clasped her face in his hands. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No, but it was awful. They attacked the capital in the night, killing anyone they found as they went. Everyone fell back to the palace, where we could fight as one together, but the Union army was too big. We had to make a run for the ships.” She looked back at Bash.
“Bash got me out. We came straight here.”
“Why didn’t you use the blood?” Cyrus asked angrily. He should have been informed the moment this happened.
“I did!” Bash insisted. “You never answered me.”
Surprise stole his words. Well, fuck. He had been pushing voices out. That was his own fault, and Miriel had needed him. Guilt pooled in his stomach.
Kord interjected. “Are these all the men that came with you?” he asked Bash.
“We have four ships,” another voice said, and Brant appeared. Cyrus was relieved to see him. “There was a fifth one, the last ship,” Brant added, “but it didn’t make it out of the harbor.”
“Where’s Hephain?” Kord asked, his tone urgent now.
Brant hesitated. Then he said, “On the last ship.”
They all grew quiet, but especially Kord.
Cyrus’s chest tightened. Hephain. That loss was beyond hurt.
Miriel’s eyes caught something behind him. “Essandra!” she cried and ran toward her.
Essandra hugged her tightly. “Thank the gods you’re safe.” She looked her over as well. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but I’ve been so sick about what’s happened.”
Essandra nodded. “Well, you’re safe now.” She looked at Cyrus.
“Take her back to the palace,” he told her. “Get her settled in and taken care of.”
“Of course.” She gave Miriel another hug and took her hand. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Cyrus watched as they disappeared toward the waiting horses, then he turned back to Bash and Brant.
Brant bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t hold the capital. There were too many.”
Cyrus clasped his shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. Miriel is safe because of you.” He looked at Bash. “Both of you. Well done.”
“I’ll settle everyone into the army barracks on the south side until we can figure out what to do with them all,” Brant said.
Everan stepped forward. “I can see to that. You need rest.”
Cyrus let his gaze travel over Brant and Bash.
Blood crusted their clothing, and tiredness lined their faces.
“You two come back with me,” he said. “We’ll get you food and some beds so you can get a few hours’ sleep.
” He turned to Everan, leaving Kord to his silent grief.
“Let Ram and Jaem manage the men. Wake the council. We need to have a plan by morning.”
Everan nodded.
But by morning, they did not have a plan.
The air in the council chamber was thick with the heat of spent arguments. Cyrus stood at the head of the table, his hands braced against its surface, while members of his council slouched in exhaustion behind their quiet, stubborn resolve.
“So, we’re agreed,” Turin said, his voice hoarse. “We send a delegation to Etreus. Begin talks. Attempt to negotiate for Pryam’s return.”
They most certainly weren’t agreed. Cyrus laughed under his breath—a laugh fueled by rage and the need for blood. “Etreus refused all discussions with Miriel in the past. You think they give a fuck about negotiation now?”
Etreus saw Miriel as evil, which was ironic given that Etreus was a kingdom that still enslaved people.
They weren’t interested in negotiating with her or about her.
They’d wanted her gone, and they’d done it.
The possibility of anything amicable had been destroyed the moment they tried to kill her.
There would be no negotiating.
“But the reality is, we can’t manage two wars,” Everan said.
“They came in the night and butchered people while they slept.”
“Then what do you propose?” Verin, his merchant councillor, asked. “That we pull men from Serra? Recall legions back from Japheth? What would Gregor do then? And what would you tell the people?”
They weren’t wrong. Not politically. Not strategically. Cyrus was barely holding Rael together while barreling toward a war with the Shadow King and his allies—Aleon and Mercia. He didn’t have a dependable alliance with Japheth, and Serra was still unstable.
Taking back Pryam would mean he’d have to reprioritize. He’d have to let go of the Shadow King, deny Japheth a move against Aleon, and risk losing Gregor, who he needed—as much as Cyrus despised him.
Cyrus could do none of these things.
He could do nothing against Etreus.
It was yet one more thing lost: Orion. Pryam. Hephain.
When would it end?
But he knew the answer.
It wouldn’t.
“No one goes to Etreus,” Cyrus said coldly. “No negotiation.”
The room fell silent.
Then he turned and strode out of the council room before they could argue. If he stayed, he’d do something worse.
Like declare war anyway.
The afternoon brought a heavy heat, and Cyrus contemplated traveling to the stone circle just to be free of it.
But he wanted to be free of more than just the heat.
He was tired. Tired of failure, tired of having to be strong, tired of the unrelenting pressures of the crown.
Pressures of duty and responsibility. And in the wake of it all, to have to shoulder the loss—the unrelenting, unforgiving loss…
He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
Shouting sounded through the courtyard, and the dogs tore off and outside. Cyrus followed to see the commotion. He swore to himself as he went. One more fucking thing and he’d seriously lose every—
As the crowd parted, he stopped.
A wave of emotion flooded him.
Soldiers filtered in, weary and worn, but leading them—Hephain.
He’d made it home. He’d fucking made it home.
The dogs jumped around him in excitement, but Hephain didn’t look at them. His eyes searched for Cyrus, and when he saw him, he came immediately. Dropping his head in defeat, he said, “I’m sorry. I—”
Cyrus didn’t even let him finish before he reached out and pulled him close. He held him tightly.
One less loss. Cyrus needed one less loss right now. He gripped Hephain even tighter. There was nothing he could say because words weren’t enough.
Finally, Cyrus pushed him back to look at him, clasping his shoulders. It still took him another moment before he could speak. “I’m glad you’re home, brother,” he finally managed to say.
An emotional smile came to Hephain’s lips, and he nodded. “It’s good to be home.”
“Come inside,” Cyrus told him, and he pulled him back toward the palace.
It didn’t take long for news to spread. Despite everything that had happened, the air was lighter now. Everyone seemed in higher spirits. Even Miriel, who’d been in tears since her arrival. That was what one godsend could do.
As the day faded into night, Cyrus caught Kord alone in the hall. He didn’t have anything really to discuss, but he felt compelled to check in. “How are you?” he asked.
“Good,” Kord answered. “Yeah, good.”
“Good,” Cyrus said back.
They both stood in the hall, nodding silently.
“I’m happy… about… that.” Cyrus cursed under his breath. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. “Did you see Hephain?”
Kord’s gaze dropped to the ground, but a relieved smile came to his lips. “I did.” Then his brow quirked as he looked back up at Cyrus. “It makes me feel like I can actually be happy about other good news I have to share.”
Cyrus smiled back. He’d take all the good news he could get.
But suddenly, a pull came in the back of his mind.
Kord’s brows dipped. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
This was terrible timing. “I’m so sorry,” Cyrus told him. “It’s Norah. She’s calling to me.”
Kord nodded. “Oh. Yeah, you should go.”
“I really want to hear—”
“It’s fine,” Kord assured him. “Really. Go. I’ll find you later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He nodded again. “That’s important. Go. We’ll talk after.”