Chapter 51
Robin deposited another piece of driftwood at the second fire Liam was attempting to start. Around it, the freed Majis sat wrapped in a random assortment of dried clothing and blankets that Ilida had sent with Willa earlier that morning.
Robin sent a quiet thanks to her ever-thoughtful steward. No one knew that the Majis would end up swimming to the shore, but Ilida had still known they would need to be warm.
Lyra moved among them, having also come with Willa, passing out small bites of bread and dried meat.
The soldiers were entirely gone now. They had left the shore and gone back to tear down their camp, celebrate their victory, and return to their homes. Robin did not understand how it had been that easy, for Gareth to simply say that the Majis were no threat and the soldiers believed him.
She looked around her. Despite the cold, she could see a glimmer of hope returning to their blank faces and exhausted eyes. They spoke with each other, leaning toward the fires, and shared what little food had been offered.
Robin turned away. The sight of that hope was more painful than watching Ian under the fist of Gareth’s beast-man.
She had nothing to offer these people. Nothing to satisfy their hope.
Fletcher appeared at her side, holding a small stack of damp parchment.
“How many are unaccounted for?” she asked, following up on the task she had assigned to him.
“From what I can gather,” he said, looking down at the notes he had written. “Four.”
Robin pressed her lips together and nodded. Four Majis were gone, either lost to the sea or somehow still alive out there. Nearly sixty had made it to the shore. Sixty lives now in her hands.
“Not including those on the third ship, of course,” Fletcher continued. “Or Sol and Aizel.”
Robin pressed her good hand against the ache in her injured shoulder. The pain had lessened, though Robin suspected her body was not healing but had simply gone too numb to feel it. “Keep the list dry,” she said. “I am sure Ilida will appreciate it.”
Fletcher pulled a leather flask out from under a fold of his monk’s robes. “Sit down, Robin.” He forced the flask into her hands. “And let this warm you.”
Robin shook her head, pushing the flask back toward him. “They need this more than I—”
“You are just one woman,” Fletcher said, speaking louder to cut off her words.
“You have stretched yourself past your limits, and you are done.” Fletcher placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her away from the busyness around the small fires.
“For once, just listen to your elders. Willa said Davin, Ezra, and Jules just arrived. You can help again after you have rested.”
Robin nodded. She knew he was right. But she did not want to sit down. If her body was still, her mind surely would not be.
Fletcher took the flask from her hands, unstopped the cork, and handed it back to her. “Go.” He crossed his arms, standing like a physical barrier between her and the rest of the shore, his legs spread far apart under his tied-up robes.
Accepting defeat, Robin walked further north along the sand, finding a small divot in the cliff face that would protect her from the worst of the wind but still give her a vantage point of the activity on the beach.
She sat down, leaning back against the cold stone of the cliff, and took a long swig from Fletcher’s flask. The contents were a little stronger than Willa’s tea—not unexpectedly—and the liquid burned down her throat. The sensation brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked, scanning the beach for further signs of danger, unable and unwilling to relax. Her eyes, unbidden by her, found the spot where Ian still sat near the first fire. Its flames had finally dried enough of the wood to produce a proper blaze.
Ian had not moved since Ulli had forced him into the sand over an hour ago.
Even from this distance, Robin could see that the thick water clothing he wore had been torn across his back and was slipping down his shoulder.
His hair was tousled and sandy, his head resting wearily on folded arms that leaned atop his knees.
He seemed to be endlessly staring into the flames.
She watched him. She wanted to stand, to go to him. Sit next to him. Share in the defeat of this victory with him. But she had nothing to offer him. She had no more plans. No more resources. No way to help him take back the castle and save his family.
In fact, she had likely sent two of his family members to their deaths.
She lifted Fletcher’s flask. Even that was now empty.
She dropped her own head to her knees and let the sound of the crashing waves wash over her.
“Robin.”
She looked up, unsure how much time had passed before Ian’s hoarse voice woke her from her own thoughts.
He stood a pace or two away from her. The soft morning light could not hide the exhaustion in his eyes, or the deep shadows that cut across the lines of his face, or the bruised split in his upper lip.
She said nothing, merely looked up at him, waiting for him to speak.
He crouched down so that he was level with her, pain flickering across his face as some muscle or bruise or injury protested at his motion. He rested his forearms on his knees, his hands hanging between them shaking slightly. Perhaps it was from the cold, but she sensed a driving energy in him.
She looked back up at his eyes.
“I am leaving,” he said.
“For Lockwood?” she asked. He had nowhere else to go.
“For the capital.” His eyes did not drop from her own.
That word alone awoke every numb part of her mind. “Ian, no—”
“I have already made the decision.” His voice was quiet and decisive, but not resigned.
“Alone? Without a plan?” she protested.
“I have a plan,” he replied quite calmly.
“One man riding to the capital is not a plan.” She shook her head. She had nearly watched him die less than two hours prior. “It is a funeral.”
“Lane is coming with me.” The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.
“And that is supposed to make me feel better how?”
“Gareth plans to kill my father tonight,” Ian said, the glimmer of jest completely gone.
“I cannot wait any longer.” He stood up.
“I know what I am walking into. But I cannot run from this fight any longer. I tried to forge the most careful path, to prevent needless bloodshed. But I am Crown Prince of Iseldis, and I can run from my duty no longer.”
Robin shifted her weight against the stone at her back, waking her numb muscles so that she could stand with him.
“Gareth’s guard, the man on the beach, was another of his experiments,” she said.
“He found a way to increase a man’s strength without sacrificing his mind.
He will have more men like that at the castle. ”
“I know,” Ian replied. “But Onric is also there. And my mother, and father, and Erich, and Ashlin, and . . .” His voice trailed off. She knew the names of the people he loved.
“You have a plan?” she asked, standing now.
“I will enter the castle through the old secret tunnel and extract my father to safety,” he said. “Then I will find Onric and figure out what comes next.”
“That is not a plan.” Robin shook her head.
“It is the best I have at the moment.” The corner of his mouth quirked, stretching at the small cut above his lip. “I have several hours on horseback to come up with something better. But I am out of time. I can no longer afford to wait for the perfect plan or the perfect moment.”
A fresh cut of wind blew across the sand, barreling against the cliffside and bringing tears to Robin’s eyes.
“I am not asking you to come with me,” Ian continued, reaching out his hand and setting it against her shoulder. Somehow, despite the bone-deep cold, his hand was still warm. “You have people here who need you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and she blinked away the wetness from the wind.
“I am only telling you so that . . .” He looked down, breaking contact with her eyes as he searched for the right words. “So that you understand . . . I am not trying to leave you.”
Robin nodded. “I do understand.” Her mouth was so dry the words barely made a sound. She tried again. “I understand that you speak love through duty.”
He slid his hand up her arm, bringing it to the back of her neck. He gently pressed his thumb against the base of her jaw, supporting her head as she tilted it back slightly to look up at him.
She uncrossed her arms, bringing her good hand forward to rest against his hip.
He leaned forward, his head hovering over hers. He touched his nose to her forehead. It was icy cold. He gently nudged it higher until the soft warmth of his lips replaced it. “I know you do,” he whispered as he kissed her hairline. “It is how you speak love as well.”
“When all this is over . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. When all this was over, she would be alone, but she was not going to say that out loud.
“When all this is over.” He stepped back from her, his eyes searching hers.
She forced her icy lips into something resembling a smile.
He nodded, taking another few steps backward before he broke their gaze and turned to walk down the shore.
She stayed, wrapping her arm back around herself as she watched him walk away. She could see it, despite his torn, wet clothing and snarled hair—she could see the man who truly was a king.
She could see Lane where the cliff softened into the bluff, waiting with Rowena and another horse.
They would reach the castle by nightfall.
Lane raised his hand to her.
She nodded back at him, though he was likely too far away to see the small gesture.
She was glad Ian would not be alone.
Reaching Lane, Ian mounted Rowena. He turned the horse away from the water.
She wanted him to turn around. To look at her once more.
But he did not.
The horses disappeared from view, Rowena’s white tail flicking around the outcropping of rock.
Robin remained frozen in place. And suddenly, she knew how it felt to stand helpless as someone walked away. Forever.