LXXIII
Thomas kneaded his ankle, pushing his thumbs into the rubbery swollen flesh. He'd hoped easing out the tension would take the painful edge off. It hadn't.
No one was paying attention to him at the Drykas stable post. The fit men rushed the injured to the infirmary in order of most life-threatening. Fletcher's wound wasn't considered as dangerous so Thomas sat guard over him outside. He couldn't move the scholar himself.
It could almost be mistaken as peaceful slumber. Fletcher's chest raised and fell slowly, metronomically, his little breaths soundless. His skin was plaid, sweat casting a light sheen across his face, but he wasn't restless in his sleep. The snapped arrow still stuck out of his face.
Thomas' heart broke. Fletcher was just a kid.
Alex and James returned, their tall statures looming from across the courtyard.
Their combined presence would've been an oppressive one if Thomas hadn't already fostered friendship with the two men.
With Alex's frightening sternness and James' arrogant emotionless gaze, the other soldiers skirted around them uneasily.
Thomas stood, forgoing his sprain.
"Help me move Fletcher," he requested.
Alex did so immediately, delicately lifting Fletcher into his arms and hugging him close. Where other superiors would have hesitated, Alex didn't.
The care and regard that Alex had for his inferiors was why Thomas respected no other leader more.
Thomas had always believed in judging people's character for himself, dismissing the rumours and chatter.
Considering the ruin and social death of his own family, Thomas was strict on that philosophy.
After coming this far with Alex, he was glad he'd never fallen for the lies.
"And how's your injury?" Alex asked.
"It'll heal in a day," Thomas fibbed. "Just... don't tell Fletcher. No matter what."
"He won't appreciate being lied to."
"Well, he won't find out, will he?"
Thomas warily looked at James. James didn't grace him with a response— which meant he would behave according to his whims. It was the best Thomas could hope for.
"Lord Alexander, Sir Thomas."
Thomas turned around. A soldier in ceremonial dress, his cape a vibrant blue, stood by them. He wasn't someone Thomas recognised.
"His Grace, Duke Chamberlain demands your audience immediately. You must withdraw from any duties to do so."
"Are you joking, right now?"
The soldier blinked in surprise. James grinned.
"Sir Thomas—"
"No. No, this is ridiculous. Withdraw from our duties to do so? We're attending to our injured right now. Your general can wait a few more minutes."
"He is your general, too, Sir Thomas," the messenger lowly reminded him. "Be careful with your words; I'll report this insubordination."
"Do so," Thomas snarled. "Now, fuck off."
James laughed. It was a derisive sort of snigger, mocking the soldier's failure. The man's face was red and sore with anger. Thomas didn't care. Behind him, Alex was cradling an injured man in his arms; it was insulting to suggest dumping him on the ground for someone else to deal with.
"Thomas," Alex said. "Go."
"But—"
He smiled slightly. "I'll be late. You go. Avoid his wrath. I'll take care of Fletcher, okay?"
The messenger took a step forward. "Lord Alexander, I've been instructed to retrieve both—"
"You're lucky you're getting one," Thomas snapped, walking straight past the man. His ankle throbbed but he refused to limp.
Duke Chamberlain was waiting in the Curia for them.
The clouds had since dragged away, leaving the sky a solid block of blue, the sun an oppressive light, beaming into every crevice, into every shade.
The marble was blinding, pillars stacked as high as a hill.
The golden emblem of truth glowered from above, hanging flags of the three colours of the kings: red, blue and green.
The light pierced through the banners, casting coloured shadows in the entranceway, illuminating Thomas in blue as he passed through it.
The afternoon was heating up. The Curia, at least, was an open cavern which was cool inside.
The glass dome at the top of the multi-story atrium kept it airy and light.
The duke had been allocated an office upstairs. Thomas waited, stewing, as his time was wasted.
"Come in," the duke called, his voice muffled through the door.
Thomas shoulder-checked the messenger as he did so, presenting himself with poise.
Duke Chamberlain quickly looked him over before searching behind him for the absent Alex. The blood staining Thomas' uniform hadn't been noticed.
"I did want to talk to you first," Duke Chamberlain said, laying his quill down on his desk. "I'll get straight to the point. Give me a rundown."
"A rundown, Your Grace?"
"Your report," the duke impatiently clarified. "Give me your verbal report. Tell me about Alexander."
"What does His Grace want to know?"
The duke rubbed his forehead, his patience waning. "Everything. Just spit it out."
"I don't understand."
Thomas could pinpoint the moment realisation dropped, it rippled along the duke's features, the deliberate evasion finally disturbing the uninterested puddle.
"What do you think you're playing at?" the duke asked, his tone deep with warning.
"I'm afraid I still don't understand His Grace's intentions, summoning me here, whilst I should be tending to the injured. We have sustained multiple casualties."
"Sir Thomas. You have one job to do and that takes priority. Your job is to report to me everything about Alexander. What he does, who he speaks to, his opinions, his thoughts, his feelings. All of this."
Thomas was certain of it now. The change hadn't been deliberate, nor had he noticed it until now, but he knew exactly where his loyalties lie, and it wasn't with Duke Chamberlain.
"I won't be doing that," he said.
"Thomas!" the duke's growl hardened as it came forth, his voice raised to an almost shout. Unlike Alex, the duke was allowed to get angry.
"I saw nor heard anything that was of any concern of the duke's. Your son's behaviour is immaculate and fitting of a noble leader. Any father would be proud to call him their son."
"That dog is not my son!" the duke launched to his feet, fists clenched on the tabletop. "You're overstepping, Thomas. You had one job and you've failed it pathetically." The vitriol on his tongue was plosive like spit. "You have one last chance."
Thomas looked him dead in the eye, tipping his chin up in challenge. "You have no right to call yourself a father."
A crash stunned the room, the contents of his desk tearing to the ground, the clatter shaking the air. Thomas startled, his heart kicking.
The duke's marching strides ate up the floor, his approach fast and violent. He jutted his face into Thomas' space, crowding him. "First Alexander, then my sons, and now my men! Everything that mutt touches gets thrashed to shreds. He ruins everything he touches!"
Thomas said nothing, determined in his choice.
"You owe me," the duke went on, smiling viciously. "Apologise and I'll let you off mercifully. You— owe— me."
Thomas bristled. "I do not."
"Ah, but you do." Rather than step away, the duke shoved him backwards. Thomas caught himself, his ankle twinging. "Your family owes King William a great debt. Is that not why you're here? You're no better than a slave."
Thomas smiled but there was nothing funny about this situation. "That's a matter between me and the crown. Such a deal has no relevance to Your Grace."
Advancing, the duke pushed him back once again. "I am King William's general. As long as you're enlisted, I am free to intrude on the matter. So keep your head down, get in line, or I'll wear you down as prolonged and painfully as I can."
Thomas barked in laughter, he locked his head back, gazing at the ceiling. He was sick of this. He never even wanted to be a knight in the first place.
"Then, I quit."
It hadn't been explicitly revealed to him, but Thomas knew Alex was going to follow James after they reclaimed the Ankaid throne. It was obvious. Thomas had seen what happened to men who were desperately chased to extinguish the sins of the family before them; the result was Duke Straton.
Thomas would protect his family of the now: his wife and his daughter. If Duke Chamberlain wished to sabotage him out of spite of Alex, Thomas would seek safety amongst his true loyalties, and follow a leader who cared about the casualties, who cared about the injured.
"Quit?" the duke echoed.
The word was a freeing one, it warmed Thomas' chest.
"Alex is everything you aren't," Thomas lightly chuckled. "He is more noble, principled and honourable than you could ever be. He is a great leader, not because of you, but in spite of you."
In spite of the whippings, the public humiliation and the abuse, Alex limped out the other end as a hard man with a kind heart.
"Your debt—"
"That is for me and His Majesty to negotiate," Thomas cut in, walking backwards towards the door. "I will repay my family's debt but I will earn the means to do so elsewhere... not that it's any of Your Grace's business."
There was a moment where Thomas froze, anticipating an assault. He genuinely believed he was about to be attacked, until, suddenly, the duke's hostility redirected away from Thomas. The loathing remained but Thomas was no longer the target.
"You'll regret this decision," Duke Chamberlain promised. "You're holding on to a dog that bites its owners' hands."
Thomas sneered. "Alex isn't a dog."
He slammed the door shut behind him, immediately provoking an urgent pace despite the cutting throbs of his sprain.
He would have to find and inform King William immediately and negotiate a new deal before the duke could interfere.
Offering to spy on James was one option, he could navigate such a thing carefully. But, he was done spying on Alex.
First, though, he needed to find Alex and warn him of the duke's anger.
Thomas feared for him.
---
It's short, sorry, but it suited its own space. I hope none of you feels like the story is dragging T.T I do believe this sort of stuff is important.
Also! Would any of you be interested if I had an art Instagram acc? I made some little memes and animatics for this book but Wattpad won't let me upload videos...