Chapter 36 #2
For a moment Alora tasted salt of shame. She thought of the throne room in stained in her father’s blood, faces of people who had fought for them reduced to lines on a map she could no longer trace.
She pushed the feeling down with a deep breath. “The last thing I would do is abandon them, Lord Zuma. Tell me what you know of Argyle.”
He answered without softness.
Food was scarce, grain reserved first to Calveron soldiers.
Villages had been emptied, then burned when her people resisted.
The sleeping sickness crawled through the towns, silencing families in their beds, leaving stilled breaths and untended hearths.
His herd had lost calves. He named a slaughter at a riverside village where men had fought against their new monarchs and perished.
A cold fist closed around Alora’s heart. Her throat tightened until it hurt. Her people had starved or been killed while she had been trapped and paraded. Her fingers curled into fists.
“I will see Argyle restored,” Alora said. “Eldrik holds the kingdom while we are weak, our people divided and sleeping. Once the curse is broken, we will have the numbers to fight back. And mark my words, I will break it. No matter the price.”
Lord Zuma studied her warily. “How do you intend to do that?”
“I must see Lady Zinnia first.”
Zuma’s brow furrowed. “That may be unwise, Princess. The kingdom crawls with Calveron soldiers searching for you. Eldrik still seeks your hand. He cannot cross into Karag D?r, but his emissaries are in the Midlands, keeping the Thornbearer company.”
Her chest tightened at the image. A political hostage wrapped in polite manners. The place that should have been refuge had become a gameboard where she was now the prize.
But Alora already knew this was where her path lied.
“The Midlands is where I must go if there is any hope of reclaiming our home.” The wind tousled her hair as she looked to the western hills.
“There is where I find answers in breaking this Sleeping Curse, but I cannot do it alone.” She looked back at the stoic Minotaur.
“Help me, Lord Zuma. Help me reclaim the throne and when Argyle is restored, so too shall you and yours.”
A low murmur ran through the camp, uncertain and full of doubt.
Lord Zuma held her gaze like a stone held against wind. “I am inclined to believe you, Princess, but one cannot promise what is not within their power to give. Even if you should wake your people, with what power do you hope to contend with the might of Calveron?”
Alora let her cloak completely fall away, exposing the faint glow that threaded her skin. A hush passed through the gathered Minotaurs.
“With my power,” she said. “And I intend to fight with everything I have.”
She had seen first-hand the repercussions of war. Fighting meant loss. Fighting meant blood in the mud and songless nights. Lives would pay the cost for hope.
To fight was to choose the terms of any end. To choose, finally, not to be trodden beneath the heel of another’s boot.
That was worth fighting for, too.
“If I live,” Alora added, because she had to name the risk, “I see that your kin have a true home. Not a barren ridge, but a place where you will be sheltered and never cast aside again.”
Zuma regarded her with a long look. “I have heard those words before.”
Alora held his gaze. “You have my vow.”
The air shimmered silver as if the world itself had heard her promise.
A hush fell over the camp.
Alora stood there, heart pounding as she stared at the soft light pulsing beneath her skin. She had felt it when the words left her lips. A deep resolute spell binding her to her promise.
Caelum stared at her. A hint of astonishment danced in Lord Zuma’s eyes.
Then, with a rumble like thunder rolling through stone, he knelt. One by one, the Minotaurs throughout the camp followed.
Something deep in her blood answered, warm and bright as sunrise through fog.
He bowed his head. “Then by my blade, my herd rides with you, Princess. We will see you safely to the Midlands.”
Alora’s throat tightened. “You would risk your lives for me? Why?”
“Lady Salvia saved my kin once, long ago, when Argyle’s kings sought to drive my kind into the wilderness. She healed our wounded, bade the earth to give sanctuary to our calves on these hills. I swore upon my horns that her kindness would be repaid.”
“If Prince Eldrik learns of this, he will come for you and your kin,” Caelum said.
“Our lives are already forfeit if Calveron’s rule continues,” Lord Zuma rumbled. “But Salvia’s daughter lives and the light of the divine endures. Give us your banner, Princess, and we will carry it until the mountain itself falls.”
The Minotaurs beat their chests in agreement.
For a moment, Alora sat with emotion in her throat. Her mother’s name still held weight even in death. Perhaps mercy left deeper roots than cruelty ever could.
But what he said lingered. The light of the divine endures.
Her heartbeat quickened. Whatever it meant, she would soon find out.
Lord Zuma gave a command and the Minotaurs quickly assembled again. One returned Caelum his shield and sword. And Alora summoned the clover horses once more, earning awe from all watching. A horn was blown and the herd charged ahead, the sound rolling like distant drums of war.
“Well,” Caelum muttered as he mounted the moss saddle. “You have inherited your mother’s gift for gathering allies.”
Alora glanced up at the sky, the faintest smile touching her lips.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “And perhaps more.”