Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Nero had been awake for some time and lay watching Casteel sleep. He could hear the birds, so he assumed they had slept through the night. The door opened and Makim stepped inside.
Makim paused in the doorway, his weathered face softening at the sight before him. He moved with quiet efficiency, setting down his healer's satchel and approaching the bed where Nero lay awake, watching over his sleeping mate.
"Your color's better," Makim observed in a hushed tone, reaching for Nero's wrist to check his pulse. "The fever's broken."
Nero nodded slightly, careful not to disturb Casteel's much-needed rest. "How long have we been here?"
"Three days since the temple," Makim replied, gently examining the bandages around Nero's chest. "You've been conscious on and off, though you might not remember."
Nero didn't, in fact, remember much beyond fragments—pain like fire in his chest, Casteel's desperate voice, the burn of magic when their bond had been reinforced. He winced as Makim's fingers probed the wound site.
"Still tender," the healer murmured, "but healing cleanly. The bond is doing its work."
Through that very connection, Nero felt Casteel beginning to stir, consciousness slowly returning as he sensed Nero's discomfort. The younger man's eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking Nero's face with sleep-clouded concern.
"I'm fine," Nero assured him before Casteel could speak. "Just Makim checking the wounds."
Relief washed through their bond, followed by Casteel's lingering exhaustion.
"You should eat," Casteel said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Both of us should."
As if summoned by the words, a quiet knock preceded a young woman entering with a tray of steaming porridge, warm bread, honey, and tea. She set it down with a respectful nod, her eyes lingering curiously on Nero before she departed.
"One of Eryken's scouts," Makim explained, helping Nero sit up against the pillows. "She's been bringing supplies since we arrived."
The movement sent fresh pain through Nero's chest, but it was duller now, more manageable. Casteel felt it through their bond and immediately reached out, his hand finding Nero's with unconscious ease.
"The rebellion seems well-established here," Nero observed, accepting a spoonful of porridge from Casteel despite his desire to feed himself. His pride warred briefly with practicality before surrendering to necessity.
He would never admit to secretly enjoying it.
"Eryken's been planning this for months," Makim confirmed, mixing herbs into a cup of tea. "Safehouses throughout the city, supporters in key positions. The attack on the palace was meant to be the culmination, not the beginning."
"And now?" Casteel asked, his focus divided between feeding Nero and absorbing this information.
Makim's expression grew grave. "Now Doran has declared martial law. The Silver Guard patrols the streets, arresting anyone suspected of rebel sympathies. He's also proclaimed that the Silver Wolf has been corrupted by dark magic and must be 'purified' before he can fulfill his divine purpose."
Nero's jaw tightened as he processed this information. "Meaning?"
"Meaning he wants you back," Makim said bluntly. "There's a bounty on both your heads—enough gold to buy a small estate."
Through their bond, Nero felt Casteel's spike of fear, not for himself but for the ordinary people who might be tempted by such wealth. The young man's compassion, even after everything they'd endured, never ceased to amaze him.
"How long before this place is compromised?" Nero asked, his tactical mind already working despite his weakened state.
"Hard to say," Makim replied, checking the bandages one final time. "Eryken's people are skilled at staying hidden, but Doran's forces are growing bolder. They've already raided two other safehouses."
"Then we need to move," Nero said, attempting to push himself up farther. Pain flared through his chest, and Casteel's hand immediately pressed against his shoulder.
"You're not moving anywhere," Casteel said firmly. "You can barely sit up without help."
"I can function," Nero insisted, though his body betrayed him with a tremor. "We're putting everyone here at risk."
"The risk is manageable," came Eryken's voice from the doorway. The rebellion commander entered, his arm still in a sling but his bearing strong. "For now."
Makim gathered his supplies and departed, leaving the three of them alone. Eryken settled into the chair beside the bed, his expression thoughtful.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he addressed Casteel. "About not being anyone's weapon."
"And?" Casteel's tone was wary.
"And you're right. But that doesn't mean you can't choose to be a symbol.
" Eryken leaned forward, his voice taking on the persuasive quality that had rallied countless rebels to his cause.
"Doran is using fear and religious fervor to consolidate power.
But you represent something else—hope, freedom, the possibility of a different path. "
Nero felt Casteel's conflicted emotions—the desire to help warring with exhaustion and fear. "What are you proposing?"
"A counter-proclamation," Eryken said. "Let the people know that the Silver Wolf hasn't been corrupted, that he rejects Doran's tyranny. Show them there's another choice."
"And how exactly do we do that while hiding in abandoned buildings?" Casteel asked, though Nero could sense his interest despite the skepticism.
Eryken's weathered face creased into what might have been a smile. "By not hiding much longer." He reached into his jacket, producing a rolled parchment sealed with wax. "I've been in contact with Lord Aldwin Morven of House Morven. He's one of the nobles who openly opposed Doran's decree."
Nero's eyes sharpened despite his weakened state. "Morven controls the northern trade routes. If he's willing to support us..."
"He's more than willing," Eryken confirmed.
"Half the noble houses are terrified of Doran's power grab.
They see their own authority being stripped away, their lands subjected to 'divine oversight.
' Morven is prepared to host a gathering—neutral ground where you could address the other lords directly. "
Through their bond, Nero felt Casteel's immediate alarm. "It's a trap," the younger man said flatly. "Has to be. And even if it isn't, the noble houses have their own agendas."
"Perhaps," Eryken agreed. "But what choice do we have? Stay hidden while Doran consolidates power, or take the risk and try to build opposition?"
Nero attempted to sit up straighter, ignoring the lance of pain through his chest. "When?"
"Nero, you can't seriously be considering this," Casteel protested, his hand tightening on his mate's arm. "You can barely walk, and they want us to travel north into potentially hostile territory?"
"How long?" Nero pressed, his tactical mind already working through possibilities despite Casteel's objections.
Eryken hesitated. "The nobles meet five days hence. It would take us three days to reach Morven's estate, assuming we travel carefully and avoid the main roads."
"That gives me two days to regain strength," Nero calculated, though speaking the words aloud made the timeline seem impossibly compressed.
"Two days?" Casteel's voice cracked with disbelief. "You were dying three days ago!"
Nero felt his mate's fear like a physical weight. But beneath it, he also sensed something else—a growing understanding that they couldn't remain static while Doran's power grew unchecked.
"What exactly would this meeting entail?" Casteel asked, his tone resigned but cautious.
Eryken's expression grew more animated. "Twelve of the most powerful northern houses, plus representatives from the eastern provinces.
Together, they control nearly half the kingdom's resources—trade routes, grain stores, half of what's left of the military.
" He leaned forward. "If we could convince them to withdraw support from Doran's regime. .."
"Civil war," Nero finished grimly. "That's what you're proposing." Again.
"Civil war is coming regardless," Eryken countered. "Doran's Silver Guard grows larger each day. He's already moving against anyone who questions his authority. The question isn't whether blood will be shed—it's whose blood, when, and for what purpose."
Nero felt Casteel's turmoil—the weight of responsibility, the fear of causing more suffering, the desperate desire to find another path. He reached for his mate's hand, squeezing it gently.
"We need time to discuss this," Nero told Eryken, his voice leaving no room for argument despite his weakened state. "Alone."
Eryken nodded, rising from his chair with the careful movements of a man nursing his own wounds.
"Of course. But remember—time is the one resource we're quickly running out of.
" He paused at the doorway. "Makim says you should be able to move short distances tomorrow.
I'll have someone bring fresh clothes and maps of the northern routes. "
After the door closed behind him, silence stretched between them. Casteel moved to the small window, pushing aside the edge of the boarding to peer at the street below.
He felt trapped. “Have you heard of the Skellarae Stallions?”
He heard Nero move slightly and turned to see his mate watching him. “The legend?” Nero queried, clearly surprised at the complete change of subject.
Casteel nodded, his eyes growing distant with old longing. "My ma used to tell me stories about them when I was small. Horses that could run faster than the wind, with coats that shimmered like a midnight sky. They were said to bond with their riders the way..." He gestured vaguely between them.
"The way we have," Nero finished, understanding flickering in his dark eyes.