Chapter 13 #2
"According to the stories, they were the most magnificent creatures in all the known kingdoms. Intelligent, loyal, nearly magical in their abilities.
" Casteel's voice took on a wistful quality.
"But over six hundred years ago, King Constantine of Vaelthorne coveted them desperately.
When the Abergenny emperor refused to sell even a single breeding pair, Constantine sent poisoners to corrupt the water sources near their grazing grounds. "
Nero shifted carefully on the bed, his attention fully captured despite his pain. "All of them?"
"Every last one, or so the stories claim.
The Skellarae were intelligent creatures—they wouldn't drink from tainted streams, but their foals did.
The poison worked slowly, poisoning the mares as they grew so they were unable to have any more foals.
" Casteel's fists clenched at his sides.
"Within fifteen years, the most beautiful horses in the world were extinct. "
"And you believe they might still exist?" Nero asked gently, though he could feel how much this meant to his mate.
Casteel shook his head. “Not really. It’s just, the northern valleys near Morven's estate—that's where the last herd was said to live.
Hidden valleys, mountains that few men ever see.
" Casteel turned from the window, his blue eyes bright with desperate hope.
"If even a few survived, if they learned to hide deeper in the mountains. .."
"You want to search for them," Nero realized. And their journey was why Casteel mentioned it now. It had seemed an odd change of subject, but maybe not so much.
"I've dreamed of it since I was a child," Casteel admitted, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "To find them, to prove they're real. To breed them back from extinction." He laughed bitterly. "Foolish dreams for a stable boy with no coin and no prospects."
Nero felt the depth of his mate's longing through their bond—not just for the horses themselves, but for the freedom they represented. A life beyond prophecies and politics, beyond being used as a symbol by others.
"Perhaps not so foolish," Nero said quietly. They were travelling north but there wasn’t time to divert to trek through the mountains, not on the way there, but he wanted so badly to give that to Casteel.
"You think I'm mad," Casteel said, moving back to the bed. "Chasing legends while kingdoms fall around us."
"I think," Nero said, catching Casteel's hand and pulling him down beside him, "that you've spent your whole life giving up your dreams. Maybe it's time to chase them."
Warmth flowed between them—not the desperate intensity of their early connection, but something deeper and more sustaining. Casteel leaned carefully against Nero's uninjured side, each drawing strength from the other.
"If we go north," Casteel said slowly, "and if we somehow survive this meeting with the nobles...would you come with me afterwards? To search for them?"
Nero's answer came without hesitation. "If you truly want me to. I'm—" Nero paused. "many years older than you. I know we're tied because of this bond, but if I could free you, know that I would."
But Casteel didn't want to be freed, or not from Nero anyway, but now wasn't the time to pressure Nero into anything.
"We should rest," Casteel murmured, though neither moved to separate. "It seems like we have little choice but to travel. We can't stay here. Tomorrow we'll need to start preparing for the journey."
"Tomorrow," Nero agreed. Casteel was just deciding he was hungry for what seemed like the first time in days when the door burst open and Lucan and Eryken rushed in.
"We've got a problem,” Eryken said. “Doran's forces hit the safehouse on Merchant's Row a bell ago."
Nero was instantly alert despite his injuries. "Casualties?"
"Seven dead, including the family hiding there. But that's not the worst of it." Lucan's expression darkened further. "They had detailed information—knew exactly where to find the hidden passages, which rooms were occupied. This wasn't a random raid."
Through their bond, Casteel felt Nero's cold realization. "We have a traitor."
"Has to be," Lucan confirmed. "Someone with access to our operational details and safehouse locations.”
"How compromised are we?" Nero asked.
"Unknown," Lucan replied. "But we have to assume they know about this location. The question is whether they're moving on it now or waiting for something."
Nero struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain that lanced through his chest. "We leave today. Now."
"You're not ready," Casteel protested, but his words carried little conviction. Makim also hurried in.
“What’s happening?”
Eryken briefly explained but Makim was already shaking his head. “Absolutely not. He cannot be moved."
"I'll die if we stay," Nero countered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with grim determination.
The words we both will remained unspoken but Casteel heard them loud enough.
Casteel knew the movement sent white-hot agony through Nero's chest, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. "How long do we have?"
Lucan checked the window, scanning the street below with practiced efficiency. "Hard to say. Could be minutes, could be a full day. But if they follow the same pattern as Merchant's Row, they'll surround the building first, then breach simultaneously from multiple points."
Casteel felt Nero's pain spike again as his mate forced himself to stand. The effort left Nero swaying, one hand pressed against the wall for support, but his eyes burned with familiar determination.
"There's a back way out according to the girl who brings supplies," Makim said reluctantly, his healer's instincts warring with necessity. "Through the cellar to the old brewery next door. But the passage is narrow, and you'll have to crawl part of the way."
"Then we crawl," Nero said flatly, accepting the clothes Lucan thrust at him. "Casteel, help me dress. We need to move quickly."
As Casteel assisted his wounded mate with trembling hands, Makim packed his essential supplies with swift efficiency. "I'll prepare a stronger pain draught," the healer muttered. "Something to get you through the next few bells."
"No," Nero refused, pulling on his shirt despite the agony it caused. "I need my wits clear. We'll manage without it."
The sound of approaching hoofbeats echoed from the street below—multiple riders. Lucan cursed under his breath, drawing back from the window.
"Guards" he reported grimly. "At least twenty mounted, with more on foot. They're setting up a perimeter."
"How long until they breach?" Eryken demanded, already gathering weapons and supplies.
"Minutes at most," Lucan replied. "They're moving into position now."
Nero was dressed, though sweat beaded his forehead from the effort. Casteel supported him with one arm and looped a water pouch over his shoulder. Through their bond, he poured what strength he could into his mate, feeling Nero's gratitude mixed with stubborn determination.
"The cellar entrance is through the kitchen," Lucan directed, leading them from the room. "Stay low and move quietly. The floorboards creak near the back wall."
They made their way through the boarding house's narrow corridors, passing other rebels who were hastily destroying documents and gathering weapons. The building hummed with tense preparation—everyone knew this might be their last few minutes of safety.
In the kitchen, Lucan lifted a trapdoor concealed beneath a worn rug. The opening revealed a cramped passage that disappeared into darkness, barely wide enough for a man's shoulders.
"I'll go first," Lucan volunteered, already lowering himself into the passage. "Makim, you follow. Then the Silver Wolf and Nero. Commander, you should take rear guard."
Casteel hesitated, eyeing the narrow opening with concern. "Nero's wounds—"
"Will have to endure," Nero finished grimly, his face pale but determined. "Help me down."
The passage was worse than it appeared from above—damp stone walls that scraped against shoulders, the ceiling so low they were forced to crawl in places.
Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through Nero's chest, but he pushed forward with single-minded focus.
Through their bond, Casteel felt each spike of pain as if it were his own, yet he also sensed his mate's iron resolve.
Behind them came the distant sounds of the safehouse being breached—shouted commands, splintering wood, the clash of steel. Eryken urged them forward with hushed intensity, his own injuries forgotten in the desperate flight.
"Almost there," Lucan called back softly. "I can see the exit grate."
The narrow tunnel widened slightly as they approached its end, allowing them to crouch rather than crawl. Lucan worked at the rusted grate with a small pry tool, the metal groaning in protest before finally giving way.
"Clear," he whispered after a quick survey. "Brewery storage cellar."
One by one they emerged into a cavernous space filled with barrels and brewing equipment. Nero's face was gray with exhaustion, his breathing shallow and labored. Blood had seeped through his bandages, staining his shirt in a widening crimson patch.
"We need to rebind his wounds," Casteel insisted as Makim helped Nero lean against a stack of barrels.
"No time," Eryken countered, already moving toward the cellar stairs. "The Silver Guard will realize we've escaped within minutes. We need to be well away by then."
"Five minutes," Casteel demanded, his voice taking on a hardness that surprised even himself. "Five minutes or he won't make it past the city walls."
Something in his tone—perhaps the echo of the wolf beneath his skin—made Eryken pause. The rebellion commander studied them both, then nodded curtly. "Five minutes. Not a second more."