Chapter Twenty-Two
G asping, Jem clung to the side of the dred nest, his shoulders screaming. He’d asked himself what Morvoren would do and shortly thereafter leapt from the Cliffs of Glaw rather than allow his severed head to be used against his mother and start a war.
Now here he was, high on the side of a rock face hanging on by his fingernails, the icy sea crashing against rocks far below. The dred had certainly constructed its nest to last, so that was something. Jem was still in possession of his head and hands, so that was something as well.
He moaned, said hands stinging, his shoulders ready to give out after they’d been wrenched so brutally. Now he simply needed to haul himself up.
Easy.
Above, the wind carried the echo of a cry that had to be Cador’s.
His husband’s anguish shouldn’t have brought Jem such a rush of elation, but he needed every burst of energy and strength he could muster.
It was a balm to the torment of knowing Cador had lied to him for so long, and for a heartbeat, Jem allowed himself to be soothed.
But only for that moment.
Gritting his teeth and praying to Morvoren—she would do him far more good than the supposed gods—he strained to pull himself to safety. If the nest gave way and he plummeted to his certain death, at least he’d have tried since that was apparently going to happen regardless.
Shoulders screeching, digging his nails into the nest’s woven branches, he swung side to side. When he caught his foot over the edge of the nest, wedging his boot inside the rim, he stopped, panting.
Inch by agonizing inch, he hauled himself up, every muscle tensed and burning. He gasped in shallow breaths. He wanted to scream, but didn’t have the energy—every single bit of him focused on getting into the nest.
Almost, almost…
The structure was shallow, and he rolled onto it, relief flooding him as powerfully as if he was spilling his seed. He trembled on his back, his feet sticking over the edge of the mud-sealed branches. His heartbeat filled his ears over the crash of waves far below, his chest heaving.
He was alive. Jem tasted salt, unsure if it was the sea spray carried on the vicious wind or his own tears.
When he’d tumbled from the horse and peered over the cliff’s edge, he’d spotted the nest. Given the massive size of dreds and what Cador had said about sitting in one as a boy, Jem had taken his chance when Bryok rushed forward with shocking speed, that wicked blade raised, and Cador too far behind.
His small stature had worked in Jem’s favor again. The dreds also built their homes with impressive craftsmanship, although he couldn’t risk borrowing it for long. He squinted into the crevasse in the cliff face, not seeing any eggs or hearing hungry squawks.
Peering up, it was almost impossible to make out where the rock ended and the moonless night began. Bryok’s scarred face had been terrifying in the torchlight as he’d closed in.
“Don’t make it harder for yourself, boy.”
As though there was some easy way to be beheaded? A strangled laugh—part sob—burbled in Jem’s chest. He had no idea what ritual of Hedra’s would preserve his head, but he shuddered to imagine it atop a pole.
It was madness. Would Jem’s mother go to war on his behalf? He had no doubt of her love, but she was a pragmatic woman. There was no guarantee, especially if the clerics got involved. Jem supposed Bryok had little to lose—it wasn’t his head, after all. And he clearly wanted war at any cost.
Over the buzz in his ears and howl of the wind, a voice echoed—Delen. “He’s gone. He’s gone.” Regret splattered the words like blood. “Come away from there, brother.”
A denial roared, close to the cliff’s edge. Cador sounded like a wounded animal. Did he truly howl for Jem? Even if it could be proof of his love, it was now ensnarled with betrayal.
Terrible grief consumed Jem. Despite everything, he loved this man with a savage affection. He wanted to go to him and ease his suffering, protect him from ever hurting again. Jem wanted to shield that big body and cradle him in his arms and never let go. Yet how could he now?
He wouldn’t be able to do anything until he climbed to safety. Shouts punched through the air once more, fury swirling in the cruel wind. Cador and Bryok. Jem had to move. If he stood on his own shoulders, there would be about five of him to reach the top. He could do it.
Just as Cador had said on the ship when they’d squinted up at the distant dred nest, the cliff face was marked with thin crevasses.
Perfect for Jem’s small hands to grip. His heart was a drum keeping time as he climbed, wedging his feet into narrow openings, reaching up, his numb fingers searching the stone.
It took a lifetime.
He was so close, but so far. A battle raged above, and even if Jem had shouted for help, no one would have heard. He clung to the rock face, wondering if he’d have been better staying put. But he ached for solid ground, and now he was halfway there and it was just as risky to descend.
So he climbed, scrabbling and desperate, his limbs on fire while his ears burned with merciless cold. The wind threatened to tear him from the side of the cliff, and terror was his hated companion as he inched upward.
Almost. Almost!
His fingers closed over the hard ground of the narrow peninsula where he’d stood. The shouts and torchlight were to his left, but he blocked it out. He was perched on a narrow ridge on the tips of his toes, his boots just fitting. One more pull and he was safe. Gods, he wanted to live!
He clenched his arms and pulled—and his fingers slipped. He clawed at the earth, his boots sliding on rock and chest ready to burst with panic. Safety was right there. He was strong enough. He could do it.
A last burst of vigor propelled him up and over, and he rolled onto the narrow finger of land. On his belly, he wriggled toward the light and the angry cries and wrestling bodies. Beyond the circle of torchlight, he hoped he was invisible in the night.
Cador had Bryok laid out on his back—at his mercy, his dagger poised to pierce Bryok’s throat. Straddling his brother’s larger body, Cador’s chest heaved. Delen stood over them, keeping the others back.
Delen’s voice was hoarse. “Jem’s gone. He made a brave choice. This won’t bring him back. This will only destroy you.”
Tears shone in Cador’s eyes, orange flames glowing on his pale face. Jem’s heart clenched to hear him say, “He is gone, and I am already destroyed.”
“Go on,” Bryok croaked, but it wasn’t a taunt. “I can’t watch my son die. Let this be my end.”
Creeda didn’t cry or beg—she growled . “You’ll leave it to me, then.
You’ll leave it all to me. For what? For your greed.
Yes, for our son, but not only him. Not only the children.
You want to conquer the mainland and bend it to your rule?
You’ll do it alone. You’ve always been a spiteful coward, yet I loved you anyway.
” Her lip curled, and she strode forward and spat upon her husband.
“You’ve disappointed me for the last time. ”
With that, she spun on her heel, mounted her steed, and galloped into the night.
On his belly in the darkness, no one even glanced Jem’s way. He could hide unmoving and watch Cador end his brother. It would be easy. He was drained completely and wasn’t even sure he could muster the will to whisper, let alone call out. If Bryok died, surely Jem would be safe.
Yet he saw the torment in Cador, and he rasped, “No!”
One day, Jem would have to sketch the astonishment on the gathered faces as all heads whipped to him. Cador stumbled to his feet and stared motionless, the dagger slipping from his fingers.
Pushing up to his knees, Jem nodded to the abyss, still catching his breath. “Dred nest.”
A stunned smile creased Cador’s face, his cheeks dimpling under his beard as he laughed and shouted all at once, running to Jem and falling to his knees to capture him in his arms. Jem clung to him, too weak to deny either of them the comfort.
Bryok snatched the dagger from the ground and lurched toward them.
Jem gasped as Cador whirled his head around, Bryok already upon them—and his hot blood sprayed their faces. Delen’s spear had gone right through him and out his chest, perhaps finding his heart, for there was only a stunned moment of horror on Bryok’s face before he slumped dead.
Breathing hard, Delen gritted out, “Curse you to the bottom of the Askorn Sea.” She wrenched free her spear.
Bryok tumbled over the side of the cliff, swallowed by the void.
The wind howled, and the three of them were frozen in place, staring into the darkness where Bryok had disappeared.
“Bryok…” Cador shook his head, a sob escaping. “It should have been me to end him.”
But Delen said, “You’re too tender-hearted, brother. Best to leave it to me.” Still gripping her spear, tears flooded her eyes, reflected in the torchlight. “Damn you, Bryok,” she muttered.
Cador didn’t seem able to speak, and Jem didn’t voice his relief that Bryok was gone. As he stared into the void that would have been his own grave, he realized he was glad Bryok was dead. Yet he took no pleasure in this gladness, the satisfaction bitter and awful.
Delen said to him, “I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. I’m sorry we deceived you so cruelly. My brother doesn’t deserve you.” At Cador’s inarticulate sound of disagreement, she smiled wryly. “But if you’ll have him, I think he loves you truly, Prince Jowan.” She backed away.
How could she smile ? And speak of love? How could Jem be expected to trust in anything they said, let alone love ? His head spun.
He was warm in Cador’s arms, but he pushed to his feet. Cador was still on his knees, and Jem couldn’t resist stroking his palm over his husband’s soft hair.
Cador ran his hands up and down Jem’s legs as if he was making sure he was still whole. Stroking Cador’s head one more time, he allowed himself a last moment of closeness, of powerful arms locked around his waist.
Then he walked away.