Chapter 42
CYRAN
“Dewalt will be pleased once we return,” Thyra said, and Elora beamed at the praise. I sighed, knowing what was coming next. As Thyra stepped toward me, I wished she was just a bit shorter. I didn’t like that she looked me directly in the eye as she gave scathing criticism. “But with you, he might decide to take my ax from me. Somehow you have gone backwards, princeling.”
“I didn’t watch my entire family die gruesomely for you to call me princeling,” I retorted with a smile, though I was secretly irked by the critique. Swords were not my preferred method of defense; words and shadows had been more than enough my entire life.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Elora’s wince. I hadn’t meant to engage in macabre humor, but I couldn’t help it sometimes. Ismene’s was the only death I was sorry over, but the fact remained—I was alone. Although, I supposed I did have a niece who was older than I was. Without being raised as an Umbroth, she actually had a chance at being decent.
“Kingling does not have same sound to it,” the warrior woman said, grinning, as she reached forward and adjusted my grip. “Your wrist knows your mind and heart not in agreement.”
“And how can I convince it otherwise? My wrist does not have ears, Mistress Thyra.”
She snorted, and I didn’t allow myself the pleasure of looking for Elora’s reaction. For whatever reason, I took an obscene delight in making her roll her eyes in irritation.
“Desire, kinglet,” Thyra retorted.
“Kinglet? Is this because Mairin called me a piglet? I hardly think that’s fair.” When she grinned, I sighed. “I was hungry, and she was quite fearsome.”
“It sounds better than kingling,” she supplied, though the corners of her lips twitched. “Now, desire is how you trick the wrist.”
“So, I have to want to do this? Sadly, I must admit I do not. Will my wrist know I am a liar?”
I watched as Elora darted forward, properly finished listening to my whinging, as she slashed her sword at the servant boy. A child of the caretakers of this estate, with horrifically poor vision, he had quite a bit to learn as well. It only mildly irritated me that he was more skilled than I was.
Thyra glanced over her shoulder to follow my gaze. “Do you not seek to protect the princess if it comes to that?” she asked, only loud enough for me to hear. “You may not always have your divinity to protect you.”
“Elora doesn’t need me to protect her.” No matter how appealing the idea might have been.
“You protected her before; she told me about it.”
“Did she?” My eye twitched at my hopeful tone. Pitiful.
“You used your shadows to shield you both—during the attack.”
“That was more for me than it was for her.” I didn’t know if I spoke true or not. I’d panicked, throwing my shadows around her and my sister. It was pointless with Ismene, but Elora and I remained unharmed because of my actions. Still, though. I wasn’t as selfless as Thyra clearly thought.
“Regardless, kinglet. You may need to protect her again—before the Supreme is defeated.”
“The Supreme has already claimed Folterra. Perhaps he will just keep my land and be done with it.”
Thyra darted forward with her sword, and I was forced to block the strike. Her long braid swung with the motion, blonde brows furrowing.
“You would just let him have it?”
Her posture slackened, and I knew I should use that opportunity to knock her backward. Instead, I lowered my weapon.
“What is the point? I am a king without a crown, without a people. I have gained no loyalty or admiration. Do kings often seek refuge in the homes of their rivals? Secondary homes? Tertiary? I don’t know. How many estates does the crown have? Folterra has six—no, seven?—”
“Firstly, the king is not your rival,” Thyra said, knocking my sword out of my grip. “Secondly, it is only too late to gain loyalty if you give up. There were plenty of rebels who?—”
“And my brother killed them all,” I said. Despite being within the courtyard, the four interior walls of the estate offering some protection against the elements, a cool breeze sent a shudder through me. I studied my fingers, picking at a hangnail, instead of looking at the woman whose disappointment wafted from her like a noxious scent.
“I am sure some survived.”
“Ah yes, the women and children. Fearsome allies, indeed.” I scowled. Thyra had dampened my already sour mood. The plan to ascend the Folterran throne and promptly pass the responsibility off to Declan’s daughter grew more enticing by the minute.
Elora cried in victory, and I watched her over Thyra’s shoulder. She disarmed the boy, and I smirked. If I couldn’t best him with a blade, at least she could. She spun on her heel, flouncing back toward where Thyra and I were supposed to be sparring.
With a suspicious look at my sword on the ground and a withering glare in my direction, Elora sighed. Thyra shook her head, sheathing her weapon and taking the path through the courtyard back inside.
“Do you even care?” Elora asked, putting her free hand on her hip. Her heart-shaped face, with plush lips and an upturned nose, was painfully perfect, even with the scowl scrunching up her features.
“He’s worried he might get a callus,” the boy quipped from behind her. Shorter than Elora, who wasn’t grand in height to begin with, the little rat seemed to have quite the confidence when no one else was around.
“Look at these hands,” I said, baring my teeth as I grinned at him. “They are much better served stuffing shadows down little boys’ throats.”
When I summoned my divinity into my palm, he turned and ran. My laughter followed after his footsteps, and when it was just me and Elora left in the courtyard, I realized she hadn’t joined in. In fact, she only continued to glare.
“What?” I asked, all traces of humor gone.
“What do you care about?”
Despite the urge to tell her she was the only thing I cared about, I held my tongue. “I quite like that strawberry pastry?—”
“I’m serious, Cy,” Elora snapped. “You don’t care about revenge. You don’t care about your kingdom. You don’t care about sword fighting. Is there anything you do care about?”
You .
“What else is there?” I asked. “I’m sure if you list enough things to care about, one will pique my interest.”
Elora sheathed her sword with a powerful thrust as she glanced down the path after Thyra. Since we sparred today, she hadn’t worn a dress. Instead, she wore tan breeches just a bit too long for her and a dark grey embroidered tunic. There was a stain near the top, as if she’d dripped something on it whilst eating. Her beautiful curls were tied into two braids, and the childish part of me wanted to tug on one to get her to leave me alone.
“You don’t care about anything,” she huffed, shaking her head.
“And being angry all the time is so much better,” I said, lifting a brow. “I’d rather care about nothing than let rage consume me.”
“See, this is what I mean. You would rather feel nothing, ” she said, crossing her arms and stepping forward. “You care about no one but yourself.”
Softly, I couldn’t help the words which escaped me. “That’s not true.”
Her narrowed gaze darted across my face, and I was certain it caught on my lips. But that made no sense. She had barely forgiven me, only choosing friendship thanks to our proximity.
“Don’t you want to avenge Ismene?” she asked, averting her eyes and biting her lip.
“How can I avenge her when you’ve already done it for me?”
Her brows raised, and she blinked. “So, you’re angry with me for killing your brother? He was trying to kill you. Me and Otya too. And besides, it’s clear the Supreme had something to do with it.”
Though I didn’t exactly wish to exist in the memory of my brother’s death, and I still held confusing feelings for the man who raised me, I didn’t hold any ill will towards her at all.
“I’m not angry. I just...it won’t bring her back.” Peering up at the spring sky, I watched a cloud move over us which looked strikingly like a cat. “When there is nothing to be done to set things right,” I began, shrugging, “the most likely outcome will be disappointment. I’ve quite a bit of experience with futile anger—I was raised by vipers, after all. I don’t bother anymore.”
Elora kicked at a pebble in the dirt path. “I think that’s cowardly.”
I clenched my jaw. Despite my care for the girl standing in front of me, I didn’t enjoy being insulted. “And being angry when you should be sad is so much better.” I bent over, picking up the sword Thyra had bested from me. “And taking it out on the wrong person, no less.”
“Mama knew?—”
“It is not your mother’s fault!” I snapped, sheathing my sword and pacing along the packed dirt path. The smell of blooming lilacs only increased my now foul mood. Elora had pushed me to the brink of something ugly. Perhaps she’d gotten what she wanted in the end. For whatever reason, the way I grieved my loved one hadn’t been good enough for her. No amount of blame could bring my sister back. For Theo, she wanted to blame someone she could take out her anger on.
Emmeline was the easiest choice, given her inability to save Elora’s friend in time.
Elora didn’t move, only watching me with that set jaw. An errant curl fell from her braid, and I fought the urge to touch it. I needed to push her away. To protect her, and perhaps to protect myself.
“The blame lies solely with Declan. With the Umbroths. We are a lineage of rot. My brother was a terrible, cruel monster, and Theo died because of him . Because of my family. If you want to be angry, fine. Be angry. But don’t ruin your relationship with your family over it. Be angry with mine.
Be angry with me .”
When I finally looked up from the ground, my heart nearly broke in half. Expecting to find blinding white fury in her eyes, all I saw were tears.
Before I could say anything, before I could take the words back, she spun and stomped down the path.
Head in my arms on the dining table, I thought of all the ways to apologize to Elora when she came in to eat. I wouldn’t deliver a single one of them, despite wanting to. She should have been angry with me and my family.
And she should have left me alone about Ismene.
I’d been grieving my entire life. Ismene wasn’t the first sibling of mine to be murdered—by Declan, no less. Perhaps she was the one I was closest to, but I was no stranger to the useless despair which came from being an Umbroth.
She couldn’t judge me for that.
Still, though, I didn’t like how we’d left things.
When I woke, wiping an undignified crust of drool from the corner of my lip, I realized I must have dozed off. To be fair, there were only so many ways that my very presence was a disservice to Elora, and thinking about them had grown quite dull very quickly. Sitting up, I found Reminy seated across from me with a bowl of stew and a large lump of bread.
“Did you already eat?” the man asked, peering at me over his spectacles.
“No. I was waiting for...” I began, staring at his bowl of soup. Normally, the caretaker’s wife served the five of us dinner alongside her family. Stupidly, I blinked at the slice of bread Reminy offered me. Taking it, I stood and wandered in what I thought was the correct direction.
“The bowls are stacked beside the stewpot,” Reminy offered, and I scowled at the man. As if he thought I didn’t know how to serve myself.
With a bowl full of stew, I pursed my lips when I couldn’t see the utensils. Eyeing the drawers beneath the long counter, I assumed they were kept in one of them. I refused to open one, not wishing to fall victim to Reminy’s ire should I choose incorrectly. He wouldn’t tease—because he was kind. He would just think I was an insipid royal twat, and that was definitely worse.
“Second drawer from the left,” he called, and I shot a glare over my shoulder despite his inability to see me.
When I finally sat back down, Reminy stabbed a piece of beef from his bowl, and stared at me while he chewed.
“What?” I demanded, after spearing a chunk of potato.
“They didn’t tell you,” he said. Not a question.
“Or perhaps they didn’t tell you ,” I retorted inanely, irritated with the small man who was far too clever for his own good.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I should have known they left because you enraged the princess.” Slowly, he chewed his food without even looking at me.
“Where did they go?” I demanded, all semblance of calm gone. When he didn’t answer, I dropped my fork in the bowl, and even the clack of porcelain didn’t seem to do anything.
“I am sorry for being rude, now please tell me where they went.” Words rattled off my tongue.
Reminy took his time putting his utensil down and patting his mouth dry with his napkin. “Ravemont.”
“Her ancestral estate?” I asked, and the man nodded. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“Well, she’s never been there before,” I argued. “Although, I suppose that’s more of a reason for the visit.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t the allure of Ravemont which sent them,” he said, brows raised as he stood and gathered his bowl.
Perhaps it was repulsion, instead.
As I readied for bed that night, with an empty and aching stomach and a head full of unwelcome thoughts, I was surprised to find a small note tucked beneath my pillow.
Would you believe me if I said I try every single day? And yet, by you, I am ruined.
Rubbing at my chest, I read her words again. I swallowed because I knew exactly what she was referencing. When she wouldn’t awaken and I’d slipped into her dreams, any spare moment had been spent reading her favorite book. The excerpt from The Discovered Dragon had left a profound impact on the both of us.
“‘But know, I am ruined for having loved you,’” I murmured, before laying down, knowing I’d have a long night of fighting the urge to slip into her dreams.