Chapter 50 #2
“Isca,” I whispered. I needed to feel her name on my lips because everything else about her was gone.
It was my fault. She’d trusted me. Said I made her feel safe. And now she was gone.
Magic surged beneath my skin, desperate to level the entire camp with an outpouring of wrath. If it couldn’t have Isca, it wanted blood.
I came very close to burning down our tent. Only the thought that she might not be that far away stopped me.
Replacing every shackle I’d worn for so many years, I stalked into the camp. The guards I’d set on her—ten of them, ten!—were loitering around a lunch fire like cattle. Catrin was setting up the fire for dinner already, humming quietly to herself.
They didn’t know. They didn’t know about the foreign magic that had somehow found its way into our camp, into my tent.
“Where is she?” My voice, honed to a lethal edge and enhanced with magic, cut through all sound like a finely sharpened blade. I wanted to rage, but these mundane men couldn’t have prevented a magical abduction if they weren’t in the tent with her.
Catrin looked up from her stewpot. “What?” She searched the camp, confused. “Isca’s been in the tent all day, writing. I barely saw her this morning, she was so engrossed in her work.”
The curse stirred beneath my ribs, desperate to lash out. I shoved it down with all the force of a battle axe swinging down one final time.
A young man, no older than eighteen, hesitated a few steps behind her ring of guards. His mouth trembled slightly like he wanted to say something. His eyes flicked to mine then to the dirt.
“You,” I snapped, pointing. “What do you know?”
He flinched. “My-my Lord Prince, I-I felt magic. My own is weak but—”
I was on him in two steps. With a voice like cracking thunder, I roared, the sharp echo causing the air around me to gust outward, “Where did it lead?”
The young man shook like a leaf in the hurricane of my anger. His knees knocked together, face as pale as death. His trousers darkened, piss trailing down one leg. Not brave enough to lie—but not brave enough to tell the truth easily either.
The boy rushed to explain. “Toward those trees.” He pointed north with one shaking hand.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I had to look away. This is not what my men need from me. Not what she would want. You need to do better, Emrys.
I probably looked like a crazed beast ready to slice his head from his shoulders.
The curse was so overpowering, my mouth filled with a thirst for blood, choking the “thank you” I wanted to say. Instead, a crack of magic split the ground ten feet away as I clenched my fists, struggling not to also incinerate the earth beneath the innocent boy.
“Go,” I said coldly, even as I fought to keep the chill from my voice. I may have been in the process of losing my mind, but I couldn’t lose my men’s loyalty. “Your vigilance…will be rewarded.”
He bolted like a mouse from a lion.
Catrin approached carefully, her face pale. “Emrys…”
“Not now, Catrin!” I was already walking. I hoped she’d forgive me. “Her guards will follow for the search.” That was an order and a threat.
Eleven pairs of boots pounded the earth until the canopy overhead muffled the sound.
It wasn’t long before we found evidence of a struggle.
A length of torn fabric danced in the breeze where it had snagged on the rough bark of a fallen trunk.
It was red like my banner, with the smallest piece of golden embroidery still clinging to it.
Isca.
Next to that were several sets of heavy boot prints.
I saw it now. Gelida had arranged the parley to steal her from me. She was probably halfway to their capital by now.
They were gambling on my self-control being sufficient to keep me in line, but my self-control fled to unseen lands the moment I found that scrap of fabric.
Flames licked the edges of my vision. My heartbeat hammered through my veins, the fire of my magic dancing beneath my skin. The ground blackened in a ring around my boots as my temper truly slipped the leash.
They took her.
They took her.
My peace, my madness, my magic-bound salvation. The one person who’d dared to touch me without flinching. Who’d walked into my storm and remained.
I turned, teeth clenched, eyes sparking with the curse. The soldiers scattered. They knew that look. These men had seen it once before when I was blood-soaked and silent.
I strode back to camp, not caring if they followed. I went straight to my tent and tore open my weapons chest. Retrieved my short sword. My broadsword. Daggers. I belted them all to my side.
Then my armor. The full set. Breastplate, pauldrons, bracers. One gauntlet. Enough to help keep me alive long enough for the curse to heal me.
I’d either return with her or die trying.
“Arth!” I bellowed.
I ordered my general to take charge, ensuring he kept the troops prepared for a fight until I returned.
Minutes later, my squire came running with Arth at a trot.
Now I was doubly glad I’d taken one of the spare horses to the parley.
He’d be well-rested enough to keep up with my panic.
The great black warhorse was already stomping, heaving in lungfuls through his nostrils.
My mood fed him. He could sense the violence and wanted to join in.
I mounted and kicked him into a trot.
Catrin called after me, “Bring her back!”
I would do exactly that.
My aim was north. The wind whipped through my hair, and my heart pounded with a dark hunger that gnawed in my chest, desperate for blood. I rode harder, driven by my need for her.
For her voice. For her heart, that was too big for a man like me. For the other half of my soul.
I would find her.
And may the cursed gods help me lay waste to the ones who’d thought they could take her from me.