Chapter 22 #2
Roland was quiet for too long before he replied, “They die too.”
Time stopped. Amos looked down at Sasha, his heart dropping. “What did you let me do?” he rasped. She tried to nudge him, but she was too weak to move her head.
It was too late to save his father—he had made sure of that, and now it was too late to save Sasha too. He would live the rest of his life knowing he’d killed one of his oldest friends. He fell to the ground beside her and hung his head.
“Is Sasha there?” Roland asked. “She said she was close by.”
“Yes. You knew I was going to kill him. For years you’ve known, and you never told me.” The betrayal cut deep.
It was all he could do to not scream at the gods as yet another part of him broke. How much more could he lose before they hauled him off to hell?
“She asked us not to. She knew he needed to die, and she gladly sacrificed herself for it.” The connection quieted, then, “If your father is still alive, there’s something you could try that might save her. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a try.”
Amos climbed to his feet. “Tell me.”
“Cut off your father’s familiar mark. The mark is what bonds us together.”
Already rolling his father onto his back, Amos ripped open his father’s shredded shirt to reveal the dragon etched over his heart. Phillip didn’t deserve Sasha, and Amos would never forgive the gods or himself if she died.
He sank the dagger into his father’s chest and cut around the mark like he was field dressing an animal. He didn’t know how deep he needed to cut, so he kept going until he hit bone.
Amos cut as fast as he could, begging his father to stay alive just long enough for him to remove the mark fully. Tossing the skin containing the mark aside, he decided to remove the muscles under it for good measure. Luckily, his father was too far gone to scream.
If this was going to work, that should be enough. Dropping the dagger, Amos jogged over to the dragon to check on her. Sasha’s breathing evened out, and before long, she lifted her head. Relief didn’t begin to touch what he felt.
His hand trembled as he lifted it to rub her nose, but the dragon roared and scrambled to her feet, stepping back with a menacing growl. Amos froze. “Sasha?”
She growled louder and opened her mouth, shooting flames in his direction. He jumped out of the way and retreated to a safe distance. “Sasha, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he pleaded. “If I’d known, I would have found another way.”
The dragon backed away, keeping him in her sights. She was no longer shooting fire at him, but neither was she being friendly.
“Roland, cutting off the mark worked, but something’s wrong. Sasha is acting like she doesn’t know me.”
“Because she doesn’t.”
Amos’ heart dropped to his feet. “What do you mean?”
Roland’s words filled with regret. “We are wild animals before the familiar bond forms. Without it…”
“Without it what?” Amos demanded. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s a wild animal again, and it sounds like she doesn’t remember being a familiar. Dragons don’t trust males unless they’re bonded.”
Amos cut the connection and watched Sasha, who’d stopped to watch him.
He tried to call her name, but his voice broke at the realization that never again would he sit with her and talk.
Never again would he tease her until she stomped her feet.
His child would never know her, and if Sasha was once again a wild dragon, Amos wouldn’t even get a glimpse of her because wild dragons didn’t leave the den.
She’s alive, he reminded himself. That was the most important thing.
He watched until she spread her wings and launched into the air, hating his father even more.
Approaching his father’s mangled body, he noticed the stillness first. Amose pressed his fingers against the king’s cooling neck, searching for a pulse.
Nothing. He waited for the sense of relief, but none came.
Even in death, his father stole another piece of good from his life.
Three days later, Alice, Sariah, and Ruth sat with Amos at the dining table of the safe house, planning their next move. Rainer would join them in a couple of days, but a decision on what to do with his father had to be made quickly.
“We need to kill Paul,” Amos said, his voice dead. “Without my father to save him, there is no one protecting him.”
“I vote for a public execution,” Sariah said. “We could frame him for your father’s death.”
“No,” Amos said, meeting each of their gazes. “We can publicly execute Paul, but not for that. My father’s death is mine to claim. I want them to know that tyrants will not be tolerated, and that those who oppose our agenda will be eliminated.”
“We’ll need to replace most of the generals in the battalions,” he added, drumming his fingers on the table.
“I’d prefer you two to hold the positions of my top generals,” he said to Sariah and Ruth.
“You can be in charge of filtering the current battalion and bringing in any Hydra who are qualified and want to fight for the kingdom. The biggest battalion is here in the capital. Start there.”
Sariah scribbled notes on a piece of paper, then lifted her head. “We’d be honored, Your Highness.”
Amos almost smiled. “As soon as you can have Hydra warriors here, we’ll announce my father’s death.”
“I’ll alert the sleepers working in the palace,” Alice offered. “It will be imperative that they’re on high alert. The palace will be the first place attacked.”
“She’s right,” Ruth agreed. “Whether it’s the outside rebels wanting to take advantage of the unrest you murdering your father will cause, or your father’s loyalists, they’ll come for the palace. Especially if your mate is here.”
“Twelve years ago, rebels in the Mountain Kingdom attacked the palace and killed the queen,” Alice said solemnly.
“Tropical Kingdom has dealt with attacks on their palace as well. Garden Kingdom doesn’t see rebel attacks often.
We used to deal with them periodically, but the last decade, they’ve been quiet until lately.
Jennifer is a sitting duck until Clover claims her throne. ”
The kingdom still thought Jennifer was his mate. He made a mental note to send her to Dragon Village to get her out of harm’s way.
“If Clover agrees, we’ll announce her as queen after we return from the Mountain Kingdom’s coronation celebration,” Amos said.
“I’ll have Roland tell Ember.” He connected to his familiar and relayed everything they’d discussed so Rainer would be informed by the time he arrived.
Amos wished he had known the Desert Kingdom familiars could speak over long distances years ago.
Maybe he could have had a real conversation with Sasha, if even just once.
Clover,
I killed my father. I tore his heart from his chest with my own hands. Then I held his body up before the court so they could see what kind of monster I become when provoked. You’d have been proud.
We haven’t announced any changes we’ll be making. I want you in on meetings to finalize what new laws we’ll announce, and which ones we’ll banish first. We’ll have to change the kingdom a little at a time, but by the time our child takes over, this will be a kingdom they are proud of.
The point of this letter is simple: you can come home. Please come home.
I have spent so long imagining the moment I stand beside you; not in secret or fragments of stolen moments, but out in the open where everyone can see.
For the first time in my life, he isn’t watching me through everyone else’s eyes, waiting for me to fail so he can break me again.
I should feel relieved he’s gone, but Sasha is gone too.
She’s alive, but to kill him without killing her, I had to break their bond. One moment she was with me, and the next she looked at me like I was a stranger. She would have killed me if I’d gotten too close, like I was just another man in this fucked-up world.
It’s a cruel joke, isn’t it? I killed the man who tried to break me my entire life, and in doing so, I lost the one who helped me get away from him. Now, I’m standing in a palace that finally answers to me, and it feels emptier than the cage he kept me in.
The people call me the Brutal King for the way I killed my father, or how they think I did.
There was a gaping hole, already filled with flies where his heart used to be, and his arms and legs were bent at odd angles because they’d stiffened before I untied them.
His sallow skin was grotesque and riddled with whip marks and cuts that were caked with dried blood.
I couldn’t find it in myself to feel remorse because he’d earned every stripe. Maybe that does make me brutal. I suppose the Brutal King is better than “Your Highness.”
I love you.
Brutally Yours,
Amos