Chapter 24
“Syla?” came Teyla’s voice, seemingly from a distance.
At a touch to her shoulder, Syla blinked herself out of the trance she’d fallen into to heal Vorik.
Maybe it had even been a doze. His eyes were closed, and she slumped at his side, almost lying down with her spectacles drooping down her nose.
Worried she’d left the job half-done, she used her power to examine him.
Ah, good. She’d succeeded in knitting together the many sword cuts and punctures he’d received, and there was no sign of the malevolent energy that had killed poor Vonla.
It would have killed Vorik too if the gods hadn’t intervened.
Syla rubbed her eyes and adjusted her spectacles. Yes, the gods had arrived, hadn’t they? She’d managed to use the weapons platform to stop Jhiton, but, in the end, they had been the ones to drive out her divine enemy. Thankfully. Her gratitude would be in her prayers for the rest of her life.
“Syla?” Teyla asked again. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Syla looked around, her gaze falling on Vonla’s body, and she regretted that she hadn’t been able to help the captain.
But at least the moon-marked prisoners had escaped.
Fel and a few soldiers had entered the laboratory, and Wreylith and Agrevlari also stood on the far end, the cavernous space large enough for them to fit comfortably.
Between their efforts and the projectiles from the weapons platform, the cliff entrance must have been opened enough to allow them inside. “But I will be. I think.”
“That’s good. Since Fograth is dead, you’re going to have to take charge of the Kingdom again.”
“That was the goal. Though I’m surprised your brother isn’t claiming he should be in charge.”
“He lost those who might have supported him and pissed off just about every moon-marked person on Castle Island. He’s going to have to be content with his career as the editor of the Kingdom Journal.”
“Does he know how to be content?”
“No, but maybe he can learn.”
Syla snorted.
“Your Majesty?” one of the soldiers asked. “This stormer is still alive. Should we… What should we do?”
At first, Syla thought he referred to Vorik, and she rested her hand protectively on his chest. They weren’t going to do anything to him.
Then she realized the man stood over Jhiton, who lay on his back, his swords on the ground near him but no longer in his hands.
Syla eyed them as warily as she did Jhiton.
The weapons appeared normal now, as normal as gargoyle-bone blades could be.
“That’s General Jhiton,” Fel said.
“Oh.” The soldier stepped back, as if he’d realized he was standing next to a viper’s den. “We should kill him then. Before he wakes up.”
“Yes.” Fel drew his dagger and strode toward the downed general.
“Wait.” Syla lifted a hand, though, after using her power, dizziness rushed into her head, and she struggled to get to her feet.
Teyla steadied her.
“You’re not saving him too,” Fel stated, though he did obey her order to wait.
“I’m…” Syla looked at Vorik.
He was unconscious as his body recovered from the healing.
If she let Fel kill Jhiton, Vorik need never know the gods themselves hadn’t been responsible.
Except that he might ask to see the body to prepare it for a funeral, and what would she say?
The gods wouldn’t have used a dagger to slit a man’s throat.
If she let Fel kill Jhiton, she would have to tell Vorik the truth.
And then there were the dragons. Feeling their gazes upon her, she looked at them. Wreylith wouldn’t care and would probably even approve. But Agrevlari… would he let her kill a stormer? The brother of his bonded rider? They were watching her, but neither offered an opinion that she heard.
“I’m not sure,” Syla finally said.
“It’s bad enough your scheming cousin survived,” Fel said. “You can’t let Jhiton live. He killed your mother and your siblings. Even if it wasn’t by his hand, he ordered his people to do it. And we weren’t there so we don’t know what happened. He might very well have been the one to kill them.”
Captain Lesva claimed credit for killing several of them, Agrevlari stated.
And she was finally dead in the harbor.
I believe General Jhiton directed the troops and ordered the invasion, Agrevlari added, as you have guessed, but did not personally slay members of the royal family.
“He’s no less responsible,” Fel snapped. “He’s more responsible. Entirely responsible.”
The tribal leaders were as responsible as the general, Agrevlari said.
“They’re not here for me to kill,” Fel growled. “I would happily do so.”
Syla sighed and slowly walked toward Jhiton, still conflicted.
Fel offered her his dagger.
Did he truly think she would cut his throat?
She would not, but she caught herself accepting the dagger. It felt less suicidal to approach a viper with a weapon in hand. Teyla came with her, drawing her sword. She probably had similar thoughts.
Jhiton’s eyes were closed, but Syla could envision him springing to life and strangling her before she could do anything.
Before crouching beside his head, she used her toe to nudge the swords farther away from his hands.
Fel came over and picked them up, then gave them to a soldier and waved for him to take them farther away. All the while, Syla watched Jhiton.
He didn’t emanate the dark power that he had before, but he retained the magic of his dragon bond.
Some blood dampened the ground near him, but his breathing was even, without a hitch.
She had a feeling it wasn’t injuries but having the storm god’s essence ripped out of him by the other gods that had knocked him out.
It looked like Vorik had only managed to land a few blows.
“Being possessed by a god gives a man an advantage,” Syla murmured.
Jhiton’s eyes moved under his lids. She tensed, her grip tightening on the dagger. Willpower rather than instincts kept her from springing away like the soldier had.
“He’s awake,” Fel stated.
Teyla pointed the tip of her sword at Jhiton’s face and nodded to Syla that she was ready if he tried anything.
Jhiton opened his eyes, looking past the sword and straight up at Syla, as if he’d known exactly where she was. Of course he had. With his power, he would be able to sense her, the same as she could him.
She held out her arm, showing him the dagger. His gaze acknowledged it, then flicked toward her shoulder. Fel stood there. Teyla was by her other shoulder.
“If we let you live,” Syla said, drawing Jhiton’s attention back to her, “will you agree to stop trying to kill me and stop attacking my people? Today and forever?”
“Is Vorik alive?” Jhiton rasped.
“Yes.” Syla pointed to Vorik, hoping he looked relaxed and healed rather than like a corpse. A lot rode on this, she suspected.
Jhiton followed her pointing finger with his gaze, then looked back up at her. “Is he alive because of you?”
Syla considered whether to take credit for Vorik’s life. In the end, the gods had been responsible for stopping their mad kin. But she’d been the one who’d launched the projectile that had struck Jhiton and kept him from killing them both.
“Yes,” Syla said with a nod.
Jhiton’s gaze shifted toward the ceiling of the cavern as he considered his answer. Syla watched his eyes intently and monitored him with her senses. If she got any hint that the storm god remained within him, she would drive the dagger into his heart herself.
“I will not attack you again,” Jhiton said.
“And my people? My kingdom?”
“I remain a soldier sworn to obey my tribal leader, so I cannot promise never to attack your people again if the stormers determine that is necessary, but I… will not argue for it.”
Syla started to shake her head, not finding that enough reassurance, but she paused, realizing he’d used the singular, speaking of only his specific tribal leader.
“Vorik won the duel for your tribe, right?” she asked.
The faintest hint of a smile touched Jhiton’s face. “He did.”
“Well, I think I can keep him from ordering another attack on my people.”
It was probably only their positions, with him on his back and her standing by his head, that made it look like Jhiton glanced at her chest, before he said, “Yes.”
“This could be a huge mistake, Your Majesty,” Fel said.
“I know.” Syla thought it meant something that Jhiton had taken a moment to consider his answer instead of swiftly promising yes to save his life. But could she trust him to be honorable in the long-term? The way she did Vorik?
Sighing, she set the dagger down. She didn’t know if this would turn out to be a mistake, but she wouldn’t kill Jhiton or order his death.
“Do you want me to heal you?” she asked him.
She was exhausted and groaned at the idea of expending more energy, but if it was possible the magic would make him feel kindly toward her, even temporarily, and she could then ask him again if he’d spoken the truth, it would be worth it.
Jhiton snorted softly, no doubt guessing the precise reason for her altruistic offer.
“Perhaps just some stitches and bandages,” he murmured.
Syla wasn’t surprised. Vorik might not care anymore if he felt bound to her, but Jhiton, despite giving his word not to attack her again, couldn’t be pleased about how things had turned out.
“I should warn you that my needlework isn’t as gentle as my magic.” Syla made suturing motions in the air that looked a little like fencing strokes.
“So be it.” Jhiton closed his eyes and let out what sounded like a long sigh of defeat.
Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought there was acceptance in it as well. She hoped so. She wanted to believe she’d made the right decision.