Chapter 50
Ian had no time to react as the tall man behind Gareth leapt forward with inhuman speed. The man grabbed Ian by the upper arms, literally lifting his feet from the ground and throwing him backward.
Ian hit the ground on his side, his sword spinning out of his hand and all the breath leaving his lungs. Sand filled his mouth.
Not waiting for his next breath, Ian pushed himself up to a seated position. Nothing felt broken, but his entire side would be bruised for days.
The tall man bent over him, his fist swung back.
Just before the blow made contact, Ian noticed the man’s face.
From this close, Ian could see behind the matted hair. His eyes were a sickly orange, the pupils tall and thin like a cat’s. This was another of Gareth’s chaos-magic beasts.
The man held his fist, noting Ian’s stare and returning his gaze. Then he smiled, a cruel, distorted shape that broke through his thick, fur-like beard to reveal pointed fangs.
Ian braced himself for the man’s punch, unsure if he would survive it. This man clearly had the enhanced strength of one of Gareth’s beastly experiments. But it was even more terrifying that he appeared to have retained his human mind—at least most of it.
As he watched the beast-man’s fist move toward his face, Ian saw his whole life packed into that single moment.
Every effort he had ever put in, every decision he had made, led to this moment.
He felt . . . resigned. Disappointed perhaps, that he’d had little opportunity for happiness in his life.
But he had no regrets. He had lived his life as truthfully, as rightly, and as justly as he’d known how to do, even if it had amounted to nothing. He had no . . . He had one regret.
He wanted to lean forward and kiss her lips so badly.
But she would leave. And he would stay. His heart would survive the separation.
The break. The ending of this friendship.
He knew he was stronger than his feelings.
They were merely a distraction, dragging him down from his true responsibility as the future king of Iseldis.
He must stand strong. The pain would fade in time.
He wanted one more moment with her. But, she was no longer his. He had no right to put them both through the pain of a goodbye kiss. She stood just too far away for him to reach her easily. She did not want him either.
Suddenly, she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. And he responded in kind, holding her with a grip that flattened her to his chest. He had never held someone that fiercely, but Robin was not weak. She would not snap in his arms.
She tightened her grip around his neck, squeezing his shoulder blades into his collarbone.
He welcomed the pain. His throat closed up, threatening to cut off his ability to breathe.
He was not sure if her grip was strangling him or if that was the surge of emotion in his chest. He forced the tightness back down his throat and past his chest until it settled in his stomach, pinching and squeezing the bread he had eaten that morning.
After an eternity of moments—which was not nearly enough time—the iron strength in his arms gave out. And he could feel her slacken against him.
The moment her body went limp, she stepped away.
Ian wanted to scream and rage and run away with her, never looking back. But he held his control. The only sign of his weakness was the shaking in his arms.
She turned. And walked away.
The shaking spread to his jaw.
She was not for him. She would not make a good queen. She was too headstrong. She did not understand the needs and responsibilities of the kingdom. His father’s words rolled around in his head.
This was right. He had to let her go.
But why did it hurt so badly?
She did not turn around to look at him before she stepped around the corner.
Somehow, Ian made it back to his room. He had no idea whom he passed in the hall, nor how his feet moved.
As soon as he closed the door to his room, the shaking in his limbs refused to support him any longer. He crumpled to the floor, pounding his fist against the stone.
His face contorted in agony. The unfamiliar burn of tears stung his eyes. And he sobbed, a dry, racking heave he had never experienced before.
It was only a few breaths of this agony before he sat back on his legs, regaining his composure.
This was right. These feelings would fade with time.
He would never cry like that again.
He had been righteous, yes. But also stupidly self-righteous.
For as long as he lived, he would always regret not sharing that goodbye kiss.
Even if it wouldn’t have changed anything, they had both deserved that one that last moment together.
But he had been too caught up with doing what was right to see the goodness in what was right in front of him.
Perhaps it was fortunate, then, that his life was about to end. The beast-man’s hair-covered clenched hand was a mere fist-length from Ian’s face.
His thoughts had spun so rapidly in his mind it felt as though time around him had slowed. And perhaps it had, because he saw it with complete clarity when an arrow entered his narrow field of vision, striking the beast-man’s hand.
The powerful force of the arrow knocked the fist off its course, throwing the beast-man’s swing wide around Ian’s head.
Ian inhaled for the first time since he had initially hit the ground. Shock and energy flowed through his body as the world around him returned to its frantic pace.
The beast-man snarled in pain though the arrow had not even pierced the thick hide of his hand. He spun his head toward its source.
Robin stood in front of the group of Majis, her bow drawn and another arrow ready to fly.
Snarling with rage, the beast-man launched himself toward her across the sand, his legs strong enough to leap despite the full body armor he wore.
Robin released her next arrow, jerking her bow up to aim for his face, but he moved too quickly and it bounced off his armor.
“No!” Ian reached for Robin, but he had neither the time nor muscle to do anything before the man was on her.
“Stop,” Gareth commanded. His voice was directed at the beast-man, but his heavy foot landed on Ian’s chest, forcing him back to the ground.
Ian frantically looked around Gareth’s other foot to see Robin restrained by the massive man, but otherwise unharmed.
Gareth dropped the tip of his sword, resting its weight on Ian’s throat.
Ian stilled at the contact, looking up at the king in confusion. For a man so cruel and bloodthirsty, Gareth was leaning hard into his benevolent manipulation in a way that Ian did not understand.
“The Majis have Returned!” Gareth yelled out to the watching soldiers.
He waved his free arm to the huddled group behind him.
“I will let them live. They are no threat to us, and we have no need to slaughter the defenseless. But . . .” He pointed down at Ian, giving his words time to sink in.
“The real threat to Iseldis seems to come from within.”
Looking up at the sword that still rested heavily on his neck, Ian noticed that Gareth had extended it with his injured arm. He could see blood drying against Gareth’s golden armor, but perhaps the injury was not as deep as he’d thought if Gareth had recovered so quickly.
“This man is a traitor to his king. He abandoned you when your need was greatest. Does he deserve to live?” Gareth twisted the sword with his wrist, putting his arm into a better position to drive the blade through Ian’s throat.
Without turning his head, Ian strained his eyes to see the line of Iseldan soldiers.
The soldiers stood silently. Some nodded angrily in agreement with Gareth while some looked away, shifting their weight.
For several long moments, the screeches of clanking armor was the only sound that could be heard above the waves.
“Does he deserve to live?” Gareth finally said, breaking the silence.
Ian heard mumbling cries move down the line of soldiers, but none of them dared speak up directly. Most of them turned their gaze to Zimri, the leader they still trusted.
Ian understood the fear and pressure his men were operating under. He did not blame them for not pleading for his life, but their silence still cut him to the core.
Zimri held his head up proudly. “He is a traitor.”
At that, the mumbles of the Iseldan soldiers grew louder, turning into an awkward cheer.
Gareth looked down the sword, catching Ian’s eye.
“We can accomplish great things when we work together,” he said, his voice low for Ian alone.
He lifted his sword, stepping away from Ian and speaking loudly to the entire line of soldiers.
“He is no longer a threat to Iseldis. I am not here for needless bloodshed.”
The soldiers cheered louder at that, as if Gareth’s mercy had deepened their trust in him.
Ian felt a begrudging admiration for Gareth’s manipulation. Once again, they had underestimated the underhanded but brilliant tactics of the Chendas king.
“I will let him live,” Gareth continued, “so that he may see Iseldis flourish outside the confines of fear!”
The cheers continued to grow.
Gareth reached out a hand to Ian, as though offering to help him stand.
Ian ignored the proffered hand, pressing his tired and bruised muscles against the soft sand to stand on his own.
Blanketed by the cheering soldiers, Gareth dropped his voice again to speak to Ian alone.
“We have both achieved a victory today. You have successfully saved some worthless lives—only to watch them die by the hand of hunger or hatred in the next few days. And I have the respect and loyalty of the greatest warriors in the five kingdoms.”
Gareth grinned, raising his fist above his head in celebration as he cheered with his new army. He stepped forward, moving away from the ocean and back up the bluff toward his horse.
Ian turned to Robin. The beast-man threw her forcefully down against the sand, her body landing with a sickening thud.
Ian ran toward her as the beast-man stalked after Gareth.
“Pack your camp and return with me to your homes!” Gareth called out. “Or, remain here with your prince.” He sent a final grin to Ian before he turned his horse away from the water, leading his mounted guard toward the road.
The soldiers, remaining in their single-file rank, followed Zimri up the bluff after Gareth.
Ian dropped to his knees beside Robin.
Her eyes were open, but her face was twisted into a painful grimace. “I’m fine,” she said.
Ian reached down, feeling her shoulders and neck. Checking for any open wounds or broken bones.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, using her good arm to push herself into a sitting position.
Ian reached his arm around her back, supporting her.
“Ilida is going to be so angry,” she said, looking at the Majis.
“You cannot possibly plan to bring these people all the way back to Lockwood,” Ian said. “Most of them will not survive the journey.”
“No,” Robin said. “We will set up a camp north of here and send for supplies from Lockwood.”
“What supplies?” Ian asked, knowing as well as Robin did that there were precious few supplies at Lockwood.
“Everything,” Robin replied. She pushed herself to a standing position and walked toward the group of Majis.
Ian stood also, but he could not make his feet move after her.
His mind was still in shock that he was alive.
Ahead, he watched Robin stop to speak with Ulli and Fletcher, pointing in different directions as she gave them some sort of order, organizing an impossible plan to take care of the Majis.
She was alive. He should be thankful for that.
Moving past the Majis, Robin walked further up the shore and bent down to lift a piece of driftwood. She started dragging it back to the small fire someone had lit in the center of the Majis. The fire that was mostly smoke and steam, as there was no dry wood on the sand.
The Majis were alive. He had saved them from slaughter.
Even his soldiers were alive, against all odds.
He had accomplished what he had set out to do.
But this was no victory.
In the distance, Robin stumbled.
Ian ran toward her, his head hanging forward as he no longer had the strength to hold it up. “Robin,” he called. “Stop.”
Robin stepped doggedly forward, dragging the heavy driftwood that was nearly as long as she was tall. “I have one good arm,” she said.
“It’s still sopping wet.” Ian grabbed the wood near her hand, attempting to take the weight from her. “It is not even going to burn.”
“We have to try,” Robin replied, refusing to let go of the wood.
“We have been trying,” Ian said. “We did try.” Trying got them here. To this pointless victory.
“Still no sign of the third ship,” Robin said, her voice matter-of-fact as though she wanted to avoid responding to Ian.
Ian glanced out over the empty waves, watching the floating debris from the two confirmed shipwrecks float in to the shore. He shook his head. “Then it is gone. The taskers turned it around and returned to Istroya.”
“They will die in this cold,” Robin said, using her head to gesture toward the Majis ahead. “Building up the fire is our first priority.”
“Yes,” Ian agreed. His eyes moved from the waves to the sand. The sun was fully up now, but instead of shedding hope on a new day, it illuminated the five dozen people who dotted the shoreline. Cold, exhausted, soaked to the bone. With nowhere to go. Gareth was right.
These people would die. If not by hunger and exposure to the elements, then by the hatred of the people of Iseldis. No one would take them in.
He had not seen Sol or Aizel, but he was still alive to tell Meena and Erich that they had not survived the raid.
Reaching the fire, Ian dragged the long driftwood over the small fire. The wet wood hissed as it made contact with the meager flames.
Ulli placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder, forcibly pushing him down to the ground. “Sit,” the man said. “You are nearly dead. There is nothing more you can do.”
Ian landed in the sand with a painful thud that shook through his aching body. Ulli’s words, perhaps intended to relieve him from responsibility, felt more like a censure.
There was nothing more he could do.
He had indeed failed.