Xander #2
When we make it to the sanatorium, I welcome the sting of astringent heavy in the air, my mind finally wiped clean by the sharp odor.
The three of us split up, talking with the healers who manage the sick.
The sanatorium is a multi-level structure that was specifically built to house the King’s Guardsmen hurt during battle, but seeing as there hasn’t been a war in over two hundred years, it has instead become a place to care for and study those dying from the Cruel Death.
I’m led by a healer with bright red hair and freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and spread out onto his cheeks.
He takes me up and down rows of men in varying states of emaciation, the effects of the Cruel Death still horrifying no matter how many times I’ve seen it up close.
With a new total of the affected in hand, I wait for Brisk and Grayson just outside the building, my fingers tapping along the hilt of my sword to keep myself distracted.
“Final count?” Grayson asks when he joins me, his helmet off and hair mussed as if he’s run his hand through it a hundred times.
“First floor is sitting at fifty men affected, twenty of them a day or so away from dying.” I shake my head and gaze out over the bustling square. “No new developments on what might be causing it or why.”
“A similar number on floor two,” Brisk chimes in, hands bracing his hips. “Though most of the men are recently diagnosed.” I have grown accustomed to the sound of grief in someone’s voice, and I hear it woven into Brisk’s.
“Third floor is where they’ve started bringing the women.
” I glance at Grayson from the corner of my eye.
He chose not to marry or have kids of his own but is an uncle to two nieces already in adulthood.
I know fear of them contracting the Cruel Death weighs heavily on his mind.
“Thirty women, including three that are pregnant.” He swallows roughly, slipping his helmet back on.
“They aren’t there,” he adds, speaking of his nieces.
His relief is palpable, and I silently thank the gods as we begin our trek back towards the castle, our solemn moods keeping our tongues held in place.
Grayson takes up my left side as we walk through the center of the square, and though my eyes inadvertently move towards my mother’s former shop, the older man’s armor is all I see.
I blow a breath out through my nose, irritated that the king forced me to come here.
That the reminder of my mother caused an attack.
It’s why I created my very first rule after I watched her die because of a choice I made.
Never show weakness. To King Dolian, that’s what my mother was to me.
And I think, in return, she represented the same to him.
Despite his absolute refusal to claim me as his legitimate heir, the king had always loathed that I loved her.
That I risked my life willingly for her.
He used her as a tool to control me until his own jealousy despised even that.
Never let anyone know of your weaknesses, he had whispered at my back as my blood spilled onto the soil beneath my knees.
Then he ordered his men to slit her throat right in front of me.
He couldn’t have anticipated that what he aimed to use to destroy me would only fuel me.
In a way, he ushered in his own destruction then, because I took his words as a vow that may as well have been inked in my spilled blood.
When we return to the castle, I find the king in the library, a book spread open in his lap and a cup of tea steaming on the dark wooden table at his side. Jerrick stands behind him, a glare aimed in my direction as I near. “Your Majesty,” I say in greeting, bowing deeply and then rising slowly.
King Dolian doesn’t bother looking up from his book. “What are the latest numbers?”
I relay everything Brisk, Grayson, and I saw at the sanatorium, garnering a furrowed brow only at the end when I mention that they have brought women to the third floor.
“It is supposed to be for men of the guard,” he snaps, as if I’m the one who approved bringing them there.
“There are so many—”
“Tell them to find new spots for them.” He reaches for his tea and takes a careful sip before closing the book and setting it down next to the porcelain saucer.
He doesn’t meet my gaze until he is standing, shoulders drawn back and a hand slid into his pocket.
“They are to use their resources on those capable of joining the guard. Even with the draft, our numbers are not nearly where I would like them to be.”
“Is there a threat to prepare for that I am not aware of?” I ask, head cocked to the side.
King Dolian studies me, his hazel eyes undoubtedly mortal, and yet, somehow, glowing with his ire.
No matter the years that have passed and the plans I have made, there is still a small part of me that threatens to shrink beneath that gaze.
That fears he will stare long enough and discover the building coup against him.
“A man must always prepare as if there is a threat,” he answers, lifting his chin.
“Especially a mortal king. Our allies are few and far between, and in a world where there is magic, whether it is impeded by a Spell or not, our strength has always lain in numbers.” He grins, the sight wholly uncomfortable before he turns to address Jerrick.
I catch the title of the book set on the table.
The Little Sun. “Ensure that the details for the dinner with our Trusted candidates are confirmed with the kitchen.” The what?
Jerrick nods, a smug grin on his face as he bows his head and then leaves.
Biting back my annoyance, I follow behind the king as he walks from the library and into one of the main halls.
I have no doubt that he dropped that information in front of me for a reason, and I swallow back any curtness from my voice as I pretend to fall right into his trap.
“Your Majesty, are you looking to gather the candidates Jerrick and I have for the Trusted positions?”
He makes an amused sound, taunting me. “Don’t worry, Xander.
I planned to speak with you about it on the way to our next stop.
” My teeth clench as I take in the framed portraits on the wall, all the art work the king has commissioned in an attempt to hide the truth of what this castle is: a tomb for his worst memories.
“There will be a simple dinner for you to bring your candidates to. It will be the first initiation of sorts into the trials for becoming a Trusted.” He looks over his shoulder at me, something unsettling glinting in his eyes.
“Despite being privileged to have avoided said trials, you do remember that it is protocol to do so, correct?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I answer, though joining the Trusted was never about privilege. I hadn’t been given a choice at all. We weave through more guards and noblemen, each showing deference to the king as we pass.
“Bring your men to my dining hall tomorrow evening, and we will see what they are made of.”
“As you wish.” I begin cycling through my potential candidates, a rough list already in my head of who might be perfect to fill the three open spots, when I take note of the direction King Dolian has led us in. A few short moments later, we stand in front of the door that leads to the dungeon.
King Dolian’s voice resolute as he looks at me from the corners of his eyes. “Let’s see if my newest prisoner is ready to talk now.”