Chapter 20 #2
One of the men leaves the fray and charges toward me. I scream and throw my arms up in front of my face in a pathetic attempt to defend myself.
Then, in a blinding flash of light, everything goes quiet. It’s like I’m floating, like the world has lost all sense of up and down. There’s no ground beneath my feet. No fight in front of me, no man charging at me. It’s pure empty oblivion.
I think I might be dead.
The light contracts suddenly, and I’m thrown to the ground, landing hard.
The man who’d been charging me falls on top of me, blood gushing from his mouth and slit throat.
I cry out and scramble away until his body slides to the ground next to me.
I’m covered in blood, but I don’t think any of it is mine.
Brevan is on his knees, panting, daggers still in his grip. Four bloody bodies surround him.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
I don’t hear any more explosions or fighting. Carefully, I stand and walk over to Brevan. Dark purple smudges surround his eyes, like he’s been punched, and blood runs from his nose.
I step over one of the bodies, then crouch in front of Brevan. “Are you alright?”
He looks at me and nods, then winces. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I snap.
He tries to stand but falls to his hands and knees instead. I drop down next to him. “Let me help you.” I tear a piece of fabric from my dress and wipe the blood off his face. His nose continues to bleed, so I tear more fabric and hold it there for a minute.
Brevan drops his daggers, then grips my wrist with a large hand. I pull back and lower my arm.
“I need. To get to my. Quarters,” he says through labored breathing.
This is the man who was supposed to be the most dangerous fighter in the emperor’s arsenal? I know there were five of them, but he’s exhausted. He stumbles as we walk, like he might topple over at any minute. He did something that cost him.
“What’s wrong with you?” The words are out before I can stop them.
He wines as he takes a deep breath. “I’ll explain, but not here. I need you to help me to my room.”
I hate seeing him like this. “I never thought you’d need my help.”
“I did save your life back there,” he says.
“I know. Thank you.” I stand, then extend my hand.
He takes it, and I’m surprised when he actually needs my help to get up. It’s a struggle, and I almost topple over, but I manage to get him to his feet.
We move slowly to the end of the hallway.
Bodies are scattered around the entryway.
Both rebel and Night Legion. I scan the faces of the fallen rebels, my brow furrowing.
I don’t recognize a single person. I don’t know everyone in the rebellion, but I know a lot of them.
It is a fairly small group, too. As far as I know, we couldn’t afford to lose twenty men to one attempt on the castle. Where did these people come from?
Lee is lying to me. He lied to me about Brevan murdering my brothers, and he lied about me being the only way to get into the castle.
He must have lied about our numbers and the frequency at which they attempted to break into the castle.
I certainly was never aware of any missions to get into the library or vault.
I don’t know him like I thought I did. I don’t think I know the rebellion like I thought I did, either.
Brevan leans on me as we stumble down the halls. He’s heavy and navigating with his weight on me isn’t easy. I’m still in disbelief that he’s so dependent on me. In his state, he wouldn’t be able to return to his room on his own.
“What did they do to you?” I ask.
“It’s more what I did to them,” he says. “This way.”
A few legionnaires pass us, and a pair of courtiers, covered in blood, are being guided up the stairs. They’re too busy to notice us. A couple of servants scurry by, and they do look at us, but they quickly turn their attention away.
I follow Brevan’s directions to the lower levels, where the servants’ quarters are. He has a room at the end of the hall. I help him inside and get him seated on the thin mattress.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“There’s a bottle in the drawer.” He gestures to a nightstand.
I open the drawer and remove a small green bottle, uncork it, and pass it to him. He downs the entire thing in one gulp. Then, he screams and leans down so his face is on his knees. When the scream ends, he remains folded over, panting.
I sit next to him and set my hand on his back. “It’s alright, you’re going to be fine. Tell me what you need.”
My hand is wet and when I pull it away, it’s covered in blood.
I lift his shirt and find blood smeared across his back.
Black gift marks form shapes that are obscured by all the blood on his back.
There’s slices across the skin. Like someone dragged a very sharp knife from his shoulder, diagonal across his back to his hip.
They come from both shoulders, varying in size but all oozing blood.
I grab the blanket from his bed and press it against his back.
He hisses. “I’m fine. Leave me.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I can handle it.” He tries to sit, but grunts in pain and remains doubled over.
“Let me help,” I say. “It’s the least I can do.”
I rush to a small chest of drawers, where a water pitcher sits next to a ceramic cup and basin. I fill the cup, then set it next to the bed. Next, I find one of his tunics hanging in the wardrobe and bring it over to him. I pour water on the tunic and begin to wash away the blood.
The good news is that the bleeding is easing, as I clean, but not completely.
I rush to get another tunic to press against the wounds.
I can’t cover all of the cuts at once, so blood slides down his back from the uncovered parts.
His original tunic is still pushed up around his neck, soaked in blood.
It takes a long time for the blood to stop.
Once it does, I clean the cuts as best I can.
The wounds remain, though. Angry and swollen.
His whole back is covered in his gift mark, but with the injury, it’s difficult to make out details.
I force myself to look away. It’s only on display because he was hurt while saving me. “There. I think it’s done bleeding.”
“There’s ointment in the drawer.”
I find the jar of creamy white paste in the nightstand and scoop some out with my fingers. When I slather it over his wounds, he tenses but remains quiet.
“You should take off this shirt,” I say. You need a clean one.”
“You’re just trying to get me out of my clothes again, aren’t you?” he says, but the joke falls flat. He’s trying to play off his pain, but he’s clearly still hurting.
“How did you know?” I tease, hoping to raise his spirits. “Now, hold out your arms. I’ll pull it off.”
He obliges but hisses out a strained breath as I remove the blood-soaked shirt and toss it on the ground. The dark lines swirl across his chest, down his arms, and around his ribs to his back. I wonder if all the god’s gift marks look like that.
“I can take it from here,” he says.
I hand him a clean tunic, and he winces as he tugs it on.
“How did you get those cuts on your back?” I ask.
“It happens any time I use certain aspects of my magic,” he says.
“That light. That was you. What was that?”
“A defect,” he says.
“It didn’t look like a defect.”
“I asked for shadows, just like everyone else. Instead, I got something else,” he says.
“Is that why you’re the enforcer? Because of the magic you can do?”
“No. I’m not supposed to use that magic,” he explains. “It’s because of other things I can do. And, I suppose, because I’m loyal.”
“Why didn’t you just fight them off?” I ask. “I’ve heard stories about you. You could have taken them.”
“I could have,” he agrees.
“So why didn’t you?” I ask.
He lifts his hands and looks down at them. They’re covered in blood. I get up and cross to the drawers so I can fill the basin with clean water from the pitcher. There’s bloody handprints on handle and I leave more of them on the basin as I carry it to him.
“Thank you.” He washes his hands, and the water turns deep red.
After I put the bowl back on the drawers, I rinse my hands, then return to his bed and sit. “Can you tell me what that was? What happened? Why does your magic harm you?”
“Because the emperor doesn’t want me to use it.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
“Before we get our gift, we go through a binding ceremony with the emperor.” He touches his chest, and I notice a thick raised scar. “There’s a relic right here.”
I reach for him without realizing, and just before I graze his skin, I pull my hand back. My cheeks heat.
“You can touch it,” he says.
Curiosity beats reason, and I brush my fingertips over the scar. Something hard rests under the skin. Something that shouldn’t be there. “Why?”
“The king has a matching relic.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“He uses the magic from a relic to create a bond. Part of the relic goes to us, the other goes to him. It gives him power over us. And I suspect we give part of our power to him.”
I’m quiet for a moment, then I touch the relic again. I move my fingers around the edges. Whatever it is, it feels sharp. “So he prevents you from using your magic?”
“He made it so there are consequences for using it. So I can if I have to, but for every life I take, their deaths show up on my flesh.”
“The cuts on your back.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do it tonight then? You didn’t answer that.”
“Because I saw what those men had planned for you, and I couldn’t risk them reaching you,” he says.
“You can read minds?” Terror makes my throat tight.
“Not all minds. And not always their exact thoughts. Sometimes it’s images of what they’re thinking about. Or a feeling about their intentions.”
“In the dungeon, you said I was telling the truth.”
“Yes,” he says.
“You can read my mind?” No wonder he’s been following me around. He knows who I am.
“No, not yours. In the cells, I saw an image of that man stabbing you in the chest. I don’t know if you were telling the truth, but I saw what he wanted to do to you.”
My blood runs cold. Why would someone who worked for the king of Iskvaland want to kill the princess?
“I suppose you’ve saved my life twice, then,” I say. “Thank you.”
“It’s my job to protect you.” He says the words like they’re rehearsed, completely devoid of emotion. But I swear there’s more behind them. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
I blink a few times and send that thought away. I’m imagining things. Life and death situations heighten emotions. Make us feel things that aren’t real.
“Is everyone bound to the emperor? All the people who go through the gifting ceremony?”
“Yes.”
“He must be full of relics,” I say. “Oh gods, that’s how he’s immortal. The relics. The magic he can pull from the people he’s bound to.”
“We should go.” He stands. “Thank you for helping me.”
I know too much. He’s worried he’ll tell me more. My insides buzz, anxious energy overflowing. The mystery is solved. I know where he sleeps, and I know how he stays immortal.
“You should stay.” I touch his arm gently. “Catch your breath, take care of yourself. I’ll go right to my rooms and shut myself in. I promise.”
He considers me, and I wonder if he’s trying to read my intentions.
In the dungeon he said he couldn’t, but I don’t know if that can change.
Just in case, I imagine myself walking to my rooms and embracing my ladies.
I imagine checking on them to see if they’re safe, then sitting around a warm fire together.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he says.
When he opens the door for me, I step into the hall and walk casually. When I hear the click of the door, I look back to confirm that it’s closed. Then, I run to find Katherine.