Chapter Forty-Six #2
His father’s hand dropped away like the words had cut right through it. “Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep. Do whatever you need to do.” Without another word, he wrapped his arm around Koen’s shoulders and hustled his son inside.
Silas watched until the palace doors shut behind them.
What would it have been like to have a father who stood between him and danger?
Someone to shield him from the schemes and bloodshed before he became so thoroughly entrenched that he couldn’t even accept the protection when it was finally offered.
His father may have returned home, but it was too late for him to take care of Silas.
He turned away and ran to meet Griselda on top of the wall.
The general stood with her arms crossed, looking down her nose at the harbor in the distance. As soon as she spotted Silas, her lips curled back in a snarl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing up here? And where is Langley?”
“Thwarting Captain Dresden’s death wish,” Silas said. “I need a status update. How many are there and how far have they gotten?”
Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t deny him. “Four ships spotted, Moira’s crew are corralling them, mostly keeping them on the shore. I’ve sent a contingent of soldiers down to meet them and we’re keeping away any stragglers.”
As she spoke, an archer nocked a flaming arrow and shot it into the distance. Its light flared bright across the sky before it buried itself into the ground less than a foot away from the target. The man scrambled away, back into the shadows.
“Four?” Silas asked, brow furrowed. “Echo said seven. Did Everett not bring his entire crew?”
“No fucking clue. Either Varro didn’t pay him enough, or they’ve docked on another shore. I assume they have two goals: join up with any Varro loyalists left in the city, and dismantle the remaining power structure.” She looked pointedly at Silas and added dryly, “That means you.”
He nodded. “I’ll get inside soon, I just need—”
An explosion sounded in the distance. The wall beneath them trembled, tossing Silas into the side hard enough to bruise his ribs.
Griselda caught herself and growled in the direction it’d come from. “How much fucking Blasting Jelly do these bastards have?”
Silas thought of the whole wall of jars he’d seen in the armory. When’s the last time someone did an inventory check? “Where was it?” he asked, craning his neck.
Griselda scanned the grounds until she spotted the smoke. “West—”
A second explosion cut her off. A black plume rose into the sky, obscuring the mess.
“Guard the west wall!” Griselda shouted. “I don’t want to see a single traitor on these grounds.” She stomped away, then paused and pointed to Silas. “Ass inside. Now.” She didn’t wait to see if he obeyed before barking more orders at her soldiers to shore up their defenses.
Silas didn’t relish the idea of cowering inside while his kingdom weathered another attack, but there was nothing else for him to do. If he tried to wade into the fight, he would only be a distraction. If he remained standing on the wall, he would make himself a target.
He carefully climbed back down the ladder, running through a list of other things he might need to check on before he departed.
A heavy step and a change in the air was his only warning. He rolled to the side, one hand still holding the ladder, as a sword slashed at the stone wall to his right.
The man wielding the sword was wild-eyed, his teeth bared in a feral grin. His blue uniform was stained and torn in places, as if he’d ripped it off someone else. “Do you know—” the man snarled, changing direction to swing at Silas again.
Silas was only a few feet from the ground. He released the ladder, dropping out of the sword’s reach. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled away from the soldier and up onto his feet.
The soldier pursued him, slashing wildly through the air. “—how humiliating it is—”
Silas dodged to the side, but the tip of the sword still sliced across his chest.
“—to bow your head and pretend to play nice with a bunch of barbarians?”
Silas tried to retreat toward the palace, but the soldier lunged to the left, cutting off his path. He stumbled backwards, thumping hard against the wall.
This wasn’t like the fight against Quentin, where the treasury aide was small and skinny and desperately attacking Silas with his bare hands. Griselda might sneer at the Bellacostan soldiers’ training, but this one was still skilled enough to back Silas into a corner.
“Can’t wait to tell the general I’m the one who killed the fucking king!” the soldier crowed in triumph as he plunged his sword forward.
Not eager to see what his own guts looked like, Silas flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.
A loud clang startled him into opening his eyes.
Langley’s sword had intercepted the soldier’s, knocking it away from Silas. The guard twisted his arm up and back, yanking the sword right out of the soldier’s hands. It flew through the air until it landed on the ground several feet behind them.
Unlike the soldier, Langley didn’t boast or taunt—he didn’t say anything at all as he skewered the soldier on his sword, his face totally impassive.
Silas watched blankly as the dying soldier collapsed to the ground. Just a few months ago, he might have been filled with guilt in his part leading to the man’s death. Now he only felt a vague sense of relief that he wasn’t on either end of the blade.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” Langley said, pulling his sword from the corpse and wiping the blood off on the grass. “But it would be a lot easier to guard you if we went somewhere less open.”
“Someone should have warned you that I wasn’t an easy job,” Silas said, his voice surprisingly steady. Despite his words, he allowed Langley to guide him back toward the palace.
Fighting had spilled into the courtyard, though the darkening night made it difficult to see who was fighting who. Langley held his sword at the ready to fend off any other attacks, but no one else approached them.
They’d almost made it to the doors when Silas felt the strong magical tug again, warning him that Emmaline was in danger.
Did Varro’s men make it inside the palace?
Except the magic wasn’t pulling him toward the kitchens.
Slowly, Silas turned toward the direction it wanted him to go—toward the coast.
“Emmaline, what have you gotten yourself into?” he whispered.