3. Clash of Stone and Steel #3
“Axenus doesn’t answer to you,” she said, her anger resurfacing.
“No, but he’ll agree you need rest, and if we take it to Bressen-”
“Fine,” she said, holding up a hand. “You win.”
“Speaking of Axenus, does he know you can port?” Samhail asked.
“Yes, he was with me and Bressen when I discovered it,” she said.
“And you have no idea who you syphoned it from?”
“No. It’s possible I’ve had it for months and only just discovered it. I’ve been careful about not touching the perimortals I meet lately.”
“That’s a handy ability to have,” he said. “Porting is fairly rare. Has Axenus worked with you on using it?”
“I completely forgot I had it until now,” Cyra said, and suddenly she looked as bone-weary as she sounded.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Samhail said. “If you take it easy the next few days, rest, and don’t push yourself too hard, next week we’ll start incorporating some of your magical abilities into your combat training.”
Cyra’s face brightened. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Deal,” she said. She bent to pick up the first practice sword he’d knocked out of her hand.
“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll clean up here. Go have lunch.”
She looked surprised but nodded and headed toward the door into the house.
When she was gone, Samhail went around the yard to collect the equipment they’d used and put it back on the rack.
Then he sat down on the bench, rested his elbows on his knees, and let his head drop.
His body sagged, and he pushed out a long, deep breath.
Normally he wouldn’t show such vulnerability out in the open, but both his energy and his ability to care if someone was watching had left him. It killed him to see Cyra this upset, this unhinged…
And it was all his fault.
He’d been careless days ago when they’d faced Sandrian, Morland, and Magdalene at the abandoned temple.
He’d been so focused on getting to Sandrian he hadn’t seen that spear coming until it was lodged in his pelvis.
Granted, he hadn’t recognized Morland in his mortal body, but he should’ve been ready for the attack regardless.
As a result of his negligence, he’d been powerless to help when things had truly gone sideways, and the result was that Cyra’s father was now dead.
Aramis had been told to wait outside the temple until he was needed, but he’d snuck in to help and stabbed one of Sandrian’s guards just when Samhail was sure everything had gone to all hells.
Chaos erupted when Aramis attacked the guard, and it had given them time to remove the spear from Samhail’s hip and heal the wound.
The only thing Samhail could think as Aramis had worked on him was that he had to join the fight as soon as possible.
The second he was fully healed, he’d shifted into his gargoyle form and launched himself toward the horde of symbionts Sandrian had brought, creatures that could take over human bodies.
It hadn’t occurred to Samhail to order Aramis back outside or – better yet – get the healer out of harm’s way before he’d begun tearing the creatures to pieces.
He should’ve gotten Aramis to safety. He should’ve gone after Magdalene instead of the symbionts.
There were any number of things he could’ve or should’ve done to ensure the safety of Cyra’s father, but he’d been so short-sighted.
Now Aramis was dead, and Cyra was grieving the loss of the parent she’d only just found.
She didn’t seem to blame him for Aramis, but she didn’t need to. He blamed himself.
Samhail had visited the temple in Solandis that same day when they’d returned.
He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to go, but he’d stayed outside and crouched on the parapet of the roof as he rethought every move he’d made – or hadn’t made.
A torrent of rain beat down on him, soaking his hair and clothes, and he’d looked over at one point to realize he was in almost the exact same pose as one of the ridiculous stone gargoyles that perched atop the roof. His ‘replacement.’
He’d wanted to rip the grotesque thing off and send it crashing to the ground. He’d been just as useless that day as the lifeless piece of stone.
Samhail lifted his head as the feeling of being watched stole over him where he sat in the training yard now. His attention snapped to the side when he thought he saw movement near the house, but there was nothing there when he looked.
Except maybe a faint cloud of smoke? Had a guard been watching him while out on a break perhaps?
He shook his head. Cyra wasn’t the only one wound too tight after their battle at the abandoned temple.
He’d thought Morland was dead once before only to find the man was still alive, just in another body.
Now the man was seemingly dead again, but Samhail couldn’t shake the feeling Morland had once again managed to elude death.
Morland had shattered Samhail’s peace of mind on that battlefield twenty-five years ago, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever rest easy again until he knew without a doubt the man who’d held his mind hostage was gone.