Chapter 2 Collect Strays and Fugitives #3
But the memory wasn’t just lost to time.
It was stolen. Plucked from her mind by Auremar’s mages, with her father’s blessing, just like the memory of her mother’s murder.
Atticus had let them do it. Let them carve away pieces of his own daughter’s life, one humiliation at a time, until only the acceptable parts remained.
Until she was the perfect, obedient prize for a king.
My shadows darkened the corners of the tent. The urge to go straight back to Skyspire and personally eviscerate Atticus Evenfall was so strong it was a physical ache in my bones. I wanted to carve my displeasure into his flesh. Slowly. Artistically.
“How convenient,” I said, my voice deadly soft, “that Evenfall is currently enjoying my hospitality in Skyspire’s dungeons.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “You have Lord Evenfall?”
“He sold his daughter to King Auremar,” I said flatly. “Among other crimes. Some of which you apparently know.”
“I see.” Sebastian’s expression was carefully neutral, but I caught a brief flash of satisfaction in his eyes. “How unfortunate for him.”
I couldn’t help reassessing Sebastian then. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely worthless. Anyone who took pleasure in Atticus Evenfall’s suffering had at least one redeeming quality.
I rose from my seat and turned to Arabella, who was still processing Sebastian’s revelation with that distant look in her eyes.
“We should rejoin the army. Lord Sebastian will return with us to Skyspire after our business is finished here.” I fixed him with a cold stare.
“I trust you’ll find our accommodations adequate. ”
“I’m sure they’ll exceed my expectations, Dark Lord.” He stood and bowed with perfect courtly grace.
I narrowed my eyes. This would be more difficult than I’d anticipated. Lord Sebastian wasn’t easily intimidated, and worse, he seemed genuinely fond of Arabella without being inappropriately familiar. It made him harder to hate than I’d hoped.
But that wouldn’t stop me trying.
“Am I going to regret this?” I asked her as Sebastian left the tent. Disconcertingly, rows of tiny flowers sprang up in his wake, as if the earth itself wanted to celebrate his presence.
Her gaze was distant, but then she turned to me with that characteristic gleam of mischief in her eyes.
“I’ve had to put up with two of your ex-lovers.
” The word landed with the delicacy of a thrown axe.
“The stabby Viscountess and the Syndicate’s Chair of Whispers. I think I’m owed one scone baker.”
“They weren’t lovers,” I said quickly.
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
A muscle in my jaw tightened. This was treacherous ground, the kind that led to conversations about feelings and vulnerability and other terrifying concepts. I settled for a shrug, a gesture that felt entirely inadequate. “I didn’t love them.”
And I do you.
The words were heavy on my tongue, desperate to escape. I clamped my jaw shut to keep them from pouring out.
Arabella’s breath hitched. The air thickened, charged with the sudden, terrifying weight of a truth neither of us was ready to voice. Her gaze flickered away first. “Right.” Her voice was a little too bright. “I should check on Nyx.”
She slipped outside. I followed, frustrated and edgy. My first instinct was to burn something—the forest, Auremar’s palace, Sebastian’s gentle, pitying face. My second, more practical instinct, was to regain control. We had corpses to deal with, soldiers to regroup, and a war to launch.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Thorne emerged from the forest with Griffin in tow. Griffin perked up at the sight of Sebastian, then immediately tripped over his own feet.
Arabella moved to help him, the picture of grace. But I could feel the tremor of her anger through our bond, the icy sorrow of a stolen past pressing against her ribs.
Auremar’s soldiers were dead, reduced to dragon snacks. But their king had reached back through time and hurt Arabella all over again, right here in front of me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it except plot increasingly elaborate revenge.
For over a decade, I’d dreamed of my army poised on the border of Solandris. This should have been a glorious march toward my destiny. Instead, I felt a chill across my skin, as if every moving shadow might hide some new threat to the woman whose memories were now weapons against her.
“My lord,” Thorne said, his voice a low rumble at my side. “Shall we make camp?”
My eyes locked on Arabella. She was now engaged in conversation with Sebastian, while Griffin hovered nearby looking like an overeager, singed scarecrow with moss in his hair.
She was smiling at something Sebastian said, a polite curve of her lips that made the possessive monster in my chest roar with irrational jealousy.
But I caught the way she rubbed her arms, a small gesture of discomfort she probably didn’t realize she was making.
I couldn’t undo the damage her father had inflicted. Couldn’t restore the memories Auremar’s mages had carved away. But I could keep her moving, give her space to process without the stench of dead soldiers as a backdrop.
“No.” I turned to Thorne. “We’re finding a different place to camp.”
Arabella’s head snapped up, her smile vanishing. She strode toward me, her brow furrowed. “Leaving? Kazimir, we just got here. The army—”
“Will follow,” I cut in. “The situation has changed.” I finally met her eyes, letting her see the granite resolve there. “The dead bodies will stink by morning.”
She narrowed her eyes, no doubt her truth-sense telling her that I was hiding something.
I knew, intellectually, that this change of plans was absurd. Arabella was no fragile flower. She had faced down the Hero’s Guild, unleashed devastating magic, and stared into the abyss of her own past without flinching. She could handle herself better than most of my generals.
But parts of her mind had been cut away like unwanted weeds, and that would rattle anybody. Even a Dark Lady.
I wanted to return to Skyspire now, if only to peel the skin from Atticus Evenfall and mail it to his king. But we had a war to start first.
I turned back to Thorne, making the decision final. “We’ll advance as far as we can go tonight. Then I’ll scout the vantage point myself.”
“Kaz?” Arabella asked quietly.
“I don’t want any more surprises.” I gestured vaguely toward our new guest, who was now being enthusiastically questioned by Griffin about his heroic lineage. “Griffin, you’re riding with us. You too, Scone Lord.”
Sebastian flinched at the nickname but wisely kept his mouth shut. Griffin, on the other hand, looked like he’d just been handed a basket of enchanted kittens.
I sighed. This was going to be a long campaign.