Chapter 9 #3
The caravan of civilians came to a halt, whispers rising as Kerrigan rode toward them from the front, three mages behind her.
She didn’t stop when she reached them but dropped the reins of her horse, leaning forward.
She summoned two massive fireballs, one in each palm, her expression hard and ready for whatever she was racing headfirst into.
Alethea knew, for as long as she lived, she would never forget the sight of the fire mage charging forward with reckless abandon.
Nakir drew his sword and exchanged a terse nod with Balthasar before taking off after her.
Alethea turned to her companion, expecting him to ride off as well.
Empaths weren’t just valued for their ability to read a room or soothe feelings; in battle, they could be incredibly dangerous.
An enemy who could instill a fear paralyzing enough to have you running for the hills, or worse?
More powerful than ten skilled warriors.
But Balthasar only placed himself between Alethea and the road.
He guarded her and stood as the last line of defense for fifty unarmed Hyeleans.
The forest went quiet. Even the birds stopped.
Then the tranquility shattered.
In the distance, the symphony of battle began.
Explosions reverberated through the air, tearing through the natural serenity of the woods.
The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the sounds of conflict reached them in disjointed waves—sharp cracks of magic, the roar of fire, and the clash of steel against steel, all blending into a chaotic crescendo that filled the forest, painting the air with palpable tension.
She had never been pious, and she wasn’t sure which god to call on now.
Anya for protection? Aevensor to keep death at bay?
Aeshma, whose sins had made Nakir what he was?
The battle sounds carried through the trees just out of sight, and not being able to see made it worse.
She stood there with nothing to offer and nowhere to put her hands.
It was ages before the sound of hoofbeats began to march toward them.
Behind her, the Hyeleans shifted, and their nervous energy made her breath hitch.
The collective sigh of relief, though, as Nakir, Kerrigan, and the others came into view, pulled the tension right out of the air.
Alethea hadn’t realized she was bracing herself until she saw his face, now marked by soot and blood.
He met her gaze for a long second, his expression hard and unreadable, as he rode at his slow, unbothered pace past her.
Nakir squeezed Balthasar’s shoulder, another unspoken moment she wasn’t privy to.
Kerrigan hardly seemed worse for wear, and the other soldiers with her were all unharmed, if a bit harried.
Alethea couldn’t imagine killing got any easier, even in war.
Was that what this was now? When did a movement go from a rebellion to an all-out war? Alethea chewed her lip as she waited for the caravan to start moving again.
She caught herself periodically searching for those amber eyes, his dark hair, and his even darker horns in the crowds as they moved.
He occasionally walked alongside his horse in the middle of the procession, where he would talk with whomever approached him.
Sometimes, the conversations went well. Other times, she noticed how it took a toll on him.
Many of the older men and women would shake his hand, and Alethea would turn to Balthasar to see if he knew what was being said.
“They’re remembering his parents,” he explained.
“King Lazaros wasn’t born a noble. He became one when he married Princess Evanthia.
He even took her name, as is custom when marrying royalty.
But before then, he was a city guard captain.
He was loved by many and respected by many more.
You die two deaths—once when you take your last breath, and once more when the last person who remembers you dies.
Lazaros will live a long time in many people’s hearts. ”
It wasn’t as if her father had consulted the common people when he made his coup, Alethea realized.
He’d done so with military force and gold.
Setta, the province her family once served as rulers of, provided the kingdom with fine gems and precious metals from the mines.
Setta was the kingdom’s treasury, and her father might as well have purchased his crown.
No one had ever approached Alethea to speak of him; to offer condolences or remembrance. She did not remember her father as a bad man, but she had been grieving him for nearly as long as she’d known him.
How was it fair that a king and queen so beloved had been cast down, while her mother—cold, unyielding, and alone—now sat on the throne? Was this what power required—force and riches to claim it, and a heart hardened enough to keep it?
Alethea knew if that was what it took to rule, she had no desire to ever be a part of it.