Chapter Thirty-Eight Anton
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Anton
He marches through his palace with Ishu at his side—of course he’s brought her—getting as far as the main hall before he’s noticed. Even then, there are double takes, and not just because of the tiger trailing him. But Anton doesn’t slow—not until he reaches the council chamber.
Shouts erupt from inside, several voices warring for dominance.
“See reason, Regent Bayard. We’ll never round up enough men—”
“They are our allies!” comes Gustav’s voice—far weaker than usual. “We can’t abandon them. Just yesterday, you were ready to gather men from your territory, Lord Ternan—”
“And yet the situation is beyond my control! You don’t have a single lord willing to part with men from Central Miridran.
You might be able to gather a few hundred here in the east—who will be sent like pigs for slaughter—but most will refuse the orders.
Miridran is already weak! Will you weaken it further? ”
“In addition,” says another voice, “reports say the rebellion will reach the palace in days. They will seize control, Regent! You should be preparing—”
Anton throws open the doors. The hush is like a sweep of wind.
“Sire,” comes Gustav’s breathy voice. Fates, the bastard is paler than a ghost and looks well on his way to Morta’s Lair. There’s a vicious gash across his face, and then Anton notices the bandage wrapping his middle.
“It can’t be!”
“Your Majesty? Where have you been!”
The many voices of the court blend together.
“Did I miss it?” Anton barks, Ishu mimicking him with a little growl. “The Syndicate meeting?”
“Does this mean…Are you…” Gustav fumbles, but Anton waves him off.
“Yes and yes. Quickly, friend. Answer me.”
Gustav nods, looking deflated. “They left hours ago, when you failed to appear. And gave Maksim leave to attack Razam.”
Anton feels a headache building behind his eyes. To be so close…
Perhaps he should have waited to find Moranya, but his anger got the better of him. And he’s still rather peeved, even after her explanation.
Yet her plan worked, loath as he was to admit it. Things can’t stay as they are in the Realm of the Dead. It must be fixed. And perhaps there is hope that Kastiel won’t set the world ablaze in vengeance. He understands, now, how transformative love can be.
It’s why he finally agreed to attempt to help Moranya repair the mirror upon his return—or try. He’ll have to find his missing pendant first.
Voices draw him back to the present, questions volleying at him about his absence, others arguing over what to do next. It clouds together until he can’t hear a single word.
“Enough,” Anton yells above the fray, pacing to his friend. “You. Sit.”
Gustav’s eyes widen, and he lowers himself. Instead of sitting, though, he drops into a bow. Anton grabs his shoulders, forcing him down into the chair to examine the bandages—which Ishu sniffs at. “Your wound is festering, you fop. I order you to rest.”
“But, Your Majesty, what…how—”
“I won’t ask again, my friend,” Anton says more softly before glancing about. “Basile! Where’s Basile?”
“He is on break, Sire,” comes another guard’s voice. “His rotation just ended.”
“Escort Gustav to his chambers. Send for my physicians. As for the rest of you…” Anton braces his hands on the rim of the table. “Prepare for battle. We will leave at once. But first, we’re going to compose letters to disperse to all the Syndicate.”