Chapter 11 Cethin
Cethin
The paste was cool against his thigh as Niara smoothed the pale green mixture onto his skin with a flat stick. It smelled terrible, but she was right. He’d heal far faster with whatever she’d concocted.
“Thank you,” Cethin said quietly as she worked.
She hummed an acknowledgment, but she said nothing else.
His gaze wandered to the now empty bed. Jarek had stopped back by moments ago, letting him know exactly which cell he’d put Kailia in and asking if he needed anything else before he went to help at the battle site.
Cethin had sent him off, and he hadn’t heard a word from Razik since he’d left earlier.
“How long will she sleep?” he asked Niara after another few silent minutes.
“Until her soul decides she’s ready to wake,” the Healer answered flatly.
That wasn’t comforting or in any way informative.
Yet another knock on the door had the Witch straightening, her lips pursing as the door creaked open.
“My deepest apologies, Niara,” Tybalt said when he entered the room. “I know this is your space, and I regret having to intrude.”
“We are finished here anyway,” Niara said, setting the small bowl aside and wiping her hands on the folds of her dress. “Take your discussions elsewhere.”
“Of course,” Tybalt said with a small nod of his head. “Cethin?”
He slid to the floor, gingerly placing weight on his leg. Despite knowing he’d heal just fine, Kailia had sunk that blade in nice and deep, then she’d twisted it in even farther.
“Thank you again, Niara,” he said. “I’ll have your blanket returned.”
She waved him off. “No need. I’ll find another. She requires it.”
He didn’t want to think about how she’d shredded through her pants and tunic. How she’d been pressed against Razik’s bare chest. How she’d screamed frantically, the sound still echoing in his mind.
“Ready?” Tybalt asked, placing a hand on Cethin’s shoulder.
He nodded, and a moment later they were outside the king’s personal study. He was the only one who could Travel directly inside his rooms. Even entering through the main doors required his magical signature unless he granted entry from inside.
Placing a palm on the door, a faint trace of black drifted from beneath it, the doors swinging open a second later.
He immediately rounded the large onyx desk, sinking into a plush chair while Tybalt took a seat on the other side. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Cethin’s, but it was padded and fine enough.
“Are you all right?” Tybalt asked. “Do you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine. There’s a reason I went to Niara,” Cethin answered, resting an elbow on the armrest and steepling a finger along his temple. His other hand was on the desktop, fingers drumming in succession.
“She’s as gifted as her mother was,” Tybalt agreed, settling deeper into his chair. “Despite that, this could have been prevented. You shouldn’t have been at that battle.”
His fingers drummed again. “It does not matter how many times you lecture me, Tybalt. I will continue to choose to fight alongside those who defend this kingdom.”
“I’m not discounting the nobility of that sentiment.”
“Then what is your purpose?”
“The same purpose I have had in our previous discussions on this topic. I need you to think about what will befall this kingdom if you cross the Veil, Cethin.”
His fingers paused mid-drum, and he sat back in his chair, stretching his injured leg out beneath the desk.
“Your parents worked tirelessly to ensure this kingdom survived. If you go to the After without a partner or heir, you risk it all.” Cethin started to argue, but Tybalt held up a hand to stop him.
“I know you’ve heard these arguments time and again.
I know you have plans in place should something happen to you without a partner or heir, but we both know those plans will be challenged.
You’ve lived hundreds of years, but you’ve only been a king for one.
Until a year ago, there was an heir upon the king’s death.
Until a year ago, you could be reckless. Tethys’s death changed all of that.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Cethin demanded.
His father’s death had changed everything. He’d lost more than a father. He’d lost a freedom he’d taken for granted. Lost those he’d once considered friends. Lost being able to adventure, replaced by daily monotony.
The silence grew heavy between them, weighted by a shared grief that affected them both differently.
Tybalt, for all his kindness and concern, remained loyal to his parents, not to him.
Always pushing for him to follow their example rather than forge his own path as the world and circumstances changed around them.
Tybalt cleared his throat, the sound jarring in the quiet. “The female in the cells. Tell me about her.”
Of course he knew about that already.
Cethin sighed, getting to his feet and crossing to the window.
It faced the east. Faced the sea. Even if he couldn’t quite see it from here, he could picture it.
He’d go there later tonight. After he dealt with this.
The sun was setting. Then he could listen to the waves beneath the stars and figure out what his next moves were going to be.
“There’s not much to tell,” he said, finally answering Tybalt.
“She stabbed you. Twice, according to Jarek,” Tybalt countered.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“It doesn’t appear to be complicated at all. She stabbed the king.”
“And she’s the only one who can create the weapons that kill the creatures threatening my people,” Cethin ground out.
“That only started appearing around the time she did. You don’t find that at all coincidental?”
Had he truly been so wrapped up with everything—with her—that he’d missed that?
No.
She was fighting them. Killing them. She didn’t bring them here.
But she was unwilling to help him fight against them…
If she were responsible, that was all the more reason to bring her to their side.
Bring her to his side.
“I’m handling it,” he finally replied, turning to face the male who was like a second father to him.
“She is a danger to you and to this kingdom, Cethin,” Tybalt said sharply.
“I said I’ll handle it,” he ground out. “Is that all?”
“No, it is not all,” the Commander said, his words tight and pointed. “You need to stop putting yourself in harm’s way until all of this is sorted.”
“There will always be another threat. I’m the king. It comes with the job,” he replied, dropping back into his chair. “So if we’re simply going to repeat past conversations, you’re dismissed.”
“Cethin—”
“It wasn’t a request, Commander.”
Tybalt stared back at him, and he could see the conflict play out across his face: follow the orders of his king or try to talk to the male he considered family.
“Be careful, Cethin,” he finally said before he stood and left the room. Duty had won out; it always did for the male.
The door thudding closed echoed in the enormous study, and he stared at nothing for the longest time.
Being careful had never served him. His parents had ruled with caution, all their actions being reactions to something else. He preferred to be proactive, willing to push boundaries and take risks.
Pricking his finger, he swiped a smear of blood along the bottom desk drawer to his right. The magic keeping it sealed tight lifted, and he pulled it open, retrieving a leather-bound journal. Worn with time and use, the dark brown cover was soft and pliable.
Flipping it open, he read through the copious notes he’d taken over the decades.
If others only knew the risks he’d taken for his people.
The laws of old he’d broken.
But in all his research and experimenting, in searching across the lands of a kingdom that was now his, he’d yet to find a rumored land. He was certain it held answers he needed, but the city itself was said to be a myth.
He’d even gone to the Greybane Estate to casually bring it up to Razik, but before he’d gotten the chance, the attack had happened.
In the end, he was running out of options, and still, the female in the cells seemed to be the one thing that would fix everything. So he’d find a way to force her hand. He was, after all, the king, but more than that, he’d been bending fate to his will for a while now. She would be no different.
Spending the entire night and dawn hours sitting on the shore, he’d gone over his options. Weighing possible outcomes. Pros and cons. Costs and risks. But he knew better than anyone that you can only plan for so much. Eventually, you have to make a move and figure the rest out as you go.
So that was what he was doing as he exited a shop in the city, a bundle of female clothing under his arm. He was having more delivered to the castle later in the day, but he needed one set of items now. A dress. Undergarments. Socks and shoes.
He also stopped at a bakery and picked up a small order of rolls baked with cinnamon and topped with swirls of sweet frosting. More so for himself than anything.
Traveling back to the castle, he bathed quickly and put on fresh clothing before grabbing his purchases and making his way to the cells. He took his time, descending several sets of stairs and taking the path to the west wing.
There were two ways into the cells. One way was inside the castle, the entrance he would use.
It was guarded by no fewer than three sentinels at all times, and a minimum of six if there were people being held in the cells.
The other entrance led outside, emerging onto a path.
There were stone walls on either side, the walls patrolled at all times, and the path led straight into the Nightmist Mountains.
There were no side paths. Your options were facing the terrors of the mountains or going back inside the castle.
The current rotation of guards straightened at his approach, and he nodded at them. “No escort is needed.”
They all glanced at each other because protocol mandated that no one went down to the cells alone. Even the guards went in pairs, and two always escorted visitors.