Chapter 53 #2
Elska is there, and Fen follows me in. But we’re not the only ones who have our wolves. So do the knights, all of them jet black with white rings gleaming around bright yellow eyes and their hackles raised.
‘I’ve got this, Thorn,’ Kyor hisses, his eyes back on the men.
‘So the rumours are true,’ one of the knights mutters. ‘The prince has taken the slum rat as his whore.’
A lightning bolt sears through the air. It strikes only the hem of the man’s shirt, which ignites in flame. He hastily beats it out, leaving the smell of smoke emanating from the scorched fabric.
‘Let’s make something very clear,’ Kyor growls. ‘The only reason you’re alive is because I have never killed one of my own men, and I do not intend to start now. But rest assured, if you speak another word against Lady Rose Kultavaris – the gifted – I will end your life. Is that clear?’
The man pales, nodding quickly. ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’
The other male knight steps forward, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Rose Kultavaris,’ he says. ‘You are ordered by His Majesty King Korvane and High Priestess Mila to hand over the blade of Vindrun that you hold in your possession.’
The urge to grip the hilt of my dagger is overwhelming, but I don’t. I remain exactly where I am.
‘It’s Lady Rose Kultavaris,’ I remind him. ‘And in case my wolf didn’t give it away, not only am I the gifted, but I am also bonded.’
The knight looks at Fen behind me, who bares his teeth and growls.
‘He’s yours?’ Genuine surprise darts across his face.
‘He is.’ Pride billows between Fen and me. Complete reciprocity.
The three knights gawp.
The one who insulted me says, ‘But … but he looks just like…’
‘Like Commander Zelle’s wolf? Yes.’
Despite Kyor trying to block me from the men, I step towards them and tilt my head to the side. ‘He is one and the same. Was that not something you were informed of? You would think, since you came in here making demands, you would want all the facts first.’
The first knight wets his lips, his eyes shifting across to his own wolf, whose hackles have lowered substantially at the sight of Fen.
Clearly, they felt confident three against Elska, but the odds are no longer looking quite so favourable.
Some of the wolves, I suppose, may even know Fen personally.
‘You are right. I did not know you were bonded, and I apologise for my colleague’s earlier comments. But it does not change the fact that the dagger is needed. You are to give it to us, or we will be forced to invade the city.’
‘And you very clearly heard us say that you are not getting it,’ Magnus says, eyes flashing as he draws a fraction of light out from the air.
Not enough to plunge us into darkness the way he did with General Ranveeg, but enough to flood the room with shadows, which creep along the ground towards the knights.
As a show of strength, I have to admit, I love it. It’s so much more menacing and less showy than Korvane with his fireballs, and it’s hard not to enjoy the way the knights bristle and shift their feet.
‘You will not come into my land demanding such things and expect simply to get them. Now tell me, who showed you the illusion?’
‘Your illusion is paltry and has been known to the Morathkian army for months now,’ the knight says.
‘That’s a lie,’ Caz speaks up.
Magnus inclines his head to her. ‘Thank you, Caroline.’ He turns to the invading soldiers. ‘Our illusion has been in place for decades,’ Magnus says coolly. ‘The only way you could navigate through the pyrrhic is if somebody showed you the route.’
‘Let us have the dagger and this all ends now,’ the second knight blusters.
‘Walk away now and I will let you leave with your lives. We have one among us who will remove your memories, painlessly, and you can go about your way,’ Magnus tells them.
‘We will take your knowledge of our city and remove the same knowledge from any others who wait outside of the pyrrhic. I think you will find the offer is more than generous, considering your threats to our princess.’
‘Princess?’ The two knights who have been forthcoming in this discussion look suitably shocked by this revelation, but it’s the third, the woman, who tilts her head and speaks. ‘The High Priestess will be interested to hear of this.’
‘The High Priestess has absolutely nothing to do with this,’ Kyor growls. ‘You are a knight of Morathka, and you answer to the kingdom. I am the crown prince; ergo, you answer to me.’
The knight flares her nostrils. ‘Under normal circumstances, Your Royal Highness, I would agree. But upon this matter, I cannot. We will leave with the dagger by dawn tomorrow. If we do not, then our army, which stands fifty thousand strong outside the illusion, will come in and murder as many of the Issen who stand in our path to reach it.’
Kyor snorts, holding up a hand to silence Caz. ‘We don’t have fifty thousand spare soldiers, and I know it. And if you did have those numbers, you wouldn’t be here asking nicely for the dagger.’
‘Have you been to the front line lately?’ the knight mocks. ‘When did you last visit the barracks in our cities? You have not seen how our numbers have shifted.’
‘It’s a half-truth,’ Caz responds, not waiting for Kyor to silence her again. ‘I believe there are a decent number of fighters waiting outside the pyrrhic.’
My stomach hollows. Knights mean more dire wolves.
Yes, Isthyr has some too, but I doubt it has anything close to the numbers waiting to invade and attack the city.
So many of Isthyr’s warriors are currently absent, fighting on the front lines.
Sure, the fighters who remain are skilled, but what about numbers?
What about magic? What about the shade who, for all I know, could be standing in this very room?
Again, my fingers twitch for my dagger, but I resist reaching for it.
‘These are peaceful people,’ Kyor says, static sparks flying between his hands. ‘Surely you can see that. Surely you can see that what the king told you to do is wrong. They do not want war. They do not deserve war.’
‘I have my orders, Your Royal Highness, and I will stick to them.’
‘Orders from whom?’ Kyor spits. ‘My father or Mila?’
‘Kyor,’ I say quietly, aware of the manner in which his power is permeating from him, saturating the air with an unmistakable charge. It’s enough to have the knights’ wolves edging away. The two men too. And yet the woman remains exactly where she is.
‘Now, I assume you will take us somewhere. To a prison cell of sorts,’ she continues. ‘But I must tell you that our soldiers know what to do if we don’t return. Unless you want to save a few lives and give us the dagger now, Princess. Including, I suspect, your own.’
Fen growls, his hackles rising, but Kyor gets there first, sparks ricocheting across his palms.
‘Threaten Rose one more time,’ he warns, ‘and it’ll be the last thing you do.’
‘You would kill one of your own men?’ the female knight asks calmly. ‘No, Commander Knavin, I know the measure of you. I even fought with you on the battlefield once, though you may not remember it. You will not kill us. Any of us.’
Hopelessness grips every muscle in my stomach.
She’s right.
She’s right, and we all know it. Kyor won’t hurt his men, so what does that mean? If they break through the pyrrhic, what can we do?
Without Kyor’s power, Isthyr will surely fall.