Chapter 42
‘Zelle, no!’
Kyor’s voice echoes through the hall as he races forward to where his tutor, his confidant, his friend, is lying on the ground, blood pouring from him.
If the rebels thought the prince was deadly before, it is nothing compared to what he becomes now. He cuts through the remaining rebels like they are paper, and the few survivors decide to flee.
‘Where’s a healer?’ Kyor shouts as he slides onto the marble floor, lifting the old man’s head onto his lap as he tries to stem the blood with his fingers. ‘Where’s a fucking healer!’
It’s too late, I want to say, but I don’t. The words are cruel and unnecessary. Kyor’s a soldier; he’s seen death – dealt death – so many times, and he knows there’s no light left in Zelle’s eyes. He just can’t accept it.
A man walks forward from the crowd, but rather than going to Zelle, he stops and looks at the king, who offers a shake of his head.
‘He needs a healer!’ Kyor cries again.
‘You’re making a fuss, son,’ Korvane drawls. ‘There’s nothing that can be done. Now, get off the floor. You’re not a peasant.’ His face is taut, the disdain he feels for his only son stark. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who hears the threat in his words.
Kyor looks up at his father in disbelief.
‘He saved your fucking life! Do something!’
The king’s lip rises in what is close to a sneer.
‘What he did was his job. Very well, as it happens. But there is nothing that can be done now, and there is no benefit to you making a scene.’ He lifts his gaze to the room, curling his lips into a smile.
‘Someone clean up this mess. We still have a ball to enjoy.’
Most people shuffle, trying to look anywhere but at the ghastly scene before them, but some do as commanded and go to remove the dead bodies of the rebels.
I can’t draw my eyes away from Kyor. The white of his eyes. The slump of his shoulders. His pain is so palpable I can feel it burning into my own chest.
‘Music,’ the king says gruffly, clapping his hands. ‘Let’s have the music playing again. We should be dancing. But first, someone deal with this.’ He gestures to Zelle’s corpse.
The blood has stopped pulsing now. Zelle’s gone. I know it. Everyone knows it. Everyone but Kyor, who refuses to accept it. Servants appear from the hallways, ready to remove the bodies of the dead, and yet none even dare to approach Kyor.
‘Rose! Thank the Gods!’ My sister’s voice pulls my gaze away from the prince, and a gasp leaves my lips as I see the blood on her forehead.
‘You’re bleeding! What happened? We need to get you to a healer!’
‘It’s fine. It’s not mine.’
‘It was just a nick.’ Hew is beside her and he shifts his posture to show me the cut at the top of his shoulder.
‘Thank the Gods. And thank you for keeping her safe.’
He dips his chin as I pull Kay into me. Her warmth is a poultice to the fear that filled me. When we break away, she looks back up to Hew, only to find his attention has shifted to Kyor.
The prince is still on his knees. Lost.
‘He needs you.’ I speak so quietly I barely hear myself. I try again. ‘Hew, the prince. He needs you. He needs a friend.’
Hew’s face is grey. ‘That’s not how he works,’ he says finally. ‘Best to leave him be. Do as the king said. Dance. Enjoy the ball.’
Coward, I think harshly. Fucking coward.
Zelle was right then, yet again. Kyor doesn’t have many people around him he can trust, not when his supposed best friend won’t even risk Korvane Knavin’s wrath for him.
Kyor stares glassy-eyed and in shock. It’s like all the power has been stripped from him. Suddenly, he lurches to his feet, turns on his heel without a word, and marches out of the ballroom.
I watch him go, and something snaps in me. ‘Kay, stay with Hew. Don’t leave his side, all right?’
‘Why?’ Her brow crinkles. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say, sheathing my dagger then walking out of the ballroom and into the piercing night.
The snow has almost stopped, and Kyor’s footprints are pristine shadows in the white blanket covering the ground, leading straight across the courtyard and out of the western arc.
More footprints appear, criss-crossing the prince’s, but I don’t break my stride, following the set going straight to the eastern arc, to the battle yard.
I’d bet my place in the Retterheld that’s his destination, because of course he’d pick the furthest point in the High Hold to escape to on a night when it’s sub-zero.
Screw etiquette. Next time, I’m wearing my furs to the ball.
I don’t know why I’m following him or what I hope to gain by running into the night after a prince of the realm. As a good Rettling, I should still be at the ball, drinking wine with Kay, pushing what just happened from my mind the way the king expects us to.
Pretending we didn’t just lose someone we love and respect.
But that’s precisely why I left, and why my feet won’t stop walking. Because I learned long ago that pretending doesn’t work. And right now, Kyor needs someone to grieve with him.
Just as I expected, I find him in the battle yard, pounding his fists against the wall. His hands are bare, blood dripping down his knuckles.
‘Kyor,’ I murmur his name.
He whirls and looks at me, shaking his head before snorting in disgust.
‘Just what I need tonight. A damn thorn in my side.’ His words are bitter, but I’ve seen lashing out in grief – hell, I’ve done it myself a time or two – so I let the harsh words slide off me.
‘Kyor.’ I walk towards him. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He grunts. No words, just the sound of his broken heart choking his chest as he takes his knife and digs it into the wall, carving another long line into the brickwork.
That’s when I notice the part of the wall that he’s standing at.
It’s the place I noticed all those weeks ago, when Benny and I were watching the other Rettlings.
The area with all the lines etched into the stone.
And Kyor has just added another line to the tally.
A sinking feeling takes hold in my gut. ‘They’re yours, aren’t they? The marks? They’re people you’ve seen die.’
I try to squash the horror that rises within me at the sheer number of them.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t stop digging tiny fragments out of the rock face.
‘They didn’t try,’ he says harshly as his knife continues to work at the stone. ‘No one fucking tried to save him.’
‘They couldn’t do anything,’ I tell him gently. ‘The way the kin—the way your father spoke was cruel. No, beyond cruel. Zelle deserved more than that. But no one could have saved him. When blood leaves the body that fast … it’s already too late.’
His dagger is still clenched in his hand as he swivels around and points it at me.
‘What are you doing here, Thorn?’ His eyes lock onto mine and that piercing blue holds me so fast that it makes everything else in the world fade away.
My heart pounds as I take a step closer.
‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully. ‘I didn’t want you to be alone. You don’t deserve to have to face this alone.’
A pause holds the silence between us before he scoffs.
‘Why?’ he asks, but the question is torn from him, and I’m not sure if he’s asking why Zelle died, or why I’m here.
‘You’ve seen all these people die?’ I say, touching the rockface.
He glances at the wall and dismisses it with a shrug. ‘You fight in wars, you see people die.’ He says it as if it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. He wouldn’t be out here if it were, nor would the marks be carved into the stone.
Silence sweeps between us once more as I look at the wall, suddenly aware of two things.
One is that the weather has changed again to icy sleet, and the other is that the etching he’s just made for Zelle is covered in blood.
Blood that will dry brown and stain the stone.
I now understand the colour staining some of the other tallies.
‘These ones,’ I say, pointing to the row before Zelle’s mark, ‘these were for the soldiers who died on the front, aren’t they?’
This time, he snaps around to face me.
‘What do you want, Thorn? Did you think finding me here, vulnerable and broken, would finally give you the courage to kill me? Well, go on. Go on, I give you permission. I absolve you of any blame Etta might place on you. I’m the one who ruined your life so you’re justified in ending mine, and we both know it. ’
He rips open his shirt, revealing his bare chest and the rings of tattoos I’ve seen time and time again in my head. The sleet melts against the warmth of his skin, causing the water to trickle down his body, glinting off all of the sharp angles. He takes another step towards me.
‘I’m sure you’ve got that pretty dagger of yours on you. Do it. I won’t fight back. End this. Etta won’t blame you.’
I sigh and scrub at my eyes. Now, in this moment, I can be honest with myself. Stabbing Kyor Knavin is the furthest thing from my mind.
‘No,’ I say.
Rather than looking pleased, he reaches out and unsheathes my dagger.
‘Do it!’ he yells, pressing it into my hand, trying to prise my fingers open and make me take it. ‘You want me dead. Fucking own it, Thorn.’
‘I’m not going to kill you, Kyor.’ I don’t even reach for the blade, keeping my fist closed tight.
‘Why not? It’s what you want. It’s what we both want! We want each other dead.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘We don’t. Not anymore.’
‘You’re fucking lying,’ he snaps at me. He’s inches from my face, his eyes glaring in a way that should have me cowering. But it doesn’t.
I hold his gaze. ‘Zelle thought you were redeemable.’ I take a deep breath.
‘And so do I. You were a child, Kyor. You were a child, and you lashed out because you were in pain. So much pain. I know that type of pain, Kyor. Just as I know the pain you’re in now.
Because you loved Zelle. And he loved you, too. ’
I reach out my hand and place it against his chest. Sleet streams down my face, into my eyes, and through my hair, but I don’t move to brush it away.
Instead, I stay as I am, rooted, clinging to this single point of contact.
Because in this moment, all I want is to be tethered to him.
To make him feel my presence. To remind him, remind both of us, that no one deserves to feel so utterly alone in the world.
His eyes narrow as they glance down at my hand, as if he doesn’t understand what it’s doing there. As if he doesn’t understand the simplicity of touch.
‘Why are you here, Thorn?’ he asks, his voice plaintive and lost.
Rain is pouring over us now.
‘I’m here because you need someone.’
‘Yesterday you poisoned me, and today you’re … what? Trying to save me?’
‘You don’t need saving. This wasn’t your fault. And I didn’t poison you, not on purpose, and you know it.’
As his eyes linger on mine, they shift, filling with something I can’t read. It’s hot, strong, and hypnotic. And it’s muddling my mind.
With a yank of my hand, I pull myself away from him.
‘We need to get back to the b-ball,’ I stammer, suddenly needing to leave. Because if I stay, things will get … complicated. ‘I need to see my sister.’
He shakes his head, but his eyes soften.
‘I’m not going back in there. You should, though.
Speak to your sister. You don’t know when you’ll get the chance again.
’ He winces and bites down on his lip. ‘Fuck. I wasn’t saying that because I think you’re going to die.
I just meant … hell, I don’t even know what I meant.
’ He licks his lips and shakes his head ruefully.
‘You know, you look damned good dripping wet, with that obscene dress plastered to you. I’ve wanted to rip it off you all night.’ He takes in a shuddering breath, visibly trying to get a hold of himself. ‘You need to go, Thorn, before I won’t let you.’
I swallow audibly and, wishing I could control the drumming in my chest, turn my back on him and walk away.