by Olive Creed
Was it terrible that that didn’t really ease the twisting in her stomach?
Cyprian paused outside the double doors of the dining hall, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He shivered, rubbing his arms. His legs trembled, threatening to give out. He closed his eyes. Just had a little longer to go, then he could go to sleep.
With that thought, Cyprian straightened, squared his shoulders and marched into the dining hall. Straight up to King Corynth, ignoring the servants’ stares and the bodyguards reaching for their guns. Two Shadows, Ronan and Lark, jumped to their feet, drawing their swords and pointing them at him.
King Corynth raised his hand, causing them to freeze, although their eyes followed Cyprian’s every move. “Cyprian. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
In other words, he’d better be bringing news of Roscoe’s death. Cyprian felt a shiver of disgust for the man. He shoved the emotion aside to deal with later and stabbed a blood-stained dagger into the wooden dining table. The king’s eyebrows rose as he produced a small wooden box. He took it from Cyprian and opened it.
Inside was the heart of a goat. One he would—hopefully—mistake for the heart of Roscoe.
The king smiled—a thin, wicked smile that again sent a shiver through Cyprian’s body. “Very good, boy,” he said quietly. “Very good. I knew all you needed was to be thrashed. Strict discipline makes a good Shadow.”
“My king,” Lark said slowly, flicking her blue braids over her shoulder, “may I ask why the soldier had to be killed?”
“He was one of the ones responsible for releasing the captives.” He closed the box and turned back to his meal, the matter dropped. “Escort Cyprian outside.”
Lark bowed. “Of course, sire.” She waved for him to go ahead of her.
The minute they were out of the dining hall, she grabbed his arm, slamming him against the wall, green eyes flashing. “You would kill Peter’s best friend.”
Cyprian frowned and shoved her off. He glanced around before shaking his head. Lark owed her life to Peter, so she wouldn’t spill about Roscoe being alive.
She exhaled, letting go of him. “Does Peter know where he is?”
Again, he shook his head. He glared at her, pointed at his mouth, and shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell anyone where he’d taken Roscoe.
“Okay. But if I find out you did kill him, you and I are going to have a very long talk.”
Cyprian rolled his eyes before shoving past her. Once outside the castle, gripping the bloody dagger in his bloody hand, Cyprian gave way to the shivers, his legs giving out and sending him crashing to the sun-warmed steps with a bone-jarring force. So many questions circled his mind, the main one being a simple ‘how?’
How could he get out of the Shadows without Peter suffering? How could he keep this up? He hated the king. Every time he saw him, he wanted to drive his dagger through Corynth’s throat.
Cyprian staggered up to his hotel room and cleaned his hand and dagger, then stared down at the bowl full of rust-colored water. He could dump it later. He sat down on his bed, resting his head in his wet hand.
Fury bounced over to him and gave him a lick on the face before running off to explore and play with her dragon friends. Cyprian sighed. If only his life were as carefree as hers.
His throat was parched. He needed to find something to drink. And something to eat, while he was at it. The thought of food made his stomach lurch, but he would need to keep up his strength. He closed his eyes, letting his head hang. Just move. Don’t stop moving. Don’t let them see you down. Peter’s not here to look out for you. Move. Get moving.
He stood and grabbed his dagger, shoving it into the sheath. He’d go down to the tavern and swipe a few boiled eggs. There were always some sitting on a plate out in the open and he could think better with something in his stomach.
~ One Week Later ~
Torrin’s eyes shot open. His chest heaved as he struggled to pull in enough air to adequately fill his lungs. Pain stabbed through his ribs. Stomach. Throat. Body.
He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing of regulating his breathing. Calm down. Just breathe, you’ll be fine.
Someone moved in the room he was in. He peeled his eyes open to see a young man leaning over him. “Just breathe, your Majesty. You’ll be alright.”
Torrin swallowed, wincing at the fire in his throat. “Wh... where..." His voice was rough, raspy, and barely over a whisper. Every effort he made to speak resulted in raw agony.
“Don’t speak,” the young man ordered. “You’ve been burning up with a fever and we’ve been taking care of you.” He pressed his hand against Torrin’s forehead and smiled in satisfaction. “But I think you beat it, your Majesty.”
Torrin glanced around, trying to get his bearings. He was in a small room. Vines fluttered outside in front of the open window, filling the breeze with a floral scent.
Where was the healer? Who was this man? Where was he?
The young man leaned back. “Mema is making some tea for you. It should be ready soon.”
Torrin tried to speak once more, but the only sound that came out was a raspy hiss. Frustrated, he raised his unbandaged hand and made writing motions in the air.
His brow furrowed as he watched Torrin’s hand. “Oh. Let me go find some paper and a pencil.” He hurried from the room.
Torrin heard him speak with someone outside the small room. The voices stopped and a young woman came in. She almost looked Elyndian—monolid eyes, small, delicate build—but her cheekbones were too pronounced and she had bright pink hair.
He closed his eyes, certain he was hallucinating.
She set a cup down on the bedside table. “They made you some tea to help your throat. I’m going to prop you up on some pillows so you can drink, okay?”
Elyndian accent. How had he never seen her before? It should be impossible to hide pink hair in a country where black was predominate.
Torrin quirked the corner of his mouth to let her know he’d heard and braced himself. The young woman slid her arm behind his back and lifted. He bit back any sound of distress, squeezing his eyes shut. She laid him back down against a few pillows and he did his best to relax and keep breathing.
The girl sighed. “Catch your breath, then I’ll give you the tea.”
Torrin stopped himself just in time to keep from nodding. His throat was on fire and he wasn’t looking forward to having to swallow the tea.
The young man came in just then, holding a notebook and pencil. He set it down on the bed beside Torrin, who picked it up with a shaky hand.
Where am I?
Who are you?
He couldn’t bring himself to ask the third question that burned inside of him. What about my men? Somehow, he felt he already knew the answer. Asking it, hearing them confirm his suspicions, he didn’t think he could take that blow right now.
The young woman took the notebook. “You’re in the infirmary in Zaraya.” She picked up the cup and held it out. “I’m Briley Alden, and this is Alaric Zaan, a healer. Think you can manage some now?”
Torrin held out his hand and took the cup, taking a sip and forcing himself to swallow. Every drink scraped against his throat and his hand shook, spilling the warm liquid down his chin. When he could take no more, he handed it back to Briley and leaned his head back carefully until it rested against the pillows. His eyelids drooped and soon he slipped into sleep.
Briley sighed softly, watching King Torrin drift off. “He’ll be okay now, right?”
Alaric nodded, straightening the blanket over the king’s still form and glancing around the room. “Yes. ‘e’s taken a turn for the better. I think ‘e’s out of the woods now.’
“Good.” She laughed a little in relief, rubbing her face and stumbling a little when she took a step back. She was so tired...
“‘Ow are you feeling?” Alaric gestured for the door, backing out of the way.
She stepped out of the room, watching as he closed the door behind them. “I’m—
”
“Please do not say you are fine, Miss Briley.” He reached up to take out his ponytail, white hair just barely brushing his shoulders. There was a tiny streak of pink on the underside of his hair. Briley didn’t remember seeing it before. “You are obviously not fine. And as a ‘ealer, I need to know the truth to be able to provide care for my patients.”
She gave him a tiny smile. “I’m just tired.”
And scared. While Raevyn had promised her that nobody would touch her, everyone she met gave her dirty looks or cursed her. And this morning, one had even spit at her feet.
But she kept that to herself. Nobody needed to be burdened with her troubles.
Alaric walked over to the counter, pouring two cups of dark juice and handing her one. “Are you sleeping well? Raevyn snores something awful.”
Briley laughed sheepishly, taking her glass with a quiet thanks and sipping it. A sweet and tart and very unpleasant surprise met her. Blackberry juice? Her stomach threatened to convulse, but she pushed it down and carefully kept her expression neutral. “I do sleep pretty well. Enough so that I don’t hear her. Just..."
“You’re a ‘alf-breed surrounded by people ‘o tower over you and don’t really like you.”
She nodded after a moment. “Yeah. I... yeah.” In a strange place, while her grandparents were in Everdon. In danger.
“I almost feel like it’s unfair,” she whispered. “You all are my mema’s people. I should be welcomed here. But I’m not because my father was Elyndian. Not that I’m holding it against you,” she said quickly, tripping over her words. “The Elyndians think you all are monsters, so I understand why.”
“Still hurts, though.” Alaric shrugged. “We trade with some of the smaller Achian towns just outside the border. Some of them ‘ave threatened us before because they were scared. I get it.”
“... Is that why you let me stay here all day?” It was probably very rude of her. After all, Raevyn was her best friend and she could at least be helping Lindy. But none of Raevyn’s friends ever came here to the infirmary. And besides, King Torrin was here. And it was always calm and quiet.
He nodded, already nearly finished with his juice. “You’re a small person. You need protecting.”
She flushed, scuffing her moccasins over the floor. “Yes, I... I suppose I do.”
Shouldn’t she be trusting God to protect her, though? What kind of Christian was she if she counted on man’s help instead of His?
Alaric studied her for a moment. “Is there something else on your mind?”
Briley bit both her cheeks and shook her head after a moment. “No. Thank you for the juice.” She really didn’t care for the taste of blackberries, but she drank it anyway to keep from being rude. “Is there anything you need help with?”
He narrowed his eyes a little and tilted his head, the pink strip of hair a little more visible as the rest of his hair poofed up on his shoulder. After a moment, he shook his head. “I know by now not to say no. Um, if you want to help Mema with the dishes in the back?”
She nodded, taking his empty cup and hurrying off.
“Mi Hale.” Torrin limped after the Anatheman leader. After a month of resting and being watched closely by two healers and Briley, who was worse than a mother hen—as Raevyn was fond of saying—he was finally allowed to walk around without someone hovering over him.
Providing he used a cane like an old man.
Hale glanced over at him from where he was discussing something with some of his men. “Yes?”
Torrin took a deep breath, leaning heavily on his cane and ignoring the disgusted looks sent his way by the other men. “If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to your people about a plan of action. With your blessing, of course.”
Hale glanced at his men and quietly dismissed them before walking over to Torrin, rubbing his beard. “Vhat kind of plan are you talking about?”
“To take back my kingdom, sir.” When Hale frowned, he hurried on. “You must know that the Achians will take Zaraya too. It’s only a matter of time.”
“The Achians ‘ave alvays left us in peace. Some of the smaller towns even trade vith us regularly. I see no need as to vhy ve should go to var. And I am sure that my people vill feel the same vay, son.”
“But we must try. The Achians always left us in peace. The fact that they attacked us, with the Kyrnians, says there’s something more going on.”
“So, you vould try and take back your throne vith ‘unters and farmers?” Hale shook his head. “I vill not let you ask my people to save back a throne vhen it is unnecessary.”
“Please—”
“No.” Hale gripped Torrin’s shoulders, staring him in the eye. “A good king knows vhen ‘e is licked. You vere beaten. Per’aps it is best for your people to let the Achian king lead now.”
Was Hale implying that he hadn’t been a good king? Sure, he hadn’t been perfect, but he’d never made a decision without consulting others first and nobody had complained about him.
... That he knew of, anyways.
Torrin squared his shoulders, stepping back. “With all due respect, sir, you have been shut off from the world and have not heard the stories of King Corynth. He is a tyrant. He deals with pirates and slavery. And now Kyrnians. I fear for my people. As a king, my duty is to protect my people.”
Hale sighed, shaking his head. “If the stories are true, ‘e still ‘as never ‘armed us before. I am not going to make an enemy out of someone ‘o is not because a boy thinks ‘e is.”
The words drove a spike of hopelessness through Torrin. That was it. These people refused to believe that the Achians now posed a threat.
And what was more, his people were in the hands of a slaver king.
“Now, if that is all, I ‘ave a ‘unting party to arrange. And I ‘ave a feeling my vife vill vant my ‘elp organizing and preparing the barn for the dance.”
Torrin stared at him. “A dance?” Why in Elyndia would there be a dance?
Hale must have seen Torrin’s confusion. “Raevyn’s holalu imik hia. Vhen she goes from a girl to a voman. She is now considered a leader, more than a kali’hine.”
Ah. Torrin nodded. Raevyn had been talking of nothing else during her visits to the infirmary—he was still convinced Briley put her up to it to make sure he stayed in bed.
“You vill be attending, yes?” Hale smiled. “My daughter vould be very disappointed if you did not.”
“Are you certain I should? Your people aren’t exactly... comfortable with me, it seems.”
“Vould you rather deal vith an upset Raevyn?”
Torrin paused at that, grinning sideways and shaking his head. “No, sir, I wouldn’t. I’ll be there.”
And then after the holu... after the celebration, I have to find some way of helping my people.
Hopefully, if he saved his country, he would earn forgiveness. Would finally be able to sleep at night without seeing all the men whom he had led to their death.
Briley stared at the choker necklace made with lace and glass beads. “I don’t think that would go with my dress, Raevyn.”
“Oh come on, it’s white lace, clear beads, it’ll go with your dress!” Raevyn glanced at her bedroom door and lowered her voice. “Besides. If you don’t wear it, Mema will make me wear it. Bad enough she’s making me wear a dress.”
Briley rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll wear it.” She didn’t have a single nice dress and it wouldn’t match, but oh well.
“Thank you.” Raevyn picked her up in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re a lifesaver, Bri.”
“You’re welcome. Now put me down and let me get dressed, please.” She grunted when Raevyn dropped her back to her feet, turning to rummage around in her carpet bag for her nicest dress. It was dark yellow, a row of brown buttons from collar to hem—which ended halfway down her shin—and strap sleeves.
Not exactly celebration worthy, but she’d never needed a nice dress before. At least this one didn’t have grass stains.
; She quickly changed. “Hey, Raevyn, can you help me with my hair?”
“Sure.” Raevyn grabbed the brush off the bedside table while Briley pulled out her braid, sitting on the edge of the bed. Raevyn plopped down beside her, brushing her hair. “Aleki moha. ‘ow do you brush this all the time?”
Briley shrugged. “I just do. You get used to it.”
“Yeah, but this reaches clear down to your ankles!” Raevyn picked it all up, shaking her head. “I wanna chop all mine off, but ‘aven’t got the nerve yet.”
“I think it would be cute.” Briley hummed, fiddling with her hair tie.
“Are you going to try and talk to anyone or just ‘ide like you’ve been doing?” she teased, trying to brush the end of Briley’s hair. She only succeeded in getting her hand tangled up. “Or maybe you could ‘ang out with Alaric. I made ‘im promise to be there.”
Briley cleared her throat, stomach twisting a little. Strange. She didn’t feel sick. “I’m sure he will want to maybe dance with one of his friends.”
“Are you kidding? The first thing ‘e said after I made ‘im promise to come was asking if you were going to be there.”
Heat curled in her chest and spread along her cheeks. “Really?”
“Are you blush—you are! Briley!” Raevyn hugged her, giggling. “You’re blushing! Do you like ‘im?”
“Please be quiet,” she hissed, glancing at the door. “And of course I like him. As a friend.”
“You think ‘e’s cute,” Raevyn sang under her breath, laughing harder.
“I-I..." She did. With his serious, dark green eyes and messy ponytail. The way he just barely lifted the corner of his mouth when he thought something was funny.
“Wait.” Raevyn wrinkled her nose. “You think Alaric Zaan is cute? ‘E’s annoying! And my arch enemy! But ‘e would be a good match for you, ‘e—”
Briley covered her friend’s mouth with her hand. “We’re not a good match, Raevyn. Stop going down that trail.”
She heaved a sigh. “Okay. But we’re making you extra pretty tonight, just in case.”