Quintus was not as confident, but he hid it from those around him. Sitting straight-backed on a borrowed horse, his hands keeping a tight grip on the reigns, and doing his best only to scan the tree line casually, Quintus presented his men with a myth they could follow into battle. It was the best he could do in this time and hoped it would be enough to make the difference when the true fighting began. The rebellion members may be smaller than theirs, but they were crafty. Quintus would admit to no one, but he knew they were better trained for survival then his own soldiers were. In a fair fight, the rebellion would win. Quintus had no plans to fight fair, but even with favourable odds, the final clash will be devastating to his numbers.
Riding back and forth along his army, the nervous energy of his rider was visible in his horse. Even as Quintus rode him, the horse kept throwing his head back, stamping the ground, and breaking from a trot into dancing circles on the path before running along the road again. It was not a steady march forward in the near darkness, but there were no more attacks on them.
Once the soldiers came to a stop, there was nothing more Quintus could do but allow them to light campfires and torches. He enabled them to decide for themselves who would be put to watch first. The generals would be sure to keep the experienced and the novice soldiers together, using their time here as training for the future. Quintus felt secure on surviving the night.
He had found his horse a little way down the path, and now he led the beast away from the others a little. He started going through the motions of removing the saddle, preparing his mount for a brushing. He could have allowed someone else to do it, but Quintus used the distraction of the task to let himself manipulate his hunger without being observed. Head bowed, and his hands are moving automatically to undo clasps and loosen ties, his eyes closed to help him concentrate entirely on controlling the path of his blood lust. Quintus ran it through the camp and beyond. He had no place specifically in mind, and it was a struggle to keep the hunger from gaining control over him, but Quintus would risk it to ensure the men’s safety. He could not sense an odd heartbeat near the camp, and he needed to accept that although he pushed at the boundaries as far as he dared.
Using his curse like this was a use of energy. Consuming food would keep his body alive, but it would not do if Quintus kept allowing the internal beast to hunt and never take down a kill. He followed the tricks his father had taught him, using his mind to close in on the hunger like a fisherman and reel. It was a tight line, one that seemed close to snapping but just as Quintus believed he would lose control, the thirst was reeled back in and shoved deep within his chest where it could be caged.
He felt Charles fall into step behind him, but Quintus did not speak to his lieutenant. Charles was not offended. He was quite accustomed to Quintus and his odd habits. Charles had been his friend since he was a teenager and grown beside Quintus and aged while the King had not. Charles stayed silent, his hand reaching up to stroke the dark blonde coloured beard that adorned his face. While Quintus had made his facial hair a piece of art, Charles was less inclined and did little more than keep it manageable around his mouth. As he often did, his fingers and thumb tugged lightly on the twin braids that fell from each temple and ran down symmetrically along his face as he tugged on his beard. What had started as only a childish revolt against the Crown and their demands for hair being worn out and long was now Charles’ standard style.
Quintus leads the way, striding around the camp to where his tent had been set up. A fire was nearby, and the scent of meat clung to the rising smoke, but Quintus could not focus on such trivial things. His hunger wanted a victim. The curse was demanding to explore after being teased twice to aide Quintus. The flaps of his tent closed behind Charles, and the king quickly checked for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he finally permitted Charles to speak.
“My grace, what happened back there?” Charles asked.
Quintus looked at the floor, thinking of the men he had brought on this mission and doing his best to remain focused on his demeanour rather than give into the slight panic that seemed to be creeping up on him now. The curse and the hunger for blood were stealing from him rational thought, attempts to get Quintus to act on what the thirst wanted, and it pushed on the sides of his head. He put his palm to his temple, almost expecting to feel an indent there but the energy was internal, and the dull ache would get worse before it got better. Quintus could not hope to stay in control for much longer and yet there was protocol to be done first. “The rebellion is no longer just an idle threat Charles. We have just survived our first encounter with the insurgency. I had been wrong to assume that they had been living in solitude within their borders.” Quintus sighed. “I did not think they would be so direct in their tactics, but there have been more than just lone individuals, or small pockets of rebels, observing us. Someone had created an urgency in their camp and is leading them instead of allowing the frenzy to survive without intervention.” If the rebels had not been targeting him, Quintus might have been impressed with whoever had stirred this new breed of opposition.
Charles rose an eyebrow. “Can I speak freely?” he asked, and Quintus gestured for him to do that. “Quintus, their entire campaign has been underhanded tricks. Luring men and women from their homes and then never seen again is the kind of dirty fighting we should have been expecting.”
Quintus nodded. “I realise that now.”
“So, what do we do?” Charles asked.
Quintus was silent, looking at the fabric walls and hearing the soft talking of the men gathered outside of them. “We will continue to Crimah.” Charlies stiffened at his side, but Quintus refused to acknowledge it. “We will not be bullied, and that is their base. I will find their leader, and I will torture his soul until he delivers every secret they have. They have taken my son from me, and now they attempt to take my legacy. I cannot allow such things to pass with no repercussions.”
Charles nodded. He would not argue with Quintus on the best of times, but in this mood, it seemed like suicide to even stand this close to him. “Shall I fetch Mathew for you?” Mathew was one of the designated soldiers who had been brought along to act as food for Quintus. It was impossible to bring women on this trip, but Quintus did not seem to phased by that.
“No. I think I need to go a little mad.” Quintus grinned, and Charles moved away from his King.
***
Christof stood with his band around him. A quick head count proved that no one else had been killed during the raid except the two men Quintus had targeted with his tricks. All things considered, it had not been as good as Christof has been wanting. He squatted on the ground, poking aimlessly with a stick as people spoke in rumbling whispers around him.
“Well,” Yolanda pushed his shoulder, making Christof look over to her, but he said nothing. “If Braykith is just a horror story Captain, what was that all about?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was demanding, and Christof couldn’t ignore her. Yolanda was just voicing the opinions of everyone else
He sighed. “It was luck.” He grunted, stabbing the stick into the ground and rising to a standing position. “We need to go back and finish this.”
“Are you serious?” Marcus said, and there were too many agreeing noises for Christof to be comfortable. “That is suicide.”
“No, it is the unexpected.” Christof smiled to himself as a notion became an idea that was beginning to take form in his mind fully. “Quintus will not know these woods, there have been too many changes, and he has been too secure in his own ego to notice anything beyond his grasp. He cannot hope to surprise us. We take them at night, and on our terms and you will see that he is nothing more than a successful magician.” Christof shouted the last of the speech at the gathered group, and there was enough of a stirring that he felt satisfied.
Not wanting to lose the momentum he had started, Christof took off back in the direction they had come, walking quickly through the trees. There was a hesitation in his crew, but when Christof did not wait
for them, his troops fell into line behind him. They may not think this was the best of ideas, but no one would dare speak against it again. Christof was their leader and had brought them closer to a solution than ever before. The rebellion followed their chieftain, and all his orders, without complaint. People feared what would become of them should they be rejected from the ragtag group that remained.
While there were men like Quintus who would be intimidated by the change in the trees, Christof had been raised by these evolving landscapes. He needed to learn to navigate the woods, or they would have been consumed by them. Christof had never thought it was a blessing, but at this moment he needed to recognise the advantage their years of living in this world was giving them against their greatest enemy.
He slowed as he approached the camp, coming to a stop when the glow of the fires was still burning low, and they could hide in the forest’s darkness while spying on the gathered Braykith men. There was very little talking, which Christof thought was odd. He had been living with other people sitting by the fireside for most of his life and never were they quiet. Fire side seemed to be the only place where all matters could be explored, and bold declarations could be made without serious consideration for the consequences.
As his eyes adjusted to the broken darkness, Christof was not surprised to see that there were guards positioned on the outposts. Christof smiled, glad to see that Quintus had not been too confident, and yet judging by the minimalistic numbers that Christof could see Quintus was feeling brave. Clearly, Quintus did not think they would return to attack him so soon after a retreat. Christof beckoned his clan over to him and felt everyone move in a little closer.
“Yasmin, Marco, Phillip, and Brandy.” He looked into their faces as he said their names. “Take out the guards. Make it swift and make it silent. Then the small group furthest from the centre. Continue to take small victories.” They nodded, and Christof turned to see his handy work in action. Without a sound, the guards went down one by one. Christof had complete faith in his plans, and how this would end in their victory. They had perfected this method over the past year. By the time someone realised what was happening, it would be too late and the panic would create a frenzy of emotion and mistakes which will end in the rebellion's favour.
He pointed to three others. “Take out the group closest to us.” More men went out into the night, moving swiftly through the trees until Christof couldn’t see them anymore. Slowly he divided his resources until they stretched around the rim of the campsite and were making their way towards the King’s personal tent.
“What are you waitin’ for Captain?” Yolanda asked.
“Nothing. I just want Quintus to realise he is going to die tonight.” Christof chuckled to himself before moving forward. Two fingers in the air on either side of his head he pointed his remaining men out to take care of the groups and destroy the Braykith numbers. It had worked for them in the past, and now Christof would use this to his advantage. The fear that something had been haunting Braykith would now cause these poorly trained soldiers to panic rather than fight together. Christof pitied Quintus for a heartbeat since he never seemed to think that this was possible, let alone an eventuality that would come to pass,
Quintus should never have come with such a large target, and it was too late for him to realise his mistakes now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
S ince the altercations that transpired after her hair incident, Glais had moved into old habits far too quickly. Evangeline was now uncertain if she could ever break him of them, but she wished there was some way she could mend their relationship. She acknowledged that she had said hateful things in the spur of the moment, she did not intend to hurt him. Evangeline had discovered through experience that he would not enter their chambers until he was sure she was asleep in efforts to avoid speaking with her.
Knowing Glais could avoid her as easily as she had avoided him once, Evangeline had taken the childish route night after night and had simply gone to bed and did her best not to act disturbed when he did eventually come to take up his side of the bed. It was not a good solution for their troubles, and with Kyleigh’s words playing on her mind, Evangeline decided there would be no more of it.
Evangeline had made a grand show of getting ready for rest that evening. She had left the door open slightly, speaking loudly to Wick and Sable as they prepared her room for sleep, noting the details of her nighttime plan and about how exhausted she felt. Bidding them both goodnight, Evangeline had retired to her chambers, closing the door firmly so the guards would hear it, and then she sat on her bed alone and waiting for Glais. The candles seemed to be burning low, and Evangeline doubted herself when she finally heard movement.
She bowed her head, straining her ears to decipher every sound that came through the heavy wooden doors. She heard him enter the main rooms, and still, Evangeline sat silent and waiting. Glais was taking his time, and she counted his footsteps as he walked around the living space. Just as she feared that perhaps he had taken a further step backwards and would sleep on their furniture the door creaked open. Glais stopped, looking at her.
“I apologise.” He muttered, but Evangeline stood. The act seemed to have stopped his retreat. “I thought you would be asleep.”
“I know.” Evangeline pressed her hands together to try and relieve some of the tension she felt. The gesture did not help. “Glais, we cannot continue to avoid each other.”
“I disagree,” Glais said, but he did finally enter the room and closed the door behind him. “I think it is entirely possible to have lived completely separate from each other. It seems to be the only solution that serves your needs and saves my heart.”
Evangeline was taken back by the strength of his words, and she felt guilt rush through her body. She did not know where the hate came from, and how it would rise and take over every rational thought she had. It made no sense, and yet it had happened. In an instant, Evangeline had hated him with a deep loathing that she had never known. Watching him now was painful, and Evangeline was embarrassed for knowing that she had caused this pain. “I am sorry I was so blunt with you. It was never my intention to hurt you Glais, I just thought that…” her voice trailed off. She could not finish her sentence because she did not know what she thought.
Glais looked at her, the way the soft light illuminated her skin, and the thin fabric of the sleeping dress she wore allowed his eyes to take in her body. He felt foolish all over again, and he quickly averted his eyes. He had been trying to forget her and yet Glais still mourned for something that it seemed he had never indeed had. “You did what you felt you needed to do.” He tried to smile, but the effort was wasted.
The window suddenly opened under a mighty wind force, and Glais moved over to close it before the candle flames could threaten to go out. Evangeline felt the familiar tug to be outside which came and went as smoothly as the tide. She was not new to the feeling, but the sudden urge was strong enough that she took a step before the window was closed and the feeling faded. “How was your day?” she asked.
Glais took his time with the window, unsure how it had become open in the first place but pleased for the innocent distraction. “You do not wish to know.” He told her, his back still to Evangeline as his fingers fumbled over the locks.
“I do,” Evangeline said. “Not everything between us has been terrible Glais, and I will be the first to admit that times I came to think of you as a friend.”
Glais scoffed at her. “A friend?” he asked.
“That is all I can freely offer,” Evangeline muttered as a shiver travelled her spine, and Glais turned to see what kind of face could she make that would somehow soften the blow. He could only see pity in her eyes, and the pair stood awkwardly for a moment before she looked away and studied the gold and onyx ring on her finger. “You are a friend to me Glais who is bound to me by the power of fate. I rather we do not grow bitter and twisted together.” Glais still had no words to share. “Please say something.”
> Glais groaned, and finally, he nodded. “There seem to be more and more citizens coming forward to ask the crown for assistance loudly.” He told her. She had asked for notes on his day and those he could reply with no emotional sentiment. His heart still ached from her verbal attack and Glais was not so willing to forgive her. He cleared his throat gently into his hand, but it did nothing to stop the memory of what her body felt like.
“Is the crown going to help?” Evangeline asked, the tree’s branches slipping and sliding over the glass and keeping her attention better than Glais was.
“We are, but I need to do some investigations first.” He told her, following her gaze to see what she was staring at. The brushing of trees against their window unnerved him, and Glais gestured to the door. “Would you like tea?” he asked. Evangeline seemed at peace with the foliage. However, Glais had been raised on dead lands, and while he was mystified by the gracefulness of the trees there were now abundant, he hated the way the branches seemed to tug on his clothing and hair whenever he got too close.
Evangeline nodded, leading the way out to their sitting area. “Why would there be an investigation?”
Glais was slow to follow her, glad to be rid of the scratchy sound of tree limbs against the ancient windows. Taking advantage of the situation, Glais was sure to use the tea as more distractions so he could do his best to not turn this conversation into the desperate attempt of redemption he wanted to make. Glais took his time setting up the kettle over the fire. “Quite a few people have asked me the same thing actually. Since the first villagers came to consult my father and gained some traction with him, more have approached the castle. Since he left, even more have been asking to see me.”
“Citizens are continuing to disappear?” Evangeline asked, frowning at the idea of how unsafe the locals must feel in this very moment while she was being guarded here in the castle.
The Ones Who Serve Page 22
