Sacrifice

by Cayla Kluver

  “In his quarters. He will be suffering by now, but he won’t show it. He knows well how to disguise pain. When the chills and sweats begin, he will think he is sick. At that point, he will have about three hours. I suggest you keep that in mind.”

  I spun on my heel and fled the throne room, fate itself dogging my footsteps, then continued up the stairs and on to Narian’s room. I did not know what I would say or do, or how I could thwart the chain of events the High Priestess had put in motion. I only knew that I could not let him die.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:

  TO HAVE TRULY LIVED

  SHASELLE

  Fierce hammering awakened me. At first I thought it was the throbbing of my head, which ached as if I had the plague. But when I peeled my eyes open, I saw Grayden on his feet, facing the door, his sword at the ready.

  I scrambled up, not sure how to help him, then grabbed a bottle of wine, knowing it could be used to hit someone, and that after it broke, the edges would be sharp. It was the best I had.

  Men were groaning as they strained to push the door inward. Our barricade worked well for a while, then the crates tumbled down in a rush of noise and dust, and my heart leaped to my throat.

  “Move, move!” Grayden whispered urgently to Mother and the younger children, while Dahnath came to stand beside me, likewise snatching up a bottle. We waited, blinking in the blinding light that shone through the doorway, not knowing whether the shape before us was friend or foe.

  “Hello?” the man called, and I dropped my bottle, letting it shatter at my feet.

  “Galen!” I cried, flying past Grayden. Dahnath set down her wine bottle, and Mother came away from the far wall, all of us eager—and terrified—to find out what was going on.

  “Come on,” Galen said, reaching for my hand. He lifted me over the mess, then turned to assist the rest of my family, leaving Drael and a man I did not know to guide me up the stairway.

  When I reached the top, I stood still, surveying my home, shocked at its condition. It had been ransacked—our belongings scattered and broken. Chairs and other furnishings were splintered, and glass from the windows crunched underneath my feet. At least it was still standing; I doubted everyone could say the same.

  “Galen, is it…is it over?” I asked, for he had come to my side. Grayden and my family gathered round, Dahnath tucked firmly into the arms of her betrothed, wanting to hear his answer.

  “We outnumbered the Cokyrians after Temerson took a third of their army in the barracks fire. We locked down the city gates, and the villagers prevented reinforcements from entering. But most important, Narian chose to stay out of it.” He grinned and wiped some of the grime off his face. “Yes, it’s over. It’s done, thanks to Cannan and London and all those who fought. We once more stand as a free Hytanica.”

  Despite the death and destruction that lay all around us, relief coursed through my veins. As smiles appeared, Galen broke out laughing—a tired, incredulous, elated and absolutely beautiful sound. Then he led us toward the front door.

  Mother held Celdrid, pressing his face against her shoulder as we stepped outside. I kept Ganya close to me, for neither of the younger children needed to see the carnage that lay beyond. The first body I saw was that of the Cokyrian soldier whose life I had taken, and Galen quickly shoved it out of the way. His action, however, was pointless—hundreds more bodies lay in the streets.

  “Steldor, is he all right?” I tentatively asked, for my cousin had promised to return for us.

  “Yes, he’s fine. He sent me to find you. He couldn’t come himself because he’s busy dealing with the Cokyrians who surrendered or were taken captive.”

  “Casualties?” Grayden asked, his hand on my back, speaking for us all.

  “Steldor is having a count made. Cokyrian deaths will be higher than our own.”

  I frowned, for Steldor seemed to have taken charge of a lot of things. Things that I would have expected to be handled by the Captain of the Guard.

  “Is Steldor working with Uncle Cannan?” I ventured.

  Galen hesitated, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Something was wrong.

  “Some of our men are still missing.”

  “Our men?” I choked, though the answer was manifest from the words Galen had used.

  He nodded nonetheless.

  “Who?” I pressed.

  Sadness washed over Galen’s face. “Some are friends of Steldor’s and mine. But there are others, too…the captain.”

  He said it so distantly, referring to my uncle by title instead of by name so he would not have to feel the same dread and grief that was knotting my stomach. I took a deep breath, trying to forestall panic. We didn’t know Cannan’s fate, which meant he could still be alive. He and London had been the masterminds behind the rebellion. Maybe he was with the deputy captain now, maybe they were dealing with Narian or the High Priestess, perhaps already negotiating terms.

  While I could come up with a number of explanations for my uncle’s absence, a fundamental truth tore at my heart—no matter what else the captain might be doing, he would be searching for Steldor and Galen just as they were searching for him. And he would check on the rest of us. Yet he was unaccounted for—no presence, but no body, either.

  At Galen’s troublesome news, my mother and Dahnath, accompanied by Drael, took the other children back inside our damaged home. I knew they would begin to clear the rubble, for taking care of things was how Mother dealt with worry and sorrow. Grayden and I went with Galen, walking the streets, where other Hytanicans were assisting the wounded or helping to tally the dead. Every so often, people would dash by us, and Galen and Grayden would tense to defend us. A few Cokyrians still tried to flee, but were run down by Hytanicans and subdued. Fear gripped me whenever this happened, and I tried to focus on the tops of buildings, where dozens of blue-and-gold Hytanican flags proudly flew, with no danger that they would be removed and burned.

  We turned onto the thoroughfare and walked north toward the palace, and my spirits lifted. Despite the destruction and death, this was a glorious day for Hytanica. I started to say something to this effect to Galen, but he halted, his face ashen, and the words died on my lips. His hand fell on my shoulder, and I looked at him in confusion, then followed his gaze farther up the road. My eyes fell on Steldor, who was kneeling on the unforgiving stone of the street, a few other men milling around him, and my confusion grew. Shouldn’t Galen be pleased to find his best friend?

  I couldn’t see what Steldor was doing, but after a moment he stood, and the men who were with him lifted a flat litter bearing a body. My eyes took in the height and build of the man lying unnaturally still, the nearly black hair, the officer’s insignia on the black leather jerkin, the blood—and my breath caught in my throat.

  I tried to run to Steldor, denials raging in my head, but Galen pulled me against his chest. I stared uncomprehendingly at the litter, the image burning itself into my brain, while tears stung my eyes. Cannan’s arms were folded over his chest, his sword tucked beneath his hands. It was really the only evidence any of us needed. As sobs shook me, Galen passed me into the arms of my suitor and advanced upon his best friend, his motion unnaturally stiff. Steldor turned his head at the sound of the approaching footsteps, his dark eyes dry but looking helpless, hopeless and alone.

  Cannan had been Galen’s father the same way he had been Steldor’s, and the young men stood side by side, watching the Hytanican soldiers carry the
litter toward the palace, not moving until it was out of sight. Both of them seemed lost, not knowing what to do or say, then they wrapped their arms around one another in a fierce embrace, befitting the brothers that they were. They held each other for a long time, almost as unmoving as their deceased father.

  I fell back against Grayden, losing what little strength remained to me, and he hugged me, eventually leading me back to my house. Though I was only eighteen, I felt I had stumbled upon one of life’s few truisms: with every step forward came a step backward, with every gain came a loss and with every joy came tears. In the end, the best for which one could hope was to leave the world in better straits than existed on the day of your birth; to have truly lived. And oh, how Cannan, the Captain of the Guard, had lived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:

  FAREWELL

  ALERA

  Narian was walking restlessly around his parlor when I entered, and my worry increased tenfold. Was he moving about because he was in pain? I glanced around the room, noticing an empty wineglass and a half-eaten bowl of soup.

  “You’re out of breath, Alera,” he said with a smile. “I hope that means your conversation with Nantilam went well.”

  I hesitated, unsure how to begin, unsure how to tell him what she was demanding, what she had done to him. Unsure how to tell him she had meted out one last betrayal.

  “How are you feeling?” I blurted, and he laughed.

  “I’m fine, but you don’t seem to be. Come and talk to me.”

  He took my hand and led me to the sofa, pulling me down to sit beside him. He winced as he did so, an indication he was experiencing some discomfort. I brushed his hair off his forehead, subtly checking for a fever, then told him of the High Priestess’s desires.

  “The terms of the actual treaty are not a problem, Narian, but Nantilam won’t enter into it unless you agree to make Cokyri your home. She wants to control your power, now and in the future, even to the point of progeny.”

  “Alera,” he calmly said, taking both my hands in his. “Those decisions are not hers to make. Besides, she’s a little late.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He looked at me, bemused, then rolled up his right shirtsleeve, revealing an intricate tattoo encircling his forearm just below the elbow—the Cokyrian symbol that a man was voluntarily bound to a woman. I stared at it; I stared at him; and I burst into tears. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nonetheless took me into his arms.

  “That’s not the reaction I expected,” he drolly commented, “but it’s convinced me something is wrong.”

  “How…are…you…feeling?” I managed between sobs.

  “You’ve already asked me that, and I’m fine.”

  When I finally had my weeping under control, words tumbled from my mouth.

  “Even if the revolt has been successful, the High Priestess won’t enter into a treaty unless you stay in Cokyri. Otherwise, she’ll attack Hytanica again, and this time she will kill all of our military leaders and enslave my people. And she wants you to bind yourself to a woman of her choosing because if your powers pass to a child, she wants the child to be Cokyrian.”

  “That’s all well and good, but this time, she won’t be able to have things her way. There’s no need for you to worry about this. We are strong enough to take her on, Alera.”

  “But we’re not.” I glanced once more toward the food he had been given, and a flicker of understanding appeared in his eyes. “We have no choice, Narian, because she’s poisoned your food and drink and only she can heal you. And I don’t know what to do, only that I cannot let you die!”

  “Shhh,” he soothed, holding me close, and I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm. Not when panic rose higher inside me with each passing moment.

  When I had quieted, resting with my head cradled against his chest, he tried to sort through the things I had said.

  “So Nantilam, in her wisdom, has linked Hytanica’s freedom to my willingness to stay in Cokyri, and she has effectively taken me out of the fighting by poisoning my food?”

  I shuddered, then nodded.

  “If I stay here, she is willing to sign a treaty, but if I’m not, she will never relinquish Hytanica and I won’t be around to prevent it.”

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  “So she is tearing us apart, dictating the rest of my life and we have to go along with it or she will destroy Hytanica?”

  “Yes. And we’re running out of time.”

  He shook his head in awe. “I have to hand it to her, Alera. She’s ruthless in pursuing what she wants.”

  “This is serious, Narian.” I found his attitude almost irritating. He obviously understood the direness of his situation, yet was acting like it was only a game.

  “I know it’s serious, but there is only one choice as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to live without you, Alera. I won’t live without you.”

  I sat up and searched the depths of his blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned forward and kissed me tenderly, and my pulse raced. Then I put my hands on his chest and pushed myself away.

  “Tell me, Narian.”

  “All right. There are three things I believe with all my heart. Hytanica can withstand a Cokyrian assault, I can no longer let Nantilam control my life and I will die before I let you go.”

  His eyes met mine and he unlaced my blouse, slowly pushing it off my shoulders. This time I did not resist him.

  “What I want,” he softly finished, “is to spend these last hours holding the woman I love, the woman to whom I am bound.”

  “But how are you feeling?”

  “Trust me, Alera, I’m not feeling any pain right now.”

  Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes as I opened his shirt and ran my fingers over the muscles of his chest. He stood, leading me to the rug in front of the hearth, where he drew me down to kneel beside him. His touch was warm, gentle, as he almost reverently removed my clothing, then he stripped off his shirt and breeches, his skin and his golden hair glistening in the light cast by the fire. As my pulse and breathing quickened, he caressed me, first with his eyes, then with his hands and mouth.

  “I love you, Alera,” he whispered against my skin, and I gave in to him completely, sinking into the feelings he stirred in me, knowing I stirred the same feelings in him. In all my dreams of what this moment would be like, I had never imagined the soaring bliss that came from giving yourself to another person without reservation, without fear, without pressure. A person you loved and trusted with all your heart and who returned those feelings a hundredfold.

  The chills and sweats began about an hour later, but Narian was unyielding in his decision not to seek Nantilam’s aid.

  “But I fear for you, Alera, when I’m gone. I need to ensure your safe return to Hytanica.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We should leave this place while I still have some time. Let me at least get you close to home. I doubt the High Priestess will even try to stop us, since she knows I don’t have long to live.”

  I nodded, his words igniting a spark of hope. “Maybe we can make it to Hytanica before you are too ill to ride—perhaps our alchemists will recognize the poison and be able to provide an antidote.”

  “You can hope if you like, but I doubt Hytanica will be familiar with a Cokyrian compound. Still, we should go.”

  I raced to my room to gather my personal items while Narian sent word for o
ur horses to be brought to the front gate, saddled and prepared for riding. Another half hour passed before we were mounted and ready to leave, Narian wrapped in a blanket over his cloak, for his symptoms were worsening. The High Priestess stood in the background, watching us go, knowing Narian would soon be dead. I didn’t understand how her heart could be so cold, especially toward someone she professed to love.

  The air in the city was gray, colored with bits of ash, and it stung my nostrils and burned my lungs. Narian didn’t need this aggravation on top of the pain and fever he was suffering, but there was little that could be done about it. We both tried to cover our mouths and noses with our cloaks, and we rode as quickly as the congested and rubble-strewn streets would allow. I was glad all the Cokyrians we passed were distracted and unaware that I was Hytanican. I doubted that I would get far if they realized who I was.

  When we at last broke free of the city, the air cleared and our journey became easier, for in this direction, we were going mostly downhill. Narian briefly revived, the freshening breeze clearing his head and lungs, for which I was thankful. I wasn’t familiar enough with the countryside to have found my way without him.

  By the time we neared the spot where we had camped when traveling to Cokyri, the spot where the Recorah River flowed under a rock outcropping, Narian was slumping forward against his horse’s neck. His fever was raging, and he was slipping in and out of awareness, sometimes haunted by hallucinations. I brought our horses to a halt, glad we had made it this far, but knowing he would make it no farther. This would at least be a good place for him to die, right on the boundary between the two lands he loved.

  I dismounted, then went to assist him. He was barely conscious and almost fell from his horse, and the sorrow that tore at the core of my being was almost unbearable. I lay a blanket over a bed of leaves and made him as comfortable as possible on top of it, then gathered kindling for a fire. When I had done all I could for him, I sat down beside him, occasionally adding wood to the flames to chase away the chill and keep any wild animals at bay. But mainly I kept vigil, wondering how much time he still had.