by Cate Dean
The physician studied her, and sighed. “There is more damage than we feared. I want to wait, let him heal a bit first, before I tell him he will be crippled for the rest of his life.”
“Don’t you dare.” It took all her control not to punch the man. “Don’t you dare throw that at him. He can get past this—”
“I refuse to give him false hope.”
“Please—don’t crush what hope he has. He will need it, to face what he has to do.”
The physician glanced over at Micah. “You are not talking about his injuries.” Raine shook her head. “I will do all I can to encourage his healing. For now, try not to leave him thinking he will climb out of that bed and walk.”
“Right.”
She crossed to the bed, and brushed her fingers over the bandage on Micah’s wrist. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” He shifted, and stilled, pain flashing in his eyes.
“Micah—”
“All right.” He settled back against the pillow, and let out a sigh. “I keep forgetting about my leg. Giles numbed it with a salve, but every time I twitch the pain slaps me."
“It’s going to take time.”
“Will it only take time?” He gripped her hand, his eyes intent as he studied her. “Please tell me the truth, Raine. I can’t get anything beyond platitudes from the physicians.”
“Micah—”
“Please.”
She let out her breath, and twined their fingers together. “The blade caused major damage to your muscle, more damage than they expected. It’s going to take time, and patience—”
“And I will still be a cripple.”
“Don’t you ever call yourself that, do you understand?”
He stared at her. “Raine—”
“You are so much stronger than you think.” She let out a shaky breath. It was time. “I promised I’d tell you about me, about my past. I’ll understand if you ask me to leave once you know the truth about me.” She pressed her finger to his lips when he started to object. “I need you to know, Micah, before what is between us goes any farther.” Before she fell deeper in love with him.
“I’m listening.”
She took in a shaky breath and let go of his hand.
“My mother’s people sold me when I was twelve, after she left me. Before you judge—I am a half-blood, and a constant reminder of their greatest failure. It was always a bond contract, one I would be free of when I turned twenty. My first bond holder owned a competing gladiator school, in the Khah Oasis. I was a servant at first, but then he started training me, to fight.”
“Did you?”
“For almost two years. At first it was only other females, but when my natural skills became more apparent, he started pairing me with male fighters.”
“You killed.”
She stood, needing to put distance between them. “Only when I had to. Most fights were to first blood, but certain fighters felt the need to—prove themselves.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen, when I started. Sixteen when someone helped me escape.”
Micah was quiet for so long she thought he might have drifted off. When his voice broke the silence, it was colder than she had ever heard it.
“Go now.”
“Of course.” She expected rejection, had already braced herself. It still hurt—so much she had difficulty breathing. “I know you will rise above this, milord. You only need to believe in yourself, as much as your people believe in you.”
Before the tears lodged in her throat could break free, she strode across the long chamber, faltered when she saw Ari leaning against the door jamb. He nodded at her, and she kept going, needing to be away from here, away from Micah.
The hand on her shoulder halted her.
“Give him time to sort through the information.” Ari turned her around, his thumb wiping the tears that slid down her cheeks. “If he can accept and trust a hardened gladiator, he will accept you.”
“I don’t think so. But thank you,” she whispered, easing out of his grip. “Thank you for caring enough to come after me.”
“I know who you are, Raine.” She stilled. Here it was—the confrontation, the moment she had been dreading since their first encounter. “I managed to see one of your battles, before I—left the Oasis.”
“Your leaving had us locked down for days, threatened with beatings.” She turned to him, surprised by the despair in his grey eyes. “We prayed for you to succeed, Ari. Because of you, I found the courage to do the same.”
“I didn’t—” He scrubbed at his face. “I only thought of my own survival. Not what might happen because I ran.”
“You did the right thing.” She moved to him, took his hand. “You gave us hope, when we had nothing. To see you here, living a life you fought hard for—it lightens my heart.” As she said it, she realized it was the truth.
To her surprise he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss of a friend.
“Thank you. This will stay between us, until you decide otherwise.”
He let her go, and she walked through the castle, aware of the stares from staff in the halls, and courtiers gathered in the main hall waiting to hear for news. Head down, she kept moving, slipping out of the open doors, not looking up until she reached the road leading down to the city.
Then she allowed herself to feel. To grieve for what she shouldn’t feel. She would treasure what time she had shared with him, work off her bond, and leave to start the life she had been planning since she first helped an Arena physician treat one of the fighters.
That was real, that was solid. And her past could never take the training away from her.
~ ~ ~
“Harsh treatment, for someone who saved your life.”
Ari’s voice shattered the wall Micah tried to put between his heart and Raine.
“She lied to me—”
“Did she?” He stopped at the end of Micah’s bed, arms crossed. “Everyone has a past, my lord. Some of us have no control over that past. Others do.” His grey eyes focused on Micah. “If you spend your life penalizing people for what they can’t change, you are going to spend it lonely.”
“I was—startled. Why did she tell me?”
“Because she loves you, and she wanted you to know who she is, who she was. That past shaped her, made her the strong, capable woman you can’t take your eyes off.”
Micah let out a sigh. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to someone looking for it.” Ari moved to his side, every inch the icy captain Micah first met when Liam hired him. “You let her walk out of here, thinking that you condemn her for her past.”
“I didn’t—I believed in her, Ari. I trusted her, and she was hiding so much from me. It stings, that she thought she had to in the first place.”
“Habit, my lord.” Micah frowned at him. “I spent years pretending my past didn’t exist. Your brother sought me out because of who I was, and showed me that some people don’t judge on who you were, but who you are now.”
Ari left him alone, with those words echoing in his mind, and serious guilt weighting his heart.
He was right; Micah judged Raine for the blood he saw on her hands, the shock of hearing about a life so foreign to his, he couldn’t accept it.
Unfortunately, apologizing to Raine would have to wait. He looked at the two piles of paper on his night table, waiting for his signature.
In the three days Micah had been unconscious, Ari rooted out every member of the group Elena and Joseph put together. A handful died in the tower explosion, but the rest—including Joseph and Elena—were caught sneaking out the east gate.
Treason was an automatic death sentence, but he had the power to commute it, to send them into exile. One pile gave them their lives. One pile condemned them. He had avoided them all day, but now he was ready.
He took the pile he needed, pulling out one name, and used the pen and ink to sign them. Taking a shaky breath, he picked up the bell that
would summon one of the servants, ready to hand down his decision to the council.
Thirty One
Micah used the crutches made for him by the castle’s carpenter, designed specifically for his height. Two weeks had brought little change to his leg, aside from easing the pain. The physicians told him it was healing nicely; he had a different opinion, since he couldn’t even put weight on it without his leg screaming at him.
With Ari’s help, he made his way to the balcony overlooking the courtyard, and lowered the crutches to the stone floor. He planned to use the railing as his support. With a deep breath, he looked down at the gathered crowd, at the scaffolding where the executions would take place.
Elena was already in the courtyard, surrounded by guards, their swords out and pointed at her.
“Micah!” She started to move forward. The swords discouraged her. “Please, my son, you do not need to do this. I will bend to your rule, follow whatever you dictate. Give me a chance—”
“You didn’t give Liam a chance.” Micah watched her slump, hated that he had to do what he was about to do. “Elena Brachon, from this moment, you are banished from the Western Realm.” He raised his voice over the sound of her sobbing. “You will be left at the borders, and if you try to return, your exile will be overturned, and you will be put to death as a traitor to this throne.”
“Micah—”
“Take her.”
Two of the guards sheathed their swords and caught her arms, leading her out of the courtyard, where a wagon waited to take her to the border. Micah broke his own rule—he gave one of the guards enough money for her to start a life somewhere. She may have betrayed him, but she was his mother.
“My lord.” Ari’s quiet voice brought his head up. “You are not required to stay for this.”
“I condemned them, Ari. I will stay, and see my orders carried out.”
Ari nodded. “Let me know if you need to leave.”
Joseph was brought out, shackled, and wearing the clothes he was arrested in. A feminine shriek tore through the air. Micah turned, spotting movement at the edge of the crowd. Celia pushed through the people in front of her, running toward Joseph.
A guard stepped between them, grabbing her when she started pounding on his chest.
“Let me pass! He’s my brother—please let me pass—” Tears choked her off, and she sank to her knees.
The guard looked up at Micah. He nodded, and the guard moved aside, allowing Joseph to crouch in front of his sister.
Micah could not hear what he said, but it calmed her. Joseph helped her stand, then retreated, turning to face the stairs to the platform. The guard joined him, guided him up the stairs, and to the noose waiting for him. Behind him, Micah saw one of the women gather Celia into her arms, holding her as she cried.
He pushed down his sympathy, kept his face sober.
Joseph faced him, and humbled Micah by bowing. “I was told I may have a final request. I would see that my sister comes to no harm. She was not part of this—” He cut himself off, lowered his head.
“It will be done, Joseph.”
After a long moment, he nodded, and lifted his head. “Thank you.”
He stepped forward, and the guard slipped the noose over his head. Micah had been braced for begging, for cries of mercy, not this quiet dignity that threatened to break him.
“Joseph Kerrow.” Micah paused, gathering in the pain that threatened to shatter the wall he spent days building against this moment. “You have committed treason against the throne, willfully, and with malice. The sentence for that is death, and I will see it done today. Do you have any last words?”
He looked at Micah, his chin up, defiance in every inch of his body. “I believe in what I fought for. My last words to you are these, my lord—don’t close your mind to the possibility, because of my methods. That is all I ask.”
It took too much time for Micah to compose himself enough to speak. “I will take your words to heart, Joseph.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am sorry, for what happened to you and your brother. I am truly sorry.”
The guard raised his hand, the signal for the executioner to ready himself. Micah wanted to run, to close his eyes and hide from what was about to happen. Instead he kept eye contact with Joseph, the man he had trusted, the man he loved like a second father for most of his life, and nodded.
The executioner pulled the lever. The trapdoor under Joseph’s feet dropped, and before Micah could blink it was over. The sharp crack told Micah his neck had snapped, quickly and cleanly. It was more horrifying than even his worst nightmares.
“Micah.” Ari laid one hand on his shoulder. “You have done enough, more than enough. Please let me take you back—”
“I will stay, until it is done.”
“And I will stay with you.”
“Thank you, Ari,” he whispered.
Every execution was grisly.
Some of them begged, others cried. All of them shook as the guards guided them up to the platform. Micah watched every last one of them die, stone faced, his eyes dry. Ari dismissed the guards after the last body had been carried away. They cleared the courtyard, more than one citizen glancing up at Micah as they were escorted out.
Finally, the gates closed, and Micah was alone. Without warning his good leg buckled.
Strong hands caught him, half-carried him to the stone bench at the end of the balcony.
“Breathe, Micah.”
He did, lightheaded and sick. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I had to stay—I condemned them, Ari. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. They gave me no choice.” Tears slipped down his face, and he didn’t hide them when Ari cupped his chin.
“A good man never wants to punish, Micah. But when it is necessary, he doesn’t shy away, or push the duty on someone else. A good man also agonizes over the decision. The moment you can stand on that balcony and not be affected is the moment I stop respecting you. The moment you should stop respecting yourself.”
“I wanted to hide, to let you deal with it.” He wiped his eyes, his fingers shaking so badly he was afraid he might blind himself. “I will never forget what I saw today.”
Ari sighed, and sat next to him. “With your ability to make decisions, and stepping in so efficiently when Liam went missing, we forget—I forget—that you are still a boy.”
“Not anymore.”
“Agreed. It was a hard and ugly way to be shoved into adulthood. But I’m proud of how you handled it. Now I’m going to take you back to your rooms, and you will rest. Give yourself time. Being a witness to death changes you, and you need to let that happen. Don’t fight it, Micah, or drown yourself in what if.”
He nodded. Ari would know, would understand the emotions warring inside him. “Can you bring my crutches? I would like a minute alone, before we go inside.”
Ari carried the crutches over, and helped him stand. “I will be just out of sight. Call when you’re ready.”
Micah watched him walk across the balcony, and move down the stairs until he was out of sight, as promised. After a few deep breaths, Micah swung forward, stopping at the railing. The carpenter’s men were already dismantling the platform, at Micah’s direction. The man had been appalled at the order to build a scaffolding in the first place—until Ari stepped in and told him exactly why it was necessary. Micah’s promise that it wouldn’t stay helped ease the carpenter’s misgivings. That it would be gone soon, as if it never existed, helped Micah face what he had done.
Every death was a wound on his heart. Wounds that would take a long time to heal. He wanted to remember this pain, this regret—wanted it as a reminder of the power he held, the lives he held in his hand, every day, with every decision he made.
Liam was gone, and after so long without even a message, Micah feared he might be gone for good. The burden of ruling Palamar, and the farms that spread across the realm, fell to him.
“I promise you, Liam. I will make you proud.” He closed his eyes, tears choki
ng him. “And I will never give up on you.”
He took a few minutes, let the tears fall, let the breeze blowing in from the ocean dry his face. He studied the city, spread out below the castle. A vibrant city, home to people from every corner of the kingdoms.
It was his home, and he made a silent promise to rule it with a fair hand.
Until his brother returned.
Thirty Two
“Wake up, Silver Tongue.” A finger prodded Liam’s shoulder. “You’re home.”
He sat, pushing aside the cloth that covered the tiny window of the caravan. The weeks of slow travel had healed his back, but his throat had been brutalized by the slaver Barrick, and he still hadn’t found his voice.
Kiehl, the boy Joran assigned to tend him, climbed up to the low bed and knelt beside him.
“This your first time in the Oasis?”
Liam used the knocking motion Alina taught him. Yes.
He learned that the hand language was common in the desert, and Kiehl had been teaching him the basics, including the alphabet, since he started recovering enough to focus. The boy also described his new home, down to every detail, until Liam could picture it in his mind.
Tall trees came into view. Palm trees, similar to those he saw at the quarry, but yards taller. Beyond them, the buildings of the Oasis came into view. Whitewashed stone, with open windows, and curved rooflines to catch the rain, funnel it to barrels sitting next to each house. Kiehl’s vivid descriptions were spot on.
“Master told me you can write, and you’ll be in admini—”
Administration. With a smile, Liam spelled the word out.
“Admin-i-stration. Is that where the men all look serious, and spend their days hunched over paper?”
Yes.
“I’d rather dig up the garden.”
Liam’s smile widened. He discovered early on that laughing hurt more than trying to speak, so he learned to hold it in. Not easy with a precocious boy determined to make him laugh.
Me, too.
“I don’t think you’re getting a choice.”
