Evangeline shook her head. She could not be so forgiving of the curse that plagued Braykith. She did not believe that people seemed so ready to make excuses for the way Quintus and Glais treated the world. Everyone had a use in their eyes, and that was the only way they understood how to interact with people. It was a political game for the Kingdom, and a conservative game for the curse, but it all accumulated to a single path of systematic abuse. They used people and gave little concern to the outcome. Wick was an obvious example, and one Evangeline was tired of using to state her point.
Evangeline doubted she could ever voice her complex concerns with Kyleigh. She knew the Queen would never understand them. “It isn’t fair that I must be celibate while Glais is not.”
Kyleigh nodded and patted Evangeline’s shoulder to comfort her, but it felt empty. Evangeline knew that Kyleigh pitied her and did not see things her way at all. “I never said it is fair.” Kyleigh pointed out. “But it your life, and you must come to accept it as part of your job.”
Evangeline felt like crying, and her eyes stung even though the tears did not fall. “Marriage should not be a job.” She countered but felt defeated.
“But it is, and marriage to the men of Braykith comes with more baggage than most.” Kyleigh found her eyes wandered back to Thomas and still he had not moved. “Is Glais aware of this?”
“Of Thomas?” Evangeline asked, and Kyleigh nodded. “He knows.” Evangeline looked at the trunk of the closest tree to try and keep from telling Kyleigh exactly how much Glais knew about her relationship with Thomas. If Kyleigh knew how intimate they had been in the past, she doubted she would ever regain the woman’s love. Kyleigh cared for her sons like a mother should, and Evangeline realised just how difficult this conversation was for both of them.
“Glais is not a stupid man.” Kyleigh was saddened to think of the torment that Glais was currently suffering alone. There were so few that Glais could speak to, but this situation would never be conversed about openly with anyone. “I will not interfere with your arrangement.” Kyleigh finally announced. “But I am warning you dear girl if you hurt my son, if you inflict upon him useless pain and cause a plague on this Kingdom, we will have more than words.”
Evangeline was taken back by the threat but felt herself nod. “I only want to find the peace that satisfies Glais and myself.”
Kyleigh nodded. “And you believe bedding other men will do that?”
“No,” Evangeline admitted. “But I’m not bedding other men. I am spending time with only one.” It was an answer that Evangeline hoped would bring Kyleigh some comfort. This was not the beginnings of some out of control spree. From the look on Kyleigh’s face, it was not as comforting as Evangeline thought it would be.
“Will that satisfy you?” Kyleigh asked, and there seemed to be a genuine curiosity regarding Evangeline’s answer.
“I didn’t pick Thomas to hurt anyone. I didn’t pick him at all. It just became impossible to ignore any longer what was clearly something.” She was shocked by her own admission and how true it felt to say those things out loud. “From the moment we met, there was a spark.” Evangeline looked to Thomas but forced herself to focus back on Kyleigh. It felt rude to be looking at other men in front of her husband'’ mother. “I wish that spark did not exist Kyleigh, but it does and ignoring it was more hurt than I could bear.”
Kyleigh grunted, not sure if she believed Evangeline, but she did not want this confrontation to get out of hand. “Do not forget your duty to your husband. Your promise as his wife, and the need to keep Glais happy.”
Evangeline nodded. “No one seems to mind reminding me that I am only here to give him children and that my emotions are not important in regards to that.” She said bitterly.
Kyleigh laughed, mocking Evangeline as she walked back towards the castle. “You learn to love the one you have Eva, or you will go mad.” Kyleigh doubted that Evangeline would understand the real depth of her parting advice. “Thomas, come and escort an old Queen to her bed.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Thomas snapped to attention at her orders. He looked back to Evangeline, but there was nothing to be said to her with the presence of the queen among them. Taking her arm when Kyleigh was close enough, Thomas moved off and left Evangeline standing in the trees alone.
He didn’t look back, and he did not ask what had been said. Thomas would never be so brave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Christof did not attempt to hide the blood that was on his clothes. If anything he felt it would work in his favour as he pushed open the doors to the Crimah manor. The lands were desolate and void of life. Animals wandered freely, and there had not been a fresh slaughter for food in days. When he had followed Sable’s advice, he had been suspicious of it. It seemed now that it was indeed true.
Christof and his men had spent days on the borders of the land, sneaking as close to the manor as they were able hoping to gather useful information but never quite believing what they saw. Not all the homes were deserted. On the outer edges of the community, some people still lived, but they limited their exposure outside during the day. At night, Christof had witnessed life that simply disappeared as the sun rose.
The homes closest to the manor were empty. The richest men and women of Crimah had once lived it, and Christof had taken refuge in one of the homes. It was strange to him that they had left most of the belongings behind. Whatever had caused them to leave, it had been impulsive. Christof remembered fleeing his own home, too young to understand what was happening, his mother had grabbed his hand and shouted for him to run. Christof wondered if the children of Crimah had been given the same advice.
There was an unease settled over the lands. It chilled Christof even while he was fully clothed. It never left him but instead seemed to grow more demanding as he approached the manor with the blood of Baxter staining his skin. Although he was sure the homes were desolate, in the back of his mind, he expected an ambush. His hand stayed close to his weapon and Christof walked with caution up the central staircase that lead to the manor’s large double doors.
There were such grand stories regarding Quintus and Braykith it was increasingly difficult to understand what was a myth and what was true. Like most children in the rebellion, he was raised on the horror stories of Braykith. The demon horses and mountain men who rode them chased him through his dreams. Those fears had followed him into adulthood, but slowly Christof realised that Quintus was just a man. Lately, with the help of Sable and his other spies, he came to understand that Quintus was very pig headed and was starting to believe his own lies. A man with a great ego can be a dangerous thing.
It had been exhilarating to watch the Braykith men approach Crimah and realise just how human their enemies were. Christof had taken refuge in the trees and hearing all the disappointment in their voices as they discussed strategy had made Christof happy. It did not take much to realise that everything was worse than Sable could have imagined. Christof laughed at the memory as he turned the corner and a lone guard stood in the hallway. He clapped his hands together and grinned at the man dressed in red. “Do you want to flee or fight?” Christof asked.
The guard was barely more than a boy, and the way his hand trembled on the hilt of the sword that seemed too big for him only made Christof smile more. The guard tried to master courage in the face of anger, but he only stumbled a backwards step as Christof moved forward. “Please, I am just a villager.” He pleaded.
Christof spat on the ground, disgusted by the excuse. “I was just a villager. I was never trained to fight, and I never imagined I would know how it would feel to take a life. I was just a boy when your leaders came into my home and destroyed it. I was barely even of age when I was forced to take up arms and learn in the midst of war.”
The boy shook his head. “I had no choice.” His voice cracked, and Christof waited for him to cry, but he didn’t.
“You have a choice now.” Christof took another step forward, and this time, the boy did n
ot move. Christof frowned, wondering if the boy dressed as a guard of Crimah had finally decided to be a man and stand firm against his enemy. He drew his sword and when the boy did nothing in return, it dawned on him that the boy was frozen stiff at the prospect of a fight. Christof sighed, replaced his sword at his side and instead reached out to grabbed the boy’s sword from his scabbard at his side. There was no fight from him as Christof used the boy's own weapon and sliced him across the throat. The chieftain let him fall with no more ceremony than that.
“Pathetic.” He grumbled, keeping the sword and moving further into the manor. He knew that not all of them would be so easily defeated, but he doubted very much to meet any real resistance from the few remaining Crimah citizens. He was surprised to find no one waiting in the halls. His powerful march once again became a cautious walk, checking the hallways before he came fully around the corner. He had not been quiet in killing Baxter. The fleeing Crimah soldiers should have raised the alarm and yet Christof was not getting the reception he had been expecting.
His opinion of Crimah was clearly far greater than the truth. With no intimidating presence like Barret, the citizens had folded. The manor seemed to be deserted. However, Christof checked each room quickly by sticking his head inside and looking around. There was no one else to meet him. Bedrooms were deserted, and there were no servants to even shriek at his presence. Either the retreating soldiers had raised the alarm to evacuate the manor or Barret had scared away all of those except the fools too spineless to make an escape.
Unable to decide which narrative he preferred, Christof now walked with a casual swagger as he quickly counted the number of people he had seen in the Crimah red colours. Six. Movement from the corner of his eye caused Christof to stop abruptly. Looking out of the window to ensure there was no sneak attack headed his way, he spotted movement in the church grounds. Perhaps the correct number was seven Crimah citizens.
Christof headed back through the manor and stepping outside he paused and waited for his group to meet him. He could smell fire, and instantly he jabbed a finger at two of them. “Go and make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.” Christof didn’t watch them leave because he trusted his group to follow his orders. He might be careful on who he shared information with, but Christof never doubted the ability for his men to follow his command.
Taking the remaining members, Christof headed towards the church. He had no interest in destroying the building even if Barret had ensured the religious buildings and texts of Zorelian and other providences were systematically destroyed. Religion had once been such a large part of Christof’s life growing up. He attended his church whenever it was possible and remembered praying to Xado for guidance. Since Zorelian had been destroyed, Christof struggled with even the basics and mostly felt that the stories of religious beings and saviours were lies.
He banged on the door with his fist, the wood standing firm but it seemed to only just stay on its hinges after his assault.
There was the sound of movement from the other side, and Christof stood back a little before the priest emerged, leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking up at Christof, his lips a thin line on his face. Christof was intrigued by the man who did not look afraid, but the priest did not seem happy to see the band of rebels at his door. He put his free hand up to show he held no weapons. “I am a man of peace and you have no reason to cause you harm.”
Christof grinned. He took a step forward, taking his time with the gesture and ensuring his presence had a large impact before addressing the priest while leaning on the doorframe. “I have some questions for you, Priest.” He sneered thought the title, making it sound like an insult. To his credit the priest did not change his position. “Where is everyone?”
“Some of them left. Others have died.” The priest met Christof’s eyes without hesitation. His gaze was so intimately it started to get eerie for Christof, but he would not be the one who broke eye contact first. “Crimah is not the place it once was.” The priest could admit that even though he still believed it could be saved.
Christof nodded and pushed himself off the frame and turned to leave. The priest let out a soft breath, his body losing the straight edges as he had done his best to appear strong in the adversary. Just as he believed the confrontation was over, Christof snapped his fingers and Yolanda grabbed the Priest. The sudden yank on his arm made him fall forward, his feet unable to keep up and only Yolanda’s strength kept the priest from falling on his face. Getting his feet back under him, the priest followed Christof away from his church. During the walk, he lost his cane and he was forced to rely on the woman for support.
The priest had heard the slaughter, and the smell of burning bodies was unlike anything else in this world. He had neglected every opportunity to leave because he had been too stubborn, and now he considered that perhaps leaving had been Xado’s plan from the beginning. Only too late did he mourn what could have been. Being dragged to his feet by members of the rebellion was not his idea of how he wanted things to go, but the oldest of the teachings recited the words Xado only offers one the challenges they can handle. It would take faith, but the Priest repeated those words to himself as he was brought to the manor.
Christof lead the way to the manor. He did not know the layout very well but when he turned to the right he came upon a large sitting room, and he decided this room would do just fine. Sitting down his gestured to the chair opposite. Yolanda dropped the priest there. The priest said nothing, pulling himself into a sitting position in the chair and looking down at his feet. His lips moved quickly, lost in prayer, and Christof rolled his eyes.
“Prayers mean nothing.” He said to the Priest. “I have been trying it for years.”
“I have heard many say that in my time, but I still find comfort in speaking to Iloh.” The priest hung his head for the moment after speaking the God’s servants name.
“I want to know what happened here,” The words were not a question and the priest would never so simple as to believe that was all Christof wanted. It was simply the place to start.
“I thought that would be obvious.” The priest said. Someone moved, the creak of the leather shoes was loud in the silent room. It was not the sound of a weapon, but it was a threat all the same. “You did this sir. The rebellion fuelled the citizens with a fear no one had witnessed before. It seems to be a time of reliving history, and no one wanted to be starved out of their homes, and so they took the actions that were never an opportunity for the people of Zorelian.”
“And the surrounding provinces,” Yolanda spoke out of turn, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked the priest over.
He nodded. “I apologise. It is easy to forget that the war destroyed more than just a Kingdom. The hunger for power took much much more than just Zorelian from the maps.” The priest stayed sombre, looking at the small group that had gathered around him. This could not be the only members of the rebellion. The attacks on the land had been carried out by numbers greater than the few who stood with him. The Priest wondered how long did he have before the grounds were overrun with people seeking violence and vengeance. Rarely did one exist without the other. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Christof said, looking out the window, not thinking this man could do him any harm, and so his guard was completely down. He crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his opposite knee.
“What happened to the men and women who never came home?” The Priest asked.
Christof shrugged. He shared a look to Yolanda and then others as he contemplated the truth. When no one seemed concerned with the direction of this conversation Christof made the decision himself. “The first ones to never come home, as you put it, were spies.” Christof watched the man, enjoying the movement of expressions over his face as he struggled with understanding what this meant.
“Spies for whom?” The priest asked although it was suspected.
Christof laughed, a low and dangerous sound as he leant back in his cha
ir. “For the rebellion. They had been placed here years ago, and they would smuggle information out to the rebellion.” He smiled, sighing at the memories. “For as long as Zorelian had existed it had spies set all over the countryside. The King paid them well, and it allowed them all the time in the world to sneak through the land and collect all of your secrets.”
The priest could hardly believe it, but it did seem possible. “So why stop it?” he asked.
Christof sighed. “Because they forgot their mission.” He said simply. “The first ones were taken care of because they forgot what Braykith and Crimah had done to us. They decided the comforts of a traitor was better than the noble ward.” The priest shrunk back, but it did not seem that Christof would turn violent himself. Instead, he did the opposite and put himself back under control. “Those men died quickly.”
The priest did not think it was a blessing, but he did not say so. “And the others?”
“The others were taken just for scares.” Christof moved in his chair, uncrossing his legs and the Priest noticed that he seemed uncomfortable with this part of the story. The Priest did not try and lessen the burden since he deserved to feel the unease in his actions. “Mostly they were buried.” Christof coughed into his hand, and his voice was stronger when he spoke the next time. “Some were left to the elements, thrown off the primary paths to keep wolves away from our site.”
Although he might have been uncomfortable with his role in their demise, Christof spoke of the dead with no respect, and knowing that brought the Priest discomfort. He had always suspected that the missing people had been murdered but being confronted with the truth now, the Priest was openly mourning those both from Crimah and the ones from Braykith. Seeing the priest’s reaction, Christof felt the need to speak. “But we aren’t solely responsible for the demise of Crimah.”
The priest shook his head. “You started the instability.” The priest would not let Christof step away from the real horror of what he had been a part of. “But you correct. You did not bring about this change alone. Earl Barret was responsible for the eventual passing. He decreed laws and to deny him meant death. You made them fear what was out there, and no disrespect but Earl Barret made them fear to stay even more. You were never the scariest thing here.”
Delusions of Loyalty (The Braykith Series Book 2) Page 24
