Delusions of Loyalty (The Braykith Series Book 2)

by Jennifer R. Kenny

  “There,” Quintus shouted from the darkness, and Christof swung himself aggressively back and covered his head as he tried to make himself a smaller target. Arrows dug into the trunk of the tree that he was currently perched on but for now he was unharmed. It had been luck which had saved him, but Christof doubted it would last long. For his entire life, Christof could not say that luck had ever been on his side, and he would not believe it would suddenly start now. Whatever Quintus was doing, Christof had no defence in keeping his men safe.

  He gave a bird call to his rebellion members, the noise known to signify retreat. He did not stop to see if they followed him. The location for meeting back up was pre-selected, and Christof would not be held accountable if they could not follow orders. The sound of dropping bodies from the trees and running off into the darkness would be unnerving enough that it would offer the rebels the perfect escape.

  ***

  There was an eerie silence that ended abruptly. One, two, three bodies hit hard after the low whistle that came from the trees close to him. Quintus opened his eyes but lost count in trying to see how many men had surrounded him. Stunned by how organised the rebellion was now he stayed where he was until Quintus could be sure that the enemy had retreated. While he had not seen them with his own eyes, Quintus now had a better judgement on just how many rebels he had been facing. It was more than he had suspected, but still, Quintus would not turn back. The legend of Braykith would never survive his failure now.

  While the soldiers seemed to believe they had reason to celebrate, Quintus struggled with seeing the encounter as a win. However, they had not been defeated. Quintus reminded himself that it had been the rebellion who retreated first which meant Quintus had gained a small advantage. He looked to the left, but the orders to follow the rebels died on his lips. His men were white, and their eyes wide and staring. He would be lucky to have them move into the woods alone.

  “Grab our dead.” Quintus bellowed to be heard, raising his voice in hopes that it would break the men out of their stupor. “We will bury them before we move on.” To his relief, men moved to make his words happen. Quintus ignored the process, looking instead out into the trees that lined the path. Barely a year ago no one would have been able to hide within their branches. They stood too straight to even try and climb them. Now they spread out along the well-beaten path and gave their enemies cover.

  The new growth of the trees did allow the sun to find them for a little longer as it left the sky, but he had to admit that night was falling fast and they needed to find shelter. Quintus could see better in the dark than most, but it was nothing like how people suspected. He had been holding off lighting torches, but there was no convincing them after the attack. He knew the oncoming night was making his men nervous. No one liked to be trapped in the dark, but Quintus could not be reasoned with. Men were being killed off one by one, and he needed to regain order here before they lost their focus.

  “We will find shelter near the mountains.” He ordered, and the soldiers had no choice but to follow his orders. Quintus was glad when they did not outright complain, and to their credit, it seemed the ambush had done nothing to their spirits, except shaken them to the realities of this mission. They had seen their friends die right before their eyes, and Quintus understood that was hard to accept at times. However, they had also witnessed their King using his supernatural abilities to take out their enemies. The soldiers felt this was a fight they could win, and Quintus was the key to maintaining that victory.

  Quintus was not as confident, but he hid it from those around him. Sitting straight-backed, his hands keeping a tight grip on the reigns, and doing his best to only scan the tree line casually, Quintus presented his men with a man they could follow into battle.

  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 led his horse away from the others a little and used the distraction of the task to let himself manipulate his hunger without being observed. Head bowed, his eyes closed to help him concentrate entirely on the task at hand, 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 of 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. 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 under his own control 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 included the twin braids falling 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 lead 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 Quintus quickly checked for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he finally gave Charles permission 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 as the thirst wanted instead of Quintus being in control. “The rebellion is no longer just an idle threat Charles. Obviously, 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 own 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 is creating urgency in their camp.” 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 doors 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 can 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 for that one man. 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.

  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 fully take form in his mind. “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 easily 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. Fireside seemed to be the only place where all matters could be explored, and bold declarations could be made with 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.

  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.

  “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.

  Quintus never should have come with such a large target, and it was too late for him to realise his mistakes now.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Since 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, and even though it was all true, 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 rest, 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 lives 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. It took conscious thought to keep from apologising to him. She knew the feelings would return, the deep loathing she had for his curse but watching him now was painful, and Evangeline could not easily avoid that. “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.

  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 fo
olish all over again, and he quickly averted his eyes. He had been trying to forget her and yet Glais still mourned for something that he had never truly 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 her 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, 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 turned away. “A friend who is bound to you 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 loudly ask the crown for assistance.” He told her. He could never bring himself to tell Evangeline how difficult it was to watch her and know she would never be his and so he changed the topic. He cleared his throat gently into his hand, but it did nothing to stop the memory of her body.