by Olive Creed
“General Luca, I want you to take four hundred men with you and take over Gilel, Kiloro and Syrin.” King Corynth touched the three dots on the map of Elyndia that represented the towns. “Burn them to the ground, if you have to. But make sure everyone knows it will be foolish to even think about rebelling against me.
“There is also word that a wise man is staying there. Find him and kill him. I don’t want the Elyndians flocking to him and hanging onto their foolish faith.”
She bowed. “As you wish, my king.” She turned on her heel and strode to the door, her scabbard clanking against her leather boots. She glanced Cyprian’s way as she opened the door and smiled. “Good luck, kid,” she whispered before disappearing.
He swallowed, realizing with a start that his knuckles had turned white from gripping his dagger. He eased his grip, forcing himself to relax and appear confident and unconcerned.
“Lieutenant General Zander, you will take a squadron of men to open the mountain pass between us and Kyrnia. It will make transporting the slaves easier.”
“Of course.” He hastily bowed and hurried out.
“Speaking of slaves. Ronan.” The king turned to his head Shadow. “Somebody let all my captives out. They escaped. Every. Single. One of them.” A slow smile crept across his face. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Cyprian felt a shiver run up his spine and dropped his gaze to the floor, finding great interest in the bearskin rug between him and the desk. He listened as Ronan’s moccasins scuffed nervously against the smooth wooden planks.
“No sir, I don’t.” Ronan’s swallow was audible even across the room.
“You were supposed to make sure no Elyndian went in there.” King Corynth’s voice was quiet, dangerous.
“A few of our men went in, but that was it. Peter, Roscoe, Jon, and Milo.”
Cyprian scowled. How dare he suggest Peter was a part of freeing the captives? He’d never do that!
“Interrogate the men. Find out who freed the captives.” King Corynth growled. “If we don’t get a shipment of slaves to Kyrnia in two weeks, they’ll turn on us. So, while you’re at it, round up a few more people. Strong, healthy, young people. The last thing I need is that stupid king thinking I’m cheating him.”
Ronan bowed and practically ran out of the study. Cyprian didn’t blame him in the least.
King Corynth turned to the Elyndian standing under guard in the opposite corner of the office. His pale skin was shadowed with bruises and dried blood matted in his dirty blond hair where he’d been hit while fighting off soldiers as he tried to defend the castle. “You are the last Council member alive, Malkiel. Naturally, you pose a threat. The people of Elyndia could get an idea to rally behind you. Set you up as a king.”
“That’s Lord Malkiel to you,” he snarled. “What do you plan on doing with me?” There was no fear in the man’s voice, just barely concealed disgust. Either he was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. And he was going to get himself killed.
“A normal king would have you executed.” King Corynth, mindful of the cuts he’d sustained in battle, eased down into the leather chair behind the desk and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “But I think I may have a use for you yet.”
“Have me killed in the ring to entertain your allies? Have that kid slit my throat here and now? Or maybe you’d like me to become your personal servant instead.”
A guard backhanded him in the face, growling a warning in his native language.
“No, I shall not kill you—for now—and I have no use for you as a servant. But you are an important man here in Elyndia.” King Corynth picked up Torrin’s crown, examining it a moment before tossing it carelessly out the open window. “You have a family, do you not?”
Lord Malkiel shook his head. King Corynth glanced at one of the guards and nodded. The guard punched their prisoner in the stomach, letting him drop to the floor.
“Do not lie to me,” King Corynth hissed. “You have a lovely wife and three children. Two boys and a girl, all adopted, to be precise. A nice little family. It would be a shame if harm were to come to them.”
Cyprian looked away, swallowing. He’d been the one to tell the king about the lord’s family.
Lord Malkiel looked up, fear showing in his blue eyes for the first time. “What do you want?”
“The people will follow your example.” King Corynth stood, crossing his arms and staring down at him. “I want your allegiance. Follow me and give me your complete loyalty. Convince the others to do the same. Otherwise, that family of yours just might end up in the slave market.”
Lord Malkiel swallowed and nodded, disgust evident on his face.
He must hate giving his allegiance to King Corynth, Cyprian mused. But he thinks Torrin is dead. And family is more important than loyalty to a dead man. He knew he would do anything to protect Peter. Or at least pretend to throw his lot in with the enemy to protect him. Maybe this man will be useful for when King Torrin is healed and makes plans to take his throne back.
He couldn’t believe he was already making note of possible allies for someone who was supposed to be his enemy.
King Corynth gave a dismissive wave and the two guards hauled Lord Malkiel to his feet and dragged him over to the door.
General Byrd opened the door and nearly crashed into them. He stepped back to let them pass, then rushed into the office. “King Corynth.” He stopped on the thick, bearskin rug spread over the wooden floor and knelt in a bow, one hand behind his back.
Cyprian felt his stomach lurch at the sight of a bloody bundle dangling from the general’s hand and stepped forward.
King Corynth perched on the oak desk and clasped his knee. “Make your report.”
“The men sent to retrieve the boy king’s body, some of them came back. They checked every carcass out there. The body was nowhere to be found.”
Cyprian should have figured the king would send men to look for King Torrin’s body. Stupid!
King Corynth studied his friend and general, taking in the nervous twitching of his one visible hand. “What did they find?”
“Tracks, sire. That of a man.” General Byrd rubbed the back of his neck. “Two men were sent to follow the trail, thinking someone had taken the boy’s body off to bury. They... they were returned.”
King Corynth raised his eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
General Byrd ran his finger over his thin mustache nervously. He pulled out the bundle from behind his back, handing it to his king.
King Corynth took it and unwrapped the cloth. His brow furrowed as he studied the contents. Without looking up, he spoke, voice ringing cold and harsh in the small study. “Post guards at all gates. Nobody and nothing comes or goes without my permission. Anyone caught sneaking in or out will be publicly whipped.”
“Yes sir.” With one last bow, General Byrd turned and hurried out.
King Corynth handed Cyprian the bundle. “Dispose of these.”
Curiosity overtook him and he peered inside to see severed fingers. He pressed his lips in a thin line. Animals wouldn’t have been able to do this. A dragon, perhaps. But there had to be men working with them, unless the stories were true and the Anathemans were human-animal hybrids.
The door flew open. “Your Majesty!” Lark, one of the Shadows, knelt on the rug, blue braids flopping over her shoulders to drag on the ground. “Forgive my interruption. But the boy king’s body wasn’t found.”
“I am aware.” King Corynth turned cold eyes to her. “What do you feel is so important about it that you had to tell me again?”
“Then you are also aware of the soldiers who were sent to follow the tracks and were returned.” She looked up. “I went around the site of the attack and picked up the trail.”
Cyprian could feel something cold and heavy settle inside him.
“I followed the tracks to a cabin. The boy king is there with two others who are caring for him. A man and a woman.”
> “Why did you not kill them?”
“I wanted to report back with you and make sure you did not have another plan for them.” Her tone of voice was calm and respectful, but Cyprian knew how to read people. There was a stubborn glint in her eyes. “After all, the Anathemans sent you a message. Perhaps you would like to retaliate in a way I could not know. And in killing them, would have messed up your plan.”
Cyprian glanced at the bundle. What did the message mean? Was it simply a warning to stay out of the forests? Or something else? A challenge, a warning of a coming battle?
The king stared at Lark for several moments. “I will ignore your impudence this once in light of you providing useful information. You are dismissed.”
She bowed again, retreating from the room.
“You don’t happen to know about the king’s survival, do you?”
Cold sweat dripped down Cyprian’s spine. He shook his head.
“Good. Otherwise, I’d have to punish you. Of course, whipping hardly did any good back when you were a trainee. But perhaps punishing Peter in your place would be more impactful.” He turned around. “You are one of my best Shadows. Join the search for the traitor and do not make me do something you would regret.”
Cyprian nodded and bowed stiffly before exiting the study. Why did he suspect me? And if he ever found out, Peter would suffer for it. Or I could go back and kill Torrin. Nobody would be none the wiser.
But then I’ll forever be stuck in this job.
He headed outside to find Fury and explore the town, memorize the streets and allies. He needed to clear his mind and come at it from another approach.
Then he’d start trying to find out who freed the captives.
Briley slouched in a chair in the kitchen, her head and elbows on the table. Zeno was in her room with the injured Elyndian. The boy had been gone when they’d arrived.
Might as well get a pot of coffee going. Briley preferred tea, but she knew Zeno would appreciate something stronger.
And tidy the cabin while she was at it. Mindless housework and busy hands always helped her to destress.
She fetched a bucket of water from the well and set it to boil, then went from room to room, sweeping, folding, straightening furniture.
There wasn’t much actually in need of cleaning. She was done in minutes. After a moment, she sighed, tiptoed across the wooden floor, and eased open the door to her bedroom.
Zeno bent over his bag, putting away his tools. He straightened when the door creaked and glanced over his shoulder. He smiled grimly, turning back to his bag and fastening it shut. “I don’t know, Briley. I did the best I could. His wounds were cauterized. I have no way of knowing if they’d been properly cleaned before then. I can only guess at how deep they are.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I wasn’t the one who cauterized him,” she said in response to his unasked question. “The kid that was here did it.”
“I wouldn’t have done that. Cauterizing creates serious burns, which are tricky. Hard to heal. And infection often sets in, which can kill him.” By now, it sounded as if he was mostly talking to himself. “He has a fever, that could be a sign of infection. If the wounds were not cleaned properly..." He groaned in frustration.
Briley eased forward, patting Zeno on the back as she stared at him. Zeno had moved him onto her bed. Bandages covered his torso, stomach, neck and face. A few patches of pale skin showed through the small gaps in the bandages and a few strands of black hair had slipped out from the layers of linen covering his head.
What would her grandmother say? She turned to Zeno. “His life is in God’s Hands. Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t save him, alright?”
He nodded, although his jaw was set, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “One more thing. This isn’t just some soldier. This is King Torrin Slater.”
Her eyes widened. “Well... that… makes no difference as of right now,” she said after a moment. “Right?”
Just... the king... in her cabin.
He was younger than she’d imagined. And smaller. He didn’t look much taller than herself.
With a final glance at King Torrin, she turned and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her.
What now? She couldn’t go to Zaraya, they wouldn’t let King Torrin in. And she risked getting found by the Achians staying here.
She padded over to the fireplace and picked up her Bible off the mantel, the one that had belonged to her pepa. She carefully opened the worn leather cover, flipping through the thin pages absently.
Staying and helping would prove to others—and herself—that she wasn’t some half demon monster, right? Maybe then she and her grandparents wouldn’t have to live alone and in fear of her heritage. Maybe--
Zeno stepped out of the bedroom, wiping his hands off. “There’s nothing I can do. Maybe Ruslan could help him, but Corynth is keeping him in Everdon. All we can do is make him comfortable until he dies.”
“But... what if we—”
“Briley, I really doubt the liquid sun could help him, if it even exists.”
“It does.” It had to. Her mema had told her about it. The food of conjaros and an incredible source of healing. The Anathemans who depended on the great birds to protect their eggs and pups guarded it viciously, keeping it hidden from all outsiders. And her mema would never lie to her.
Zeno sighed. “If it did, chances are, someone would have found it already and we’d all have access to it. I’m sorry, but King Torrin is dying.”
King Torrin. Dying.
If that was true...
It couldn’t be. He couldn’t die.
Briley took a deep breath. “If you’re hungry, you know where the food is. I’m going to... take a walk.”
Zeno gave her a strange look but nodded. She turned, heading outside.
Two miles behind her cabin was a waterfall and it was a common gathering place from the Anathemans. She’d spent many nights watching them, sometimes talking to the friendlier dragons.
Sure enough, a few trialla dragons were at the waterfall, watching their hatchlings swim in the stream. Briley squared her shoulders, stepping out and speaking in her native tongue. “Excuse me?”
The triallas turned, staring at her with their large, brown eyes. One opened its mouth in a dragon grin. “Ken, eo’aiki. Bring you what here today?”
“I need help. The Achian king has taken over the country and my rightful king—my pack leader or alpha—is dying. I need the liquid sun, please.”
“Our that decision not to make. For only wolves.” The trialla tipped her head back and let loose a screech that made Briley jump out of her skin.
An answering howl echoed from deep inside the trees. Several others joined in, surrounding them in the hauntingly beautiful song. Seconds later, a brown wolf loped out to meet them.
He skidded to a halt, staring down at Briley with wide, golden eyes, then at the trialla. “What is a ken doing here?”
“She Anatheman is half. And your help requires.” The dragon gently pushed Briley forward with her snout. “Seeks the liquid she golden sun.”
The wolf flicked his ears, turning his attention back to Briley. “... I have never seen a ken up close before.” He eased forward and Briley held perfectly still, heart slamming against her ribs. “She is much frailer than I thought.”
Briley grinned wryly. “I can also understand your language. Thank you.”
He jumped back, ears pricked forward, then ducked his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize a ken spoke our language.”
The trialla huffed a raspy laugh. “You should get out more, Thunder. Spend more time inside Zaraya. It is full of people who understand us.”
“Yes, well.” Thunder shook himself. “You say you are here for the liquid sun?”
“Yes, please.” Briley wiped her hands off on her skirt. “The Elyndian king is in need of it. He’ll die otherwise.”
“And what concern is it of ours if he dies?” a gruff v
oice demanded above her.
Briley spun, coming face to chest with a solid black wolf. A large paw planted itself against her chest, slamming her to the earth. A bolt of pain shot through her head and neck, spots bursting in the edge of her vision from the impact of her head hitting the ground. A snarling muzzle hovered inches over her face. “The liquid sun is for Anathemans only. Not half-breeds and outsiders that hunt us and blame their killings on us.”
She wheezed for air, panic and pressure from the giant wolf crushing her ribcage and making spots burst in front of her. “Please. He’ll die without it and we need him alive.”
“Do you.” The trialla pushed the wolf off with her tail. “Think, Aklin. Would rather you the Achian devil control remain in?”
Briley eased upright, rubbing her chest and gulping in air. “And if you help, perhaps King Torrin will realize that Anathemans aren’t monsters.”
“Just she needs little of the sun liquid.”
"It starts as a little. And like the brown-skinned ones. A little will grow into more and more, until we must fight and kill or be forced from our source of healing."
Briley shook her head, taking in a deep breath. Calm down. She didn't need to be afraid. Her grandmother would be disappointed in her. God would be disappointed in her. "I promise, we only want enough to heal King Torrin. I won't even go to the source! Just bring me some. I'll never know the location and it will remain safe."
Aklin studied her, burning yellow eyes seeming to penetrate into her very soul. At last, he glanced at Thunder, then back at her. "Do you have something to carry it in?"
"No. My cabin isn’t far from here, I could go get a bowl."
"Carry you will I." The trialla nudged Briley with her snout. "Soon return will we from cabin the bowl with."
Briley slid onto her back, gripping her smooth neck. "Thank you, Aklin. Thank you so much."
The black wolf growled softly, turning and trotting back into the trees.
Thunder bounced a little, tongue lolling out. "I'll wait here for you!"
A familiar figure was pacing the yard in front of the cabin when the trialla landed, letting Briley dismount with the liquid sun.
