Page 3 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)
C Hapter
The air in the war room at the Garrison is thick with tension. The smell of metal hits my nose, and I find it’s a stark contrast to the scent of the rotting corpses in Aragheni that still lingers in my nostrils. The war room, a place where strategy and decisions shape the course of our kingdom, feels even more suffocating than the battlefield. My uncle, General Kormak Moorgrin—my deceased mother’s only brother—stands at the head of the table, his face kind but weathered with lines from years of battle. His gaze, as sharp as the blade hanging at his side, meets mine as I approach. The softness of his dark, chestnut eyes reminds me of my mother.
“Tell me he still lives.” It took every ounce of resolve to come directly to my uncle’s side and not continue on to the castle to see my brother.
Uncle Kormak stands. In a few strides, he is in front of me and takes my hands. His somber expression escalates my fears before he even utters a word. “He’s barely hanging on. You should go to him right away.”
I don’t want to believe his words. I want to tell him he’s wrong. That there’s some kind of mistake. That Bennett Westergaard is a strong and powerful man who can overcome any disease that threatens to stop him. But I don’t say anything because every syllable gets stuck in my throat when I try.
“Come, Celeste.” His voice is gentler now. “We’ll go together.”
He puts a hand to my back. With a silent nod, I follow him through the dimly lit corridors of the Garrison, my footfalls echoing like a dirge in the empty halls. Shadows dance along the walls, casting a pall of gloom over everything in their wake. The air feels choked with sorrow, and I place a hand on my throat as if to break free from its oppressive weight.
We make our way to his carriage, which sits at the ready outside the Garrison. The ride to the castle only takes three minutes, but it feels like an eternity stretched out between breaths. In an effort to press down on my emotions, I concentrate instead on my uncle’s uniform, a distraction technique that helps me deal with my anxiety.
Like me and my squad, my uncle wears his leathers. Predominantly black, the uniform exudes an air of authority and sophistication, crafted from sleek yet sturdy materials.
I know we are closer to the castle, but my eyes stay fixed upon the embellishments of Delasurvian bronze and gold that adorn the uniform, adding touches of regal splendor to the ensemble. The jacket is fastened with a series of gold buttons down the front, and it tapers at the waist to give a fitted appearance. It is adorned with a prominent gold emblem of a phoenix on the left breast, symbolizing strength and rebirth. The shoulders of the jacket are accentuated with gold epaulets, adding a touch of regality and formality.
Underneath the jacket sits a high-collared white shirt, which adds a contrast to the black, bronze, and gold. Though my trousers and those of my squad are black, my uncle’s are a light tan, providing a complementary contrast to the dark jacket. The trousers are tailored and fitted, tucked into black, knee-high boots. The uniform as a whole forms a striking silhouette against the dim surroundings of the carriage interior.
A shadow engulfs the carriage, and I look up. The castle looms ahead, a formidable structure of stone and iron, its high walls and towering spires casting long shadows in the afternoon light. The banners of Delasurvia flutter in the breeze as the carriage comes to a halt.
I don’t consider the castle my home. Not really. Even as a child, I was reluctant to embrace the ways of being a princess. More often than not, I would be found playing with swords rather than learning the proper way to sip tea. I chose trousers over skirts and skipped my lessons, preferring to be out exploring the world instead. Delasurvia was never one of the more privileged countries, and even our courtly ways were simple ones. Still, as soon as I was old enough, I chose to live at the Garrison and be surrounded by soldiers instead of traipsing about our humble castle learning a courtly life.
I find it difficult to move with the heavy weight in my chest, but my uncle takes my hand and helps me until my feet touch the ground. As we pass through the grand archway, the intricate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures seem to come alive.
The courtyard is bustling with activity, soldiers and servants moving with purpose, their faces etched with concern. I feel the weight of their stares, knowing they are aware of my brother’s condition and are curious about the fate of their king. Our footfalls seem loud upon the marble floors, and the high ceilings echo with the hushed whispers of court intrigue, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls.
My uncle walks beside me, his presence a steadying force as we navigate the labyrinthine corridors. The scent of polished wood and aged parchment fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the castle’s kitchens preparing the evening meal. Each step brings me closer to my brother’s chamber, and my heart tightens with a mix of dread and hope. I cling to the belief that he might still recover, that there is still a chance to save him.
As we reach Bennett’s chambers, a sense of foreboding washes over me, the darkness within mirroring the turmoil in my heart. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies beyond the heavy, oak door in front of us.
“Go to him. I’ll wait out here.” My uncle squeezes my shoulder gently, offering silent support.
I strain to make my voice work. “What about you?”
“I’ve said my goodbyes.” His words stop fast, and I get the feeling that he can’t bring himself to face Bennett again.
I nod, pushing the door open and stepping inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. The flickering light from the candles does little to dispel the shadows.
I step farther into Bennett’s chamber, and my heart clenches at the sight before me. My brother, at one time a towering figure of strength and vitality, now lies on his deathbed, a shadow of his former self. His once-muscular frame appears gaunt and wasted, a stark contrast to the robust man he formerly was. Dark, umber hair that used to be thick and lustrous now hangs limply against his temples. His half-closed eyes, once the same chestnut brown as mine and our mother’s, no longer seem filled with warmth and life. Instead, they appear dulled and distant, reflecting the pain and weariness that consume him. Despite his weakened state, there is still a hint of the proud king in his bearing.
A nursemaid hovers nearby, her presence a hushed witness to our grief. She tidies some stray washcloths, setting them beside a bowl of water. With a silent gesture, I dismiss her, needing a moment alone with my brother. As I kneel beside him, his eyes flutter open, a bit unfocused yet still filled with a flicker of warmth.
I take his hand, noting the pale pallor of his skin, which used to match the warm, almond undertones of mine. His hand is limp, and the truth of how frail he has become sends a jolt of heartbreak through me. Bennett, my beloved brother, the man who was more of a father to me after our mother had died than our own father, is slipping away, succumbing to the relentless grip of illness. Though I’ve braced myself for this moment, the reality of it cuts deep, tearing at the fragile threads of my resolve.
But I refuse to let it overwhelm me. There is still hope. There must be.
“Bennett,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion as I squeeze his hand. “I’m worried. ”
He takes a raspy breath as his gaze moves over my face. One corner of his mouth twitches. He reaches for a lock of umber hair that’s fallen loose from my braid, but his strength fails, and his hand drops. “In this light, you look like Mother.”
“Tell me you will fight this. Please. I don’t want to lose you.”
He smiles weakly. “Celeste, my fighting days have come to an end.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s too soon.”
“And yet it feels like this illness has been plaguing me for ages.” His fingers tighten around mine, but the strength in his grip only lasts a moment. “You’ve grown into a remarkable woman, stronger than I ever could have imagined. I’m so proud of you.”
My chest hurts, as if it’s collapsing in on itself. “Bennett. Please.”
“It’s your turn now. We both knew that, eventually, you would have to step in.”
Tears blur my vision as I cling to his words, each one a balm to my shattered heart. “I don’t know how. You can’t leave me until I’ve learned.” Desperation creeps into my voice. “I need you.”
Through his struggle, he actually smirks. “Since when do you need anyone? You’re the strongest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. Ask anyone who’s ever come face to face with your dagger.”
“I don’t know how to rule a kingdom.”
“I believe in you. You may wield a weapon like a soldier, but you have the heart of a queen.” His trembling grip tightens on my hand, his gaze steady despite the pain etched upon his face. “I love you, little sister.” His voice has diminished, barely a breath upon the wind. “But it’s time for me to go. It’s time for you to let me go.”
A sob escapes my quivering lips.
“Don’t spend too long mourning for me,” he adds. “Continue my work. Fight for the people. Live, fall in love, and honor my memory with every step you take.”
His words push down on me, making me numb and paralyzed. There was a time when my brother almost took a bride. The fair Lady Marette from the neighboring land of Podrosa. But when my brother began to grow ill, when he began showing signs of madness from his fae powers not manifesting, it proved too much for Lady Marette to handle, and she returned to her homeland. A part of me feels as though this drew Bennett’s madness further to the brink.
I don’t know if I can do what he says, move on without him. In this moment, the world doesn’t make sense. Yet even as my heart breaks, even as my vision blurs from my tears, I know that his message is important. I am the future of Delasurvia, whether I think I can handle it or not.
“I love you, too, Bennett.” My breath hitches.
His features contort, his lips pressing together as if trying to suppress a moan. After a second, he turns to me, his brows scrunched. “Tell Mother I forgive her.”
“What?” I shake my head. Our mother has been dead for years. Even before we lost Father. This must be the madness twisting his mind.
“Tell her I understand why she did it, and I forgive her.”
There’s no use correcting him. He’s had these episodes of delusion for a while now. One moment, he’s coherent, and the next, he speaks about things that don’t make sense. It breaks my heart that he’s succumbed to the madness of not developing his fae powers. A madness I fear will find me one day.
I pat his hand. “I’ll tell her,” I say to appease him in his final moments.
His eyes close, and his breathing slows. Something tells me it will only be a matter of minutes. With a trembling sigh, I lean forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, an unspoken farewell to the brother I hold dear.
And then I sit. And wait.
In the quiet of the shadowy chamber, amidst the flickering light and the weight of impending loss, I find solace in the bond we share. I allow my tears to flow for him, as I did with the tears for my parents. Each of them left me, and now I grieve alone. And as Bennett slips into the embrace of eternal slumber, I vow to carry his legacy with me, to be the beacon of hope in the darkness that threatens to consume us all.