Page 93 of Blood Fist
Ridan clicked his teeth. “What kind of chief would I be if I let you?—”
“The chief.” Corric cut him off. “You are chief to more than just me, Ridan. The clan needs you. Now more than ever.” He took Ridan’s hand, rubbing their wrist glands together. “This is my fight. Be confident that you’ve made me strong enough to succeed.”
Ridan hated that he couldn’t argue with him. Perhaps years, maybe even months ago, he would have. But that was before he was Chief of the Stone Blade. Before he was beholden to the camp. Before Kaldonea was breathing down their necks, looking to uproot everything they’ve ever known.
How could he justify sacrificing the war for a single battle? Restrina always told him to surround himself with those whose strength he could lean on.
Gritting his teeth, he nodded tersely. “I’ve never doubted your strength, Corric.”
Jonen growled behind them; eyes nearly black with anger. Corric sighed and turned to him, stepping closer until their noses were nearly smashed together.
“You’ve always said I was my own person, and that no alpha had any dominion over me. I’ll be damned if I let one do it now.” His eyes were flinty, lips pale where he pressed them together.
Jonen whined softly. “Cor?—”
“As long as my neck is bare, then your opinion doesn’t matter,” Corric snapped, turning away from him to speak to a Halm.
Ridan couldn’t hear what they said over Buzzard’s cackling.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
UNEDUCATED GUESSWORK AND MAGICAL TOMFOOLERY
The final torch lit as easily as the three before them. While not bright, it was easy enough to see what they were doing by the flames casting flickering shadows on the tent walls. Corric settled the torch into place before resuming his seat beside his brother.
With all the fire, the room was warm, but Corric dare not open the flap for some relief. While his own skin was damp with sweat, Schok’s was not. He remained dry and asleep, eyes occasionally flickering behind lids so thin Corric could count the blue veins crossing them.
Buzzard was curled beside the tent flap, back to Corric. He was awake, but didn’t feel the need to stir. Not even when Jonen brought them some dinner. The heavenly smell of Sehleh’s cooking couldn’t rouse the harpy. Not that Corric was much better. He’d picked at the food. It settled in his stomach like a rock, making him feel greasy and sluggish. Buzzard would never admit it, but Corric thought he was nervous. His whole life he’d been used for his magic, nothing more than anobject. And now, when he most needed the magic he’d never been taught to use, he worried he would not know how.
Halm reassured them all that she, at the very least, was confident in her ability to summon the magic from Buzzard. How she knew, no one dared ask. Some things were safer not knowing.
It also seemed to go unsaid that if this didn’t work, Schok would be lost. Forever doomed to sit in a hole in the earth. Buried, but not dead.
Corric had gone many, many years without thinking about his father. In truth, he hardly knew the man. Once it was discovered that Corric was not only unable to use magic but also an omega, he was cast aside. Not worth his father’s time. So while his childhood had been lonely, it had been largely free of abuse.
But to see Schok, to hear what Buzzard had to say, and to know that it was hisfatherwho was responsible? He didn’t know how to process it. One moment, he hated him. He would strike him down if he could but reach him, carve his spine out and leave him bleeding at his feet. It was no less than he deserved. But another part of him, one who was still the doe eyed omega he had been when he first left Kaldonea, thought of Krait Tylock as the only family he had left in this world.
His mother was…somewhere. He did not know where or if she even lived. Corric could still hear his father berating her. Once, when she’d allowed him to play outside in the dirt, he had been so angry Corric thought he’d summoned thunder. His voice shook the plaster loose around the stone walls.Why were you in the garden? That’s what the servants are for! Now look at him!
Hate was easy. But hate must be borne fromsomething. No one hates the table they stub their toe on. Or the rain that inconveniences their day. No. True hate, the kind that throbs in the chest, that has to be transformed. It starts as love. As hope. As something beautiful turned ugly.
And so to hate Krait, he surely must love him. Or at least love the idea of him. Of a father who could eventually change. Become the man Corric wanted him to be.
But how could he ever forgive the man who left these burns on his brother? Who would slaughter thousands—not out of hate—but out of something far viler.Greed.
He couldn’t. And so Corric didn’t know how to feel. And that made him feel worse. It was an endless cycle he couldn’t seem to snap out of.
Corric looked up when Jonen entered the tent again. He glanced at the two plates of untouched food before frowning slightly.
“Would you like something else?” he asked Corric, but the question was for the room. Buzzard didn’t stir.
“No,” Corric rasped, his voice rough from disuse. “Not very hungry.”
Jonen didn’t comment on that, lifting his broadsword so he could sit beside Corric. He’d been quiet since their argument. That was Jonen’s way. He always needed a day or two to sort through his protective urges. Jonen wasn’t a particularly aggressive alpha, but he was still an alpha. They were thick headed and slow at the best of times.
Jonen had been with Ridan most of the last two days. While Halm avoided Iylah and went about arranging whatever it was she needed, Ridan had been busy preparing for Kaldoneas inevitable attack. He’s sent out messengers to the other clans, brought their farmers in from the edges of Stone Blade territory, andhad Gustall send out his best scouts. Ridan and Jonen had been running themselves ragged.
“Corric, I wanted to say I was sorry.” Jonen wasn’t looking at him, staring down at his gnarled fingers. “I was wrong to imply you couldn’t do something. Yo-you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I know you can do anything.”