Page 25 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter nineteen

The sun beat down mercilessly as Cyrus slipped off his horse outside the palace.

“Feels weird to be here,” Kord said as he dropped down from his own mount.

“I bet it will feel a whole lot weirder inside,” Everan said.

Kord snorted.

They let their horses drink from the center fountain. It wasn’t a place for horses, but that didn’t matter now. The dogs lapped up their fill as well. Strange that they still chose to stay with him. Cyrus wondered if the cats would return, but no one had seen them.

“What did you name them?” Kord asked, eyeing the animals.

Everan gave a hearty laugh.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Kord shrugged. “Because that’s what you do with a dog.”

“I don’t have to name them. They’re just dogs. They don’t speak; they don’t understand.”

“A dog knows its name,” Everan said. “I had one as a kid; it came when it was called. They’re quite clever. Well, some of them.”

Kord smiled. “I’ll name them.”

“You’re not naming my dogs.”

“Cyrus,” Kord pestered.

“Fine. Fucking fine.” Cyrus looked at the dogs. “One, Two, Three,” he said, and pointed at each one.

“Those are terrible names.”

“Well, that’s what you’re getting.”

After drinking their fill in the fountain, the dogs trotted off, and Cyrus, Everan, and Kord started up the stairs to the main double doors of the palace.

“Fuck, that’s bright,” Kord said. The white marble reflected the light and was nearly blinding. Cyrus’s own eyes teared up in protest.

Once inside, his vision settled, but he didn’t feel settled.

He already regretted letting Teron talk him into moving into the palace.

He didn’t need a palace, or want one, but he’d given the villa to Kieve, and while Kieve had wanted him to stay, it would be strange for a king to live in a villa owned by another.

But then he’d also given the palace to the witch. Well, had he given it to her? Or just the king’s chamber? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything he’d said or agreed to during the last time they’d met.

Was she even still here?

“Wow,” said Kord, letting his eyes travel the hall.

It dwarfed them—just the three of them, although Cyrus had invited more than just Everan and Kord to join him.

He’d welcomed all his men, and more. Within a few days, the palace would be filled with people.

He’d need help rebuilding a kingdom, and anyone who’d give that help would share in Rael’s riches.

“There you are,” a woman’s voice called.

They all turned.

It was the witch. She stood at the top of the wide marble staircase.

Her dark hair hung long and unbound, the same as when he’d last seen her.

She wore an emerald dress, the color of her eyes, and although it stretched down her arms and up her neck, there was something strangely provocative about it.

“Is that her?” Kord asked quietly, although his voice echoed through the hall.

“I am,” she answered for him.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. “I could have been talking about another woman.”

“You weren’t.”

Both Everan and Kord looked at him with smiles of bewilderment. Clearly, they were entertained. If Cyrus were honest with himself, he was too. This woman was bold. Brazen. Did he like it? No. Yes?

“Come,” she said. “I’ll show you where your chamber is.” She turned as if assuming he’d just follow.

“Who says I’m staying here?”

“Are you not?” she asked without turning back.

Everan and Kord chuckled.

“Go on,” Everan said. “I’ve promised Visa a room with a window. I’m sure your witch hasn’t assigned servants’ quarters yet—I’m going to stake a claim.”

“You’re not staying in servants’ quarters,” Cyrus objected.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a suitable place.”

“I’ll go with him,” Kord said.

Cyrus tightened his scowl.

Kord shrugged. “What? You need to let go of a little more stress. If you’re lucky, she might help you with that.” He winked.

Everan laughed, and he and Kord struck out toward the south end, leaving Cyrus alone in the great hall.

Cyrus looked up at the stairs and, with a sigh, started up after the witch. His footfalls on the white marble echoed off the empty walls.

The walls.

He paused. When he’d been here a couple of days ago, there had been paintings of the royal family. Now the walls were bare. The paintings were gone. As were the bodies in the hall.

“Are you coming?” the witch called, and she disappeared around a corner. She walked quickly, and he had to take long strides to catch up with her.

“You’re still here,” he said.

“Of course I’m still here, for a little while anyway, until I find what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

“That’s not your business.”

He almost quipped back but stopped himself.

He didn’t really care what she was looking for.

She could have her secrecy. He did need to know about something else, though.

He still bore the markings on his arms, although he wasn’t sure what purpose they still served.

“I wanted to ask you, when will these go away?” He flashed the markings.

“They won’t. And you don’t want them to. You’ll need them for our deal.”

“Our deal?”

The witch led him to an adjoining hall.

“Look, I’ll be honest,” he said. “I really don’t remember what even happened the last two times we met.”

She turned and stopped. “You don’t remember me fucking you?”

Well, that… “No, I-I, uh, definitely remember that.” He almost laughed, still at the disbelief of it all. “I meant, uh, the conversation.”

She stopped in front of the chamber at the end of the hall. “Our deal is that you give me power, I give you power.” She waved a hand at the room. “This is your chamber.” She swung the door open, and her eyes traveled the space. His eyes stayed on her.

“But I don’t want power,” he said. “I don’t need it now.”

“Everyone wants power, whether they need it or not.” She turned back to him. “And I’m only here until I find what I’m looking for. Then I’m leaving. Take advantage while you can.”

Right. “So, what all can you do? Can you heal?”

“Witches don’t have healing power.”

“Teron does.”

“He’s not a witch.”

Cyrus knew that. Maybe.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Her lips thinned as they tightened. “Essandra,” she said finally.

“Essandra,” he repeated. He nodded slowly, mulling. “So, how’s this going to work—you’re just going to be by my side, helping me out?”

“Don’t mistake me for an ally,” she said sharply. “Or a friend. But as long as I’m here and I have your blood, you’ll have the power of my whole coven.”

“Where is your coven?”

“That’s also not your business.”

Right.

It was another night of staring at the ceiling, albeit now a ceiling of crossbeam craftsmanship and elegant crown molding inside his palace chamber.

The pull of power from within him had ceased.

He’d quickly come to recognize it as Essandra using his blood.

The witch had come with her dagger and a bowl earlier that evening, drawing a steady stream from him again.

He’d made her take from his arm this time, so he could still use his hands until he saw Teron again.

He wondered what she was using the blood for.

She was searching for something, although she refused to tell him what, but that was the least of his worries. He had a kingdom to look after now.

He didn’t know why he’d agreed to this—to be…

He still couldn’t say it, even to himself.

The thought soured his stomach. He stretched his aching body.

He was used to bloodsport fighting. How did the weight of this new responsibility tire him so much?

But it wasn’t the kind of tired that helped him sleep.

He didn’t know why he still couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the bed, which was plush and comfortable. Or maybe it was the bed—maybe it was too plush and too comfortable.

What was he doing?

He shouldn’t be here.

He didn’t belong here.

No. It was this palace that didn’t belong. Why had he agreed to leave it standing? Cyrus closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Maybe if he—

“Mama!”

A girl’s scream shook him from his thoughts, and he bolted up in the bed, reaching for his sword. He quickly found it. His hand curved around the hilt, bringing a confident calm with it, and he paused before pulling the blade from the scabbard.

Cyrus listened for the sound to come again.

The full moon outside the windows did little to light the room. His eyes moved over the shadows around him as he strained his ears. Still nothing. He steadied his breaths and stilled to listen closer.

But everything was quiet.

He heard nothing. He saw nothing.

It was his mind playing tricks on him.

Slowly, Cyrus lowered his sword and rested it back on the floor against the wall, but still within reach. He let himself sink back onto the bed, and his beating heart slowed, but as he closed his eyes again, it hit him.

“Mama!” came the scream. “Mama!”

He bolted up once more, and his hand flew to his head—it was a scream from inside him, but it wasn’t his own.

A vision? No, not a vision… A memory? Not a memory—he could hear.

How could he hear? He found himself in the middle of a village—a village on fire.

Thatch-roofed houses sat ablaze, black smoke climbing high into the air.

People ran by him as they were attacked from all sides.

Men mounted on armored horses chased them.

He could hear the dying, smell their burning flesh, taste it in the air. How was this possible?

“Mama!” came the scream within him again. His own panic rose, but he tried to push it down. This wasn’t his memory; this wasn’t real.

“Mama!”

Smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed. It was real.

The fear of abandonment flooded him.

“Mama!”

She’d left.

She’d left him.

She—

A hand grabbed him, and he spun. A woman clasped his cheeks and pulled him to a stop. Her brown eyes bore into him. “Sabine, I’m here!”

A sob of relief escaped his lips. He tried to calm himself—this wasn’t his dream.

“Listen to me!” The woman’s voice was thick with fear. “Do you remember how to get to Abiniah’s?”

“I th-think so,” the voice within him stammered.

“Take the forest trail, go up the stream to cover your tracks. You can make it there before night. Get there, and she’ll know what to do. Don’t let anyone see you. Go!”

“Where’s Indira?”

“I’ll find her, but you need to go!”

“I can’t go by myself!”

“I’ll be right behind you after I find your sister.”

Fear swelled within him.

“Be brave, my strong girl.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes. She held him tight and kissed his cheek fiercely. “I love you. Now go!”

Cyrus tore open his eyes, panting. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. Sweat beaded his brow. How was he hearing this? How was he feeling it? Tasting it? Smoke and ash.

Because it wasn’t a vision. Visions didn’t do that.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hunched forward to catch his breath. It had been a nightmare—nothing like he’d ever had before. However, still a nightmare. A very strange nightmare, but nightmares usually made no sense.

Maybe it was the stress getting to him, the burden of the crown.

He’d never done anything like this before, and he was afraid.

He was afraid of failing. Ruling a kingdom brought a host of fears different from those of the arena.

Fighting was easy—he knew what to do. Ruling was hard. And he was alone.

He needed help.

Yes— that was it —he’d get help.

Cyrus lay back, and his heart calmed. That was what he’d do. He knew a lot of smart people. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift again.

More visions came, but easier ones this time. Simple battles, men killing one another—visions he could fall asleep to.