Page 32 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter twenty-five

“A fucking what ?” Kord asked. Everan said nothing but was equally confused. They’d followed Cyrus and Essandra from the council room into a chamber that Cyrus had taken over as a study.

Essandra stood with her arms crossed. “A portal witch.”

It was the third time she’d said it, but Cyrus was still trying to get his head around what that meant.

“Tomel has the power to bridge two places together. This will allow us to simply pass from one to another, without actually having to travel the distance between them.”

Cyrus could only stare at her. “So, you have the power to just take me to Mercia?” His heart raced faster. This could change everything.

She pursed her lips. “Basically, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could do this before?”

“Because it’s an easily abused power, and it’s dangerous. It has to be guarded and used sparingly.”

Which meant she likely wouldn’t be keen on allowing him to use it again. That was fine. Even if she gave him only one opportunity, this was what he’d use it on—going after Alexander.

“How quickly can we go?” he asked.

“As quickly as you’re ready.”

Despite Essandra telling him she could take him to Mercia , he didn’t actually think it was as easy as her saying a spell and whisking him there.

Except it was. And as his eyes traveled the rocky terrain of the Mercian outer reaches, he was still struggling to believe it.

Travel wasn’t exact—Tomel’s power could get them only to a general area on a map.

There was also risk. Having not been sure where the portal would exit, they had no way of knowing if they were walking into a dangerous place or situation.

However, Essandra was able to lessen this risk by drawing on the power of illusion from another witch in the coven to hide them.

It was impressive, like a cloak of invisibility draped over them.

The only giveaway was a slight ripple where the illusion met reality—noticeable only to someone specifically looking.

Nearly five hundred bloodsport fighters accompanied him. Even Kieve came. Thinking about it brought a wave of emotion. This wasn’t even a mission for their people; this was a mission for Cyrus. They’d come to help him get what he needed, and he was beyond grateful.

He’d been surprised Rael had received news about the Mercian queen’s marriage alliance from the Mercian council after Cyrus had overthrown the king that Mercia had apparently been friends with, or at least friendly acquaintances with.

It didn’t matter that it had been a general proclamation.

They wouldn’t have sent it to everyone .

They wouldn’t have sent it to the Shadowlands.

He suspected either Mercia was testing a new friendship, or—more likely—it was a warning under the guise of politeness to inform him, as the new king of Rael, that Mercia and Aleon still stood together.

He smiled to himself. If he ever met the Mercian council after this, he’d thank them.

A recheck of messenger times gave him confidence that they’d intercept the queen before she reached Aleon, but it was a guess as to where she’d be along the route.

Cyrus chose a portal location closer to Aleon, hopefully ahead of her caravan, then they’d work their way back to meet her.

Every man knew the plan—when they found the queen’s caravan, they would go after Alexander, separate him, and steal him back to Rael.

If that failed, Cyrus would kill him there, but only Cyrus.

No other man was to touch his brother. The queen wasn’t the target, but if she were harmed, it would be an acceptable loss.

They wore nothing identifiable to Rael, carried no correspondence. Mercia would have no idea who they were. Cyrus’s men came from many lands, their skin colors and languages as varied as the places they’d been stolen from. They now joined together to form an army that represented all yet none.

They traveled under the illusion that covered them.

Their only challenge was in keeping quiet, as there was nothing the witch could do to mask their sounds, and an army of five hundred men with horses was not silent.

However, the outer reaches that they traveled were less inhabited, save scatterings of villages that were easy enough to steer clear of.

“I can’t feel my fucking feet,” Kord told Cyrus as they made camp that evening.

Everan snorted, joining them. “I can’t feel my face.”

Cyrus was cold too. While it had initially been a relief to escape the eternal heat of Rael, he couldn’t say this was better.

He might have been born in the North, but he wasn’t accustomed to winter.

None of them were. He wished they’d brought more layers.

The cold crept from the earth, up his legs, and the wind swept through his too few layers, chilling him to his core, but nothing could make him turn back.

Nearby, Essandra pulled her bedroll from her saddle.

Cyrus paused for a moment, watching her. “You have something for this cold, witch?”

Her icy gaze fell on him. “Do you think I have a power for everything?”

“Not everything. Just whatever keeps you from having to wear gloves and not much more than a loose cloak.”

She glanced down at her bare hands and back at him. The lines of her face grew sharper.

“Fine.” She stepped to Kord and put a hand on his arm. He moved to pull away, but then stopped, his eyes widening. Then she touched Everan, who reacted the same way and gaped at Cyrus.

She then stepped in front of Cyrus, but paused for a moment—was something wrong?

Whatever it was, she seemed to shake it off, and she reached out her hand to his chest. Warmth flooded him.

From her hand through his layers, into his core, and down his arms and his legs.

It was like being touched by the gods, and he let his eyelids fall closed.

When he opened them again, he was met by the depths of her emerald eyes.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Merene, my fire witch.”

“She doesn’t have to be here?” The portal witch and the illusion witch had been the only ones to come with them. Cyrus had just assumed other witches had to be present to take advantage of their powers.

She frowned. “No. In fact, if she were here, she wouldn’t be happy about me using her power for the comforts of simple men.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, thank you.”

She gave a mild shrug. “I’m tired of listening to all your teeth chattering anyway. If anything’s going to give us away—it’s that.”

Traveling was easier when he didn’t feel like he was going to freeze to death, but by the fourth day, Cyrus had larger concerns than the cold.

He’d expected to have come upon the queen’s caravan by now, yet there was no sign, and he was starting to lose confidence.

Had they arrived behind her, and were they now traveling the wrong way to intercept her?

No—that couldn’t be. There was no sign a caravan had passed through, and he was confident they were on the route she’d take to Aleon. They continued.

Cyrus woke the next morning to the air crisp and clean.

As he stepped out of his tent, he was struck for a moment.

The earth had disappeared under a sea of glittering white.

He dropped down to scoop up a fistful. It had been so long since he’d seen snow, since he had touched it, and he was instantly transported to his childhood.

Cyrus and Alexander balled the snow tightly in their fists.

They gathered it nearer to the edges of the isle, where it was wet and they could compact it hard enough to sting when it hit.

Alexander was always wary of that and threw them lightly, which defeated the point of getting it near the ice in the first place. Cyrus didn’t throw so lightly.

Alexander would hit their friends, harmlessly in the back and in good fun, garnering laughs all around.

Cyrus would hit rivals, in the head—hard—garnering laughs on one side, then usually a fight.

But regardless of their different targets, they always threw at others, never at each other. They were a team.

Cyrus pushed the memory from his mind. That had been a lifetime ago, before Alexander had left him to rot in Rael. Alexander knew Cyrus was alive. But he didn’t come. He didn’t care. They were no longer a team. Alexander was no longer his brother.

He stood to find Essandra now watching him. She was shorter than he was, yet always seemed to be looking down on him.

“You should send scouts ahead,” she said. “We need to make sure we’re not wasting our time.”

“I already thought of that, but by the time they travel out and then return with news, it won’t save us much.”

A line formed between her brows. “Give them your blood to take with them.”

“What?”

“Your blood. Give it to them to take with them.”

Rearranging the words didn’t make any more sense to him.

She rolled her eyes. “They can call to you when they find something. You can talk to them through the bond.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He could do that? No, he couldn’t. “That’s not how it works.”

She let out a small scoff. “That is how it works.” Then she shook her head, and her eyes narrowed. “Do you not know how to travel to others’ minds?”

“Of course I do. Kind of.” He just couldn’t always control it. And he couldn’t speak.

Her lips parted more. “You don’t, do you?”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve shown me how,” he replied angrily.

“I didn’t think I had to teach you the most basic abilities of a traveler. These are things that should come naturally .”

“They don’t,” he snapped back. Then he paused. “What’s a traveler?”

She pursed her lips just as Everan and Kord approached.

“Give me your hand,” she told Cyrus. Then she cut Everan a demanding look. “Get over here.”

Everan glanced at Kord, then stepped closer as she’d instructed.

She made a small prick in Cyrus’s finger with the tip of her dagger, then swept the swelling drop of blood toward Everan.

“Wait,” Cyrus said. Over the past couple of months, he’d learned that the blood connection with the witch was very different from the blood connection with others. She could control what he saw in her mind, limit him, but Everan didn’t have this ability.

“You need to learn to communicate through the bond,” she told him. “It will make things so much easier. For all of us.”

“It’s all right,” Everan said, catching on to what they were trying to do.

Cyrus relented, and Essandra pressed the blood against Everan’s forehead. Cyrus drew a breath as he felt the pull.

“Focus,” she told him. “You should feel both of us.”

He did feel them both, but only Everan’s mind was open to him.

“Now, close your eyes, and you can do one of two things. You can travel to him, as a traveler , or you can pull him into your own mind, but—”

“I can pull him into my mind?” That was better than infringing on Everan’s thoughts.

“I want you to focus on traveling to him —it’s easier to start.”

“How can I pull him into mine?”

“We’re not doing that right now.” Her voice became firm.

“Cyrus, it’s fine,” Everan said. “You know every corner of my mind anyway.”

Cyrus sighed and closed his eyes. He let the call of his blood pull him through the chaos, like a tide sweeping him to sea, and found himself in Everan’s mind. He stared back at Essandra through Everan’s eyes.

“Now say something to him,” Essandra said.

Wait—that was all? He just needed to speak? Suddenly, he felt very foolish. It was so simple.

“Say something,” Essandra prompted again.

“Everan.”

“Not out loud ,” she said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Only in his mind.”

In his mind. Well, how was he supposed to do that? He formed Everan’s name in a thought.

“Say something,” she said.

“Give me a moment! I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

Cyrus gritted his teeth. This woman. Everan , he thought.

Still nothing.

“Imagine the sound of your voice when you say it,” she told him.

He could easily imagine his own voice. “ Everan .”

He heard Everan’s chuckle.

Cyrus jerked his eyes open. “You heard me?”

“You sound different, but yeah.”

“How—in what way?”

Everan shrugged. “I don’t know, a little deeper. But it’s you. I can tell.”

“Talk back to him,” Essandra told Everan.

“ Took you this long to figure out how to do this, you dumb fuck. ”

Cyrus’s eyes flew open again.

Everan laughed. “He heard me.”

“Do me,” Kord said with a grin, grabbing Cyrus’s hand and taking a small smear of blood for himself.

“ Fuck off, ” Cyrus said in his mind.

Kord let out a hearty laugh.

“Are you boys done playing now?” Essandra asked sternly.

They all quieted.

“Send your scouts,” she told Cyrus. “They can call you through the blood bond when they find something.” Then she shook her head. “We should have done this sooner.”

She was right. They should have done this the moment they portaled in. Cyrus could have sent scouts in both directions along the route. Now they were into the fourth day, and if they’d missed the Mercian queen, then Cyrus would miss his opportunity at Alexander.

Kord and Ram each took a vial of blood and rode ahead, and Cyrus kept with the larger group, following at only a slightly slower pace. His unease grew as the sun moved across the sky, and he rode in silence.

The pull came sooner than he’d expected—that afternoon. He pulled his horse up and slid to the ground, wavering slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Essandra asked, just behind him.

“It’s Kord.” Holding the side of the saddle for support, he closed his eyes and let his blood lead him to Kord’s mind.

“ I found them, ” Kord told him as soon as he entered.

The beat in his chest leapt to his throat. He’d found them. He’d found Alexander.

“ Looks like someone else had the same idea we did, though, ” Kord added. “ And they beat us to it. ”

Cyrus stilled as his pulse raced even faster. “ What? ”

“ The queen’s gone, but her army is still here. ”

He didn’t care about the queen. But Kord’s next words stopped him cold.

“ They’re dead, Cyrus. All of them. ”