Page 41 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter thirty-three

The disappointment was crushing.

It wasn’t Kieve through the bond.

It was Bravat.

The shift gutted him, and Cyrus surged down the bond with a sudden rush of anger. “ Where have you been? ” he snarled as he raged into the fighter’s mind. “ What took you so long? ”

“ Fucking gods, Cyrus, calm down, it’s just been a few days. ”

Calm down. If Cyrus could have physically reached through the blood bond, Bravat wouldn’t have had a face.

“ Kieve found us a few days ago, ” Bravat said. “ Told me the portal failed. He went back to wait. I gave him your blood. He should have called to you and told you— ”

“ Kieve’s dead now. ”

Bravat went quiet.

“ He was captured by the Shadow King. ” Cyrus shook as fury filled him to the brim. “ Where were you?! ”

“ You think I would have been able to stop that? ”

No, he didn’t. Cyrus was angry, though, and he still wanted to blame him.

“ We haven’t even seen any Shadowmen. I would have called you sooner. ”

He wasn’t sure he believed that.

“ I found another temple, ” Bravat told him. “ That’s where we’ve been. We’ve got a shitload of gold to bring back. ”

Cyrus didn’t care about the gold. “ Is Jaem with you? ”

“ Yeah, I have him. All the men are here. ”

“ Keep everyone together. I’m still trying to figure out how to get you all back. Lie low. Call me through the blood in three days. ”

“ Fine. ”

“ Three days, Bravat, ” Cyrus warned.

“ I said fucking fine. ”

Yeah. Fine. But if Bravat didn’t call him in three days, he wouldn’t be fine.

Of course, Bravat didn’t call him in three days.

But Jaem finally did. Bravat had passed him the blood vial and, apparently, the responsibility of talking to Cyrus. And as angry and annoyed as Cyrus was, he couldn’t deny—he preferred talking to Jaem anyway.

Jaem had been a thief before he was caught and sold into the trade.

Not only was he a good fighter, but he was good at finding things, good at observing, and good at getting information.

If there was anyone to keep an eye on Bravat and keep Cyrus apprised of what was happening, it was Jaem.

He was also extremely loyal, and Cyrus trusted him implicitly.

Unfortunately, the news that Jaem brought him was not what he wanted to hear. Bravat was out of control, razing the Mercian outer reaches as he saw fit. And there was nothing Cyrus could do about it. He hoped that Bravat would grow tired, be ready to return to Rael with all the gold he’d collected.

But weeks passed. Three of them. And still, Bravat wasn’t tiring. In fact, he was getting worse.

“ Cyrus, he isn’t just looting the temples ,” Jaem told him in a desperate call. “ He’s completely destroying them. ”

Cyrus swore. This fool was going to get himself caught.

Essandra was still looking for portal alternatives, but it wouldn’t be something available quickly, and he wasn’t entirely sure she was prioritizing it.

Now that she had the cup, she’d been working on gathering the remaining things she needed for the spell for her family.

Cyrus had previously considered the possibility of the men starting the journey south, back to Rael, but crossing the Horsemen Tribelands would be dangerous.

Cyrus didn’t think they’d all make it, and he could easily find himself with no men left at all.

He wanted to wait for Essandra, but much more of this and he might not have a choice.

“ How do the men feel? ” he asked Jaem.

“ Well, most are Bravat’s men, and they’re just different from us, you know? They don’t seem to care. They’re just happy about their gold. ”

Cyrus couldn’t let Bravat keep going—it posed too great a risk to Rael.

But he had no way to stop him. Not now. And if he were honest with himself, if Bravat wanted to spend time wreaking havoc in a kingdom that his brother was responsible for safekeeping, Cyrus wasn’t particularly motivated to stop him.

There was something appealing about making a menace like Bravat Alexander’s problem.

Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Cyrus knew he needed to bring him back. He just couldn’t yet. Until then, he also had plenty of other things to worry about.

“ You haven’t seen anything of the Shadowmen? ” Cyrus asked.

“ Nothing. I’m having a hard time believing they were even here to begin with. ”

So was Cyrus, but he trusted what Kieve had told him.

“ We’ll talk again in a few days, ” he told Jaem. “ Make sure no one gets caught. ”

Cyrus opened his eyes back to his own chamber. A pain in his chest still lingered at the thought of Kieve.

The dogs lay stretched in the beams of sunlight falling across the floor. Cyrus tried to turn his attention back to getting dressed, as he’d been doing when Jaem had called him.

He fastened the buttons of his shirt as he stared at himself in the mirror.

It looked too stiff, and he unfastened the top four.

It had been months since he’d taken the throne, and he still wasn’t used to formal-cut clothing, but he was king now, and apparently it wasn’t socially acceptable to walk around with his arms and chest uncovered.

He frowned. Now he looked disheveled. He refastened two buttons. Gods-damned, it was hot. He eyed the vest that was supposed to go over it. Absolutely not.

A knock sounded, and the door opened. The dogs jumped up but then settled as Everan pushed in his head. “Cyrus.” His face was shadowed. “You need to see this.”

Cyrus followed him down the hall to the central city overlook and outside onto the balcony.

As he neared the stone railing, he slowed in his step.

Crowds of people filled the streets around the palace—so many he couldn’t see the cobblestone.

Some carried large packs on their backs, others held little more than the clothes on their bodies, but most notable was simply the number of them.

“Who are they?” Cyrus asked.

“Slaves who’ve escaped their kingdoms and have come here under your promise.”

“My promise?”

“A couple weeks ago, when you were listening to grievances, you said that if a slave could make it here—”

“I know what I said,” he snapped. Everan quieted, and Cyrus sighed in frustration. He didn’t mean to be short, but his council wasn’t going to be happy about this. He was barely managing to sustain his own people.

“They also say they’ve come to support your cause,” Everan added.

“What cause is that?” Cyrus looked closer at the throngs of people below and noted they were different in dress and style. They hadn’t all fled from the same kingdom.

“To overthrow Serra.”

Cyrus jerked his head up in surprise. His council really wasn’t going to be happy.

He opened his mouth to object, but he didn’t have words, so he closed it again.

What could he say? He’d meant it—if he ever had the opportunity to take Serra, he’d do it.

And if he ever got the opportunity to take the Shadowlands…

“The council is assembling,” Everan said. “They’re looking for you.”

Cyrus stifled the groan rising in his throat. He shook his head. “I can’t.” The last council meeting had been excruciating. And, really, what could they do about this situation now? The people were already here.

“You can’t avoid them.”

He was pretty sure he could.

Everan gave him a small push toward the door. “Come on.”

They made their way toward the council room. Cyrus’s mind turned. These people had come here not just because he’d promised them refuge but also because they wanted to join him against those who’d oppressed them. He slowed his pace.

“Is something wrong?” Everan asked.

“How many do you think have come?”

Everan shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. Five thousand maybe?”

“And more on the way?”

“I’d expect so. At first it was a few hundred, then we had about ten ships show up through the night and this morning. Word is spreading. Are you tallying the heads we’ll have to feed?”

“I’m tallying the heads we’ll have for an army.”

Everan stopped. “Cyrus.” He glanced both ways down the hall, making sure their words were private. “Are you really going to push to start a war?”

“It’s the same war.”

“Cyrus—”

“ Be their vengeance. Isn’t that what you said?”

Everan shook his head. “No—that’s not what I said. I said be their justice .” His voice quieted. “And not everyone even wants that. Some just want a life.”

“Some as in you ?”

Everan sighed. He leaned closer. “I know losing Kieve has taken a toll on you. It’s taken a toll on all of us. But these past few weeks, you haven’t been yourself. You’ve been rash and impulsive—more than usual. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t agree with me?”

“It’s not about agreeing.”

Everan’s eyes shifted over Cyrus’s shoulder, and Cyrus turned to find Essandra quickly walking toward them.

His jaw tightened. She’d be just as displeased as the council about their new visitors.

She and her hedge witches were already working night and day to meet the harvest demands for Rael’s current population.

This would be an added burden—a significant one.

“I’m sure you saw outside,” Cyrus started, bracing for her anger.

“Yes.” She was slightly winded, as if she’d been running. “I need you to come with me.”

Of course. No doubt to push him back into his kingly obligations. She’d probably give him a piece of her mind later.

“We’re already on our way to the council room,” he told her.

“Not the council room.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she wrung her hands. “There’s something else. I need your help. I need you to come. Right now.”

Cyrus realized she wasn’t at all focused on their new visitors, or on the council. “What is it?” he asked.

She shifted impatiently. “I’ve developed an alternative portal spell, but I need you to make it work.”

There was a lift in his chest. “You’ve created a portal? We can bring everyone back?”

“Yes. No. I mean—it’s complicated. Please. Just come.”

“The council is assembling now—”

“The council can wait.” There was desperation in her voice.