Page 54 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter forty-three

“What do you mean the assassins are healed ?”

“The witch removed their marks,” Kord told him.

“Essandra? How did she get into the cell?”

“Well, the men aren’t going to stop her.”

Cyrus couldn’t fault them for that. He could still be angry about it, though. “Why would she remove the marks?”

Kord shook his head. “I don’t know. She was leaving just as I arrived. She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t find out until after she’d already gone.”

“Did she break the bond for all of them?”

“All of them. Oh, and, uh—if you thought that one guy was a smug bastard before …”

Cyrus’s jaw tightened. “Are they still in the cells?”

“Yeah. Want to see them?”

“No.” He had other things to do, like find Essandra. “Make sure no one else goes down there.”

“You really want me to try to stop her if she comes again?”

As if Kord could.

“Just come get me,” he said. Then he turned and made his way toward Essandra’s workroom.

Thunder rippled through him as he walked.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was angry right now—he didn’t even know her reason.

Maybe part of him had hoped these markings would rid him of the assassins without him having to do anything at all.

Now, if he wanted to be done with them, he’d have to kill them himself.

Essandra was exactly where he’d suspected her to be. He didn’t come to her workroom often, and he usually knocked at the door and waited. He didn’t knock now.

She was standing at her table and turned with a start as he entered.

“You removed their marks?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting.

She cut him a steely glance, then returned to the task he’d interrupted—crushing a mixture of herbs with a mortar and pestle.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because they were dying.” Her voice was stiff and cold.

“What do you care? And wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

Essandra only emptied the contents of the mortar into another bowl.

“Did you make a deal with them?” he asked. “You want to use them for something?” He stepped around the table, nearer to her. “What do you need from them? I’ll give it to you.”

Her body sagged slightly as she leaned against the edge of the table. “I don’t need anything from them,” she said quietly.

Then all of this made even less sense.

Essandra turned her back to him, smoothing her hands along the grain of the table wood. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” He reached out, but she pulled away.

Why couldn’t she tell him?

“Essandra,” he said softly.

She set her bowl down, staring into it.

His shoulders dropped as the weight of defeat settled onto him. She wasn’t going to tell him. He sighed, nodding. He couldn’t force her to open up to him. Even if he could, he didn’t want to. He wanted her to trust him. But she didn’t.

He’d leave her be. He turned to go.

“I used to belong to a coven,” she said, stopping him, “led by a powerful witch, one of the most powerful witches in the world.” She gave a long pause. “Soroya Fey. She’s the one I’m hiding from.”

He turned back to her.

“After Choan destroyed my village, I was alone,” she continued. “I was a child, a girl, on my own. I wasn’t bonded to anyone, and I was powerless, completely reliant on the mercy of strangers. Some were kind. Some weren’t.” She swallowed. “Some took advantage.”

Her eyes welled, and his chest tightened. He stepped closer.

“When I got to the Free Cities, I met a witch,” she told him. “She took me in, brought me to her coven. Soroya’s coven. I thought I’d been saved. Soroya was powerful, and she made me feel powerful. She opened my eyes to what a witch could really do.”

Her eyes glazed, staring into the past.

“I was one of three bond witches,” she continued, “but I was the most powerful. I was able to bond other witches against their will so that Soroya could use their power.”

“You did this willingly?”

“No.” Her words were laced with bitterness.

“But it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s all the same.

I tried to refuse, but she used dark magic to compel me.

I had no choice. And that’s how I spent the next twenty years—finding and bonding witches to Soroya’s coven, helping her grow her power—power that she used to hurt anyone who opposed her. ”

She stared down at the mixture in her bowl. “All the while, I searched for the Amoran Cup.”

“How did you know it was here?”

“I heard the king of Rael had found it. At the same time, the everlife trees had started to bloom, but I was afraid to leave the coven. Then, one day, Soroya brought me a seer. A young girl. Jessenia. She was the strongest seer I’d ever met.

Until you.” She crossed her arms as she rocked slightly.

“Soroya wanted me to bond their power so she could access the Aether. Free, uncontrolled access. No blood, no limits.” She glanced at Cyrus.

“But Jessenia knew Soroya would become too powerful.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I knew too.” She shook her head. “Jessenia fought me like a rabid beast—a wild, chaotic, desperate fight. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice.”

Her throat dipped. “But when I tried to make the cuts for the spell, she was fast. She grabbed the knife and stabbed it into her own chest.” Essandra’s voice wavered, and her eyes welled. “She killed herself. She took her own life to keep her power from Soroya. And the world is safer for it.”

Essandra pushed out a long breath. “That’s when I knew I had to leave,” she said. “Her fight gave me the courage. It took me months to figure out how to break the bond. I had to use dark magic to do it.”

“You escaped,” he said. “Then you came to Rael for the cup.”

She nodded. “I didn’t have Tomel at the time, so I traveled like useless people do.”

He snorted.

“But I met witches along the way, and they joined me. I formed my own coven. I lead them. They’ve allowed themselves to be bonded with me, but it’s all of their own free will.

Anyone can leave at any time.” She sighed.

“Orion and his men want to leave the Jackals, but the assassin’s guild is like Soroya’s coven—no one leaves.

Even without the mark, they’re not safe.

They’ll be hunted. Like me. They can change their names too. It won’t matter.”

“You’re safe here.”

She shook her head. “Soroya will find me eventually, and when she does…” It was so slight, but he heard it—the faintest tremble in her words.

His chest tightened, and he stepped nearer. This was what she was afraid of.

“At first I thought the assassins had come for me,” she said, “that she’d sent them. But Soroya wouldn’t send assassins. She’ll come herself to kill me.”

He moved closer, dropping his voice. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She smiled sadly. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered.

Her words knifed him, and he moved even closer—so close there wasn’t space between them. Her breath hitched as he lifted her chin to look at him. She raised her eyes to his.

“Essandra,” he said. “If someone comes for you, I’ll kill them.”

Her breath caught.

Her lips parted.

Her lips, her lips, her lips. The want to kiss her—the pull—it was overwhelming, too powerful. But he knew he couldn’t. She’d been very clear he couldn’t. She wasn’t his to kiss. Still, he dropped his head lower.

He’d meant every word. He would never let anything happen to this woman. If someone came for her… the heat of fight flamed under his skin just thinking of it.

But what if he wasn’t here? He almost swore. He just remembered—“I have to go to Pryam tomorrow,” he said. He didn’t want to leave her.

Her face fell. “Oh,” she said softly. “Right.”

“I won’t be gone long. A few days.”

Maybe he shouldn’t go. He didn’t know what reason he’d have. No one was coming for her right now; she wasn’t in danger. Yet…

“Cyrus,” she breathed. Her mouth opened with unspoken words on her tongue.

Did she want him to stay?

He waited.

All she had to do was say it. All she had to do was tell him to stay.

He’d stay.

Say it.

Please say it.

But she didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

He peeled his gaze from her lips, fearing his body would betray him and he’d make an even bigger fool of himself. He focused on the table, on the parchments strewn across it, her materials, anything to distract himself.

His eyes landed on an open book, and he paused. The bottom of the page had a drawing of the Amoran Cup. The writing beside it wasn’t in a language he knew, but he’d seen it before.

“What is that?” he asked. “Did you write it?”

“Um…” She shook her head as if to clear it and followed his gaze.

“Is that the spell you’ve been working on?” he asked.

“Um, yes.” She quickly shifted, slipping away from him and moving around to put the table between them. “No, I mean. I didn’t write it. I’m translating it. But I’ve obviously made a mistake somewhere.”

His pulse quickened. Finally, something he might be able to give her. Something that might help her. “Teron has books like this.”

She stopped, and her eyes grew wider. “He has books written in Old Nehalem?”

Cyrus nodded. “I’m pretty sure. The lettering is consistent. He might be able to help you.”

Her breaths came clipped.

“Let’s go talk to him. Get your book.” Cyrus didn’t care about the assassins anymore.

“N-now?”

“Yes, now.”

She quickly scraped the loose parchments back into the book, holding it closely against her chest as Cyrus led her to Teron’s workroom.

They found the old healer hunched over his manuscripts, scratching notes with a thick quill.

“Teron,” Cyrus said as they entered.

The old man bobbed his head up.

“We have a book we’re hoping you can help with. A spell we’re trying to translate.”

Essandra opened it and laid it on the table for him to see.

Teron’s mouth opened in surprise. “Written in Old Nehalem?”

Essandra gasped. “Yes! You know it?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

She covered her mouth, and her eyes teared.

Cyrus couldn’t help a smile.