Page 63 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter forty-nine

Teron washed the last of the blood from his hands in the basin, then dried them with a towel.

Cyrus looked at himself in the mirror under the candlelight. It had taken Teron a few hours, but there was no sign of the gash that had split his cheek below his eye.

“You have to be more careful,” Teron had chastised him through the healing. “I can’t bring back an eye.”

Cyrus was well aware of Teron’s limits—limits that he’d pushed many times through the years. And here, in the darkness of night, receiving Teron’s healing touch, it almost felt like they were back at the villa again.

The healer sank into his chair in the corner of the room, and Cyrus knew he felt it too.

Looking at him in the reflection, he asked, “Are you all right?”

The man waved off his concern. “I’m getting old, that’s all.”

“You’re not that old.” Cyrus started washing the blood from his face.

Teron gave a faint scoff. “I’m eighty-three. I’m probably older than everyone else in this kingdom.” He grew quiet for a moment. “I don’t have much time left. I’m glad I got to see you rise. I only wish I could stay longer to watch how you grow.”

Cyrus stilled in the mirror, his eyes still on Teron. The thought stung him. Teron was more than a healer, more than a friend. He was family. Cyrus turned. “Don’t say things like that. You’re going to live longer than me, old man.”

The sun had barely risen, and Cyrus was already bothered.

Jaem had called him through the blood bond.

Bravat still refused to return. He refused to even talk to Cyrus, and Cyrus was beyond trying to get him back to Rael and was now more of the mind to just figure out a way to kill him.

He’d briefly thought of tasking Jaem, but Bravat was a more skilled fighter.

The risk to Jaem was too great. Still, if Cyrus couldn’t figure something else out, he might not have a choice.

Cyrus was even more bothered by the news that followed. The Mercian queen was in the Shadowlands. Apparently, she’d been there since her wedding.

He’d already judged her for marrying the Shadow King and had written her off accordingly, but for her to stay in the Shadowlands—to choose to live there—meant it might be beyond a political arrangement.

He wasn’t sure why this bothered him so much.

Perhaps something made him still want to believe that she’d married this monster out of some extreme necessity.

Perhaps he wanted to believe that she was better than this—that Mercia was better than this.

Or maybe it was because Cyrus wanted to strip the Shadow King of everything he had, but instead the fiend seemed to be building more.

Perhaps Cyrus was annoyed that he needed to expand his list of fated enemies. But he would need to be careful. He couldn’t commit to yet another war with another kingdom, especially a kingdom that his people didn’t see as an enemy.

Cyrus’s footsteps echoed in the halls as he made his way toward the council room.

What irritated him even more were these damned council meetings.

He’d spent nearly the whole day prior with his council, and somehow, they needed to meet yet again today.

And coming on the heels of… whatever that was that had happened with Essandra the night before…

his mind still reeled. He needed to talk to her, although he wouldn’t get the chance until after this cursed council meeting.

When he rounded the corner, he saw her. Essandra.

And his chest tightened even more at the sight of the lead assassin standing beside her.

Orion. He had lost the short beard and was now clean-shaven, but Cyrus recognized him. He recognized the hair of copper mixed with blond, the steely gray eyes, the lithe build of a deadly assassin—one Cyrus had incensed and who was now freely roaming his kingdom.

Orion let his head drop, almost in a bow, but kept his steely eyes on Cyrus as he approached. It felt like a challenge under the guise of respect.

Cyrus returned a piercing glare. “I thought you said you let them go, and they left,” he said angrily to Essandra when he reached her, not taking his eyes off the assassin.

She stiffened. She didn’t appreciate his tone, but he didn’t care.

“No, I said I freed them. I must have forgotten to mention I also told them they could stay in Rael.”

Cyrus’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. They should have left when they’d had the chance.

“Good morning, Sire,” one of his councilmen called as a small group of them shuffled toward him. They slowly came to a stop as they sensed something amiss.

“Is everything all right?” Verin asked.

Everything wasn’t all right. Not even close.

Essandra nodded to Orion. “I’ll find you when we’re done,” she told him, dismissing him. She turned to the councilmen. “Everything’s fine,” she said.

But tension hung heavy in the air.

Orion glanced at Essandra, then back to Cyrus. He said nothing. He only backed away slowly before turning and leaving the hall.

Cyrus’s eyes bore into the departing assassin as the councilmen shuffled warily past into the adjoining room. He caught Essandra before she could follow.

“So not only did you let them out, but you let them stay,” he said between his teeth.

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Where else would they go?”

“Literally anywhere. They were so desperate to leave.”

“They had no choice before, but now they do. And they have skills—we could have a use for them.”

“I’ve already said I don’t need them.”

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “That was before you committed to giving half our men to another kingdom.”

“It wasn’t half.”

Her emerald eyes blazed. She wasn’t backing down. Did she really think keeping the assassins around was a good idea? And trusting them to protect her secret? They shouldn’t be free; they should be dead.

“You think you can trust them? With what they know?” Anger flushed his skin. “And what—they so willingly pledge themselves now? To help us against Serra? Against the Shadow King?”

“Not if you keep acting like this,” she snapped. “But who do you think sold them to the Jackals to begin with? It was the Shadow King.”

He shifted back. The Shadow King had sold men to the Jackals? Even so, that didn’t mean they could be trusted.

Essandra turned and headed into the council room.

Cyrus pressed close behind her. “Any more surprises since I’ve been gone?”

“I don’t want to spoil it for you,” she hissed over her shoulder.

They stepped into the council room, and Cyrus took his seat at the end of the table. Essandra sat to his left, as if they hadn’t just debated a heavy threat walking around the kingdom.

He hardly followed the meeting conversation—an update on the communication back to Gregor, which he couldn’t care less about, defense updates, the status of provisions and expected harvests, other odds and ends. But nothing that could take over the churning already in his mind.

The meeting finally broke, and the councilmen filtered out. Essandra tried to slip away, but Cyrus grabbed her and pulled her down a side hall, pressing her back against the wall and leaning close. The past hour had done nothing to calm his irritation. “You put me in an uncomfortable position.”

“Do you mean with the assassins, or yesterday evening?” Her face was as cold as stone, her voice cutting.

He thought they were past this. “Why are you still angry? I told you I’m sorry.”

“You think that fixes everything?”

But what else should he have done? “I don’t know what you expected me to do. Miriel needed me, Pryam needed me—”

“ I needed you!” she cried.

Her words stole his.

Her lip trembled. “Damn it,” she breathed, and she shielded her face with her hand. She hated to show her emotion.

He shifted to the side, leaning his shoulder on the wall beside her to block any prying eyes from the main hall.

Her voice dropped low in defeat. “I needed your power for the Amoran Cup spell, but I didn’t have your blood.”

“I thought you didn’t need me for that.”

“Now that I’m working on alternatives to the original spell, I do.”

So, she was still trying to get the spell to work. Relief filled him, but it did little to ease the guilt. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“And I needed to travel to the trees,” she added. “And you weren’t here. I’ve missed this month’s bloom.”

She’d needed him. She’d needed him and he hadn’t been here. And he didn’t know how to make it better now. His voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you want from me, Essandra? Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

She lifted her gaze to his. Her face sobered, and the stiffness in her body eased. Her lips moved slightly. Then she covered her face as she breathed deeply. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said finally. She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m blaming you.”

“Because I wasn’t here, and you needed me.”

She dropped her hands from her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what else to do. Then he paused.

“Bond our power,” he said.

Her eyes flicked to his, and a line trenched her brows. “What?”

“Bond our power. You said that Soroya brought you a seer to bond to her, that it would allow her to access the power of the Aether without needing the blood. Do that with me. Bond our power.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are implications, implications that Soroya didn’t understand.”

“Like what?”

“The power goes both ways. I would have limitless access to the Aether, and you’d have limitless access to my power and anyone bonded to me—limitless access to the power of my whole coven.”

“And you’re worried about this.” It wasn’t a question.

She was quiet for a moment. “It would make you a very powerful man.”

“Do you not trust me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

That felt like a dagger to the chest. “Can you just break the bond after?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s a bloodline bond. It would be broken only when one of us dies.”

“If you don’t want me to wield your power, I won’t.”

“You would if it allowed you to take your brother,” she whispered. “Or the Shadow King.”

He quieted and dropped his gaze to the ground. He couldn’t deny that.

“So, you see?” she said somberly. “You’d be a powerful man driven by vengeance. No controls.”

She had no idea just how much control she had.

“I am also driven by other things,” he said.

“Like what?” she asked him.

But he couldn’t say it.

“Right,” she said softly. Then she stepped around him and left him, and he watched her walk away.