Page 67 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Her face grew more serious. He didn’t expect her to tell him. She kept her work close, especially when it involved anything personal. But she surprised him when she said, “I’m looking for a few rare herbs. Some of them are found only a few places in the world.”

“Any in Rael?”

She pursed her lips. “Rael can barely grow a blade of grass.”

He snorted. There were no lies in that. “What are you looking for?”

“A few things. Serium, for one.”

“Where is it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I wish I did, though. I have an entire book of spells it would unlock for me. A proxy spell that could provide alternatives to bringing back my sister, which would let me then be the anchor for my mother. Lifeblood spells, blood-borne spells, just… a lot.”

He wasn’t quite sure what those were, but they were important to her, so they were important to him. “When you find it, regardless of where it is, I’ll send for it. Anywhere in the world.”

Her lips parted, and her eyes brightened. She pursed her lips against the smile that came to her mouth and nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re still trying,” he said softly.

A warm silence sat between them.

A glisten of emotion came to her eye. “The council wants to see you,” she said, blinking it back.

He almost groaned. “Of course they do.”

“What do you expect? You’re king—things are needed from you.”

He pushed himself up from the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “As you keep reminding me.”

His muscles ached, protesting every movement as he stood. He reached up behind his neck and dug his fingertips into the cramp between his shoulder blades. His braies hung loose, and they dropped lower on his hips as he stretched.

Her gaze stayed on him, traveling his chest and shoulders. And down. When she glanced up to find him looking back at her, she quickly cleared her throat and dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Do you need something from me?” His voice came out low and husky. He hadn’t meant it as an advance, but as her eyes drifted back to him again, he didn’t clarify.

“I do want something.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I want you to employ Orion and his men.”

That smile disappeared, quickly replaced by a flame in his chest. “Orion?”

“We could use them,” she said.

“For what? Assassins aren’t soldiers.”

“No, but they’re skilled nonetheless, and skilled men are something we’re in short supply of.” She stepped closer. “You have to take advantage of every opportunity. Kingdoms and crowns are a dangerous game, and the more capable men you have around you, the better.”

“Yes, surrounding myself with aggrieved assassins—that would make me feel much safer.”

“There’s a difference between intentionally wronging someone and simply doing what you think you have to. Orion understands this. I’ve gotten to know him rather well these past few weeks.”

“Have you?” If Cyrus wasn’t sure he disliked Orion before, especially with the smile Essandra carried as she talked about him, he was certain of it now.

“He’s a very genuine person. And enjoyable to be around.”

And now Cyrus liked him even less.

His face obviously betrayed him, and she shifted. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “Right now, the council is waiting. Verin and Fatim stopped by to see you earlier, which I refused. But now that you’re awake, we really shouldn’t keep them.”

He was barely awake. The cramp between his shoulder blades spidered up his neck, knotting his whole back. He wondered if he could put them off for a while longer, but Essandra’s waiting brow told him no.

He sighed. “Fine. Let me put myself together.”

A knock sounded on the door, and she stepped to open it.

Teron stood in the hall. He gave a small bob of his head as he clasped his hands in front of him. “I know I’m of little use,” he said, “but I just stopped by to check in.”

On seeing the healer, the raw emotion from Cyrus’s dream swept through him again. “Teron.” There was a crack in his voice. He moved quickly to the door and pulled the old man inside.

Teron’s heavy white brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”

Cyrus could only stare at him, holding his arm. Finally, he caught himself and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just glad to see you.”

“I’ll leave you,” Essandra interjected. “I need to freshen up. I’ll be in my chamber when you’re ready.” She gave a quick nod back at Cyrus and then slipped out of the room.

Cyrus stared back at Teron. “You’re all right.”

The old healer’s brows dipped. “Of course I’m all right. Are you all right?” He glanced down at Cyrus’s hand, which was still holding on to his arm, then slowly looked back up at Cyrus. “What worries you?”

Cyrus opened his mouth, but the words lodged like a blade in his throat. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t need to say it. It had just been a dream. Only a dream.

“Nothing.” He shook his head again. “Nothing. It was just a bad dream.”

The old man frowned, and the shadow of his brow grew heavier over his eyes.

“Really,” Cyrus said, “everything is fine. But, come”—he pulled Teron toward the cushioned chair by the window—“you can sit while I get ready.”

Teron let himself be seated, although he kept a suspicious eye on Cyrus. “Get ready for what?”

“The council has been waiting to speak to me.” Cyrus moved the plate of fruits that sat on a sideboard on the far wall to the table beside Teron.

“Just how I wanted to spend my day,” he added sourly.

“I also have to figure out what to do with these assassins. Essandra is pressing me to employ them.”

“Yes, Orion,” Teron said as he nodded.

Cyrus paused. “You’re familiar with him?”

Teron shrugged. “He seems like a decent fellow.”

Cyrus’s lips tightened. “You too?” At the line of puzzlement that snaked Teron’s brow, he added, “Essandra seems somewhat smitten with him.”

The old man tilted his head. “Does that bother you?”

Cyrus paused abruptly. “Why would it?” He picked up the carafe on the table. “Are you thirsty?”

Teron’s eyes narrowed as he watched Cyrus pour a glass and set it beside the plate of fruit. “Tell me about this dream,” he said.

Cyrus paused, then he set the carafe down slowly.

He was trying to push the image from his mind, not relive it.

“I’ve already forgotten it,” he said. He turned and stepped into the side dressing chamber, where he pulled out a clean tunic and leathers.

“Have you seen Everan?” he called as he dressed.

Teron didn’t answer.

Cyrus stepped back into the main room to find the healer’s eyes on him. He avoided them and looked for his boots. Finding them, he sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on.

All the while, Teron watched him. Finally, the old healer said, “When I leave this world, you have to find the next healer.”

Cyrus gave a small snort. “What?”

“Only one exists in the world at a time.”

Cyrus didn’t like where this was going. He pulled on the left boot.

“When a healer dies, the gift moves to another,” Teron told him. “You must find them. It will be someone from the Opakanaku bloodline.”

“I don’t even know what that means.” Nor did he care. Cyrus had no intention of finding another healer. He pulled on the right boot and stood.

“The Opakanaku were the first of the grassland tribes.”

Cyrus paused. “The Horsemen?”

Teron nodded. “Many generations ago, Manak Anu, the first chieftain of the Opakanaku, fell in love with one of the three sister goddesses of the Wild. He wooed her for one year, two years, three years, four years, and in the fifth year, he finally won her heart.”

Cyrus smiled to himself as he took a seat in the chair beside Teron’s. “Some women are hard to win over.”

“She had to become human to be with him. And she did. But when she left the Wild, she took with her the power of healing. This power still remains, moving from person to person. They need not be directly related, only a descendant of the original Opakanaku tribe.”

Cyrus eyed Teron, his white hair and white beard. “I never knew you were a Horseman.”

“Punaloan,” the old man said with honor.

Cyrus hadn’t heard of them, but he smiled in seeing Teron’s pride.

The healer shook his finger. “When I’m gone, find the next.”

When I’m gone…

Cyrus’s chest tightened. “I won’t need another.”

Teron’s face sharpened and he grabbed Cyrus’s hand, clasping it in his own. His eyes welled. “You’re a fool who’s going to get himself killed without a healer. Find them. Promise me.”

“I will,” he said. But he had no intention of replacing Teron. Because nothing was going to happen to him.