Page 33 of Kingdom of Tomorrow (Book of Arden #1)

“A practice that endangers the people who rely on your protection.” Boiling cauldron. My nails cut into my palms. I pressed on. “I’m late for drills.”

He stiffened. “You’ll stay here until you are dismissed. I’ve been lenient with you and allowed certain liberties, and that was a mistake. You’ve forgotten that I outrank you. Today, you will remember protocol and act accordingly.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I grated with a salute. I didn’t push to know why he’d allowed those “certain liberties.” I didn’t care. I just wanted to go.

A muscle jumped within his brand, a sure sign he neared the end of his patience. “Did Shiloh mention anything odd before he died? Or give you something?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he tell you what he meant by irrefutable truth ?”

My breath caught. Cyrus had listened to a recording of my final conversation with the medic, and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“No, sir. But I can tell you an irrefutable truth of my own. Shiloh was happiness. He was a good guy. I really liked him. He patched my wounds, and I caused his.” My chin quivered, and hot tears welled again.

I spun before my companion noticed. “The scale is forever unbalanced.”

Cyrus crossed the distance between us and settled his hands on my shoulders, his touch light. The heat of his body enveloped me, bringing with it his heady scent. “What happened isn’t your fault.” Even his voice proved a comfort, as soft as velvet.

In that moment, a part of me hated him. “I didn’t say it was, but either way, I’m not interested in your opinion. I’d like to go. Sir.”

He sighed and severed contact. “While Mykal is away, you’ll serve as my assistant.”

Oh, I would, would I? The threat of tears ended, and I whirled around. “You said you’d always give me a choice. Did you lie?”

“I did not. But I know you’re hurting and furious and counting on your training to help you set things right.”

“Things can never be set right.”

“Let me finish.” He stared me down, resolute. “I intend to train you myself, after hours. You’ll learn more with me on a one-to-one basis, in less time.”

I waited, silent, fuming.

“Speak,” he demanded.

“I’d rather learn with the rest of my team, sir.” The words burst from me.

He gave a clipped shake of his head. “You’re making decisions from a place of hurt and ignorance. You don’t yet fully comprehend the enemy you’re fighting, the war you’re waging, or the weapons being used against you, so how can you accurately judge what helps or harms your situation?”

His words were an echo of Ember. “Enlighten me then, sir. That is your job. Or perhaps you’re too busy winning your contest with the other instructors to aid your students.”

A line formed between his furrowed brows.

He stepped into my personal space, leaving little distance between us.

I stepped back. Undeterred, he followed me.

This time, I remained in place. If he tried to comfort me again, he would regret it.

The thick veneer of docility I’d worn for so long was beginning to crack, liberating an aggression I hadn’t known I possessed.

“I’ve been where you are.” He didn’t touch me in any way, but his heat got a firmer grip on me, attempting to lure me closer of my own volition. “I’ve experienced the horror of wielding lethal force against a loved one. I understand the surge of guilt, hatred, and rage.”

Maybe, but he knew nothing of helplessness, vulnerability, and uncertainty. He was a Dolion. Powerful beyond imagining.

I pointed a finger of accusation in his face and opened my mouth to hiss and scream and curse him. Only sputtering noises escaped.

He gave me a soft look, as if daring me to unleash. Or begging me to.

The ridiculous thought acted as a twenty-pound bag of common sense, slamming into me. As if the emperor’s grandson would beg for anything. “I want to train with the others, not share my feelings, or fetch and carry for you. I need to train with the others. Don’t take that away from me.”

He worked his jaw. “Very well.” His motions clipped, he waved to the pot I’d noticed earlier. “The soil is yours. I planted a seed. Something I thought you might enjoy. Put it in your room and go to class. But you will spend your free time with me. Even your days off.”

A gift? I looked at it, then looked at him. It. Him. I’d defied him, and he rewarded me? Knocked off kilter, I swiped up the pot and admitted, “I don’t understand, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir ,” he snapped, then scrubbed a hand over his face. He drew in a deep breath. “There was a pre-Fall custom of sending flowers to someone who lost a loved one. I thought ... it doesn’t matter. Just water the seed once a day. Go.”

I said nothing else, just raced from the room.

I threw myself into my education, improving by leaps and bounds with every combat simulation and obstacle course. But no matter what I did, Shiloh remained a fixture in the forefront of my mind.

Again and again I replayed his death. Our conversations. Certain facts became an itch I couldn’t scratch.

On our date, Shiloh had spoken of scientific findings suggesting the Rock cured the infected when they ate bits of stone and drank the internal liquid, whatever it was.

I knew he was wrong, but a denial, even logical, was no longer good enough.

I craved proof. Nothing else would silence the questions whispering on repeat in the back of my mind.

What if Shiloh could’ve been saved? What if I’d killed the wonderful man destined to bring the cure for Madness to the worlds?

Other questions followed, tormenting me. What if the Rock did, in fact, heal the Madness? Why had Jericho left the base?

More than a week ago, the day after the attack, Cyrus had announced the lord-in-training’s departure, but he hadn’t cited a reason.

Jericho believed the HP ate a Theirland berry, and he had intended to get answers. Then, suddenly, he opted to desert his post? Make it make sense. He might have discovered something truly frightening and run because he’d felt unsafe. Perhaps he’d met an untimely end.

Had Cyrus eaten a berry given to him by his enemy? Surely not. There was no reason good enough to take such a risk. Unless he was a Soalian desperate to keep Cured from acquiring it. A secret worth killing for.

A humorless laugh barked from me as I turned a corner, headed to the medical sector to speak with Shiloh’s coworker. If Cyrus was a Soalian, I would eat my shoes.

A baron walked past me and nodded a greeting. I nodded in return, then performed a double take and frowned, certain I’d seen him inside Soal’s library, on a bench with a woman.

Propelled by a force I couldn’t quash, I turned and chased him down. Or tried to. He’d rounded the corner I’d just vacated and vanished. But. There were no doors. No windows.

My heart thudded as I backtracked. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts for longer than I realized and missed his full departure.

I trudged to the medical sector. Empty. Dang it! Although ...

Hello, opportunity. I skirted the counter and peeked at shelves, inside cabinets and drawers. Where had Shiloh stored the Lemon Ade file?

Voices penetrated my awareness, and I darted from the sector, heading for my cell, where I found Mykal. She sat at the edge of her bed, staring down at the floor.

“You’re back,” I said, rushing over to hug her.

She cringed away from contact, saying nothing.

Dismay congealed in my chest. “I’m on break between classes. Cyrus had canceled our day off and demanded we train today. I came to strap on my armor and water my pot.” I still had no idea what kind of flower/herb/shrub Cyrus believed I would enjoy. No sprout had broken the soil yet.

The soil itself reminded me of what my mother had procured on the black market, but it felt richer. Silky, even. Smelled much sweeter too. Wherever he’d obtained it in Theirland, he’d selected the best of the best, with no hint of cross-world contamination.

Mykal remained silent. Didn’t even glance up as I put action to my words.

“I’ll see you after class,” I said, gentling my tone.

Still nothing.

Worried about her state of mind, afraid she blamed me and unsure how I could ever make amends for ending the life of our friend, I sprinted outside to the specified obstacle course. I arrived with only minutes to spare and took my place in line.

Cyrus stood on a metal platform, drenched in sunlight. As usual, he looked good. Better than usual, even. Chin high, shoulders back. From the rigidness of his posture to the firmness of his muscular frame, he conveyed strength. He’d stopped shaving again, thick scruff accentuating his stubborn jaw.

At the sight of him, something foreign and unnamable stirred inside me for the first time. It was hot and bubbly, yet weighty, and it saturated every cell.

He scanned us after the bell sounded. His demeanor projected absolute confidence, daring anyone to get too close. Until his attention landed on me. He jolted, as if hit by something, and the usual charge between us sharpened.

Suddenly, he projected a different message. Come closer.

Awareness consumed me, an electric current that zinged dead parts of me back to life. Desires surged and crested. To wrap my arms around him. To feel his arms wrap around me. To pour my body over his and forget the rest of the world.

Okay. So. This was new.

He’d been so good to me, giving me space, and I appreciated it. Here, now, I missed our talks. Missed him .

Cyrus wrenched his attention from me and called, “Tomorrow, we go on our next outing to Theirland. You’ll be taking your first trip outside of a fortified building.

Show me you’re ready. Split off in three groups of four and one group of five, selected by Roman, Titus, Lark, and Arden.

Choose one soldier at a time, in that order. Go.”

Me? A leader? When my turn arrived, I requested Juniper, who brightened. By the time we finished, I had added Miller and Cash to my roster.