Page 38 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Castien

Castien stepped out of his room. Today. He’d talk to her today. The bright late-spring sun had practically slapped him in the face this morning. How was it almost summer already? How long had he made her wait?

The thought made his stomach tense. He’d already stayed in his room past training this morning, trying to decide what to say, what to wear. Enough excuses. He would find her today and, unless she commanded him to shut his mouth, say everything that needed to be said.

An almost certain way to find her would be to follow that wolf pup. The moment Anais entered the Queen's Wing, the pup immediately sprinted to her side.

On his way to the children’s hall, a guard rushed into his path, bowing quickly. "Escort. Lord Damon urgently requests your presence."

Damon never summoned him. It had only been a few days after the rebel attack. However, the court’s opinion toward the new soldiers had twisted into disdain and distrust. Convincing himself this wasn’t an excuse, Castien was nonetheless glad to follow.

Until they arrived at the nobles’ apartment. Several guards lined the hall outside one of the smaller chambers. Damon sat against a wall, his hands splattered with blood and a few bruises spotting his arms.

Castien stepped closer, eyed his friend. None of the blood appeared to be his. "Damon?"

His friend lifted his head slowly at the sound of his name. His eyes were hollow.

"Kev's dead."

"Kevam?" Castien's rapidly beating heart stuttered. He pushed aside a guard and ran into the room.

Dim candlelight glowed over a scene his mind couldn’t quite process. Soft hiccuping gurgles resolved into Jerrl's harsh sobs where he sat on the bed. A limp body lay spread out on the sheets—Kevam, his shirtless chest covered with dark, ugly bruises. Lines of blood trailed from his nose and mouth. Thick chains were tied to each of the bed posts, snaking limp on the sheets.

Nearby on the floor was another body, blood pooling beneath it. Silk strips circled his wrists.

Chains clanked softly.

Jerrl’s sobs were interspersed with quiet words. "No, no, no. No, Kev. Please. Please , Kev…" It was enough to force Castien into movement. He tugged the shaking and unresistant man off the bed, half-carrying him out of the room.

Outside, Castien glanced down. "Damon. What happened?"

Stunned and confused eyes looked up, staring at Castien while the courtesan supported their sobbing friend. "He… I… Jerrl and I were searching for Kev. He told us he was getting some more drinks, but he took too long coming back."

Damon swallowed, his eyes clearing somewhat. "We split up. Jerrl went to the kitchens. I went to the dining halls. We shouldn’t have split up. We shouldn’t have let Kev go alone."

He took a deep breath and continued. "On the way, I asked a few servants and guards. One of them said Kevam entered an apartment. Kev would never go with a noble—he hates them as much as I do. So I told a servant to find Jerrl, and I went into the room. I—" He choked.

Jerrl had calmed enough to pick up the story. He stepped out of Castien’s arms and leaned against the wall, his voice dull and quiet. "By the time I got here, a healer was leaving. Kev and that man were both dead."

Damon tried again. "The whoreson was trying to force Kev. He was tied up and gagged, and the noble was beating him. I pulled him away. We fought. I was so angry, my sword went through him before I knew what I was doing." He glanced at his hands. "What will they do to me?"

Castien shook his head. "Nothing. Don’t worry about that. How did Kev… what killed him?"

Damon mumbled, "The healer said internal bleeding. He'd been beaten too badly, he broke inside."

Beaten to death. The nobles fought and murdered each other on occasion; this death would be easily overlooked. The military was extended more civility. Usually. Kevam had been posing as Damon’s guard. It should have kept him safe. Safer, at least.

"I'm so sorry, Jerrl." Castien put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Jerrl stumbled away. "What are you going to do about it?"

"His murderer is dead. We'll have a funeral for Kev—"

Jerrl snarled. "Don't. Don't say his name if you're just going to put him in the ground and forget this happened!"

"I'm sorry."

"Then do something!"

"Jerrl." Castien glanced at Damon, who was still staring at his hands.

The grieving brother stalked out of the hall.

"Leave him be," Damon murmured as Castien began to follow. "He needs time, and he's not wrong. What are we doing to stop this horror, Castien? "

There was nothing he could say that would satisfy them against Kevam's death. Instead, he gestured for a guard to keep an eye on Jerrl.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Damon."

An hour, a change of clothes, and most of a bottle of wine later, Castien frowned at Damon. They were in the nobles’ wing, the chambers assigned to Lord Caemarn. A servant had stopped by to mention that Jerrl was resting, dosed with a sleeping draught. Damon declined the same treatment.

"I want to bury this place so far beneath the earth, it’ll never be found," Damon said while pouring the rest of the wine into his cup. He’d wanted to set fire to the apartments earlier. He’d talked about watching all their fancy silks go up in smoke. At least he wasn’t rallying his rebels to cause havoc; he seemed angry enough to do anything.

"Think I could find a way to piss off Delia’s goddess until she punches the entire palace into nothing more than a giant hole in the ground?" He gulped the wine, wincing as his knuckles bumped the bottle and knocked it off the table.

"You should get that bandaged," Castien suggested for the third time. Damon’s hands kept oozing blood when he gestured too sharply or hit something clumsily.

"I don’t need bandages. I need the nobles dead. All of them." He stared at Castien. "Do you think they’d notice or care if I started killing them, one at a time?"

"They’d bring you to the Queen. She doesn’t like infighting."

"Then maybe she needs to go first."

"Damon."

He growled. "She moves too slowly, too cautiously. If I were leading her army, there would be no civil war, no chaos. It would end in a day."

"She knows what she’s doing."

"What she’s doing got Kevam killed!" he snarled, throwing the empty cup against a wall. "She got you kidnapped and tortured! Raped, beaten, starved. It’s a damn miracle you’re alive, much less sane. Are you sane? Is anyone in this entire cursed madhouse sane?"

Castien drew Damon into his arms. His friend’s head lay on his shoulder, his words muffled. "I don’t feel sane, Castien."

Anais

The loud knock on her study door came after muffled, heavy footfalls. She'd learned the sound and pattern of each of her Escort's steps over the years. Octavius could move lightly with intention but he usually marched about, projecting a constantly ill-tempered demeanor.

"Enter," she said.

His thick brows and dark eyes accentuated his intimidating presence. "My Queen."

"Escort Octavius." Normally, she hid a smile of amusement. There was nothing to be amused about today.

"Kevam’s initial report is complete."

She nodded for him to continue.

"We found no other recent injuries or marks on the body. Death was likely due to broken ribs puncturing the lungs and heart. No drugs were found. Master Reivyath notes a few minor discrepancies. The body shows no rope burns or chain indents. It's possible he was already unconscious before the binding. The lord wore rings but there were no matching scratches on the body. And finally, this man was not known for his physical strength or propensity for violence. However, anger or passion could have compensated. "

While the healers had extensive experience examining injured and deceased bodies, follow-up on their findings was rare. The court quickly drew its own conclusions and truth was of little interest. Kevam was a guard and immune to the nobles’ advances—the death was justified in the court’s eyes. That Damon had struck the killing blow was only a mark in his favor.

"Do you suggest further investigation, Escort?" This procedure would normally take more than a day, but the rebels were disgruntled and wanted their friend's body out of her hands.

"No, my Queen. Other than a few small oddities, the man appears to have died as reported—beaten and succumbed to internal injuries."

"Thank you, Octavius. Extend my gratitude to Master Reivyath. Please release the body for the funeral."

The funeral would be in the Silver Briars, and they'd already made it clear she was not welcome. She'd sent her regrets to Damon and the rebel captains. They'd declined to see her. At least they had not refused Castien's presence.

Castien. Every time he stepped back or around a corner when she was near, her heart fell. She knew this phase of healing wasn't unusual or even prolonged. His progress was remarkable, in fact. It didn't make her want less, hope for less. But if she pushed too soon, she could push him away. She wouldn't risk that.

Castien

The funeral was a dreary affair. It was nearly summer, but rain recalled a chillier time of the year. A light drizzle continued throughout the journey, drawing a dark cloud over an already grim gathering.

Damon was restless. Castien set his tent between Damon and Jerrl, often hearing their troubled nights. While Jerrl silently cried himself to sleep, Damon twisted and turned, mumbling in his dreams if he managed to sleep, or leaving his tent if he couldn’t. During the day, he was quick to anger, snapping at the smallest irritation. He rubbed his bandaged hands, ripping off the cloth when it became soaked and dirty.

The day of the event dawned on the wet and miserable group. The tree cover was only moderately better than the open plains. Now that they had to walk, their boots gathered mud as they squished through the undergrowth, slowly soaking their feet.

They picked a beautiful and large willow tree as the burial site, its trunk at least the width of an average person’s arms’ span, its branches drooping over a space large enough for multiple tents. Jerrl dug until he was exhausted. He’d finally run out of tears, but this day, he refused to eat.

Damon’s anger vanished around Jerrl. He would talk and talk about nothing—how the forest might've looked when the tree was a sapling, how the rain sparkled on every leaf, how the water made rivers and streams out of the mud. His voice soothed all of them, even Jerrl somewhat.

When it came time to place Kevam's ashes in the earth, they gathered around the tree and began to speak, one at a time, until they each ran out of words. Jerrl sprinkled the first handful of wet dirt over the tightly wrapped body. He knelt then, staring into the pit while everyone tossed in a bit of soil, waiting while they took turns filling in the hole. He found his tears again when the earth was flat, the pit gone.

From the earth, may you rise .

May your soul seek the stars.

Watch over us for eternity.

From the sky, be with us.

Damon's restless anger disappeared when they stepped onto the palace grounds. It was a jarring change—the grieving, irritable man became a charming, arrogant lord. Castien reminded them all that the Inner Circle's healers were just as good with grief and trauma as they were with broken bones. Damon seemed to ignore the suggestion, while Jerrl took as much of Octavius’ time as the healer could spare.