Page 25 of The Sins of Silas (The Otacian Chronicles #2)
Chapter Twenty-Five
LENA
T he aftermath of a battle was something I never would grow used to. The smell of blood and death surrounded me, and I took a steadying breath as I willed my electricity down.
After Leroy had chased out the last of them, he slowly turned, shifting back into his human form.
As he faced his kingdom, everyone frozen as they stared at him, his lip trembled as he whispered, “ Revelare .”
His glamour faded, his pointed ears and milky-blue eyes on display for the whole kingdom to see. But just like at The Freak Show, the residents showed no disgust, no fear as they held three fingers to their hearts.
Leroy didn't address his people, didn't say anything as he wandered back inside his castle.
My eyes slowly slid to what remained of Emma's head, and I squeezed them shut as I felt the burning pain behind them.
I never got to meet her.
When I opened them, I caught sight of Elowen, Taira, and Viola—now shifted back to Mage form—rushing to the injured soldiers, quickly working on their injuries. The human healers began working on those with lesser wounds.
Merrick was hurrying into the castle.
I needed to be healing people as well. My magic was significantly weakened; I could feel it, but I could still offer my services.
I quickly caught sight of Silas, whose blood was spilling on the ground beneath him as he clutched his arm.
I hurried to him. “You’re bleeding.” I gripped his arm, examining the wound. I swore colorfully as I took in the nasty gash, then looked him in the eye. “We need to heal this.”
Silas frowned as he attempted to tug his arm away. “I’ll be fine,” he snapped.
Oh, so we’re playing this game.
I nodded to a bench a few feet away. “Sit your ass down, Your Highness.”
He was hurt, which I had learned meant he would be stubborn. He gave me a cruel smile. “Make me.”
“You think I’m not capable of doing so?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squeezed his arm tighter, causing him to hiss.
“Sit.”
He hesitated, then huffed as he plopped himself down, removing his vambraces and gloves.
“We need to take off your shirt—”
“No,” he said sharply as he removed his pauldron. “My shirt stays on.”
I stared at him momentarily, and he refused to meet my eyes .
I was confused, wanting an explanation, but I was too exhausted to argue. “Then we need to cut off the sleeve.”
He nodded, looking at the ground as I pulled out my dagger and cut away the material on his shoulder.
I pulled the bloodied rags off, discarding them on the ground for now, and swore when I examined the laceration that trailed from his bicep down half of his forearm. If magic were not here, he would need plenty of stitches. Thank the Gods, no arteries were hit.
I sat beside him on the bench, then closed my palm over his open wound. He sucked in a breath at the pain.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. A healing golden glow began emitting from my palm. First, I needed to repair any muscle that had been severed. Then, I could roam my hand over the rest of the wound to heal it entirely.
Silas just sat in silence, watching the ground. The sounds surrounding us were horrid…sobbing, groaning. Who would've guessed the joyful kingdom we arrived in would be like this just a few days later?
“I know that couldn’t have been easy for you,” I said softly.
His breathing was uneven. “I knew them all, some closely.” He winced as I moved my grip upward. “I led them countless times, fought beside them…”
'None of them joined me' was left unspoken.
“Your father instilled so much fear in them, probably even more so after you left. I’m sure most wished to follow you.”
“If that were the case, at least some of them would have joined us," he muttered. "Even one of them. ”
He was weary, so incredibly fatigued, emotionally and physically. I thought back to the panic in his eyes before I froze a wall around us…before I ceased my fire usage.
That trauma, that stress…it was caused by me. By my death. I knew it.
“Silas?”
He angled his head toward me, his golden eyes glassy and wholly drained. “If you hadn’t been there with my people in Ames,” I said carefully, “I do not believe any of them would have allowed us to save Edmund. I believe every one of my people would be dead.”
His eyes bounced between mine, and I took my free hand and gently slid it against his shoulder. “And I don’t think that would be because I wasn’t a leader worth following. Sometimes, the situation is…just what it is. And if it wasn’t for our history…” I chewed on my lip, then shook my head. “Your people will come around. I’m sure of it.”
He sighed softly, then averted his gaze. I healed him in silence for a few more moments.
“You saved Leroy,” I said quietly.
He shook his head slowly. “There’s no saving him from this loss.”
I stiffened, my heart sinking at the depleted look on Silas’s face. He’d suffered this loss before and knew all it entailed.
I did this to him.
Just as I went to express regret for all I'd put him through, he turned his head to me. “You hold so much power,” he breathed.
I wasn’t expecting that response. I blinked. “My magic surfaced when I was incredibly young. I’ve always felt it, reserved in me like water behind a dam. I think after so many years, I’ve learned how to hold it in without it harming me.” I swallowed. “On the flip side, however, when I do fully let it out, it can be hard to reel it back.”
“Is it like that for everyone?”
My eyes went to the ground. “Everything has a cost, and magic always has a price. I do feel mine is…wilder than others. More untamed.”
When I met his eyes, my brows raised when I noticed no judgment in his stare.
Slightly, ever so slightly, did the corner of his mouth raise. “That is no surprise. You've always been a spitfire, Flower.”
The beating in my chest skipped, my cheeks heating in response to my nickname.
“What was that powder they blew?” I asked.
Silas's jaw clicked, his face heating. “It seems to be a poison of some sort. It must be new, as I have never seen it before.”
My eyes nervously went to his wound, now almost healed. “We can't seem to catch a break,” I murmured.
Looking down at his arm, Silas pulled away. “That's good enough,” he insisted before standing. “Go heal those who need it more.”
“I'm almost done—”
He didn't listen; he just began walking toward the castle.
I looked down, studying the blood that covered my hand. His blood.
I knew this external wound did not compare to the one on his inside. I wished I could heal that, too.
After seven hours of constant healing, I was thoroughly spent. I washed all the blood, dirt, and sweat off of my body, crying silently in the shower as I recalled the faces of all the people I had killed.
I knew they were trying to slaughter me, slaughter innocents. But I couldn't help but think of who they may have been outside of the battlefield. They had families. Friends. Perhaps even lovers or children. And I took them from this world.
What gave any of us the right?
I didn't regret it. It had to be done. But I despised that this was my life now. Detested that this was our reality.
As I was squeezing my hair dry, a robe tied around my body, a knock sounded at my door. When I opened it, I was met with tired, hazel eyes.
We didn't speak. Roland just shut the door behind him, eyes lowering as he captured my lips with his. I had spoken with him briefly after the battle, healing a slash in his leg.
We both needed this release…both needed to feel good.
He tore his shirt off, and I grasped his cock as his pants and undergarments fell to the ground. He moaned into my mouth, his fingers untying my robe. When the fabric pooled on the floor, he lifted me by my ass, slamming me against the wall as he devoured my neck.
“Roland,” I whispered, and I let out a soft cry as he thrust his thick length inside of me .
“I want to forget today happened,” he murmured, the greens in his eyes shining as he stared at me. “Even if it's only for a few moments.”
I slid my thumb along his cheek before resting my forehead against his. “Then let's forget,” I whispered.
And there was nothing but the sound of skin slapping skin and wild, breathy moans as Roland fucked me against the wall.