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Chapter Five

RAZIEL

The scent of dying flesh made King Raziel’s eyes water.

He breathed shallowly through his mouth as he moved through the plague camp, the stones of the pathway crunching beneath his boots and those of his inner circle.

Raz hated coming here. Tents lined the road like silent sentinels awaiting the gallows.

The wind whistled through the tall pine trees above as if it were mourning for the sick.

Raziel tugged at the red scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, the fabric dampening with each breath.

Healers scurried between tents carrying soiled bandages and pots of honey.

A young-looking healer caught his eye and bowed before hurrying away.

This was not the place to linger in conversation.

Even the healers seemed like they wanted to run away from the plague camp screaming.

Raz reached the nearest canvas tent and lifted the flap without hesitation. The scent of putrefied flesh and disease nearly knocked him on his arse. He swallowed hard against the bile that flooded his mouth. His people deserved more than him, more than a king who wanted to flee from their disease.

He forced one foot in front of the other, his men trailing behind him as his eyes adjusted to the dim tent.

Rudimentary single beds lined the walls, each hosting a shriveled pockmarked person.

Some had their hands and legs secured to the wooden frames.

In the later stage of the disease, when it feasted upon the brain, the person sometimes became violent.

It killed Raz that in the final days of their lives, they had to be strapped down—without any freedom.

He scanned the large tent, and his throat bobbed as he spotted a small shivering body in the middle on his left.

A child.

It hurt the most when a young one became ill. The disease wasn’t prejudiced. It attacked men, women, and children alike.

He swallowed hard and then strode over the dirt-packed floor to the foot of the wee one’s bed.

He stared down at the little girl who gazed back, her thin cracked lips pressed into an unforgiving line.

Most tried to sit up or bow when they recognized the royal insignia on his tunic—not that it was necessary—but the little girl didn’t even move.

In fact, her metallic blue eyes narrowed on him.

A trait of the Mirror Plague. Once someone was truly infected, their irises gained a reflective quality.

“What do you want?” she rasped harshly, a wheeze rattling in her lungs.

Crossing his arms, he pasted a bright smile on his face, not that she could see it behind his scarf. “I came for a visit.”

The little girl snorted. “A visit? How very lucky for you that you can visit this hell and then leave.”

Raz cocked his head, wine-colored hair falling over his forehead. The little one had fire. She’d need it to survive the plague. “What’s your name and how old are you?”

She harrumphed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to die here anyway.”

That was enough of that talk. He’d come here with the goal of being uplifting, and he’d do it if it took every trick in his book.

Rounding the mattress, he pulled a stool from beneath her bed and sat. The wood groaned under his bulk.

The girl scowled at him, her brown hair drenched in sweat at the temples. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting with you.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Be that as it may, I bear a gift.” He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a tiny figurine of his feline companion Skye and held it out to her.

The girl couldn’t have been more than nine.

Her blue eyes rounded, but she shuddered, her expression almost bored.

“This is my fiilee . She’s a protector. Any time you’re afraid, just hold Skye in your hands, and she’ll help you through your trial. ”

The girl blinked at him and warily took the wooden figurine from his fingers. She traced her shaking fingertips over the arched bat-like wings of the fiilee . After a moment, she held it out to him, shaking her head slowly.

“I can’t take gifts from strangers. My mama said so.”

“Where is your mama?”

“Dead.” Her voice was flat.

“And your father?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Dead.”

King Raziel stared at the young girl and reached for his scarf, pulling down the fabric beneath his chin. He could give her this, could make the little one feel less alone.

“My lord,” a deep voice chastised, but Raz waved off Valen—his commander and one of his best friends.

He held his hand out to the little girl. “My name is Raz.”

She blinked slowly at his bare face and then his outstretched hand. “No one but the healers can touch me.”

“You can see my eyes, no?” She nodded. “I once had the plague. My eyes are permanently silver now. I beat this sickness, and so can you. And now we’re not strangers.” He held his breath, waiting for her reply.

The little one studied him and reluctantly slipped her bony hand into his own. A lump rose in his throat at how delicate her hand was—as if any pressure could break her.

“My name’s Maple.” She yanked her hand from his and began fiddling with the figurine.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He stared at her for a bit and then held his right hand out to Valen hovering behind him. A worn leather book was placed in his palm. Maple eyed the book.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A book of stories I stole from the royal library. Would you like to hear one?”

A glimmer of excitement entered Maple’s eyes although she tried to hide it. “Sure.”

Raz hid his smile, cracked open the well-loved book, and began reading.

He’d spent the day reading to Maple. At one point, she fought her heavy eyelids, but they inevitably won. Even then, Raziel kept reading. Only when the sun began to set did Valen place a hand on his right shoulder.

“We should return, my lord.”

King Raziel nodded and held the book out to Valen.

His oldest friend took the book as Raz stood from the stool.

His back pinched and his arse ached, but it had been worth it.

He gently tucked in Maple’s arms before pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Her little chest labored for breath, her inhale much wetter than he would have liked.

Leaning down, he whispered into her left ear. “Don’t give in, Maple. You can fight this, little one.”

She didn’t stir when he stood to his full height and shoved the stool back beneath her bed.

The air still stank, but it had lessened.

Valen took his place next to Raziel’s right, and the other two warriors brought up the flank as they exited the tent.

Raz waved to the other patients, touching their feet as they left.

Exiting the tent didn’t bring much relief as the scent of ash and burned flesh permeated the air.

“You should cover your face, my lord,” Valen said softly.

A hollow laugh escaped Raz. “What can it possibly do for me? I’ve already been sick.”

“The plague is changing. You risk yourself unnecessarily.”

King Raziel grunted but lifted the red scarf over his nose and mouth before striding through the camp once again, drawing closer to the large fire that burned in the distance.

They paused on the outskirts of the massive bonfire, and Raz dipped his head in respect for the dead they were burning. His eyes watered, and the world swirled around him. This couldn’t be the fate of his kingdom, to die a slow painful death. They had to figure out something.

He had to figure out something.

Or soon, there would be no one left to save.

You have a choice.

His lip curled. There was only one choice.

The Sirenidae bride.

“Is my mother at the castle?” he barked.

“Yes,” Valen replied. “She was training some new fiilee mounts when we left.”

“Send for her. We have a contract to sign.”