Allegiance (32 page)

“I don't think so,” he said, candidly enough, though his voice was rough with emotion.

Halias nodded, his eyes meeting the captain's, then the men moved to congregate around the fire, sitting on the rocks we were using as stools. I went to stir the venison stew that we had kept warm, for our new arrival was obviously in need of a lot of things, including food. Halias motioned to London, indicating his shoulder as he pulled off his shirt to reveal an ugly gash. London went for medical supplies, setting to work the moment he returned, cleansing the wound
with alcohol in preparation for stitching. Trying my best not to pay attention to what London was doing, I ladled some stew into a bowl and brought it to Halias, who ate hungrily. Then the inevitable questioning began.

“We found Temerson in the forest,” Cannan began, his voice as hard and cold as steel. “He told us what happened in Hytanica, how the Overlord took you, Destari and Casimir, killing the rest of our officers. How did you escape?”

“I'll explain,” Halias said, his voice tight and his eyes downcast, and I sat near London, needing to know, yet afraid of what I might hear.

“He tortured us individually at first,” Halias said, raising his head and breaking the eerie silence with a statement devoid of cushioning. “I don't know for how long. I could hear the others when he…” He cleared his throat. “He wanted to know where the royal family was, but his chosen method wasn't delivering, so he brought us all together. He picked Casimir to torment in front of Destari and me.”

Halias was trembling, fury and horror clear on his face, and London's hands froze over the wound he was supposed to be closing, pinching the needle much tighter than was necessary. Cannan watched Halias, silently commanding him to continue, and I wondered if he was fighting back the same sick feeling that twisted my stomach.

“We didn't tell him anything,” Halias resumed, wincing as London remembered what he was doing and pushed the needle through. “And neither did Casimir. He would not have wanted us to give you up to save his life. We all swore an oath to die in defense of the King and Queen, and Casimir…he fulfilled that oath.” His eyes found Cannan's as he added, “You would have been proud of him, sir.”

With a heavy breath, he pressed on. “The Overlord reverted to his first approach, but my cell door was not closed
properly when I was returned to the dungeon, and I was able to break out. He thought I would not realize he had allowed me to escape, and that I would run to this hiding place. I took the bait, but not unwittingly, and led his trackers in circles until I could double back and kill them. There were only two—it was not hard. Only then did I come here.”

“Destari?” London asked, apprehension in his tone.

Halias shrugged, apologetic and somber, grimacing as the movement irritated his shoulder.

“There was no way for me to get him out—the Overlord made sure of that. He could still be imprisoned, undergoing torture. If there is a kind God, he is dead. No matter what, he has not revealed this location.”

The silence was dense. London had finished his work, and now his hands were white-knuckled fists at his sides. The fire was back in Cannan's dark eyes, and Galen, fidgeting, finally stood, muttering that he would take guard, although I suspected his willingness to volunteer was motivated by the same desire to be alone that he had earlier exhibited.

“Galen, wait.” It was London who spoke, his jaw set. “Get anything you'll need. We're leaving, now.”

“What?” Galen said, stopping in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”

Everyone stared in confusion at the silver-haired deputy captain as he turned to Cannan.

“One good thing has come of this—Halias is in our midst, giving us another man. We're not as crippled as we were.”

“What are you thinking?” the captain asked, brow furrowed.

“It occurred to me last night, but I knew we did not have enough men to act,” London explained, rising to his feet as his fervor grew. “The Overlord and Narian are in Hy
tanica, along with countless Cokyrian troops, leaving their home city less well guarded than is usually the case—more susceptible to infiltration than I gamble they realize.”

“You're not suggesting we attempt a conquest, are you?” Galen interjected, his heavy sarcasm earning a scowl from my former bodyguard.

“Of course not. I'm suggesting—” London paused, his eyebrow arching “—we attempt an abduction.”

Cannan caught up before the rest of us.

“The High Priestess.”

It was brilliant, really. Halias and Cannan could protect us, while Galen and London journeyed to Cokyri. Halias seemed certain that the High Priestess had not been present in our homeland, and we had London's knowledge of the Cokyrian city. He also knew something about the layout of the High Priestess's temple from his time as a prisoner there.

As London was insistent that no time be wasted, he and Galen readied themselves for departure. This made me uncomfortable. Wouldn't it be better to allow Halias at least one night to recover? Wouldn't it be better and easier to travel in daylight? But I couldn't imagine these things had not occurred to London. Perhaps he had some vain hope that, if he moved fast enough, he could secure Destari's release by the ransom we would pose to the Overlord.

Cannan took guard duty, appreciating Halias's need for rest and probably also aware on some level that the time would come when he would no longer want to leave his son's side. I caught Halias staring at Steldor, no doubt having the same thoughts, then London stepped up beside him, extending a clean shirt.

“I need to talk to you for a moment.”

He was already prepared for the journey, a lightweight pack slung over his back and multiple weapons tucked on
his person. Halias stood, pulling on the shirt, and the two of them stepped farther away from Galen, which out of necessity brought them closer to me. Very few words passed between them, but each one hit me like a heavy blow.

“When Steldor dies, we're going to lose the captain.”

Halias did not respond, his silence acknowledgment enough.

“I will try to be back before that time, but if I am not… You'll have to watch him. I don't trust he'll remember the value of his own life.”

“Can I make use of the boy?” Halias asked, nodding toward Temerson.

“I think so,” London said, trying to shrug off some of the weight of his last statement. “He's been coming around. I think he's stronger than he appears. And Alera can be used for certain things. She's more capable than you'd expect.”

My heart warmed at London's statement; they had come to believe as I had that I wasn't just someone who needed to be protected, that I could be helpful, that I could be counted on in a crisis. Galen and London left shortly thereafter, and it was easy to forget the danger they would face amidst the anticipation and in light of the leverage success would bring us. In reality, there were very few certainties in connection with this plan. We might be triumphant, or Galen and London might die. Panic pumped through me at that thought, but this mission had to be attempted regardless of the risks, for we were tired of hiding. It was time to strike back.

STELDOR WOKE ONE LAST TIME. IT WAS IN THE morning, and the air was stale, cold. I had gone to fetch more wood for the fire, wanting to bring back the blaze for warmth as well as to prepare some food.

He came to consciousness more calmly than he had with Galen, perhaps because of his father's nearness. Despite my desire to give them time alone, I could not seem to focus my attention anywhere else. Cannan sat beside him, Halias now on guard duty, and he laid a hand on his son's arm the instant Steldor's eyes opened, bleary and confused. They didn't speak for a long time, although Steldor's breathing became steadier as he gazed at his father, who was as strong as ever, the ache only visible in his eyes. But Steldor saw it.

“Am I going to die?” he asked.

“I'm doing everything I can to prevent it,” Cannan answered, taking his son's hand, then he hesitated, struggling to be honest. “But probably.”

Steldor nodded as if he had expected this but broke eye contact nonetheless, no doubt trying to come to terms with
the ending of his life. I wondered if he was scared, in denial, angry that his time would be cut short, but none of those feelings came out. Instead, he gazed once more at Cannan.

“Papa…don't leave me.”

Somehow the captain's iron will reined in his emotions, but he leaned closer to touch his son's forehead with his other hand, brushing his damp hair away.

“I won't.”

“What will you tell Mother?”

There was no way to know if Cannan would ever see his wife again, a fact that escaped neither man, but as long as the possibility existed, the captain would bear a message for her.

“What would you like me to tell her?”

“That I…that I made it out alive.”

Steldor—lying minutes, hours, days from death—wanted to protect the mother he resented, for he knew the truth would destroy her. Tears filled my eyes as I stood by the fire pit, and I held my breath as I tried not to give in to sorrow.

“Is Alera here?” Steldor asked next. His eyes were glazed with fever and it took great effort to push out every word, but he seemed unwilling to let it conquer him just yet. “I need to talk to her.”

Cannan nodded, then looked at me, and my face grew hot, not from the fire but because he had caught me staring. He did not comment, but came to his feet, gesturing for me to come to Steldor's side. I complied, hastily wiping away my tears, and he took a step back so I could kneel in his place, but he did not leave, honoring his promise.

“Alera, I…I think…I'm going to die,” Steldor said, flinching, though whether from his injury or from his thoughts I could not know.

My hand flicked toward him, but in the end I let it fall into my lap.

“Steldor, you don't have to—” I started, struggling to speak as tears again trickled from the corners of my eyes, but he cut me off.

“Don't tell me to stop,” he growled, chest heaving. “I don't have much time and I want to say this.”

I nodded, railing inside at the unfairness of it all. Couldn't fate grant him some peace during these last few, lucid minutes?

“I know I've hurt you, more than once,” he said through gritted teeth, and I could not disagree, though I had without question reciprocated. “I wish I could say I never meant to, but…I can't.” He shook his head to try to keep the predatory illness at bay for just a short while longer.

“What I'm trying to tell you is…”

He was having trouble focusing. His eyes closed, and I knew he was fast fading away. Then they reopened, dark and passionate, within them willpower I would not have expected. “You saw me at my best and at my worst, Alera, but even at my worst, I always…”

He trailed off, his unremitting pride forcing him to leave the sentence unfinished. “I just want you to know,” he tried again, “I…I regret it now. I could have—
should have
—been better to you.”

My stomach was twisting with remorse and sadness, my mind flitting through trite responses. None would suffice; I could no more lie and say he was wrong than I could explain the burning in my throat at the thought of his death, the absolute denial that raged inside me. I felt weak, pathetic, as salty tears rolled without restraint down my cheeks, but he bore none to match, despite the intensity of his feelings. Then I knew what to do. I leaned down and pressed my lips
to his, kissing him tenderly, closing my eyes to let forgiveness and gratitude and even love flow from my heart into his, and for a time his lips responded. Then he yielded to his unrelenting fever.

Every succeeding hour saw him further from us. Cannan, keeping his promise, would no longer leave his side, refusing meals, accepting only water which he would occasionally sprinkle between Steldor's dry lips. It was thus necessary for Temerson, shaky and uncertain but with military training, to take a few hours on guard duty to give Halias a break. I wondered if London's vague words about “losing” Cannan were rebounding as agonizingly in the Elite Guard's head as they were in mine.

 

I stayed with Miranna throughout the next day, no longer trying to approach father and son, for Cannan, resting Steldor's head and shoulders in his lap, would cast me a dark glare if I tried, as though anyone who came near meant to harm his defenseless boy. It was terrifying in a way, that expression, as if he didn't recognize me, but his fierce instinct to protect his son also made me glad…glad that his arms would be the ones in which Steldor would die.

By evening, thoughts that I did not want had begun to torment me. What would we do with my husband's body? We couldn't bury it; the ground was too rocky in places and frozen in all others. Could we burn it? Or would a funeral pyre alert the enemy to our location? It grieved me to know that he should be buried in Hytanica's Tomb of Kings, but that we could not give him that honor. He had been crowned Hytanica's youngest King, and now he would also die its youngest ruler, having just reached his twenty-second birthday in this heartlessly cold month of February.

The hate that rose within me for Cokyri was so intense, I
could hardly contain it—a Cokyrian blade had caused Steldor this injury; Cokyrian soldiers had prevented him from receiving medical care; and it was Cokyri's rulers who had forced us to flee our home in the first place. And what right had they to take that home? My kingdom, my city, my land, my people. They had caused the destruction of so much, and I would never stop hating them for it. Never stop hating
him.
I wanted to bring about his death, wanted to destroy him, wanted to drag down the great Overlord of Cokyri before his very people, just as he had made our soldiers fall before those they loved.

But nothing, none of those things, would bring Steldor back.

His breathing was almost undetectable now, and every passing second jarred my heart, for I knew his chest would, at some point, fail to rise.

 

London and Galen returned late that night, just over two days since they'd left. They had taken the horses that we had originally used to reach the cave, but even with mounts, they had run hard.

London was the first to step into the torchlight at the front of the cave, a rope in hand that I soon saw was attached to the left wrist of Nantilam, the High Priestess of Cokyri, sister to the feared Overlord. Behind her entered Galen, gripping the rope attached to her other wrist. She was blindfolded, and her flaming red hair was dirty and mussed, as was her black clothing, giving evidence of a rough journey. Still she held herself with a level of arrogance that would have earned a Hytanican woman a beating. As London removed the cloth covering her green eyes, she shot him a haughty glare, then her gaze swept the cave, examining us and our hideaway. I swallowed and came to my feet where
I'd been sitting by the fire, intimidated by her even in her current state. Her attention fell on me, and though I was sure she could see my disquiet, I refused to look away. Our eye contact lasted what seemed an eternity, until London's voice broke the silence.

“Is he still alive?” he asked Halias, glancing at Cannan and Steldor, and I could hardly believe his insensitivity.

“Yes, barely,” Halias answered.

I guessed Miranna's bodyguard had planned to say more, to inquire after the successful mission, but London didn't give him the chance, snatching the rope from Galen's hands and jerking the High Priestess toward our dying King. She resisted, but he was too strong for her, and in the end stumbled along behind. Galen and Halias likewise took a step forward, looking unnerved by London's action, while I stood frozen, none of us understanding his conduct. As he drew Nantilam to him, he placed a hand on her shoulder, pressuring her to her knees just paces from Steldor.

In an instant, Cannan had shifted position and drawn a dagger, but London stood, perhaps inadvertently, between the captain and the Cokyrian, his mind clearly not on his commanding officer.

“Heal him,” London growled, his eyes locked on the belligerent High Priestess.

Halias had moved behind Cannan and I had stepped nearer, while Galen stood back and Miranna cowered in the shadows, perhaps recognizing the latest addition to our group from her time in captivity. Temerson was posted on guard outside; but while my sister probably needed comforting, I was too intrigued by what was happening to go to her.

Although Halias was positioned to restrain his captain if need be, the Elite Guard's bewildered gaze was upon London. His eyes flicked to mine, trying to assess my reaction
to the bizarre statement that still reverberated in the air. Had London's mind been affected during the journey? But there was no confusion in Nantilam's return glare.

“This is your renowned boy-King?” she asked, and Cannan's knuckles went white around the handle of the dagger.

“Yes, this is our King. You will heal him.”

The High Priestess did not answer for several moments, her manner lofty as she and London continued to stare at each other.

“He will die.”

London grabbed the front of her shirt to pull her upright and then threw her hard against the cavern wall, where she crumpled to the floor. She did not rise but glowered up at the deputy captain as he stood over her with his arms crossed, simmering with fury.

“You will heal him,” London repeated, every word punctuated with anger. Then his tone changed, becoming less hostile and more self-assured. “It will serve you, as well as us, if you do as I direct. If things do not go as we would like, and your brother finds us, what better gift could you extend than the King, alive and well, to torture to his satisfaction? On the other hand, if events favor us, you will be in need of my mercy.”

Nantilam did not break eye contact with London, nor did her countenance change, but she also did not respond, seemingly considering her options. The tension in the room continued to heighten, making it hard to draw air, although none of us understood what was transpiring between the deputy captain and the High Priestess. I could not conceive of what Nantilam could do to help Steldor, but if she had some ability, London's logic seemed infallible. She apparently also reached this conclusion, for she came to her feet, her proud gaze fixed on her captor, then nodded and turned to
approach my husband. To my surprise and hers, London's hand fell upon her shoulder, momentarily stopping her.

“Cannan,” London said, and I understood his concern. “Let the High Priestess come near. She won't harm him.”

“You're damn right she won't.”

The captain's voice was low and gravelly, and though I could see very little of the Cannan I knew in this ferocious man's eyes, I was nonetheless inclined to take his side. London wasn't making sense—Steldor deserved the dignity of dying in his own time amongst his own countrymen. But London came forward, kneeling at Steldor's side so he was across from Cannan, extending an open palm to take the blade.

“Listen to me,” he implored. “There isn't much time. If you don't trust me, Steldor will die, but if you do, she may be able to save him. Your son can live if you just listen. Now, give me the dagger.”

London's ardent expression, coupled with something in his voice, connected with Cannan's rationality long enough for the captain to relinquish his weapon, and London motioned for Nantilam to approach. She joined the men on the floor and pulled open the bandages around Steldor's middle, showing no reaction to the swollen, damaged flesh that nauseated me. She laid her hands upon the wound, causing Cannan to tense, and then closed her eyes.

Nothing seemed to be happening, but as the minutes reached a half hour, I could see the strain on her face. All her concentration and energy seemed to be focused on her hands, and I wondered if her palms would be hot to the touch. At last she swayed to the side, catching herself with her forearms as she collapsed upon the floor.

“That's all I can do, for now,” she said, exhaustion lacing
her words. “I can only sustain the power for so long. I need to rest.”

“Will he live?” London demanded.

She scowled at him, resentful of his dubious tone. “I have done what you asked, London. He is no longer in imminent danger. But it will take much more than this to save his life, and I cannot continue without rest.”

London looked at Galen, who took his cue to retrieve bedding for her, the sergeant's frown expressing his opinion that some ruse was being played out by our captive. Soon after, the High Priestess was lying down, her hands tied behind her back, London hovering stiffly near her to make sure she did not cause any problems, while Halias went outside to check on Temerson. I examined my former bodyguard curiously, until he finally noticed my stare. Throwing caution aside, I asked my question.

“What did she do to him?”

Cannan, still with Steldor, raised his head to listen, as well.

“She healed him,” London replied brusquely. “Not completely, not yet, but she will. I can't explain how it works.”