“Your Highness.” Rhodes dips his head.
“Now?” Kazimir cocks his head. “This early in the day?”
He’s right. I normally wait until after dark to skulk about the city. “She’s always open for me.” In more ways than one.
He chuckles. “And how do you plan on avoiding Boaz’s notice?”
“I have a few pressing tasks for him.” Between moving Tyree and sending this letter, it should give me enough time to slip out. I study the blank page sitting before me on the desk. What am I to make of Romeria and her wild claims? The end of the blood curse in Islor?
Would that news even be welcomed? Surely, it would be for the mortals, but what about my kind?
What would happen to our way of life?
Romeria betrayed me once already. There’s no reason to believe she wouldn’t again. Of course, I then betrayed her, or some version of her. Are we even now, or will this be a game of trading tainted favor for favor until one of us dies?
I can’t trust her.
Dipping a new quill into the ink, I jot down my message and seal it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ZANDER
“I apologize for dragging you from your rest, but I thought it important they see you, know you are alive and our guest rather than our prisoner.” A two-hundred-soldier contingent arrived at dawn, demanding answers and threatening to bring the whole of Islor’s army for an attack. They saw the great beast swoop in and accused our caster of sending it to kill Lord Telor and their men.
Telor’s face is sallow and full of sleep as he rides next to me through Ulysede’s tunnel toward Islor and the coming dawn. For as long as Romeria worked on him last night, it’s clear he hasn’t recovered yet. If Gesine were free of the taillok, I would ask her to finish. “No, you were right to do so. They have already concocted a story that does not bode well for our union. Paisley is a good soldier, but not a true leader. I do not want him doing something foolish.”
The portcullis ahead is closed. “I would highly advise against you passing that threshold. You are still weak, and when the blood curse takes hold of you for the first time, it can be overwhelming. I am not sure what it will do to you in your condition, and I would not want you keeling over dead after all of Romeria’s efforts to keep you alive.”
Telor shakes his head. “I have so many questions.”
I chuckle. “And I told you I will answer them in due time.”
We reach the outer gates. The soldier who delivered his earlier threats dips his head. “My lord, it is good to see you. We thought you had perished.”
“If not for His Highness and Princess Romeria—Queen Romeria now, it seems—I would have.”
The soldier—Paisley, I presume—frowns, his eyes flashing to me. “My lord?”
“Have the army decamp and ride for these gates. I will be back within the hour to address everyone.” He guides his horse back around and rides away without another word, his mood somber.
Abarrane holds one end of the rope that binds Braylon Telor’s wrists as she leads him toward the outer gate. He has barely a scratch on him. His accomplice took the brunt of her questioning, and Abarrane made Braylon watch every minute of it until he was sobbing, begging through his tears to end his friend’s suffering and singing the names of those who conspired with him.
Abarrane granted his request by slashing the male’s throat.
There is nothing more important to Telor than loyalty and honor. Braylon must realize he is walking to his execution. I would pity the Islorian, had he not tried to kill his father, a noble male and my friend.
Telor rides on the other side of the line of legionaries, his jaw tense, his gaze avoiding his only son.
Horik pulls the lever and the portcullis draws upward. Beyond it, a thousand men wait in formation for their lord.
“Are they gathered?” Telor stands firm just inside the gate line. He has no interest in appearing weak before his men.
“Yes, my lord. All seven names on the list they gave us.” Paisley nods to the right, where seven soldiers—a mix of mortals and elven—have been stripped of their armor and their weapons. They wait on their knees.
Abarrane leads Braylon out by the rope and hoofs the backs of his legs. He buckles and joins the others.
Whispers carry as a row of legionaries find their places behind the men.
Telor’s throat bobs with a hard swallow.
“Would it help if I gave the order?” I offer in a whisper.
“No. They will fault you for this, rather than hold those who deserve it accountable. I must be the one.” Telor heaves a sigh and then bellows for all to hear, “For the crimes of conspiracy, treason, and attempted murder of their lord and Islor’s fourth king, I sentence those kneeling before you to death.” He hesitates, long enough to take a slow, deep breath, and then gives the signal.