Goddamnit.
We knew this reprieve of peace wouldn’t last, but we hoped to have more time. More time to train Rapunzel—and more time to love her. But fucking John and his greed and insatiable quest for power. Knowing Rapunzel, she won’t hide away here while her father destroys this kingdom hunting her. Nor is it my right, or Quinn and Dax’s, to stop her.
Victory at any cost.
That’s how John lives. To defeat him, we taught Rapunzel to think that way as well. But the lesson is nasty, and I’m finding it difficult to accept right now when it’s my friend dying in my arms.
“Don’t worry about that. Right now, our greatest concern is getting you inside Dyhurst.” Because Ian’s made it this far. He deserves to die on Dyhurst soil, surrounded by his family. I hook an arm under him and carefully—so damn carefully—help him to his feet. But he’s all weakened limbs and shallow breathing. “I got you. Lean on me.”
Fury and anguish clash violently, and I must battle them back as I take Ian’s considerable weight. He’s a big man. Tall. Brawny. He stumbles when he comes down on me, and we nearly buckle but quickly recover and find our footing. Then it’s an amble past his horse. I contemplate hoisting him onto the saddle, but there’s no way I can easily lift this mountain of a man on that animal without further damaging him. Even this movement has him bleeding anew, so with a light slap on the steed’s hindquarters, I send it racing home.
For us, it’s a grueling trudge toward the castle.
Thankfully, I hadn’t ventured far for today’s hunt. Still, it’s a slow trudge, with him needing to take rests to catch his breath. Each time we stop, he grows weaker. His resumed pace is more sluggish. The moment Gavin spots us from his station atop the parapet, he shouts for the gate to be opened. We lumber inside to controlled chaos charging toward us, and it’s much like when Quinn nearly died all over again. Flashbacks of that awful fucking day haunt me as I drag Ian into Dyhurst’s courtyard. The gate slams behind us right as Quinn reaches us. He sweeps Ian up, with Rapunzel already calling for her ‘supplies.’ From the arduous trek, Ian’s wound leaks a trail of blood in our wake as he’s carried toward the keep. But by the time Quinn sits Ian in a wingback chair near the hearth, I fear it’s already too late. That Ian has already lost too much blood…
…until Rapunzel shoves through everyone. Bryce hands her a satchel that contains three smaller bags of herbs. It also contains shears and a mortar and pestle. Everything she needs to save a life—and cut time off hers. She collects her skirt in one hand, about to drop to her knees and get to work, but Ian stops her.
“Princess, no,” he rasps.
The material spills from her grasp. She places a hand on his arm. “Let me do this for you.”
Ian pats her hand, but weak, his arm flops to his side. He turns his head to focus his watery gaze on the flames flickering in the hearth. “I’m tired, Princess. I’m tired of mourning my wife and child.” He lets his glazed stare roam to each of us before settling back on Rapunzel. “I did my part. I told Wren John’s plan. Now I need to be with my Margaret and Beatrice.” He lifts a dirty, trembling finger, pointing at nothing. His bloody grin is filled with heartrending joy. “Can you see them? Can you see how beautiful they are? As lovely as when I last saw them.”
With silent tears raining down her face, Rapunzel returns her satchel to Bryce. “I don’t need this.” She kneels and gently strokes Ian’s hand, nodding. “Yes, Ian, I see them.” Her voice is calming. Soothing. Even to me. Everyone follows suit and gets on their knees. We all gather around a dear friend to witness his soul break free from the limitations of life. From the horrors of having our families taken from us. From the agony of having to continue living when what we are living for is dead.
Rapunzel’s hand falls away from Ian’s, and she dabs tears from the corners of her eyes. “Your family is beautiful.” Then she glances at the empty place where Ian was pointing. “You are lovely together.”
When she turns back to Ian, she hitches in a breath when she sees he’s died.
Everyone around him is also quietly weeping or on the verge of tears.
All these goddamn tears. All this sorrow. This needless death. Caused by one man.
And for what?
For what goddamn reason did John cause this anguish?
How dare he take and take and take without ever facing the consequences of his greed and cruelty? How dare he cause this destruction and continue to live?
When John murdered my father, he didn’t just kill his friend. He signed his death warrant. The day is fast approaching when we’ll put that son of a bitch in the fucking dirt where he belongs. Until then, I shove aside the burning need for revenge to lay Ian to rest.
Because tomorrow…
Tomorrow it’s time to leave Dyhurst.
ChapterEight
Still rattled from my encounter with the demon and distraught after losing Ian, I sit atop my gray mare with a morning mist promising a long, miserable day. Although I understand why we must go, I selfishly want to stay. It took Wren less than two years to bring us together and breathe life into Dyhurst. I fell in love with this ancient fortress the moment it came into view the day they brought me here. Every person who lives within its decaying walls has become my family.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Rygard seems to weep along with me. Dax, understandably somber, is beside me on a brown steed—the same one we rode in on when they brought me here.
My mare, such a polite lady, waits patiently. Dax’s horse stomps its front feet, pawing at the mud while Wren issues his final instructions to those who stay behind. And Quinn… Quinn is off doing something else. He has been more grim than usual since we put Ian in the ground.
Dax soothes his restless mount, and I marvel over how patient and kind he is toward the animal.
When I hunker deeper into the cloak draped around my shoulders, Dax notices. “Cold?”
