It takes several minutes of careful maneuvering before Ulric rests on the pillows. I set to work removing the rags that were once his shirt, while Ashavee disappears into my washroom. Every inch of his skin is red with sunburn or split open with cuts. I gnash my teeth and fight back tears as I remove his pants and find his legs in the same poor condition.
I toss his soiled clothes into the fireplace and watch the flames consume them. He is strong and feisty, and I hate to think of the harm the Allaji inflict on those who are not as spirited as him. According to Zek, the Allaji captured the better part of the Cyffreds living in Lucent. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, children, all of them ripped away from those they love. I know how it feels to be the one left behind. Every minute is a battle to keep the worst thoughts at bay. But to be the one taken and forced into this horrendous situation, I can’t fathom it. Not only are they starving and overworked, but the Allaji are eating them alive. In a matter of months, they could all be dead.
Although my prayers may be unheard by the Statera, it doesn’t stop me from begging for strength for my people untiltheir king can liberate them. It’s the only thing I can do to try and help.
My heart aches with a dreadful thought. When Kyron sees the Eporri, he is going to abandon all rational tactics. Nothing will stand in his way, not another kingdom, not the advice of his counsel, and not the threat of a vicious war. I understand his drive to protect me at any cost, but it doesn’t make the consequences of his actions any easier to accept. He will come for me at the risk of many innocent lives, people that not only he promised to care for, but I did too. The purpose he feels today will be the root of tomorrow’s guilt.
“Are you ready to do this?” Ashavee asks, stepping out of the washroom with a pitcher of water and a stack of towels.
I push the inevitable into the depths of my mind and bat away my tears with the back of my hand. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
We set to work, each of us taking a washcloth and gently scrubbing the blood and grime away from Ulric’s body. His eyes flutter, and he moans with each swipe over an extra sensitive spot. We whisper apologies but never cease our work. By the time he’s as clean as possible, the water in the pitcher is a deep rust color as are the washcloths. I place a blanket over his lower body while Ashavee retrieves the healing salve and tends to the open sores on his face.
“Despite what he’s been through, he’s in fairly good condition,” she says, moving her fingertips to the dark bruise on his ribs.
“Go on and say it. I’m a handsome bastard.” Ulric cracks his swollen eyes and one side of his chapped lips lifts into a smile.
It isn’t as if Ashavee hasn’t heard such a direct approach before. It’s commonplace in Allaji. The shifters don’t play coy with their attraction for each other, so it’s surprising that her eyes grow wide. She opens and closes her mouth before saying,“I’m sure you’re acceptable when you don’t look like a slab of raw meat.”
“Your pretty friend likes me, nanny goat.”
I can’t help but grin. It has been too long since I last heard the ridiculous nickname he’d given me. And a part of me feared I’d never hear his country brogue or see the freckles peppering his face again.
“Can I get you anything to help make you comfortable?” I ask.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of whiskey lying around, would ya?” I shake my head, and he sighs. “I suppose a glass of water will do.”
I don’t make it more than a couple of feet toward the table before Ulric’s next words stop me.
“He took it, didn’t he?”
I breathe through the renewed sorrow swelling in my chest. It isn’t necessary to ask him what he means. The worry in my friend’s voice says it all. My hands shake as I fill a glass. “He did,” I say.
“What’s he going to do with the Eporri?”
“Send it to Kyron.”
Ulric springs up from the mattress and groans. “He’s giving Esmeray both the Sacred Gifts? She’ll tear our kingdom to shreds.”
Ashavee pushes against his chest until he rests his head on the pillow again. “Down, boy. We don’t need you having heart failure as well,” she says.
Lifting my brows with the intent to brighten my face, I limp to the bed with the water in hand. “Esmeray’s dead, and Kyron is now king.”
“How? When?” he asks.
“It’s a long story that I’ll tell you when we’re both up to it.”
“And King Micah? Are the rumors true?”
“They are,” I answer, not bothering to mask my sadness.
I watch as the world Ulric remembers is obliterated into ashes swept away on violent winds. The last glint of hope that gave him the will to fight in the throne room wavers in his eyes. If Micah is dead and I’m here, he has to wonder about the state of our kingdom and the chances of the Cyffreds in the field being rescued. He doesn’t know that I named an heir, choosing the man who betrayed us.
Ulric never had the chance to make amends with Kyron. He never got to witness what I did, to see that Kyron has the potential to be the kind of king Micah was. I’m not sure if I can convince him of what I know to be true. The hurt Kyron inflicted on Ulric cut deep. It took harsh words and strong promises to set Greer and Terro on a course to trusting him again. Ulric was robbed of that chance. But that didn’t stop him from professing his loyalty to Kyron.Aye. The best of friends,he had said to Zek.I pray it was more than a show of defiance and still stands true.
His voice has a sullen tone as he says, “But with you here, the kingdom?—”
“The kingdom is fine,” I say, cutting him off and placing the glass in his hand. “Kyron is king.”
