Chapter 42
‘Zelle, no!’
Kyor’s voice echoes through the hall as he races forward to where his tutor, his confidant, his friend, is lying on the ground, blood pouring from him.
If the rebels thought the prince was deadly before, it is nothing compared to what he becomes now. He cuts through the remaining rebels like they are paper, and the few survivors decide to flee.
‘Where’s a healer?’ Kyor shouts as he slides onto the marble floor, lifting the old man’s head onto his lap as he tries to stem the blood with his fingers. ‘Where’s a fucking healer!’
It’s too late,I want to say, but I don’t. The words are cruel and unnecessary. Kyor’s a soldier; he’s seen death –dealtdeath – so many times, and he knows there’s no light left in Zelle’s eyes. He just can’t accept it.
A man walks forward from the crowd, but rather than going to Zelle, he stops and looks at the king, who offers a shake of his head.
‘He needs a healer!’ Kyor cries again.
‘You’re making a fuss, son,’ Korvane drawls. ‘There’s nothing that can be done. Now, get off the floor. You’re not a peasant.’ His face is taut, the disdain he feels for his only son stark. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who hears the threat in his words.
Kyor looks up at his father in disbelief.
‘He saved your fucking life! Do something!’
The king’s lip rises in what is close to a sneer. ‘What he did was his job.Very well, as it happens. But there is nothing that can be done now, and there is no benefit to you making a scene.’ He lifts his gaze to the room, curling his lips into a smile. ‘Someone clean up this mess. We still have a ball to enjoy.’
Most people shuffle, trying to look anywhere but at the ghastly scene before them, but some do as commanded and go to remove the dead bodies of the rebels.
I can’t draw my eyes away from Kyor. The white of his eyes. The slump of his shoulders. His pain is so palpable I can feel it burning into my own chest.
‘Music,’ the king says gruffly, clapping his hands. ‘Let’s have the music playing again. We should be dancing. But first, someone deal with this.’ He gestures to Zelle’s corpse.
The blood has stopped pulsing now. Zelle’s gone. I know it. Everyone knows it. Everyone but Kyor, who refuses to accept it. Servants appear from the hallways, ready to remove the bodies of the dead, and yet none even dare to approach Kyor.
‘Rose! Thank the Gods!’ My sister’s voice pulls my gaze away from the prince, and a gasp leaves my lips as I see the blood on her forehead.
‘You’re bleeding! What happened? We need to get you to a healer!’
‘It’s fine. It’s not mine.’
‘It was just a nick.’ Hew is beside her and he shifts his posture to show me the cut at the top of his shoulder.
‘Thank the Gods. And thank you for keeping her safe.’
He dips his chin as I pull Kay into me. Her warmth is a poultice to the fear that filled me. When we break away, she looks back up to Hew, only to find his attention has shifted to Kyor.
The prince is still on his knees. Lost.
‘He needs you.’ I speak so quietly I barely hear myself. I try again. ‘Hew, the prince. He needs you. He needs a friend.’
Hew’s face is grey. ‘That’s not how he works,’ he says finally. ‘Best to leave him be. Do as the king said. Dance. Enjoy the ball.’
Coward,I think harshly. Fucking coward.
Zelle was right then, yet again. Kyor doesn’t have many people around him he can trust, not when his supposed best friend won’t even risk Korvane Knavin’s wrath for him.
Kyor stares glassy-eyed and in shock. It’s like all the power has been stripped from him. Suddenly, he lurches to his feet, turns on his heel without a word, and marches out of the ballroom.
I watch him go, and something snaps in me. ‘Kay, stay with Hew. Don’t leave his side, all right?’
‘Why?’ Her brow crinkles. ‘Where are you going?’
