If he’d been king, the water would have been filled with something flesh-eating and truly nasty, but Ballanor was too much of an idiot to think of something so strategic, and he simply hadn’t had the time to correct his former king’s stupidity. It was probably a good thing, given his current position.
His beast rumbled at the cold, irritated and impatient. They’d never seen eye to eye, but they could work together, powerful primal abilities and cold, sharp intellect combining for their greater good.
“Give it a few minutes,” a soldier commanded. “If there’s something there, it’ll move.”
Long moments passed as the cold slowly seeped all the way into his bones.
“There’s nothing there. Maybe it was a fish.”
“Maybe….” The first voice sounded uncertain.
Another minute passed.
“Okay, back to patrol.”
Boots thudded. Someone whistled out confirmation of their position. The soldiers settled back into their routine.
Dornar took a long breath and then dipped into the frigid water and started to swim.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mathos foundhimself out of the palace and stumbling down the streets of Kaerlud, his discharge papers in his pocket, before he could properly grasp what had happened.
It had been so fast, like an explosion had gone off in his life. His head was ringing, his body was broken, and he had absolutely no idea of where to go or what he was going to do.
Even his beast had stopped commenting. Or moving.
They had been so closely entwined for his entire life that he had never imagined what it would be like to be so alone. The only remnants of their bond were the scales covering his arms and neck and the vicious claws piercing his fingers. Claws that would not retract.
He’d finally broken. And he’d smashed up everything around him on the way.
He stood in a small side street and looked up to the sky. It was entirely dark, misty clouds obscuring the stars, and it held no answers.
He had left the Hawks. Left his brothers and his friends. Left her. There were no answers.
His feet took him through the city, past the closing storefronts and the small homes stacked one on top of the other. Yellow light spilled through shutters as lamps were lit. Well-fed children skipped their last hopscotch before shouting their goodbyes and running home. Poorer ones gathered up their wares and trudged away.
He rubbed at his shoulder, trying to relieve the throbbing ache, but nothing helped.
Somehow, he found himself standing outside The Cup, the inn they’d stayed in when they came to rescue Val. Hard to believe that so little time had passed, just a few short months. He had been with his brothers, delighted to tease Tristan as he lost his mind over a woman. Gods. A shaft of pain radiated down from his shoulder across his chest.
Now it was almost winter; dry leaves rattled along the edges of the street as a cold wind pierced through his jacket.
Maybe it wasn’t surprising that he had found himself back somewhere familiar when he needed to pause and lick his wounds.
He pushed through the door to the familiar shining tables and clean floor, nodding to the innkeeper as he looked over from behind the bar.
The rich smell of beef stew filled the air as Mathos found himself a table against the wall. A few locals sat enjoying the food, and in the darkest corner, a man in a heavy cloak lay slumped over the table.
The innkeeper arrived a few moments later. Apparently, he hadn’t yet lost the habit of wringing his hands through his apron.
Mathos opened his coin pouch, struggling with the bloody claws, and then froze. He had forgotten that he’d stored her jewels in it. Fuck. He pushed them out the way and pulled out enough groats to pay for his dinner. “I’ll have the stew and bread, with a tankard of ale, please.”
The innkeeper’s brows drew together, and he tipped his head to the side. “You’re here for food?”
Mathos looked around him. Plenty of people were eating. “Ah… yes. Please.”
“Oh. Okay.”
