Tiernan places a hand on Maura’s flat abdomen as they share the good news. Anxiety and excitement mingle with tender warmth—shared emotions from the happy duo—hang in the air. Alys grins, congratulating them both.
Something shifts in the atmosphere as a younger Carys barges into the infirmary. Her disposition is far more uncontrolled than the Carys I’ve met. Alys starts to introduce her to Tiernan and Maura, but Tiernan’s mind is pulled from the conversation, his empathy senses reaching out to somewhere beyond the infirmary. The door pelts open with a loud bang, and the pounding of footsteps fills the space. Royal Brigade soldiers storm in, weapons ready.
A roughhewn band of blue fabric is tied around each of their biceps—a subtle but loud demonstration of revolt. Tiernan draws his sword and shoves Maura behind him, but she bats him away, struggling to pull something from the pocket of her livery. Panic and guilt pulse from her rather than surprise or fear.
“Stand down!” Tiernan commands the soldiers he outranks. Archers aim their arrows at Carys. She barely has a chance to yelp before Tiernan leaps in front of her.
The arrow meant for the princess barely misses his heart. Red-hot pain sparks to life as another arrow sails by.
The next spike of pain spears into Tiernan’s abdomen. He looks down only to find no other injury. Fear and agony slam into him. His eyes land on Carys crouched on the floor with her hands over her head and Maura on her knees, a soundless gasp on her lips. Blood pools through her fingers pressed againsther middle. It flows from her mouth. She collapses to the floor, gasping for air, blood gurgling in the back of her throat.
Shouts echo all around them as Alys attends to Maura and Carys cowers on the floor. Tiernan’s eyes dart between the future of Erleya andhisfuture. The love of his life. Pain far greater than the arrow in his chest weighs on him even as he jumps in front of Carys yet again.
His sword slices one of the traitorous soldiers across the arm. Blood spurts and the woman clutches at the wound. “Don’t move!” Tiernan shouts to Carys. He fights to shut his senses off, her terror nearly rendering him powerless. Another arrow strikes his thigh as he charges at the archer. Tiernan thrusts his sword through the stocky man’s middle and yanks the blade free in time to block another attack from the left. Anger and grief fuel his movements, his strikes and stabs hard and ruthless.
The soldiers lay either dead or incapacitated around him. Tiernan scrambles to Maura’s side, falling to his knees opposite Alys as the Royal Guards rush in. As the life drains from Maura’s eyes along with the anticipation of the child she’d been carrying.
“Alys,” Tiernan chokes out over the calamity. “Can you?—?”
Alys shakes her head. “You however …” Her eyes assess Tiernan’s injuries. The arrow jutting from his chest, the steady flow of blood from where he’d yanked the other shaft from his thigh.
He strokes Maura’s lifeless face.
The memory dissolves, the infirmary disappearing only to be replaced by a cold, dark room with a single oil lamp flickering behind Tiernan.
He’s strapped to a chair, ropes securing his wrists, his torso bare to reveal his arrow scar. A brawny man with dark hair looms over him with a wickedly sharp dagger.
“Who organized the attack on Princess Carys?” the man asks. He wears a Royal Brigade uniform with too many badges and patches to count. A domineering aura surrounds him.
“I’ve told you,” Tiernan says. “I don’t know. Commander Rheon, I had nothing to do with it.”
The commander demands incessantly, and Tiernan repeatedly denies it. Rheon strikes him with such force that the sound echoes through the room. Tiernan’s lip splits, his face swells. Yet not one tear slips free from his eyes.
“You are the greatest soldier I have trained in recent years, Kilkenny. It’s a damn shame. You remind me of myself as a lad.”
Tiernan’s jaw twitches, the heat of his anger surpassing the numbness from his grief.
“You had so much ahead of you, but then you sided with the radicals. I’ll give you one more chance. Who else identifies with the rebel cause? Give me one name and I will end this. You can serve out the rest of the days with the Veilguards. If not, you will be flogged in the square tomorrow, then hanged for treason.”
Tiernan’s heart stings like a fresh wound. His coarse voice wavers as he says, “Maura McKenzie.”
Ire flares in Commander Rheon’s eyes. He presses the tip of the dagger over the scabbed wound of Tiernan’s previous arrow injury, then draws it slowly up. It leaves a trail of blood in its wake, carving over his collarbone and up his neck. Tiernan’s muffled grunts turn into groans and then cries of pain. He tries his hardest not to thrash but tugs against his bindings, causing even greater pain.
I don’t want to see any more.
I can’t do this.
I can’t see him in this pain.
Falling back into my own body, I sever the connection, the anguish of Tiernan’s memories mirrored in my body. I want to comfort him, but I’m still reeling. I wrap my arms aroundmyself, feeling the squeeze of my hands, and I inhale the mossy dampness of the forest until I’m able to peel my eyes open.
I find Tiernan’s still shut, a single tear streaking down his face. “Oh, Tiernan.” I feel my voice break. As I embrace him, the echo of physical pain in my body dies down, replaced with his grief and fear. I keep my arms around him, never wanting to let go. Never wanting him to experience that again, not even in his memories.
I’m not sure how long we remain like that before I pull back slightly, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him. “I’m so, so sorry.” I can only imagine how terrifying everything must be for him. His own commander did that to him, and now … Now he’s the bloody sovereign of this land.I tuck some of Tiernan’s silver strands behind his ear, my fingers lingering on his face.
He nods, pain still etched into his features, his eyes still brimming. “There’s more I want to tell you, butpleasebe patient with me.”
I nod. “Thank you for even being willing to share with me.”
