Killian’s nostrils flared. He hated how dismissive Fyar sounded. How official. How blank.
It hurt. A stinging pain in his chest.
It grew until it was anger. Pain masquerading as anything but.
“Do you not trust me?” Killian pushed. “Is that it?”
Fyar met Killian’s budding anger with an icy distance. “Have you done something that would make you lose my trust?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then I have no reason not to trust you.”
Shaking his head, Killian clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might break teeth. “Fine.”
That was the end of it.
There was silence as Fyar readjusted, sliding down until he was horizontal. And even with thisthingbetween them, this sense of wrongness, he met Killian’s eyes and asked, “You’ll stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course, I’ll stay.” There was no question. “I’ll have to leave for a time, but I’ll come back.”
Fyar nodded, his eyes already beginning to droop.
It was hard seeing his king so weak.
“Have Hokda give you something for the pain,” Fyar said quietly. “You may not have had my symptoms, but you were as close to death as I was. I won’t have you keeling over on me tomorrow, I’ll need your strength.”
“I’m alright,” Killian said honestly. His pain had subsided as soon as Fyar’s condition stabilized, and all that was left was an aching soreness in his muscles. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Fyar hummed. Pleased. “Good.” And then his eyes closed,and they stayed closed.
Killian didn’t know how long he stood there after, watching the steady rise and fall of Fyar’s chest, listening for the steadythump thump thumpof his heart. He was almost afraid to go, as if Fyar’s heart may stop beating once Killian’s back was turned. But he had to. It was his duty to pass judgment on the one who thought they could get away with this.
Killian found himself almost looking forward to it. At least there, he knew what he was doing, what he was up against. It would be a good outlet for this anger he was nurturing in his chest.
“Serua Baraeth. She was found near the palace gates, attempting to flee,” Loran reported as Killian descended the stairs into the dark dungeons. “She had this with her.” He held up a fat drawstring bag filled to the brim with gold and jewels.
Killian scowled. “Payment.”
Loran nodded and adjusted the sword on his hip. The lieutenant looked uneasy, focused and serious, but uneasy.
It was just the two of them down there, except for Serua, though a few others stood guard outside the entrance to the dungeons. Out of earshot and a safe distance away. They couldn’t risk any information leaking through the cracks in the form of loose lips.
“Was anyone with her?”
“No. She was alone.”
“What do you know of her?”
“Not much,” said Loran, adjusting his belt. “She’s been employed here for going on six hundred years. Never made a fuss. Generally well loved. Seemingly loyal.” He bit his lip.Hesitant. “What’s going on here, Killian? What happened? Is the king alright?”
The lieutenant had been sent away with little to no real information on what had taken place. He wasn’t privy to the whole of it. Loran had surely put some of the pieces together, but he was asking for more. For clarification. For confirmation.
Killian didn’t mince his words. “Serua Baraeth used her position in the king’s service to poison him. A cowards weapon. He’ll be alright, but it was close.”
Loran sucked in a sharp breath.
“She is just a pawn,” Killian went on. “Disposable.”
