However, Aric shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s gone. He told the guards he was going to one of the taverns, but I’m sure it was just a story to avoid suspicion. All his things are gone from his room.”
Davira rose, her eyes like fire. “Have them thrown into the dungeon.”
Aric spoke carefully. “My lady, they had no way of knowing what he’d done.”
“I don’t care,” Davira snapped. “They let him escape. I don’t care what it takes, I want him found. Close off the city if you have to. I want every available man out there looking for him, now!”
Aric nodded slowly. “Yes, my lady.”
He turned, and Daniel followed him to the door where Davira wouldn’t overhear them.
“Do what she says. Finding Alex may be our only chance at discovering what poison he used. Just make sure the guards at the gate are well treated. I’ll sort this out as soon as things calm down. I’m sure Father will understand.” At least he prayed his father would find it in his heart to understand. None of this was on the guards.
Aric accepted these orders with another nod. Just before he left, he said, “I’m sorry. I know you and Lord Alex were friends.”
Daniel sighed heavily. “Thank you.”
He then returned to his position at the foot of the bed. His mother squeezed his father’s hand, not moving for several minutes until she rose from her seat on the edge of the mattress.
“I should go see to the guests.” Fear strained her expression, her eyes never leaving her husband’s face.
“I’ll do it,” Daniel offered. She shouldn’t have to leave his father’s side.
Her eyes pooled with moisture and gratitude, and he walked out of the room. He felt heavy and slightly lost as he walked the dim halls. He wasn’t used to taking charge of things like this, but he would do it for his mother. He’d never cared for Sir Richard, but he did wish the man was here right now instead of in Samara. As his father’s closest advisor, he would have handled everything smoothly. But it was now up to Daniel.
When he entered the ballroom, the guests stood around in groups, talking in muted, concerned tones. Servants had cleaned up the shattered glass and spilled wine. Daniel cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention, and the room went instantly silent.
“I apologize for having kept you here waiting for news. I’m afraid it appears that my father has been poisoned.”
Women gasped and men murmured, some looking fearfully into their wine goblets.
“Don’t be alarmed for your safety,” Daniel quickly assured them. “I have no reason to believe anyone but my father was targeted.”
Surely someone else would have fallen ill by now if that were Alex’s intent.
“Who would do such a thing?” an elderly baroness asked, her hand to her throat.
Daniel hung his head but then raised it. “We believe the culprit was Alex Avery.”
Murmurs started again, many raising questions, but Daniel didn’t elaborate. How could he possibly tell them it was because his father had murdered Baron Arther? At least, that was what Daniel assumed had triggered Alex’s assassination attempt.
Finally, one of the earls stepped forward. “How bad is it?”
Daniel shook his head. “Since we don’t know what poison Alex used, our physician can only guess, but my father didn’t appear to be getting any worse when I left. It is my hope he will fight through this.” The guests exchanged looks and murmurs again, but Daniel quieted them. “You may spend the rest of your evening here if you wish. Or you can retire to your rooms. Please make yourselves comfortable. I will see that you are informed of any major changes in my father’s condition. Hopefully, by morning, he will be conscious and well on his way to recovery.”
However, a rock formed in Daniel’s gut. If Alex had gone so far as to poison the emperor of Arcacia, he wouldn’t have done so with an impotent poison. He shook the thought away, clinging to the hope his father would recover.
His attention snapped back to the guests when the earl said, “I, and anyone who wishes to join me, will go to the temple and pray for him.”
All around, the others nodded. Daniel looked at them, struck with sadness. How powerful would the prayers of so many be if offered to Elôm instead of to idols?
“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say, though he knew it would do no good. “If you need anything, just have word sent to me and I will take care of it.”
Leaving them to their own devices, he turned and trudged back to his parents’ room. His feet dragged as he climbed the stairs, his heart still heavy over the guests’ offers to pray. As far as he knew, only he, and perhaps Aric, prayed for his father’s healing to a God who could actually hear them. If only he could get word to Ben and Mira. It would be strange to ask people to pray for a man who would have them killed for their faith, but he didn’t have a single doubt that they would do it.
When Daniel arrived upstairs, he found that his mother and Davira hadn’t moved from their places beside his father. Daniel took a seat at the end of the bed near his mother. “Any change?”
She shook her head, and Daniel chose to see that as a good thing.
“Has everyone been settled?” she asked without looking at him.
“Yes. Most of them are going out to the temple to pray for Father’s healing.” Daniel rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m praying too.”
Davira made a scoffing noise in her throat, but his mother offered him a grateful look.
Silence settled around them, broken only by his father’s ragged breaths and the rustle of the physician sorting through his remedies. Living in the palace had meant always having people around—from servants to security—but in the quietness of the room, Daniel almost felt as though it were just his family and the physician. What would it have been like if they’d not been royalty—if they were just a normal, working family? Would he and his father have been close? Would they have worked together, sweated together, hunted together? Maybe they could have done some of that even here, but he’d never wanted to compromise enough to try. Why now, when his father could be dying, did the desire grip him so strongly? I’d like another chance, Elôm.
Time slipped by unnoticed. Sometime after midnight, Daniel rubbed his gritty eyes and considered going to his room to change into something more comfortable, but then his father groaned. They all focused on him.
“Daican,” Daniel’s mother called.
Grimacing, his eyes fluttered open. They didn’t focus at first, but he turned his head, and his gaze locked on his wife. He didn’t speak, just stared at her.
“You’re going to be all right, Father,” Davira said from the other side of the bed. “You’re going to fight this and be all right.”
Slowly, he turned his head to look at her next. She smiled at him, though tears wet her eyes. “You’ll be all right,” she whispered again.
Then his gaze shifted to Daniel, who leaned a little closer. In that moment, he felt as though his father truly looked at him with love for the first time. It was both painful and comforting. Then his father’s eyes slid closed again. His chest lowered as he released a wheezing breath but failed to rise again. Daniel held his own breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited . . . and waited.
“Father?” Davira said shakily. Nothing happened. Her voice shrilled in panic. “Father?” Still nothing. She grabbed the physician’s arm. “He’s not breathing! Do something!”
The physician sprang into action, diving into his medical kit and trying remedy after remedy. Daniel sat paralyzed as if watching through someone else’s eyes. This couldn’t really be happening. His father couldn’t just die so suddenly.
After a few minutes, the physician stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he barely whispered, and cold flushed through Daniel.
“No!” Davira screamed. She shook their father’s arm as tears poured down her cheeks. “No, Father, please! Come back!”
Sobs broke from their mother’s chest, and before
Daniel knew it, tears ran hot down his own cheeks. He stared at his father’s still face and could hardly make himself believe it. He wasn’t finished talking to him yet—wasn’t finished trying to tell him about Elôm. Pain exploded in his chest. His father had lost his only chance to save his soul. Daniel would never see him again. Why did you do it, Father? Why didn’t you listen? His tears fell harder, but he finally broke himself from shock and reached for his mother, holding her against his chest as they both cried quietly. Davira’s louder sobs filled the room as the three of them huddled on the bed.
Morning light filtered into the room in the midst of an overcast sky. Daniel still cradled his mother in his arms, and Davira sat across from him staring blankly, her pale face streaked with tear tracks and smeared cosmetics. Aric had checked on them sometime during the night, but other than that, they were left alone.
Daniel stared down at his father’s motionless body. He shuddered at the way death hung so heavily in the room. Preparations had to be made for a funeral and burial. And, of course, there were guests to see to. Aric must have given them the news, but someone from the royal family should address them. Someone like him. But his body was so heavy. He didn’t have the energy. Yet, if he didn’t, his mother would have to.
Slowly, he pulled away from her. “I am going to go change.” His voice came out hoarse. “Then I will see to things downstairs.”
His mother didn’t respond.
He rose stiffly. “I will see that your maids are sent up to assist you.” He glanced at Davira, but neither one even seemed to hear him. His sister had fresh tears trailing down her cheeks though her face was set as stone. Daniel almost walked around the bed to hug her, but he thought it best just to leave her alone.
He stepped out of the room and walked numbly to his own. After lighting a few candles, he went to the wardrobe and reached for a plain green shirt, but paused. Black. They were in mourning now. He pulled out a black shirt instead, and a plain black jerkin.
All his fatigued muscles protested as he changed into the fresh outfit, but he was almost too numb to notice. When he finished, he sank down on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall.
His father was dead.
The thought hung suspended in his mind. In one evening, everything had changed. His father’s commanding presence and ideals had been the heartbeat of this palace. How empty it suddenly felt. What would happen now?
That’s when it crashed down on Daniel, the enormity of what his father’s death meant. His breath snagged his chest, and his heart almost failed to beat.
He was now the king of Arcacia.
Kyrin prayed for daylight. Huddled next to Ivoris for warmth on the breezy grassland, she hadn’t felt so uncertain or lonely since awaiting her own execution in Auréa’s dungeon. She’d flown almost nonstop the day before. She would have flown throughout the night to reach Bel-gard, but she was too afraid she would veer off course in the dark. She needed to see the landmarks they’d passed on the way to the ford. And as much as she desired to push on, Ivy did need the rest.
Kyrin, however, sat awake for most of the night. When she did doze off, she would jolt awake only a short time later with a sick ache gnawing inside of her. Twice she’d succumbed to tears, crying mournfully in the darkness. She prayed for a miracle—that Elôm would protect Jace, her brothers, and their friends long enough for help to arrive.
The moment light appeared in the east, and she could see a good distance across the grassy terrain, Kyrin pushed to her feet and stretched her legs. “Time to go, Ivy.”
She tightened the saddle straps and climbed onto the dragon’s back. Before taking off, she reached into her pack for enough food to satisfy the empty pinching in her stomach. With a command, Ivy spread her wings and took to the air. The wide-open grassland stretched out farther and farther as they climbed toward the sky, seeming to symbolize how alone she was. Yet, she wasn’t alone. The same God who had created these grasslands was with her as surely as if Jace were flying beside her. And He was at the ford too, with power far greater than Daican’s force.
The sun climbed steadily as Kyrin scanned the terrain and compared it with her memories. A little over an hour after sunup, she caught her first glimpse of mountain peaks straight ahead. Bel-gard appeared a short time later, and her heart rate accelerated. Her main concern had been to reach the city, but now she had to confront King Orlan and convince him to send help to the ford. Considering his refusal to aid them last time, would he simply send her away? Still, this time they had proof of Daican’s intentions. The king would have to take action to defend his people . . . unless he chose to surrender. Kyrin grimaced. That would destroy everything they had fought for all this time and make any sacrifice of life at the ford meaningless.
She shook her head. No sense in dwelling on that before she’d even spoken to him.
Coming up over the walls of the city, she flew straight to the castle and landed in the courtyard. Hopefully the giants would receive her as well as they had the entire group. She wasn’t a crete like Captain Darq, but at least as a woman, she didn’t appear threatening.
Ivy crouched down for her, and Kyrin dismounted. Two castle guards already strode toward her. Now that she was here alone, the men did seem rather intimidating with their size and those giant swords, but she strengthened her resolve and thought of Leetra. Small as she was, the crete girl would never back down from anyone.
Ignoring the twinges in her ankle that made her limp, Kyrin walked toward the giants. When she met them, she said, “I am Kyrin Altair. I was here with King Balen of Samara several days ago. I must speak with King Orlan immediately. Dorland will soon be under attack.”
The two giants looked at each other, and then one motioned for her to follow. “Come with me.”
She hurried to keep up with his stride. Jace would fret over the strain she was putting on her ankle, but that didn’t matter right now. At the stairs, however, his absence made the climb much more difficult. She gritted her teeth when the pain increased after the first three steps.
“Let me help you.” The guard offered his large hand.
She gave him a grateful smile and wrapped her hand over his top two fingers. With his support, she climbed the remaining stairs more easily. Inside, he took her to the throne room and guided her to a chair along the edge of hall.
“Stay here. I’ll get the king.”
With echoing footsteps, he left the room. After hoisting herself up in the chair, Kyrin lifted her leg and massaged her ankle through her boot. It would probably start swelling up again after this. Her gaze strayed around the silent hall, but then she bowed her head and prayed about her meeting with the king.
A couple of minutes later, footsteps approached. King Orlan entered the throne room, followed by the guard and another giant with dark blond hair. Kyrin slid off the chair and met them near the throne. The third giant had to be just shy of ten feet tall as he towered over her. A keen glint in his eyes showed his interest in what she had to say. When she glanced between him and King Orlan, they looked so similar that she knew he must be Prince Haedrin. This heartened her, considering what Captain Darq had said about him.
“Miss Altair,” the king said. “You were with King Balen.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid I bring grave news. Daican has declared war on Dorland. There will be Arcacian troops at the Andros Ford in a matter of hours if they haven’t reached it already.” She paused, her mind too quick to imagine everyone at the ford already fighting . . . maybe dying. She gulped. “They intend to march on Bel-gard. A second force will arrive in a couple of weeks.”
Orlan’s bushy white brows lifted. “How do you know this?”
“Because we intercepted a message from Emperor Daican to Lord Vallan telling the cretes that if they stay out of the fight when he attacks your people, they will be left in peace. Those ryriks attacking at the ford were hired by Daican to weaken your border. King Balen and the rest of our group are at the ford now to try to slow Daican’s me
n down, but they are greatly outnumbered. Daican’s men will reach the ford today. Please, you must send reinforcements.” Kyrin had to swallow again with the way her throat tightened up. “I don’t know how long they can hold them off . . . if they can at all.”
King Orlan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure of this?”
“Yes,” Kyrin replied a bit sharply. She drew a deep breath to calm herself. “I saw the message for Lord Vallan myself. I could quote it to you word for word, but there isn’t time. Everyone at that ford—including Jorvik, Halvar, and Levi—is likely to die if they don’t get help quickly. Every minute of delay dooms them further.”
Before Orlan could say a word, Prince Haedrin stepped forward. “How large is Daican’s force?”
“More than fifty foot soldiers and twenty firedrakes and their riders, plus over a dozen hostile ryriks if they choose to fight. We sent a messenger to Arvael to gather crete dragon riders to aid us, but I don’t know if they’ll arrive in time.”
Haedrin didn’t wait for her to say more. He turned to the guard. “Gather fifty men armed and ready to ride out with me within the hour. I want the rest of them at the walls preparing for an attack should the enemy get this far.”
The guard nodded and rushed off.
King Orlan took his son’s arm. “Perhaps you should remain and oversee the men here.”
“King Balen and his people are putting their lives at risk to defend our country. I aim to see it isn’t in vain. If we had dealt with this sooner, then none of this would be happening.”
He turned his intense gaze to Kyrin, and his expression softened. “I will send servants to show you to a room and fetch anything you require to make your stay here comfortable.”
Kyrin shook her head. “No, I will fly along with you and your men.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Jace wanted her to stay safe, and she would. If there was any sign of danger, she would hang back and return to Bel-gard or Arvael if she had to. But she couldn’t just sit here and wait for news. As much as she dreaded what would await her, she had to return to the ford.