Resistance

  “Really, he is,” Daniel insisted, recapturing her attention. “He doesn’t care about people, only their submission. Me, on the other hand, I like people. He thinks I’m weak.”

  The prince let out a hard chuckle. Looking him in the eyes, Kyrin found an unexpected display of hurt and resentment. This was no random, rebellious outburst. This was something stronger, deeper, harbored inside him. Something only grown with time.

  He stared at her, almost as if trying to read her the way she did him. Or perhaps he was searching for something.

  “I heard you’re close to your father.” He tipped his head a little. “What’s it like to have a father you love and respect, and who loves you in return?”

  Again, Kyrin sensed he waited for an answer. She licked her lips. “It’s a great blessing.”

  “I bet it is,” Daniel murmured and stared off into space.

  At these soft and sadly spoken words, something stirred inside Kyrin. Deep down, he was hurting and longing for what she cherished. The nurturing and loving support of a father.

  “I’m sure your father loves you,” she encouraged him.

  Daniel snapped back to reality. “I doubt it,” he said with an unhappy smile. “He loves power; he loves controlling this grand plan for his legacy. And he loves my sister.”

  The bitter sting in his voice was hard to miss.

  “She should’ve been the firstborn son. She’s the one who cares about all the politics and scheming. Not me.” He shook his head. “That’s why I find it hard to believe in Aertus and Vilai. Why would they ever have given my father me as a son? And, for pity’s sake, they’re moons. How are two balls of rock supposed to be gods? It’s never made any sense to me.”

  Daniel fell into a contemplative silence, and Kyrin’s heart drummed against her ribcage. Here the prince of Arcacia, heir to the throne, had admitted to not believing in his father’s gods. It laid before her the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to share with him her knowledge of Elôm. It waited on the very tip of her tongue, right there, for her to open her mouth and speak. But her jaw locked shut. What if Daniel reported her straight to his father? He himself had mentioned the possibility of execution for not believing in the gods. What if even the mention of Elôm’s name brought her such a fate?

  Her mind and instincts wrestled—one calling for bravery, the other fighting it. In response to her silence, Daniel released a heavy sigh and rose.

  “Well, thank you for putting up with my ranting.”

  He turned away and walked to the door.

  Her heart tripped. Stop him! Call him back!

  But once he was out the door, it was too late. A heavy oppressiveness fell around Kyrin. She sank into the chair Daniel had just occupied and buried her face in her hands. Tears leaked from her eyes. She’d failed. Elôm had presented her with a life-changing opportunity, and she’d failed Him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured as the tears slid through her fingers. “I’m a coward.”

  It filled Trask with contentment to ride into camp in the mornings and see the way his plans had come together. His father had cautioned him not to set his hopes too high. After all, he’d started out with only two men, whom most considered to be fugitives, and an empty clearing deep in the forest. Now, a little less than a year later, he had over a dozen men and an organized camp. The way things were going, that number was sure to increase.

  He rode up to the edge of the corral, where Holden met him before he even had a chance to dismount. The man’s unpleasant half scowl would repel just about anyone who didn’t know him well, but he was given to brooding, so Trask just smiled and greeted him cheerfully.

  “Morning. What’s going on?”

  “We need to talk.”

  The sharp, immovable tone replaced Trask’s smile with a frown. He went to great lengths to make camp a comfortable and satisfactory place for the men to live, and therefore he took all problems seriously. “All right.”

  He dismounted and secured his horse at the rail, and then turned his full attention to Holden. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Jace.”

  Trask held back a sigh. He should have guessed, though he’d thought the matter settled. It wasn’t often that anyone questioned him. “What about Jace?”

  “You, Mick, and Warin might not be able to see it, but he’s dangerous. You’re risking the entire camp by allowing him to remain here.”

  Trask gave a quick shake of his head. He might not know Jace yet, but he did know Warin and trusted his judgment. “He’s not dangerous.”

  “With respect, my lord,” Holden said, voice taut, “you don’t understand what ryriks are capable of, and don’t think because he’s only half ryrik he isn’t just as capable. All you have to do is look at his eyes. They’re the eyes of a killer.”

  Trask crossed his arms and drew a deep breath to prevent his shoulders from tightening. A man like Holden required much patience and tact. “What would you have me do?”

  “Send him away before he can snap and kill us all.”

  “I won’t do that,” Trask said calmly. “I set up this camp as a refuge for those in need, and if you can look past your hatred for ryriks, I think you’ll see he’s in need. He’s no killer, Holden. I’m not sending him away.”

  He turned to unsaddle his horse. Holden didn’t move at first, and Trask anticipated further discussion, but eventually, the man stalked off. Now Trask did release a sigh and murmured to Elôm for wisdom and strength in these situations. He couldn’t expect all of the men to get along all the time, especially when new faces came in. But that was part of being a leader, and thanks to his father, he’d grown up preparing for just such a position. One day he’d have more than just this camp to oversee.

  He turned his horse free in the corral and caught a glimpse of movement. This time Rayad approached him. The man had only been in camp a few days, but Trask liked what he saw. He valued men of experience and wisdom like Rayad and Warin. It was one reason he wouldn’t consider sending Jace away. If Jace left, Rayad surely would too.

  “Is there a problem?” Rayad cast a pointed glance at Holden down at the fire.

  Trask latched the gate and then leaned back against it. “Holden would like me to send Jace away.”

  “What has him so set against Jace?” Rayad asked with a hard, protective tone.

  “He does have his reasons. When he was young, ryriks tortured and killed his parents right in front of him. You can imagine what that did to him. He hates ryriks, and to see Jace just brings it all back. It’s preventing him from thinking logically. All he sees in Jace is what happened to his family and the possibility of it happening here.”

  “Jace isn’t like that,” Rayad assured him.

  Trask nodded, willing to believe that was true. “I know, but Holden doesn’t—or rather, he can’t accept it. And I believe there’s more behind this than is apparent.”

  He glanced at Holden. Everyone knew his story. The newest camp members should too. Perhaps it would help bring understanding.

  “He has his own past he’s dealing with. He was an informant for the emperor before coming to know Elôm. The information he collected led to many lost lives, and he despises himself. He’s driven now to protect people and make up for what he did. Between the fear and the condemnation, I think he’s turned Jace into a threat he feels the need to protect everyone from.”

  Rayad looked over his shoulder as his expression softened. He shook his head and spoke quietly. “Those two have more in common than they realize.”

  Holden stared into the smoldering logs of the fire. His mood matched the crackling heat. He gave Jace, who still sat at the edge of camp, a brief glance and ground his teeth together. Every time he looked at him, he saw it again—the scene of his parents’ brutal murders. And he’d been helpless—utterly helpless to stop it. Had the neighbors not shown up, he would have been tortured and killed too. But he wasn’t helpless now. He wouldn’t risk seeing such senseless bloodshed again. Jace w
as dangerous. He was one-hundred percent convinced of that. Why couldn’t Trask see it?

  “How did that go?”

  Holden looked up, and one of the men nodded toward Trask. He swallowed down the acidic burn in his throat.

  “Not well. He refuses to send Jace away.”

  “Well, maybe everything will be fine,” another man said.

  “No,” Holden snapped. The bloody images ever lurking at the edges of his mind wouldn’t allow him to believe that. Not for a moment. “As much as I respect him, Trask just doesn’t understand the risk. He hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. None of us will be safe as long as Jace is around, do you understand? None of us. And I’m afraid if someone doesn’t do what needs to be done, we’ll all suffer for it.”

  Across the fire, his eyes caught the three Korvic brothers exchanging a glance. They were just crazy enough to try something stupid, and Holden didn’t mind letting them.

  Kyrin wasn’t sure what she hated more—observing during Daican’s meetings or sitting with Mister Foss for hours as he grudgingly shared mounds of information about all the prominent lords in Arcacia. She understood it would aid her in her job, but even she could only take so much at a time. Especially when her mind kept wandering back to the incident in the library earlier that morning and her failure. Every thought of it made her miserable.

  Mister Foss, on the other hand, just wanted to get it over with and didn’t appreciate her lack of attention. She often caught him grumbling about already having enough work to do without needing to instruct her on top of it. Kyrin tried not to take offense, but every comment wrung the muscles in her neck and back tighter and tighter. After all, she didn’t want to do this either.

  Still trying to absorb the overload of information, Kyrin walked wearily toward her room for a little alone time before returning to work for the remainder of the afternoon. If only it were closer to bedtime. To lie down for even just a few moments and close her eyes would be heavenly, but she wouldn’t dare for fear of drifting off.

  “Miss Altair.”

  The icy female voice stopped Kyrin in her tracks. Her stomach squeezed like a fist, and she had to battle all her nerves to turn and face the princess.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Davira strode toward her and tipped her head a little as she peered at Kyrin. “I thought it was time for the staff to pray and worship.”

  Kyrin hesitated for the briefest moment to calculate the time. “It is, my lady. I was just going to my room. That’s where I always pray. It’s quiet, and there are no distractions.”

  Davira’s unblinking eyes bored into hers as if sifting for information. Kyrin’s heartbeat echoed in her ears, and a tremor passed down her back. Afraid it would visibly work its way through the rest of her body, she asked in as steady a voice as possible, “Is there anything you need, my lady?”

  But it rasped at the end, and she swallowed.

  “No,” Davira replied a little too slowly. She tipped her chin up. “I won’t keep you.”

  With a brief curtsy, Kyrin turned. Davira’s eyes scorched her all the way down the hall. Fighting every impulse, she forced herself to walk casually. The moment she stepped into the solitude of her room, she sagged back against the closed door and dragged in a breath. She thought she might be sick. Two perilous confrontations in one day. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but her mouth turned to chalk. Had she been convincing enough? Or did the princess suspect her of disloyalty? Oh, Elôm, I don’t know if I can do this. Protect me, please.

  In the days following his rescue from slavery, the forest had always provided Jace with the solitude he needed. Now, once again, he sought such solitude. Even when Holden wasn’t nearby, camp was unbearable. The men, influenced by Holden’s warnings, still kept their distance, casting suspicious looks, or speaking quietly in small groups. Exactly what people always did around him.

  So he took to the woods and spent long hours with no one but Tyra while he contemplated his future. It couldn’t go on like this. But what future did he have anywhere? People like Kalli and Aldor just didn’t exist. He’d never find anyone like them again. Never find a home like that. It didn’t leave him with much choice other than a solitary life somewhere civilization could not find him.

  Tyra broke him out of these thoughts and put a pause to his aimless wandering. Her growl warned him they were no longer alone. He followed her intense stare and spotted three young men weaving through the trees. The Korvic brothers. Out of everyone in camp, he disliked them the most right after Holden. They were loud, obnoxious, and had little respect for anyone. Much like Morden.

  He knew the moment they spotted him. They stopped abruptly, muttering in hushed tones, and adjusted their course straight for him. Tyra released another low rumble in her throat. Even she knew they were up to no good.

  “Easy, Tyra,” Jace murmured. He wasn’t about to let her do something Holden could use against her. The brothers drew nearer, and he commanded her, “Back.”

  She looked up at him, eyes questioning, and he repeated his command. Obediently, she turned and trotted a few yards away, but her gaze remained fixed on him. By now, the Korvic brothers were drawing into his personal space. A shiver of warning needled Jace’s skin, but he stood his ground.

  “What do you want?” he asked in a low voice as Brody, the oldest, came face to face with him. The two younger ones spread out on either side. He gave them each a cold glance.

  “What do we want?” Brody’s lips curled in an insolent smirk as he glanced at one of his brothers. “What we want is for you to leave. You’re not welcome in camp, half-blood.”

  Jace fought the spark of heat in his chest, clenching and unclenching his fists

  “Do you hear me?” Brody demanded, getting in his face, though he was shorter. “You’re to leave camp and never come back. Nobody wants you here.”

  That might be true, but Jace would leave on his own terms. He wouldn’t be ordered out like some animal by these three. Looking Brody straight on, he said, “No.”

  Brody’s eyes narrowed. “You will go. It just depends on what condition you want to go in.”

  Jace glanced down to Brody’s balled fists. The brothers aimed to fight him. He ground his teeth together as his fighting instinct kicked in. It would be a pleasure to knock all three of them senseless, yet this thought carried a warning. If he gave them the beating they deserved, it would only confirm everything the men in camp believed about him. It would prove him dangerous. But did he care?

  Somewhere, buried deep inside, the answer was yes. Wasn’t that why he had purposely gone without a single weapon so there would be less chance of ever hurting or killing anyone again? He breathed out and turned away from Brody. For the briefest moment, a confirming sensation that he’d done the right thing brought a hint of peace to his mind, but a hand latched onto his arm and yanked him back around. Before he could react, Brody’s knuckles plowed into his jaw.

  Fire burst through Jace’s body like molten metal. Brody didn’t even regain his balance from the swing before Jace’s hard fist caught him in the cheekbone. The young man staggered and almost went to the ground. His two brothers jumped in to help and each grabbed one of Jace’s arms. He wrenched away from them, and nearly broke their hold. In a second attempt, he would have succeeded, but it struck him what was happening. His ryrik blood was taking over and driving him to fight, just as it always did. Maybe the accusations were right; maybe he was a monster. Just let them win, the thought whispered in his mind. Do what you should have done in the arena.

  Giving in to the voice of condemnation and surrender, Jace stopped fighting. Caught between the brothers, he took the full impact of Brody’s next blow just under the ribs. He doubled over with a gasp. Behind him, Tyra snarled and charged toward them.

  “No, Tyra, back,” he ground out. “Stay back!”

  All his bulky weight behind the swing, Brody delivered another blow to Jace’s jaw. Pain lanced through his skull and his blood burned hotter, but he
refused to act on it this time.

  Brody took full advantage of the lack of struggle. Jace’s breaths soon came in short pants as the air was forced from his lungs by fist blows. Blood flowed down his chin from his nose and lips. Despite his surrender to the unrelenting attack, some small seed of stubbornness remained, and he stayed on his feet longer than most would have. But, eventually, his legs buckled underneath him, and he found himself on his back in the leaves, mind foggy, squinting up at the hazy figures.

  Brody’s face appeared only a foot away from his own, and the young man’s knee pressed hard into his battered chest. Jace gasped, unable to draw more than small, painful breaths. Brody grabbed his collar.

  “You don’t come back, half-blood. Understand?”

  He pushed up and away. Searing pain knifed through Jace’s chest as Brody gave him one final kick in the ribs. He grasped at his side and a small groan escaped him. With sneers and cruel laughter echoing in their wake, the Korvic brothers wandered off. Jace lay still as his mind faded in and out. The burning in his blood abandoned him now to pulsing waves of pain. He struggled for air and choked on the blood trickling down the back of his throat. Why couldn’t his body just die?

  Leaves crunched near his head. He forced his eyes open. A black shape filled his vision, and a wet nose nudged his chin.

  “Tyra,” he breathed, though his lips barely moved.

  She faded away again, and he lost all sense. He had no knowledge of how much time passed or if he even remained conscious, but sometime later, he opened his eyes and things cleared. Life still clung to him, though he didn’t welcome it. Every breath came with a protest from his throbbing ribs. He winced, his face tight and swollen, and tipped his head to his left and right. The area was abandoned. Only the trees witnessed his struggle.