Samara's Peril

  Looking over the parapet again, they spotted a group of people trudging up the slope to the wall. They moved slowly, and many appeared to carry stretchers.

  “More refugees.” Balen turned grimly to the soldier. “Get word to Josef. He’s in the keep with the wounded. Let him know there are more and make room.”

  The soldier nodded and hurried off. With Balen in the lead, they descended the stairs again and arrived at one of the only gates that led out of Samara.

  “Open the gate,” Balen instructed the four guardsmen there. “More refugees have come.”

  They slid the heavy iron barriers away, pulled open the gates, and raised the portcullis. By this time, the refugees waited just outside. They shuffled in, looking half-dead, their haunted eyes glazed over with fatigue. Not one appeared to have escaped injury.

  “Come inside,” Balen directed them. “This way.”

  He took the arm of an elderly man to help him forward. Not far behind him, an older woman stumbled, but Trask quickly stepped in to support her. With his lead, the others offered their help. Jace froze, left standing alone. His first instinct was to shy away from strangers. What could he even do for them? If they noticed he was part ryrik, would they even want him near? But then Holden drew his attention and motioned for him to help carry a stretcher. Jace stepped forward hesitantly and gripped the back of the stretcher. As they lifted it together, Jace glanced down at the man it carried. Though a blanket covered most of his body, deep red burns and a bloody gash along his forehead contrasted against his pale face. His eyes were closed, and Jace might have feared him dead already if not for his shallow, wheezing breaths.

  Balen led everyone inside the keep, where they met Josef. The physician looked at everyone, weariness flashing across his expression. He already had so many in his care.

  Trask stepped to his side. “What can we do to help? Leetra has been trained in medicine, and the rest of us are willing to do whatever we can.”

  Josef offered him a grateful look. “Leetra can help me and the rest of you can see to the less seriously injured. Clean their wounds and keep them covered. I’ll be around with a salve and bandages. They also need water and food.”

  With these instructions, everyone spread out to do their part. Everyone except Jace. He shifted, discomfort prickling under his skin. Even Kyrin seemed to know what to do, but this was not a situation he had any experience or confidence in. His only desire was to disappear, but what would they think of him then?

  Again Holden came to his rescue, a basin of water and cloths in hand. “Over here.”

  Jace’s neck and face burned with his own incompetency as he followed Holden to a man and his little girl. Ragged bandages wound around the man’s hands, and the wide-eyed little girl held her arm close to her stomach.

  “Hello,” Holden said gently. “Are you burned?”

  The father nodded. “My hands and her arm.”

  Holden smiled at the little girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Anya,” she murmured.

  “Anya, my friend Jace is going to clean your arm while I take care of your father, all right?”

  He handed Jace a wet cloth. Jace squeezed it in his fist and swallowed before looking down at the little girl. She peered up at him with huge eyes, but he was probably even more nervous than she was. He had never tended injuries other than his own, and certainly never on a child. Trying to think of her as Meredith, he knelt down and reached for her arm. She shrank away, as did he. He wasn’t made for this, but he couldn’t walk away now. He tried again, and this time she let him take her arm in a gentle grasp. She whimpered when he touched the cloth to the long burn near her wrist, but quieted after a moment. He worked carefully to clean the dust and dirt from the raw skin. His heart raced. What if he hurt her or caused more damage? Glancing up at the girl, he found more curiosity than pain on her smudged face.

  When he looked up a second time, she told him, “Your eyes are pretty.”

  Jace paused. His eyes were always what gave him away. He cast a glance at her father. The man peered at him, but without suspicion.

  Jace focused back on the little girl and murmured, “Thanks.”

  It took most of the day to care for the newly-arrived refugees and those already present at Stonehelm. Kyrin put the skills she had learned from Lenae to use wherever she could. So many people needed attention. Just thinking of what Josef did every day exhausted her. It was a good thing she and the others had shown up when they did. Samara needed far more than just military aid.

  When she wasn’t focused on one of the refugees, Kyrin’s thoughts went to Jace. She had seen his face at first—his uncertainty with the situation. He was completely out of his element, and she felt awful for him, but thankfully Holden was at his side. She was used to dropping everything to help him in hard situations; however, in this instance, she couldn’t ignore the inner prompting that the refugees needed her more than Jace did.

  By the time they finished, everyone was ready for rest and food. Kyrin wasn’t sure what time it was, but she did know the sun had set. Upon Balen’s orders she and the others were shown to the mess hall, where food awaited them. It wasn’t as extravagant as their supper the night before at the castle, but Kyrin’s stomach still growled with anticipation. Sitting at one of the long tables, they ate hungrily.

  A few minutes later, Josef joined them, sinking down in an empty place near the head of their table.

  “I want to thank you all for your help today. I am the only fully-trained physician in the area, and am spread quite thin with all these new arrivals.”

  “Anything we can do to help while we’re here,” Trask replied.

  “I appreciate it, and so does the king.”

  “Is he going to take his meal here?” Rayad asked.

  Balen had worked just as hard, if not harder than them, in tending the refugees. Kyrin had seen him still working in the main hall of the keep when they had all left for supper, and he hadn’t appeared to have had any intention of quitting.

  “Eventually,” Josef answered. “He wanted to be sure there was adequate room and cots for everyone.”

  “He is a remarkable king,” Rayad said.

  Josef nodded, his weathered face softening in fondness and pride. “Yes, he is. And he could be far greater if he could just make full use of his power and influence over the people.”

  “What stops him?”

  “Queen Rhosin.”

  Rayad exchanged a look with Trask, and Kyrin listened closely. She had sensed some sort of underlying tension whenever anyone mentioned the queen.

  “She never approved of King Alton’s decision to make Balen his heir. She saw it as an affront to her inability to bear him a son. Of course, he never meant it as such, but what else could he do? However, many years of disappointment and heartache have made Queen Rhosin a bitter woman. She couldn’t prevent Balen from being crowned, but she hasn’t made it easy for him.”

  “That’s why he’s here in Westing and not Amberin,” Rayad guessed.

  “Partly. For all intents and purposes, the queen is ruler of this country. The people would choose to follow Balen—he is, after all, one of them—but he has not yet had reason to challenge her authority and take his proper place. He has chosen to avoid conflict for as long as he can.” Josef sighed. “But I do wish he could rise up as the king he was meant to be. Samara needs it, especially now. Like Arcacia, the rule of Samara has been in decline. King Alton was a gentle and goodhearted man, but he lacked the strength and conviction to lead us. I believe Balen could change things, given the chance.”

  Later that evening, the group returned to the castle for the night. Kyrin trudged up the stairs to their sleeping quarters, her legs heavy and aching. The moment they had left the castle this morning seemed liked a distant memory. Her conversation with Rayad, however, settled clearly in her fatigued mind. She set her gaze on Jace, who walked just ahead of her. She wouldn’t sleep well without a chance to say a few words to him. Howev
er, before she could catch up, he went straight to his room without speaking to anyone. Kyrin slowed and hung her head. Would he just keep shutting her out like this?

  Her heart even heavier than her legs, she followed Leetra to their room. Just before they reached the door, Holden called her name. She turned as he approached.

  “I was just talking to Timothy and Aaron,” he said quietly. “We are going to pray for Jace. I knew you would want to join us.”

  Kyrin nodded earnestly, buoyed. It was just as Rayad had said—they weren’t the only two who’d noticed Jace’s suffering and struggle. She followed Holden. To her great surprise, so did Leetra. The crete rarely seemed to give much heed to their group’s internal struggles, but maybe she was more aware than she let on. They joined Timothy and Aaron and walked into the room where Trev and Mick waited. The seven of them gathered in the center of the room. Bowing their heads, Timothy led them in prayer.

  “King Elôm, we come to You on behalf of Jace and the struggle that surrounds him. We know You are stronger than the lies and doubts that attack him, and only You can bring him victory. Give him peace, and guide him through this. Let him find You in it. We know You hold his life and his soul. Show him the truth, and give him the strength to keep fighting and seek You. Reveal Yourself to him, Lord. He needs You . . .”

  Holden grabbed the pillow and a blanket from his bed and walked down the hall toward the sitting room. Jace wasn’t going to like this. Holden could already hear his argument. He could be very stubborn in these situations, but Holden had enough stubbornness of his own. Though he wouldn’t typically insist, this time he deemed it necessary.

  With a quick prayer, Holden stepped into the room. Jace was just settling in on the couch. He looked up, his brow creasing as Holden approached the second couch and unfolded his blanket.

  “What are you doing?”

  His tone already revealed stubbornness.

  Holden glanced at him. “Keeping you company.”

  Jace’s frown deepened, and his voice lowered. “I don’t need company.”

  Holden said nothing. He wasn’t here to argue, but he wouldn’t be easily turned away either.

  Jace breathed a little harder. “You can’t stay.”

  “Why not?”

  Jace’s expression tensed. “I’m having nightmares again.”

  “I know.” Holden had heard Jace during the nights on their journey.

  “I’ll just wake you up.”

  Holden shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.” He set his blanket down and faced Jace fully. “You may think so, but you don’t have to fight all these battles by yourself. Not when you have all of us around.”

  Jace stared at him a moment, and then looked away, his jaw clenching. Holden sighed. If only Jace didn’t struggle so much with that concept. So many were for him, but he couldn’t seem to see it or count himself worthy of it.

  Holden opened his eyes and blinked his surroundings into focus. Deep shadows filled the room, but a pale glow at the window hinted of morning. He lay still and heard it again—the sound that had awakened him. A soft groan came from the other couch, and he propped himself up on his elbow. Jace’s dark form moved fitfully in his sleep.

  “Jace.”

  But only Jace’s hard, erratic breathing and another deep groan answered him.

  Holden tried again with no response. Pushing up from the couch, he lit a candle, but even the light didn’t wake Jace from the dream. If anything, it only agitated him more. He tossed and turned, his face held taut with a grimace and shiny with sweat.

  Holden approached him. Waking a man in such a state could prove dangerous, but he wouldn’t let Jace keep suffering under the dream’s influence. That was why he was here, after all. He reached out and grasped Jace’s shoulder. Jace flinched.

  “Jace, wake up.” He gave him a little shake.

  Jace’s eyes snapped open, startlingly blue and lit with a fire that had once terrified Holden. But instead of moving to attack, Jace sat upright and jerked away from him. Disoriented, he bore the look of someone tortured and cornered. Holden grimaced and said his name once more to draw him out of the dream’s hold. Awareness slowly settled in Jace’s expression. He sank back against the couch, his chest heaving, but that tortured look remained.

  Holden brought him a glass of water. Jace’s hand trembled so badly he almost spilled some of it, and he drank it down in a couple of gulps. Holden took a seat across from him again and waited for him to speak, but he just sat there, his eyes still flashing in torment and fear. It was hard to see a man with Jace’s strength and capabilities brought so low. Holden knew a thing or two about fear. Just a year ago, fear had led him to see Jace as a monster. That’s what unchecked fear did: made monsters where there were none. If only Jace could understand that. Closing his eyes, Holden said a silent prayer over his friend.

  For several minutes, they sat in silence. Jace’s breathing eventually calmed, but Holden watched the extreme exhaustion set in. Jace just sat and stared with a lost, haunted look—the look of someone carrying a burden far too heavy for them to bear. You don’t have to bear it, Holden wanted to tell him, but they would only be wasted words right now. Somehow, Jace had to learn that for himself.

  At last, Holden said, “It’s nearly dawn. Why don’t we get a little more rest while we can?”

  Jace gave him a heavy-lidded glance.

  Blowing out the candle, Holden settled down on the couch, but Jace did not move. Holden let out a low sigh and stared at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t return for him either.

  Jace pulled on his clothes and winced at the ache in his sleep-deprived muscles. He had experienced such exhaustion before, just last summer; yet this went even deeper, echoing the days when Jasper had first trained him as a gladiator. Endless days, blurred by pain and hopelessness. He sagged with a sigh and fought to shove those images back into the past. The memories of early this morning took their place. In one way, he was grateful to Holden for waking him from the long and drawn out dream, but he’d been so weak and vulnerable. His skin prickled with the discomfort of having Holden see him that way.

  He didn’t want to face anyone now, but he had to join the others when they went down for breakfast. If only they were back at camp so he could be alone. This place offered no real opportunity for solitude.

  Holden gave him a reassuring nod along the way, but Jace couldn’t maintain eye contact.

  At the table, conversation drifted from one topic to another, but Jace had no ambition to follow along. He picked at his food, eating small bites here and there, but it took effort. His body begged to lie down, but what relief would he find in sleep? He had no escape.

  The door to the dining room swung open, startling him back to attention. An attendant hurried to the table and bowed hastily before King Balen.

  “My lord, I’ve just received word that the one they call Elon is at Stonehelm.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “At Stonehelm? Now?”

  The attendant nodded. “Yes, my lord. Word is already spreading through the village. Many are going to see him.”

  All around the table Jace’s companions rose, their breakfast forgotten. Jace’s heart thumped as he pushed slowly to his feet, the last to rise.

  “Send for my horse and the baron’s,” Balen instructed the attendant, “and one for Josef.”

  With another quick nod, the attendant rushed out, and everyone followed Balen away from the table.

  “We’ll wait for you at the dragons,” Trask told the king.

  Outside the castle, villagers scurried about and talked excitedly as many headed toward Stonehelm. Jace remained behind the others as they wove through the crowd. A churning took hold of his stomach as all his uncertainties about the man in the rumors descended.

  They saddled the dragons in a rush and waited for King Balen. Looking ahead to Stonehelm, Jace watched a steady line of people stream eagerly toward the fortress. Even around him, he sensed the excitement amongst the other
s. The ever calm and patient Timothy looked ready to jump on his dragon and leave this very second. He traded a grin with Kyrin, and Jace turned away. Why did such hesitancy grip him, while his friends were so eager? Would there ever come a day he wasn’t such an outcast, even among friends?

  When Balen arrived with Baron Thomas, Josef, and General Mason, the group mounted their dragons and took to the air. They arrived at the fortress well ahead of the horsemen, but waited outside the walls for the king to arrive. Together, they joined the flow of people into the courtyard.

  The large area around the keep was already filling up with many people gathered from the village. They had to move slowly at first, but the villagers parted to let their king pass. Jace followed close behind Rayad. Such a crowd put him on edge. Their attention was elsewhere, but he couldn’t shake the urge to avoid their gaze.

  Near the keep, the crowd thinned to make way for Balen. Jace looked ahead and caught sight of a dark-haired man standing with the old woman the king had greeted the day before. The man smiled down at her, his hand rested on her shoulder, and said something. Her wrinkled face glowed with a smile of her own.

  Jace shifted his attention to two other men who stood nearby. Next to the gathering of villagers, they were quite impressive—tall and stoic with dark hair and watchful blue eyes. Their appearance was very similar, twins almost, yet not. There was something foreign about them, perhaps even otherworldly, though Jace couldn’t say what. He had never seen anyone like them before.

  His gaze drew back to the other man. He took notice of their approach and straightened to face them. Though he was about Balen’s age, he was not nearly as tall. A smile remained on his lips as they neared. Jace couldn’t see anything that explained the fascination with him, but then the man’s warm brown eyes met his.

  Jace froze, paralyzed. The courtyard and those in it disappeared. Everything vanished except for the man who seemed to see right into the very deepest, darkest depths of his heart. Instant trembling gripped Jace and images from his past poured into his mind—all the men he had killed and injured, all the terrible things he had seen and done. Just like during the sacrifice, he could almost feel the shed blood dripping from his hands. Looking into this man’s eyes, all of it seemed laid bare before him. Every misdeed and sin. Yet no condemnation entered the man’s eyes, only compassion. A compassion Jace could not understand as his own guilty conscience convicted him.