Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (34 page)

T
he night of the dinner lingered in Kyrin’s mind like dark storm clouds threatening to burst open with rain and deadly lightning. Both Lady Videlle and Holly commented on how jumpy and distracted she was. It took a great deal of prayer and two full days before she could push the overshadowing unease to the back of her mind and focus on her daily tasks.

Until Davira came upon her in the library. Kyrin sat at one of the tables, engrossed in a book when the princess walked in. At first, she gave no sign that she was aware of Kyrin’s presence. Kyrin peered at her out of the corner of her eye while her stomach heaved and churned. She avoided Davira at all costs these days. She looked to the door with a longing to run. But Davira would see it for what it was.
Elôm, help me.
She set her eyes on her book and forced herself to concentrate. Maybe the princess would just leave her alone.

Wishful thinking
.

Davira’s voice cut into the silence, as silky and smooth as poisoned wine. “Oh, Miss Altair, did you hear about Baron Arther?”

Kyrin looked up with an internal flinch at the almost inhuman gleam of the princess’s deep green eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Everyone’s been talking about it,” Davira said as if Kyrin should have known. “Apparently, he had a terrible accident on the way back to Keaton. He’s dead.”

Kyrin’s fingers turned to ice, the cold threading up through the veins in her arms until it reached her heart and lungs.

“Dead?” she gasped.

“Yes, dead.” Davira casually flipped through the pages of the book in her hands.

The ice seeped into Kyrin’s stomach now, then to her legs, and finally to her toes. She couldn’t draw a full breath. This was no accident. She knew it as surely as she knew her own existence. Arther
had been killed, and she’d been the one to report him to the emperor.
What have I done?
The world and everything tangible floated away from her.

“Miss Altair.”

Kyrin started, her eyes jumping back to the princess.

“You’re awfully pale,” Davira said. “Are you ill?”

Not a trace of true concern warmed her tone.

“I
…I’m surprised.” Kyrin gripped her skirt under the table to keep from shaking. “It’s just unexpected.”

Davira tipped her head as she peered at Kyrin. “Yes, quite.” Her tone was now condescending. She shrugged. “Though, I suppose, in the end, it’s for the best. After all, he did lie to my father, as
you
pointed out, and therefore lacked true loyalty.”

Kyrin’s throat seized up and wouldn’t allow her to swallow.
She almost gagged. Her stomach’s contents wouldn’t have been far behind.

“You don’t agree?”

The dare in Davira’s voice was as plain as the evil in her eyes.

Kyrin licked her stone-dry lips. “I
…I’ve always viewed death as a tragedy.”

Davira’s eyes narrowed, almost
snake-like, and she sidled over to Kyrin’s table. Kyrin’s head grew dizzy as if the princess could suck the life right out of her.

“Well,” Davira said, and though she smiled, it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes, “you’d best be cautious about these things. You wouldn’t want anyone to question
your
loyalty.”

She set her book on the table and left without another word.

Kyrin couldn’t move for a full five minutes, paralyzed like the aftereffects of a nightmare, but worse. This wasn’t just a dream that would disappear with time. Once some warmth returned to her body, her eyes dropped to the book Davira had left behind—a scientific volume on torture and execution. Black dots floated in front of her vision. She gripped the table and pushed herself up, though her legs were like water. They gained just enough strength to rush back to her room.

Safely behind the closed door, she slid to the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest and shook violently as hot tears poured down her cheeks. She couldn’t take it. Because of her, a man was dead, and now Davira surely suspected her of disloyalty. It was only a matter of time before she told Daican, if she hadn’t already. Would they kill her too?

She clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle the sobs that ripped through her chest. Her flailing heart beat with one delirious thought—
run
. It filled her mind and flooded her system with nearly uncontrollable desperation. But that would seal her fate. They’d just hunt her down, and then she would die. Like a rabbit caught in a trap, she had no choice but to wait and discover her fate.

Rayad stared into the forest, searching every tree and shadow for some sign. Jace had come by twice in the last couple of days, but even then, they traded only a brief handful of words. He usually showed up in the mornings, yet midday had arrived without an appearance. He’d had the habit of spending long hours in the forest back at the farm too, but that fact didn’t help the uncomfortable twisting in the pit of Rayad’s stomach as he considered what he’d discussed with Warin. It was all he could do not to go looking for Jace. But if he had left, he’d be long gone by now without a clue as to where he went. In silence, Rayad whispered a plea to Elôm to bring Jace back.

Sighing, he entered the tent to replace a knife he’d used. When he ducked back out, the tension released from his body and allowed him to breathe more easily. He glanced toward the treetops and whispered a thanks before dropping his eyes back to Jace and Tyra. But his elation faded as he crossed the distance to meet them. Jace’s shadowed eyes hinted at yet another sleepless night.

“I was afraid you’d gone.”

Jace just stared past him, and his silence confirmed Rayad’s fears. He’d considered it.

“Jace, all I ask is that you never go without a goodbye at least.”

Jace finally looked at him with eyes disturbingly dull and void of any sort of will. “So you can try to talk me out of it?”

Rayad gave a sad shrug. Of
course he would. “The King knows I’ll try.” He gripped Jace’s shoulder, willing him to listen. “You’re my son, Jace, by all accounts. I can’t see it end that way.”

Jace stood as if numbed to the world, but at last, he gave a little nod.

“Good,” Rayad breathed. “Now, let’s get something to eat.”

Jace put up no protest, and soon the two sat near the tent with their lunch. Rayad picked at his meat, but his eyes always returned to Jace. The blank stare on his face disturbed him like nothing he’d seen before. In the years prior to now, he thought he’d seen Jace at his lowest, but this was different. Jace always had fight in him—too much at times—but the fight had gone out, replaced by a dangerous surrender. He didn’t believe Jace would go so far as to take his own life, but letting it just deteriorate and slip away
…that he might do. Especially if he refused to eat.

Rayad shook away these thoughts. He couldn’t give up hope. He might be the only one still fighting for it.

Footsteps signaled Trask’s approach. He looked at Rayad, a question in his eyes, and Rayad nodded. He wouldn’t have discussed Jace with others under normal circumstances, but they needed a plan to set him on the right path again, and Trask had just the thing—a specific duty around camp that might help him settle in and give him a reason to stay. A reason to live.

Trask stopped and waited a moment, but Jace only acknowledged him with a glance.

“I’m glad you’re back. I have a proposition for you.”

Jace looked up more fully now, though his eyes were shielded.

“I’d like you to take over hunting duty. The men rely on game for meals, and what we don’t use here we give out to the poorer families around the area. We haven’t had any fresh game for a couple of days now.”

Jace absorbed this with the same lack of reaction reminiscent of their earlier days. Rayad traded a glance with Trask. Would Jace see through their motives and refuse? The longer the silence stretched on, the more likely it seemed, but then he gave a nod.

“All right.”

His voice lacked enthusiasm, but it was a start.

Jace didn’t wait to finish his lunch. He gave it to Tyra and went into the tent. When he emerged with his bow and hunting supplies and started off, Rayad set his own plate aside and followed him.

“Can we talk?”

They’d had little enough time to speak as it was. With Jace on hunting duty now, he would have to take advantage of every opportunity. Jace, however, just trudged on as if he hadn’t heard. When they were far enough from camp to speak in private, Rayad reached out to stop him.

“Would you just stop and listen, please? I’m trying to help you.”

Jace’s throat moved as he swallowed, and his jaw clamped tightly. He shook his head, not looking at Rayad. “You can’t.”

And that was at the very heart of Rayad’s frustration.

“You’re right, maybe I can’t, but you and I both know who can. Jace, look at me.” When he did, Rayad read the doubt in his eyes. “Elôm can and will help you through this.”

But Jace was already shaking his head again.

“Yes, He will,” Rayad insisted.

“No,” Jace snapped. He grimaced. “I
…can’t…be helped.” Rayad opened his mouth to convince him, but Jace held up his hand. “I have the blood of a ryrik. I
am
a monster. I’m reminded of it every time I close my eyes.”

“No, Jace. No,” Rayad said with conviction. “You once believed you have a soul and Elôm saved you. Deep down, you must still believe that. Don’t let the lies of the world rob you of peace and assurance. King Elôm loves you, and He wants to help you, but you need to let Him. Turn back to Him. Then you’ll find comfort.”

Jace’s chest rose and fell as if it was the last breath he would ever take, and his eyes glittered. With a weak, defeated shake of his head, he whispered, “I don’t think so.”

With those words, Rayad was able to see right into the broken and vulnerable soul he knew was there, and Jace came as close to crying as he had ever seen. But, in the next moment, he rebuilt the walls that both protected him and harmed him, and steeled
himself against the pain. Unwilling to talk any further, he walked off.

Rayad could only watch, but before he disappeared, he called out to him, voice husky. “I won’t ever stop praying for you, Jace.”

The next day’s overcast sky and on and off drizzle matched Kyrin’s mood. Wrapped in a black velvet cloak, she stood at the center of the nearly empty square and waited. Trev stood behind her, but they said little this morning. Could she trust him? Could she trust anyone from the palace? What if every word she spoke condemned her further? Tears burned her already sore eyes. She must look a sight. Videlle had been convinced she was ill and couldn’t understand her going out in this weather.

She blinked hard, desperately watching the street. Maybe Tarvin Hall’s instructors wouldn’t allow Kaden to meet her today. Then again, if he’d received her hastily sent message, he’d come with or without permission. She almost smiled, but the effort was too much.

After more than twenty minutes, her spirits sank into the cold puddles around her feet. If he didn’t show up soon, she would have to return to the palace, alone…scared. She bunched her fists in her cloak and closed her eyes.
I need to see him, please
. Her heart beat sluggishly, and her body ached. Maybe she had made herself ill.