“Brathen is my father.”
He is?
Perhaps if they didn’t both wear masks, I might have seen the resemblance. But from what I can observe, they are vastly different. Brathen’s eyes are distant and full of shadows, while Kythara’s are not.
“Have you always fought for House of Silver?” I ask.
“No, not always. We will help nearly anyone for coin.” Her words carry no shame. Just simple truth.
How sad. That they would be willing to pick up their sword for almost anyone if the price is right. I think of my own convictions, the things I would and wouldn’t do for coin, and wonder if life would be simpler without them. But even as the thought forms, I know I could never live that way, selling my loyalty to the highest bidder.
Her eyes fix on the flames as she speaks again. “But my father believes in House of Silver. He thinks someone from our house should lead our people. And he wants what’s best for all of us.”
Unity and harmony are what’s best. Why can’t any of them see it as vividly as I do?
I poke at the fire with a stick again. “Do you agree with him?”
“Mostly.” She leans forward as she adds, “But I don’t believe in needless bloodshed.”
“Neither do I.” Again and again, I jab at the fire. “Do you think things could be different?”
She turns to me. “Maybe. With the right leader.”
“Who would that be?”
“Someone who cares for the people. Someone with a true heart.” Firelight dances across her as she stands and adjusts her cloak around her shoulders. “It’s late. We should rest.”
“You’re right.”
“Sleep well, Annora.” She offers a nod before turning away.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aleksander
Moonlight hovers overheadas the camp settles for the night. I weave through the maze of tents, restless energy surging through me.
I should be sleeping, or at the very least, planning. Instead, I’m out here patrolling, needing to move, needing to avoid thinking too much.
If I stop, memories will overtake me, and I’ll be damned if I allow them to soften me.
I have plans, and I will not allow anything to take them away from me. Not Zerah. Not Jasce. Not William.
Fuck…
I tighten my fingers into fists and walk faster.
Movement catches my eye—a shadow slipping between the tents. My senses sharpen as my hands instinctively hover near the hilt of my broadsword.
Quietly, I follow the elusive figure as they dart behind a supply wagon. Just as I round the corner, someone barrels into me. We collide with force, momentum sending us both sprawling to the ground. I land hard, another body pressing me into the cold ground.
“Watch where you’re going,” a sharp voice hisses above me.
I blink and stare up into fierce brown eyes. Fiery eyes. Beautiful eyes.
Kythara.
She’s perched atop me, her thighs settled around my hips.
