Chapter 41

It takeseverything in me to not return to The Pyre Sanctum and scoop Annora into my arms, to apologize, to tell her everything will be different. But I cannot promise her different. Not when war still rages between our houses.

I push open the stable doors and walk to my gelding's stall. He pokes his head over the door, and I reach out to stroke his muzzle. He snorts, as if he understands the frustration swirling inside me.

From the nearby peg, I fetch the brush and run it through the horse's sleek coat. The rhythmic strokes allow me a moment to think.

After I received the letter from Asha, I sent a missive to Hector, the Bloodstone chieftain, telling him about the civil unrest in my city and Asha declaring war on House of Crimson.

I have no doubt that Hector will send me the legions I requested to help stamp out these threats, yet my chest tightens as I think about what that will mean for Annora. Meeting fire with fire will not promote the unity I promised her.

But I cannot allow my people to perish, all while I pursue peace with a woman who doesn't want peace. Asha wants war, and she wants me dead.

I give the gelding's neck a final pat before hanging the brush back on its peg.

As I turn to leave, a whisper of movement catches my attention—a shift in the shadows that sets my instincts ablaze. Before I can react, an unfamiliar man lunges from the darkness.

My body reacts before my mind does, summers of combat training taking over. I sidestep, feeling the rush of air as his blade slices where I stood just moments ago.

"Who sent you?" I demand.

Instead of answering, the man adjusts his stance and prepares for another strike.

I yank my sword free from its scabbard, the familiar weight of it grounding me as the man advances. Our blades meet with a harsh clang that echoes off the stone walls of the stables.

His attacks are relentless, but so am I. Each time his sword seeks my flesh, I parry, deflect, counter. The gelding rears, spooked by our battle.

The man is skilled but fueled by desperation. It's clear in his reckless strikes, in the way his eyes dart with each swing of his blade. Someone has promised him gold, or perhaps threatened him with something worse than death.

I duck under a wild strike and thrust forward, only to be met by the harsh scrape of metal as he blocks my attack. I press harder, our swords locking together as we struggle for dominance.

With a swift kick to his knee, I hear a satisfying crack. The man grunts and stumbles, and I take advantage, smashing my sword into his and sending his weapon clattering to the straw-covered floor.

Before he can recover, I lunge, slamming him into the wall of a stall. He gasps as the wind is knocked from him. My blade finds the soft flesh at his throat.

"Who sent you?" I demand again, pressing just enough to keep him still without slicing into his neck.

The man pants beneath me, eyes wild with fear and pain as he realizes he's at my mercy. His lips part to answer, but no sound escapes them. His gaze flickers to my sword at his throat and then back to my eyes, as if he's weighing his options.

I tighten my grip and dig the steel deeper into the man's throat. He winces as a trickle of blood slides down his neck.

"You can either tell me who sent you, or I can slowly carve the words out of your flesh," I say through gritted teeth.

The man's eyes bulge, and beads of sweat break out across his brow.

When he remains silent, I stab the sword harder against his windpipe. "Speak! Tell me who ordered this attack, or your life ends now."

A strangled croak escapes him as he struggles to draw a breath to speak. I loosen the sword enough for him to talk.

"Keel," he rasps out.

Of course, that bastard is behind this.

I lean in closer. "Where is he?"

The man shakes his head.

I increase the pressure of my blade, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. "I won't ask again."

"I don't know," he chokes out. "I swear it. He sends his orders through messengers. I've never seen him."

I search the man's face for any hint of deception, but I find only terror. With a grunt, I slam my sword through the man's neck, ending him as swiftly as he wanted to end me. This city has no space for rebels and or men who attack their chieftain.

I sheathe my sword and stride out of the stables, leaving the would be assassin dying in the straw.

As I cross the courtyard, I'm tempted to go to Annora, to lose myself in her warmth and forget the troubles that plague me. But I can't. Not now. Not when my city is under attack and my enemies are closing in. I must be the chieftain my people need, even if it means sacrificing my desires.

First, I will find Keel. Then, I will crush this rebellion.