25

Greyson peered out the window. From this angle, he couldn't see much besides people gathering in the village square. A few he recognized, as they were his students.

"What's going on?" Cyrus asked, coming to his side.

"I don't know."

"We best go see," Cyrus said. When Lord Darius did not move from the settee, Cyrus frowned. "You're coming with us."

Lord Darius, rather unwillingly, led the way out of the house and into the street. In the middle of the road were five people, two men and three women. They all wore plain clothes with thick cloaks. Two, Greyson recognized—bounty hunters.

On two separate occasions, he had met them when they tried to abduct him and claim the reward from the emperor. This same scheme had been enacted by many people over the three years he'd been exiled. His bounty was exorbitantly large.

"What do you want?" Lord Darius asked, squinting. "I won't stand for any trouble."

"We want no trouble," the woman he'd recognized said as she ran a tan hand through her short, pale hair. Her solid form was loose and ready as her green eyes remained on Greyson and Cyrus. "We simply want Mage Greyson."

"Oh," he said. Nodding, Lord Darius shoved him forward, causing Greyson to stumble. "You can have him."

He glared at him over his shoulder. Of course, Darius would give him up. Cyrus moved closer to his side, a hand on the hilt of his blade. "You cannot have Greyson. Be gone," Cyrus ordered, sounding more like his old self than ever before.

Scoffing, the woman, maybe the leader of this little troop, said, "You survived our earlier encounter."

"What?" Cyrus asked, eyes flicking toward him.

Greyson did not bother replying to his question as he moved in front of Cyrus, shielding him. "Really?" he asked, shaking his head. "You want to do this again? How many times has this been?"

"I brought more people this time."

"I see that," he remarked, sneering. "But you're attacking me in the middle of a village with plenty of witnesses and in front of Prince Cyrus. Not your smartest move."

"You never seem to leave his side," she said. "Besides, he killed two of my people. I had to replace them."

"This might just be me," Greyson commented, "but this doesn't seem worth it."

"Your bounty increased again. Your weight in gold," she replied.

"The emperor is getting desperate, huh?"

No one responded, not that he'd thought they would. The emperor had raised the bounty every few months. But Greyson's weight in gold was ridiculous, even for the emperor, especially when he'd done nothing to merit it. Stance widening, his left hand closed around nothing.

"Where's your staff, mage?" she taunted in a sing-song voice.

Numbness raced up his spine as Greyson peered over his shoulder just in time to see Lord Darius running away. "Come back with my staff, you idiot," he yelled. When the lord did not stop, Greyson said, "Shit."

The bounty hunters charged toward him. Greyson moved back, bumping into Cyrus. "Run, Cyrus," he ordered. Without his staff, Greyson was powerless, and he wasn't a good hand-to-hand fighter.

Cyrus yanked Greyson out of the way before drawing his blade in one smooth motion. "Get your staff."

Greyson didn't argue; he raced toward Lord Darius, who had stopped right in front of his house. Three bounty hunters followed him while the other two engaged Cyrus. He could hear the ring of steel meeting steel, but he didn't turn around. As he was about to reach Lord Darius, someone snagged the back of his cloak and wrestled him to the ground.

A swear ripped out of his mouth as Greyson fell. He tried to get up, but two men pinned him to the ground while the third, a woman, tied his wrists together. "Don't just stand there," Greyson yelled at Lord Darius, who sneered. "I swear when I get out of this, I'm going to kill you."

He struggled against the ties futilely. Greyson was plenty strong, but he could not overcome the three people. A cry rang through the air and stilled his heart. Greyson tried to see Cyrus, but all he could glimpse was him sprawled on the ground, unmoving.

The breath left his lungs at the sight. "Cyrus!" Greyson screamed as he thrashed in the men's grasp. Frantically, he swept the area and landed on Jessica, one of his students. The gangly teenager watched him with wide eyes and an open mouth, her black hair trapped in a messy braid. By her side were two more people, older men in their thirties, and also his students. Normally, he wouldn't get any of his people involved, but Cyrus was in trouble.

"Help me," he begged.

It took no more than that. Jessica raced forward, hand extended with a glowing ring. The bounty hunter that held his legs was lifted into the air, then went flying. His other two students joined the fray, and the two bounty hunters left him and joined their associates to face the new threat.

Greyson got to his feet, bound, and charged Lord Darius, who watched the fight. He tried to enter his home, but Greyson grabbed his cloak and yanked. With his wrists tied, he couldn't pull Lord Darius much, but it was enough. Darius stumbled, then elbowed him, catching Greyson in the nose. Blood dripped down his lips as tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to stop.

Grabbing Darius near his neck, he leveraged the other man around. Lord Darius kicked him, keeping Greyson's staff out of reach. Grunting as he took the hit, Greyson reached out and his fingertips brushed the wood of his staff. Power immediately shot through him and the staff, sending Lord Darius flying into the side of his home with a loud thud.

He did not give the fallen lord a second thought. Hands wrapping around the warm wood, Greyson concentrated on channeling his magic into the rope, which almost instantly snapped. He ran toward Cyrus, who was motionless on the dirt road.

Jessica bled from a cut on her arm, but the teenager kept fighting. The bounty hunter she'd thrown had returned. The five of them worked in unison to defeat the three mages, but other people in the town joined in. While most were not bound to an artifact, which made them weaker mages, they still had skills.

The ground rumbled as Elric, a large miner with rough features, stomped his foot, making the bounty hunters wobble. An old woman with white hair waved a hand at the snow, which morphed into ice around the bounty hunter's feet.

Breaking through the ice, the leader captured Cyrus before Greyson could reach him. She held a knife to his throat and ordered, "Call them off, Greyson, or Prince Cyrus dies."

"Why should that deter him?" Jessica asked, sniggering.

Everyone knew how much he hated Cyrus in the past. Greyson had been vocal about Cyrus" annoying presence in the capital during the negotiations, then later, when he was the face of the emperor's troops. What they didn't know is how that had changed.

"The emperor will blame you," the bounty hunter said.

"He'll blame me either way." Greyson's thoughts whirled. He could not let her hurt Cyrus, but at the same time, he wouldn't give himself up to the bounty hunters. Greyson tightened his hold on his staff and twisted it in the dirt; the ground trembled and began to shift.

"Stop it, Greyson," she ordered, knife pressing against Cyrus' neck.

Greyson shrugged like he couldn't care less while sweat slid down his neck. "Kill Cyrus, and you die. Leave now, and live to fight another day."

The ground rose about their legs, holding them in place and squeezing them like a snake.

A soundless snarl twisted her features, but she sheathed her knife. "I will succeed one day."

"Many have tried, but none have succeeded because these are my mountains." Greyson slammed the butt of the staff into the ground and it shifted violently, making the houses creak in strain. Exhaustion seeped through him, black spots floating through his vision, but he kept pressing forward before it could consume him.

The bounty hunters gave him one last look before they fled. Greyson wasted no time, he sank to the ground as his hands ran over Cyrus, who'd been stabbed in his shoulder and had a long slice along his right thigh, plus another cut on his stomach. His cheek was starting to bruise like he'd been hit.

"Cyrus," Greyson called, patting his uninjured cheek.

Cyrus did not wake.

Picking him up, Greyson draped Cyrus over his shoulder and straightened with a loud grunt, back and knees protesting. "Why are you always so damn heavy?" he asked. People gaped at him. "I need somewhere to take Cyrus to," Greyson said in a strained voice.

The old woman who'd controlled the snow gestured to a two-story house not far from them. "Over here." She headed to the back of the building where a narrow staircase led to a separate room.

Greyson silently swore at the wooden steps but walked up, hand on the banister, and silently counted in his mind as was his habit, ignoring the pain in his back and legs. Cyrus was much too heavy for him to carry. Agonizingly slow, he trudged up the stairs and into a small room. It had a bed, table, fireplace, and kitchen, but there was nothing personal and a thin layer of dust covered everything.

He lowered Cyrus onto the bed, then asked, "Do you have any herbs, bandages, anything?"

Her brown eyes wandered over Cyrus and Greyson as her lips puckered. Her weathered face and white hair spoke of her advanced age as did the spots on her hand that rested at the base of her throat. Greyson didn't know her name, but he'd seen her before. Not speaking, he waited for her to decide.

She scrutinized them for several long moments before she nodded. "I will see what I can round up."

"Thank you."

Immediately, he stripped Cyrus' clothes off so he could inspect the wounds. None of them appeared deep enough for him to have fallen unconscious nor had he lost that much blood. Greyson strode to the kitchen and filled a bowl with fresh water. A little digging provided a cloth.

He cleaned the wounds as he whispered, "Cyrus," over and over again.

The door opened, and he jerked toward it, hoping the old woman had returned. Greyson was disappointed. Lord Darius stood in the doorway, flanked by two hulking soldiers.

"Mage Greyson, you are under arrest."

"For what?" he asked, gripping his staff.

"For trafficking in illegal substances and attacking Prince Cyrus."

"What?"

"Arrest him," Lord Darius said, waving the two soldiers forward.

Greyson snarled as he lifted his staff, the blue stone glowing. "Take one more step, and I'll kill you all."

"You'll be executed for murder," the lord said.

"You'll still be dead, which I'm beginning to think is worth it."

Cyrus moaned behind him. Unable to stop himself, Greyson peered over his shoulder. Cyrus was still unconscious as his wounds continued to bleed. Taking a deep breath, he faced Lord Darius. "Do you have a healer?"

"For the prince? No," the man replied with a sneer.

"You would allow the emperor's nephew to die?"

"What has the royal family done for me? Nothing. They banished me to this hellhole when the bitch empress complained I'd been handsy with her. No. Prince Cyrus will die, and I will blame you," Lord Darius said.

He could kill Darius and his soldiers, but the emperor would punish the people of the Griseo Mountains. They needed Cyrus to live, so the emperor would have mercy, though Greyson would most likely not survive either way. But he needed Cyrus to live. He could not imagine a world without that perfect smile, easy laugh, and kind heart. Swallowing, he glanced at Cyrus. Cyrus was worth it. He was worth everything to Greyson.

"I'm the closest thing he's got to a healer, then. Lord Darius, if Cyrus survives, I will give myself over to be arrested. If he dies, I'm going to kill you and all your men, then surrender myself to the emperor. I would suggest you leave, so I can save him and your lives."

"There are no deals to be made, Greyson," Lord Darius said. "If you do not comply or fight, I will order my guards to start killing citizens."

"Fine. No deal. Try me. I'm willing to die. Hell, I'm willing to risk another war. Cyrus is worth it. I will kill you and all the soldiers who stand against me, then throw myself on the mercy of the emperor. If I die, at least I'll have saved Cyrus."

"You think you can beat us all?" Darius asked, chortling.

"He's not alone," a voice said. In the doorway stood the old woman, Elric, and Jessica. "We will all stand with him," she said.

Lord Darius turned around, swallowing. As Darius and his two guards moved, Greyson saw more people lining the stairs. Pride swelled in his chest at the sight. His people supported him, even if they didn't understand.

Clearing his throat, Lord Darius said, "I accept your deal. Cyrus lives and you hand yourself over."

It was the only way to keep everyone safe long-term.

"Staff," he demanded.

"No. Once Cyrus is safe, I will turn it over but not before to keep you honest. You will hurt no one or our deal is void, and I kill you, which I'm beginning to think I'll like," Greyson answered, pointing his staff at him.

Lord Darius snarled and tramped toward the door, shouting, "Get out of my way." The people shifted, and he disappeared down the stairs followed by his two guards.

Greyson sank to the bed, and the old woman settled near him. "Thank you," he told her as sincerely as possible. "Thank you all."

"Of course. We will always stand with you, Greyson, no matter what," the old woman said, pushing her white braid over her hunched shoulder. "I am Widow Jones."

His brow furrowed. Her surname was familiar, though Jones was common enough, then it hit him. "Your Hugh, Jemima, and Elric's grandmother."

"I am."

He'd taught all three of them, though they were all close to a decade older than him.

Together, they cleaned Cyrus' wounds as villagers brought bandages, poultices, and other offerings. Greyson carefully spread a green paste over the wounds to fight off infection, then started to wrap them. As he shifted Cyrus, he glanced at Widow Jones, who examined Cyrus with a bent finger on her lips.

"I don't think," she said, "these wounds are bad enough to knock him out."

"Me either," Greyson remarked, pulling a thick piece of cloth taut over Cyrus' well-muscled stomach. As he moved Cyrus again, Greyson paused. There was a sizable patch of blood on the pillow. As he finished tying the bandage around Cyrus' stomach, Greyson swallowed. Head wounds were unpredictable. Shaking, he ran his fingers through Cyrus' hair, stopping when he came to a wet spot.

The amount of blood did not bother Greyson, what worried him was the softness he felt in the back of Cyrus' skull. It should not be there.

Clearing his throat, Greyson said as calmly as he could manage, "There's a soft spot."

"How big?"

"Pretty big," he replied, emotion clogging his throat. "I think one of the bounty hunters must have hit him with the pommel of their sword."

The cuts he could treat, the injury to Cyrus' head he couldn't. All they could do was wait and see. But from the size and softness, he didn't know if Cyrus would survive it. Greyson methodically cleaned the wound, put a paste on it, then wrapped a cloth around the injury.

Squeezing Cyrus' hand, he said, "You are not allowed to die, especially from something as stupid as protecting me. Do you understand?"

His lungs struggled to take in air as ice filled his veins. Greyson could not lose Cyrus, not now. He wouldn't survive it.

A hand settled on his arm, and Greyson looked at Widow Jones. She stared directly at him with her serious brown eyes as she said, "You're in love with Prince Cyrus."

"Yes," Greyson said, not bothering to deny it.

"I'm going to get my great-granddaughter."

"What?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"She's unbound, but she's already showing signs of healing ability."

His mouth fell open. Healing and necromancy were the two rarest abilities. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We don't want her to be taken. But we were going to bring her to you this summer, to learn."

"I will figure something out about getting her an artifact." He paused, then continued, "If I don't survive this, write to Widow Abney in Drakcombe and she will write to Frederick in the capital. He'll figure something out."

"Thank you," she said.

He clutched Cyrus' lifeless hand. "No, thank you."

As Widow Jones left, tears began to burn the backs of his eyes. "Cyrus, don't do this to me. Not now."

Cyrus did not respond.

Greyson lowered his head to Cyrus' arm. Maybe the little girl can save him? he reasoned. Maybe Cyrus would be fine? A sob caught in his chest. Lifting his head, Greyson placed a shaky kiss on Cyrus' lips, then whispered, "I love you."